Nyxia

by Scott Reintgen

  When Kaya’s ready, we take our normal route. Same checkpoints and cameras and secret panels. I’m pretty sure at this point either of us could do it blindfolded. If Babel’s watching, they haven’t said anything about our nighttime fun. Maybe they don’t care if we do a little exploring, so long as we don’t get into any real trouble. Or they know what Kaya can’t accept: we’ve reached the limits of our exploration.

  As we walk, I catch her up on the day’s news. She hasn’t heard about the Babel Files yet, and she’s apparently known about Azima’s interest in Bilal for a while. I’m always surprised to find out that she spends time with the other competitors, but I guess it makes sense. When I run out of news, she shares a new strategy she’s developed for the Rabbit Room. I laugh because it’s the kind of brilliant plan only Kaya could devise.

  We wait in the antechamber and then enter the no-grav zone. Kaya doesn’t play around on the walls anymore or throw jelly beans. The fun version of Kaya has slowly been replaced by the obsessed version. Her fascination with Babel has made her all business. I keep catching myself hoping we’ll get through the door and have an answer and finally be able to move on. Kaya pretends it’s this great adventure, but secretly I think she just wants an answer to the riddle of the door. She pushes herself directly up to the second air lock and latches her feet on the exposed frame. All I can do at this point is follow.

  “Notice anything about my necklace?” she asks.

  Throughout the competition, Babel’s given us more and more nyxia to use. I keep three bands on one wrist and a ring on the opposite hand. Kaya’s the only one who keeps hers in the form of a necklace. Little nyxian charms dangle beneath her collarbone, shaped like stars and hearts and wings. I glance at it and give a nod. “Your sunflower’s missing.”

  “Well done,” she says. “I needed it to manipulate this.” Reaching into a pocket, she removes a perfect black cylinder. “Took me a few weeks to get it right. Give it a try.”

  I take the cylinder from her and line it up with the door slot. It’s a perfect fit. Kaya gestures for me to press it fully forward, and I push in until it draws flush with the rest of the door. We both hear a little click. Clockwork mechanisms grind to life. My eyes go wide as the door slides open.

  “You’re a genius,” I say, stunned. “A genius, Kaya.”

  We float into an antechamber, and the gravity falls thick over our shoulders. We each drop to a knee, and it takes us a few seconds to stand. The next door has a handle.

  “Should we keep going?” I ask.

  “Of course we keep going. I’ve been imagining what’s back here for months.”

  Together, we cross the threshold into a new, brightly lit corridor. It looks like every other one, but our careful progress reveals no cameras. The hallway runs twenty meters, then hairpins. A slow descent. We walk twenty more meters, then hairpin again. There are no stairwells, no scuffed floors, nothing.

  “They didn’t use nyxia in these hallways,” Kaya remarks.

  I nod, though I hadn’t noticed. The walls are some kind of nanoplastic lined with the occasional metal support. Something about the layout puts me on edge. I’m about to tell Kaya we should go back when a door appears around the next turn. Like the walls, it has no nyxia woven into its frame. There is a scanner, though. We come to a stop before it. I don’t swipe it open.

  “Finally,” Kaya whispers excitedly. “We finally get to see what’s back here.”

  I try to look excited, but something’s off. This door is different from the others.

  We stand there awkwardly until Kaya glances over. “Well, go ahead.”

  “I don’t know if we should,” I say. “I don’t have a good feeling about it.”

  Kaya looks at me like I’m crazy. “Emmett, we’ve spent weeks—no, months—trying to get in here. If we stopped now, it’d be like reading to the end of the book and not finishing.”

  “Doesn’t feel right.”

  “But we’re literally right here. We can’t stop now.”

  I swallow and nod. “Your call.”

  The card scans and the door releases.

  The brightness inside forces us to squint. I blink twice before picking out shapes, vague and ethereal. My eyes adjust slowly. Jointed mechanical arms extend from the high ceilings. Five, ten, twenty at least. They hang ominously throughout the room, ending in sharp drills and glinting saw blades. Staggered along the walls are plasma screens. I can’t decipher the diagrams or numbers flashing green across their surfaces. Blue light pumps through everything like blood. It borders the white floor panels and circles the joints of mechanical tools.

