Obsidio

by Amie Kaufman

  “Yes.” Her voice stays low, carefully controlled. “We used to…he’s my ex-boyfriend. He definitely recognized me.”

  “Oh, ****.” Way’s whole body tenses. “How ex? I mean, are you safe?”

  She nods a fraction. “I’m safe,” she murmurs. “I think he wants some kind of grand reunion. It’s sick. He’s one of them. It doesn’t matter what we used to be. All that matters is what he is now.”

  Way is quiet for a little, glancing over his shoulder at the closed door, carefully setting aside the fittings he’s removed. “Not necessarily,” he says finally. “If he’s still into you, that might be an opportunity?”

  “An opportunity?”

  “He’s a weapon,” Way replies soft, clearly uncomfortable. What he’s saying doesn’t line up with his perpetual good cheer, but he’s forcing himself to whisper it anyway. “You could use him, like you would any other. If you keep him on the hook, Asha, maybe we can turn this into something?”

  She makes a small noise in the back of her throat, demurring. “He can’t be the guy I knew. The guy I knew would never…He must be some kind of drone now. I don’t think the boy I knew is left in there. I don’t know if I have any kind of handle on him anymore.”

  “Jenna always says you’re the smartest person she knows, Ash. You’ll figure out a way.”

  “But I’d have to…” She swallows, setting a couple of bottles on the floor. “If I was going to reel him in, I mean. And I don’t think I could bring myself to…after what he’s done.”

  “I know. I don’t like it, either. But this could be huge.” He risks reaching down to rest his hand on hers. “…Are you okay, Ash?”

  “Of course. Of course I am. And if there’s a chance this will help…”

  He squeezes her fingers. “I know we can get out of this. That might sound stupidly optimistic, but where there’s life, there’s hope, you know?”

  “I know,” she whispers. “We’ll talk to the others about it.” She pulls her hand out from beneath his, and there’s a glimpse of that tattoo at her wrist again, of the name Samaira in flowing script.

  They work in silence for a bit, almost companionable.

  Eventually, she speaks again, trying for a lighter tone. “You know, I was thinking this morning. When this is all over, WUC’s going to give us all huge compensation packages to make sure we keep our mouths shut. They can’t have us out there complaining about what happened to us on their illegal mining settlement, right? So I’ve decided the first thing I’m doing is hitting a planet with a beach. What about you?”

  “Season tickets,” he replies promptly. “For the Kepler Knights. Jenna’s a huge fan. She got me into pro geeball, to tell you the truth.” His girlfriend’s name is like a prayer on his lips, never failing to summon a smile. But too soon, it fades. “You know, when I heard she got out on the shuttles, part of me was pretty torn up. Knowing we’d be apart for a while.” He gestures around the room. “But most of me is kinda glad she never had to go through all this.”

  It’s Grant’s turn to squeeze Way’s hand now.

  “You’ll see her again, Bruno.”

  Way smiles again, his customary optimism coming back out to shine.

  “I know I will. Not even a BeiTech invasion can keep me and Jenn apart for long. We’ve just gotta stay smart, stay low till we figure out a way off this rock. And maybe your ex is the way to do that.”

  Grant chews her lip. Nods.

  The sound of heavy boots rings in the corridor, and she pulls her hand out of her friend’s grip. The door opens behind them, and the guard appears, framed in it.

  Without another word, or another glance at Way, Grant gathers up her armful of bottles and walks out.

  INCEPT: 08/18/75 20:36

  Joran KARALIS: check in?

  Asha GRANT: I’m here

  Bruno WAY: ditto

  Steph PARK: here

  Joran KARALIS: I don’t have long, back on shift soon. We’re double time since the tunnel collapse. The BT *******s are howling about quota.

  Steph PARK: Is it true Marcus Carter volunteered?

  Joran KARALIS: yes

  Asha GRANT: god, he used to come into the pharmacy for his wife’s meds…

  Joran KARALIS: he didn’t have any family left. He knew what he was putting his hand up for. no one who lives in our memory truly dies

  Joran KARALIS: we remember

  Bruno WAY: we remember

  Asha GRANT: we remember

  Joran KARALIS: and the way to honor his sacrifice is to get off this rock alive. So, has anyone made any progress on what the BT transmission contained or where it got sent?

  Steph PARK: we know what it said. The magellan’s nearly ready and the timer’s started, more executions coming very soon to a planet near you

  Bruno WAY: but we do have a development

  Joran KARALIS: yes?

  Bruno WAY: Ash?

  Asha GRANT: I was getting there, Bruno, just thought we might spend a minute checking we’re all alive, stuff like that, ****.

  Joran KARALIS: what is it, Asha?

  Asha GRANT: okay you might wanna be sitting down for this

  Steph PARK: Kid, spit it out for crissakes

  Asha GRANT: my ex-boyfriend just showed up

  Asha GRANT: and he’s part of the BT invasion force.

  Steph PARK: WHAT?

  Joran KARALIS: WHAT?

  Asha GRANT: He just got reassigned down here from the Magellan. But before anyone gets excited about some possible connection, i have no idea if i can trust him. It’s been years. it was such a bad breakup we literally ended up on different planets. Also, I cussed him out already.

  Steph PARK: ARE YOU KIDDING? Kid, you jump his bones if you have to, i don’t care what it takes. this is a huge opportunity. HUGE.

  Joran KARALIS: God, this could be our way out…

  Steph PARK: and if not that, a chance to take out as many of those mother****ers as we can on our way out the door

  Bruno WAY: Easy, Steph.

  Joran KARALIS: Asha, with a BT agent on our side…our options are…hell, think what we could access. we could get a transmission out

  Steph PARK: to who, Joran? If anyone from WUC was listening, they’d have come by now to find out why we went quiet. Something happened to convince them we’re all dead and it’s a bad idea to look for survivors. that’s the only explanation

  Joran KARALIS: Steph, ****ing stow it, you hear me? you want to give up, do it on your own time. I’m not done fighting yet.

  Bruno WAY: nobody’s done fighting yet, nobody said that

  Asha GRANT: seriously, i just don’t think I can get this guy to do anything for me. think about what I’d be asking. The risk he’d be taking. for what, from his point of view?

  Joran KARALIS: if there’s even the smallest chance, we have to try. we owe it to everyone still alive

  Bruno WAY: it’s more than a small chance

  Asha GRANT: look, i don’t disagree, you all know I’m not done fighting. but the guy I loved never would have been here in the first place.

  Joran KARALIS: Asha, you have to do this. we have to risk it

  Bruno WAY: hey, I’m all for doing what we can, but it’s not a “we” kind of risk. It’s Ash who’d have her neck on the line. I think we should acknowledge that.

  Asha GRANT: I guess it’s on the line anyway, now or later

  Asha GRANT: I mean honestly, does ANYONE believe they’re going to transport us all out of here once the Magellan is refueled?

  Steph PARK: no ****ing chance.

  Joran KARALIS: I’ve been thinking about that. Talking with some of the others in the mine. and if we’re all convinced that as soon as they refuel the Magell
an we’re dead, it seems the only option is to somehow take the mobile jump platform ourselves. Steph’s right that we can’t assume anyone will hear our transmission. But Magellan is nearly repaired. We could use it to jump out of here. and this boy could help us with that, Asha.

  Steph PARK: are you dusted?

  Steph PARK: have you finally cracked?

  Steph PARK: we’re stealing the Magellan now?

  Joran KARALIS: what did you think we were doing, just killing as many of them as we could before they kill us? i don’t want to die, Steph. I’ve got a family.

  Bruno WAY: listen, guys, nobody wants to die

  Asha GRANT: **** it. if Joran’s right, perhaps we can do something. If Steph’s right, do you guys know a better way to cash out than still trying?