  Kaya takes the first step inside. On cue, the tiled floor snaps from white to black. It looks like a shadow has fallen, like some towering monster looms above us now. The lights lose their reflection, and in the fading glow we see what the room is for.

  A man. Three straps run crosswise, suspending him tightly to the far wall. His face is half hooded, down to the upward curve of his lips. A pair of snaking white cords feed into the corners of his mouth. Matching white cables disappear into his bare chest, his arms, his abdomen. Just below his throat is an open wound. The edges of it are smoking and rotten. It almost looks like something was lodged there and someone ripped it out.

  Kaya and I are drawn into the room the same way neighbors are drawn to a burning house. Babel forgot to put up police tape; we can go as close to the fire as we want to. There is no noise except for the slow, steady pulse of a monitor. The beats are so spaced out that I find myself waiting and waiting for the next one to sound.

  “He’s alive,” I whisper. But who is he? And why does Babel have him here, like a captive?

  “Look at the scars,” Kaya says, soft and sad.

  His skin looks like faded clay. It must have once been a rich and beautiful color. Along his arms, I notice the burns. Skin has bubbled up in some places and been stripped away in others. His entire left shoulder is colored with faint bruises. It doesn’t need to be said, but Kaya says it anyway.

  “They’ve been torturing him.”

  We come to a stop. Not quite close enough to reach out and touch him. My eyes trace downward. They left undergarments, and a strange, stony armor over his kneecaps. I point to them.

  “What are those?” I ask.

  Kaya kneels, making a thoughtful noise. “I’ve seen crosses like that.”

  “Crosses?”

  She holds out both arms. “Crosses.”

  And she’s right. A central stone has been molded to each kneecap. From it, jagged arms reach up and out and down. I squint to get a closer look. The metal looks grafted into the skin, almost like scales. I circle around to the side and hear Kaya suck in a breath.

  “Be careful,” she whispers.

  “I am.”

  At an angle, I get my first impression of how big the man is. Not tall, but compact and muscular. He’s thicker from front to back than most tree trunks. I doubt I could get my arms fully around him. His shoulders are unnaturally broad too. On his elbows I spot stones that match the ones on his knees. They mesh perfectly with his skin. For the first time, I realize he’s not human at all. This is an Adamite. Here, on the ship.

  “Kaya, it’s one of them.”

  “An Adamite,” she confirms. “How could they do this to him?”

  The monitor beeps, startling us both. We each catch the other’s look of panic. There’s a moment of embarrassed smiles. But a movement wipes them from our faces.

  Though a strap stretches below his chest and across his biceps, the captive’s hand begins to rise. The monitor ticks into the silence. The hand climbs like a ghostly drawbridge. I’m close enough to notice everything: how the veins thicken, how the frail hand tightens into a powerful fist, how the man’s lips part ever so slightly. I stand in horror before him, unable to move, unable to speak.

  The charms along Kaya’s neck tremble with movement. They rise impossibly into the air, turning on their clasps like little planets. Kaya’s staring down a
nd my jaw drops. We watch the invisible hands slide the nyxia up, millimeter by millimeter. We’re both terrified, but Kaya’s instincts finally kick in. She slaps a hand over the charms and pulls the necklace back to her chest.

  A thunderclap breaks the silence.

  Kaya drops with it and lets out a strangled, high-pitched cry. I feel a presence snake into the air, and I’m forced back as something big and powerful tears across the distance separating us. It is wind and rain and chaos. I fight forward as Kaya starts to scream.

  Voices sound in a distant world. The man strapped to the wall tightens his fist, and Kaya’s eyes go wide. The necklace tightens, digging into flesh. I’m there, scrambling to help, but my hands can’t get between the nyxia and her neck. There’s a click as one of the charms snaps off. It claws into the air, and the captive manipulates it into smoke, gathering the substance around a fist. I’m shouting now: for help, for anyone. Kaya’s eyes are bloodshot, her face terrified. Her hands fight and claw, but neither of us can pull the necklace free as it tightens, tightens, tightens.

  I’m already crying, but I scream when the nyxia’s drawn upward. Kaya’s body is pulled into the air until her toes are barely touching the floor. I try to pull her body back down, but I’m not strong enough. The force is too powerful. Kaya’s stopped clawing at her neck. One hand falls limp to her side. Then the other. I hear a rattling noise, and I shout at the top of my lungs as the lights of the room flash twice. The man on the wall spits a curse through gritted teeth.

  Then Defoe is between us.

  His charcoal suit ripples. One second it’s fabric, the next black plate mail. He clamps both hands over the man’s fist. Shadows slash out in every direction. Defoe grunts, then rams his nyxia-enforced shoulder into the captive’s stomach. Pinned and blind, the man can’t brace for the blow. Defoe rams the shoulder again, and air gushes out through the man’s thick lips. With a jerk, Defoe rips the nyxia away from the captive. Another quick manipulation melds it into his armor. He sets his feet and delivers three more blows: gut, gut, and groin.

  Kaya collapses to the floor. I get my fingers between her and the necklace and rip it away. Dark red lines are dug there like trenches. Defoe wheels around, nyxia shivering back into his suit as he ducks and lifts Kaya by an arm. I put my weight on her other side and we drag her out of the room. Darkness fills the edges of my vision.

  This isn’t real; this can’t be happening.

  “She’s not breathing!” I shout. “She’s not breathing.”

  She’s not moving either.

  “God, she’s not breathing.”

  Defoe gets the door closed and he lays her down. Footsteps sound overhead. Kaya stares, eyes red, at the ceiling. Vandemeer and the other attendants turn the corner. Hope tears through me. They can save her. They have to save her. I stumble back as they slide in around her body. Vandemeer starts CPR. Someone preps a crash cart. They let electricity course through her. Vandemeer breathes into her lips. His hands pump over her chest. I wait for the movie ending. The gasping breath. The eyes snapping open and blinking. A promise that it’s not over.

  It doesn’t come. Vandemeer backs away. His face looks shattered.

  “Time of death, 9:02.”

  As they escort me away, I get one final look at Kaya. She looks like a fallen petal, snapped too soon. No one closes her eyes, so she keeps staring out at the world she’s left behind. I remember the second book we read together. A bridge to imaginary lands. I remember new worlds meant to be explored together, but I also remember the lonely astronaut and his dead friend. His empty heart and her haunting absence. I don’t need to pretend I understand the boy in the book. Not anymore.

  DAY 100, 10:15 P.M.

  Aboard Genesis 11

  “You’re certain?” Vandemeer asks me again.

  I nod. “It was an Adamite.”

  “Aboard the damn ship,” he says softly. His eyes flicker down to his watch. He’s always weighing his words carefully, because Babel is always listening. For the first time, I realize they’re watching him as much as they’re watching me. “This is the first I’ve heard about it.”

  “They had him tied up. They were torturing him. That’s why the Adamite killed her. He thought she was one of them. So he killed her, trying to escape.”

  Vandemeer looks uncomfortable. “Why were you down there, Emmett?”

  I have no answer. To say it was Kaya’s fault feels like a betrayal. She’s the one who kept digging. She wanted to keep going. But if I had never stolen the card, she’d still be alive.

  Is that what he wants to hear? Guilt buries me deeper and deeper with each passing second. Not knowing how to speak any comfort, Vandemeer busies himself with my hand wraps for the thousandth time. I have hundreds of tiny cuts from trying to rip the nyxia necklace off. The real injuries are beneath the surface, though. I will never forget the red circle dug across her thin neck. I will never forget those dark, playful eyes shot with red. I will never forgive myself.

  Sleep’s impossible. Vandemeer hooks me up to machines, forcing my hand. I wake screaming from nightmares every hour. Drugged and ragged, I’m not ready for Defoe’s visit when it comes. I have no idea what day it is, how much of the competition I’ve missed. I can barely tell if I’m really still alive. He appears at the foot of my hospital bed, and light shivers across his suit.

  “Emmett,” he begins. “I’ve come to discuss your punishment.”