  Asha GRANT: i’m gonna have to break the hospital enviro rig somehow so they send him back up here

  Bruno WAY: i can send you some notes on how to **** with the intakes

  Asha GRANT: ok

  Asha GRANT: i’ll sound him out. i’ll have to go slow. I can’t just backflip after how I treated him yesterday. but I’ll try.

  Joran KARALIS: you have to do better than that, Asha.

  Joran KARALIS: We don’t have time to just try anymore.

  This footage is shot entirely through the cam of Rhys Lindstrom’s ATLAS. Since the cam’s mounted on his shoulder, you can’t actually see his features through the whole clip, so I’m just guessing from tone and inflection what his facial expressions were.

  Mostly dumbfounded, I’d bet.

  The data from these cameras was transmitted direct to Server BTCs-14h, then beamed up to the Churchill for possible review by the BT brass. But it just so happens regular service of Server BTCs-14h was the purview of one Technical Specialist Rhys Lindstrom, so the kid could divert his feed whenever he wanted to go off-grid.

  After his latest exchange with the former light of his life/fire of his loins, he’d also rigged up a dummy transmitter that mimicked the signal in his ATLAS’s locator beacon, which meant anyone checking in on him would see his ping in the barracks. This is an old pounder trick, apparently pretty easy to do. Grunts use it to skip out after hours and mix with the local sugar during occupations that aren’t so…unneighborly.

  And so it is, when footage begins, that Lindstrom is waiting obediently where Grant told him to—in the shadow beneath the broken awning of Kerenza IV’s public library.

  It probably wasn’t much to look at to begin with, but postinvasion, it almost doesn’t count as a building at all. It’s small, prefab concrete, the north and east walls completely blown out and the roof collapsed. The place looks like a bomb hit it.

  See what I did there?

  Lindstrom is in his ATLAS, helmet on, suit sealed, so he can’t feel the cold. But he still suppresses a shiver as he stands there, looking over the frozen, ruined server banks that had once housed the colony’s literature collection. Squinting hard, I think I can make out some shelves inside the library’s ruin—looks like the Kerenza colony actually had some real, honest-to-God books in there along with the digital files. The block around him is mostly snowcapped rubble, twisted girders rising from the white blanket like broken fingers.

  The words We Remember are spray-painted on one broken wall.

  Something catches Lindstrom’s eye, and he stoops to drag aside a piece of fallen masonry that must weigh at least 300kgs. Underneath are the charred remnants of a kid’s book, torn and soaked through and frozen solid. He pries it loose from the ice beneath the rubble, turns it over to look at the front cover. Beneath the scorch and rime of ice and dirt, you can just make out the title.

  Where the Wild Things Are, by Maurice Sendak.

  “No ****ing way,” he mutters.

  “You have to be a member before they let you take books out.”

  The voice comes from behind him. The kid turns to the shadows and sees her, hands in pockets, bundled up inside six layers of heavy insulation against the chill. The green cross on her sleeve identifies her as medical personnel, the logo of the hospital on her chest. Not even her eyes are visible beneath her goggles and the trim of faux fur around her hood. But Asha Grant’s voice is unmistakable.

  “Can you believe this?” Lindstrom asks, holding up the frozen pages.

  “Believe what?”

  “This was my favorite book when I was a kid.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Her reply is as cold as the snow around them. “We’re a little old for kids’ books, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” The kid’s momentary excitement bleeds out of his voice. He tosses the frozen book back down into the snow. “Just…struck me as weird, is all.”

  “Yeah,” Grant replies. “There’s a lot of that going around lately.”

  They stare, awkward silence ringing in the howling wind. It’s been three years since they’ve seen each other, though between the ATLAS and her cold-weather gear, it’s not like they can see much of each other now. They call that a metaphor, chum.

  The slow buzzing of a sentry drone skips overhead. It’s too far away to spot them, but Lindstrom huddles farther under the awning, Grant doing the same on reflex.

  “Are you sure you should be sneaking around out here? It’s after curfew.”