  The thought almost makes me laugh. There’s nothing he can do to punish me. Whatever he takes won’t be enough. Does he even know who Kaya was to me? Does he understand the kind of person we lost? He can’t punish me and he can’t forgive me. No one can.

  “Rod and reproof,” Defoe continues. “Erone has delivered the rod of discipline. The rod answers for past mistakes; the reproof instructs future action. Together they bring wisdom. I hope Kaya’s death has taught you the meaning of our rules, the purpose behind our boundaries.”

  Anger burns through me. I’m to blame, but Babel’s hands aren’t clean on this one.

  “You were torturing him,” I say. “That’s why he attacked us.”

  “We were performing tests,” Defoe says. “As the Adamites have done on our people.”

  “He killed Kaya because he thought she was one of you.”

  Defoe stares at me. His face gives away nothing.

  “So it’s our fault that you ignored the rules? Is that really what you think?”

  Tears streak hot down my face. No, it’s not what I think. I know the part I played in all of this. Defoe spins his data pad and shows me the boldly lit scoreboard. My score’s taken a massive hit.

  “We’ve subtracted thirty thousand points. Ten for stealing from your medical attendant. Ten for disobeying space protocols. Ten for endangering the lives of everyone on this ship.”

  “You think I care about my score? You really think I care about that?”

  Defoe straightens his already straight tie. “So this is how you’ll respond? Kaya died and now you’ll quit? I would have thought her life was worth more to you than that. For the record, the Adamite has been removed from the ship. You will not mention his presence to anyone else. You will not break our rules again. And if I know you at all, you will not insult Kaya’s memory by quitting. She would have expected more.”

  He sweeps from the room. I lean back in my bed, hyperventilating. For the thousandth time, the image of Kaya breaks me in two. I hate that Defoe’s right. I hate that he’s the one who had to remind me of who she was and what she’d want. I know I’ll fight for her. I know I’ll keep going, even if I don’t deserve to be here when she’s not.

  Defoe thinks he knows me. He knows I won’t forgive myself for this, but he doesn’t realize that I won’t forgive Babel either. Beneath their song and dance, Babel’s just as dark and dangerous as we always imagined they were. Their treatment of Kaya’s death. The tortured Adamite. All of it.

  They’re willing to do whatever it takes to get what they want. My heart rate soar
s just thinking about it. I thought we might have control. That if we played hardball, we could dictate terms to Babel because we’re their meal ticket on Eden. But that’s not true. Without them, we’re stuck off-planet. Billions of kilometers away from home and without a single speck of control over what happens to us.

  The truth is stunningly simple. We’re slaves. Babel has the food, the money, the spaceship. Babel will dictate which of us travel down to Eden. If we’re good little boys and girls, maybe we’ll get to go home. Kaya’s death has made the truth clear. I know there’s only one thing I can do, for her and for myself and for my family.

  If Babel’s going to keep us in chains, I’ll go where they can’t follow.

  I’ll go to Eden.

  DAY 101, 8:01 A.M.

  Aboard Genesis 11

  Babel’s efficiency knows no bounds. The next morning, Kaya’s name has been struck out on every scoreboard. The others discuss it as I sit down for breakfast. They think she quit. I can’t make myself say it. They deserve to hear it from someone other than Babel, but I’m too ashamed to even look them in the eye. I fill up a plate of food to kill time, but I don’t eat a thing.

  Defoe arrives. His black suit could be an attempt at mourning, but his eyes and his voice aren’t sad as they deliver the news. To him, Kaya was just a potential employee. I hate him for it.

  “Last night, Kaya was killed in an accident.”

  The truth strikes like lightning. The others stare. My mouth begs to explain, to say that this was Babel’s fault, but Defoe silences me with a look. He allows time for the others to react. This will be a lesson. No one is safe. Anyone can fall, even the smartest one in the group. I hear the others whisper, and I hate myself for saying nothing. This isn’t right.

  “Only nine remain.”

  He allows this to sink in as well. I want to hate him for it, but I thought the same thing when I woke up this morning. One less person to take my spot. I couldn’t shower away the guilt of thinking something like that, not with all the hot water on Genesis 11.