  “I’m a big girl, Rhys.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “The drones work in a grid across the city,” she explains. “We’ve figured them out by now. If a random patrol stops me, I’ll make out like I’m sneaking out to hook up with someone at the barracks. A few minutes of innuendo and I’ll be on my way.”

  “…Girls really do that around here? I mean, they sl—”

  “You’d be surprised what starving people will give up for a couple of B-ration packs.”

  Silence again. That howling wind.

  “You look good,” he finally says.

  “You can’t even see me under all this.”

  “Before, I mean.” He shrugs. “At the hospital. I mean you look kinda thin, but…it’s really good to see you, Ash.”

  “Nice uniform.” She nods to his armor. “The red suits you.”

  The kid looks down at his ATLAS, its color matching the snow around them.

  “It’s white.”

  The girl simply tilts her head.

  “…Oh,” he says.

  Howling wind and awkward silence.

  “Ash, I really was on the Magellan this whole time, I didn’t know—”

  “You didn’t know what, Rhys?” she says softly, slowly walking closer. “Huh?”

  “I didn’t know—”

  “You didn’t know they were torturing us, is that it? Locking us in cages to keep the rest of us working? Brutalizing us until the thought of ****ing a murderer becomes preferable to one more night of sleeping on an empty stomach?”

  Her voice is rising now, anger creeping in past the chill as she stalks closer.

  “You didn’t know they were treating us like animals, maybe? Slaughtering us like sheep? That from a population of eighteen thousand, they’ve culled us to about three? You didn’t know?”

  “No,” Lindstrom says, anger creeping into his voice to match hers. “Like I’ve said three times now, I’ve been working on Magellan since we arrived. I’m a grunt, they don’t tell me ****. It’s not like they’re running a news service for us up in orbit. I had no idea what the hell was going on down here until I saw it.”

  “Well, welcome to sunny Kerenza IV!” Grant flings her arms out, gesturing to the wasteland around them as she adopts a mocking tour guide tone. “To your left, you can see the gutted ruin of our spaceport, where two hundred people died when your invasion dropped a missile on them in the first few minutes of the attack. Lucky them, really. Around us, you’ll find the shiny ruins of our
community complex, which, incidentally, included a day care center for the kids of the local council workers—whoops, bombed that one to hell, too.”

  “Ash…”

  “A little ways behind me, you’ll see the apartment building where I last saw my cousin, who’s probably ****ing dead now, and the research center, which was the last place I saw my aunt alive and where I used to work before my completely unqualified *** became a nurse to fill the holes you ****s blew in our hospital staff.”

  “Ash…”

  “Aaaaand let’s not forget the crown jewel: just two klicks out of town you’ll find the scenic mass graves of everyone your people have murdered since they showed up in orbit seven months ago. But don’t lose a wink of sleep about it, Mr. Lindstrom, because YOU. DIDN’T. KNOW.”

  She’s in his face now. Ragged breath billowing in white plumes from her balaclava. His voice is soft, distorted by the vox unit in his ATLAS helmet.

  “What do you want me to say, Ash?”

  She pulls down her goggles, the wool covering her face. Just so he can see her. Light brown skin, narrowed green eyes full of rage and hurt, bee-stung lips pressed so tight together her jaw is trembling. He pops the seals on his helmet, drags it off over his head. I can’t see his face, but I can hear it in his voice. Helplessness. Horror. Sorrow.

  “It wasn’t me,” he says. “I didn’t do those things. I’d never do those things. Jesus, you know me, Ash.”

  She looks him up and down, her eyes reflecting white snow. “I thought I did.”

  “I didn’t sign up for this,” he says. “I’m just a ****ing tech. Your parents send you to military school, you end up a soldier. That’s the way it goes.”

  “And how’s that working out for you?”

  “What do you want me to say?” he hisses again. “You think I wanted this? I didn’t want to get sent away. I wanted to stay with you! I wrote to you for a whole year before I figured out you weren’t going to write me back—”