“Orders?” Bilal asks.
“Take aim when you’re ready. Roathy? Isadora?”
“Cannons are ready,” Isadora answers.
“Fire!”
Our ship rocks with the concussion. Laser particles whip into the air, crackle with heat, and break apart the incoming birds. One sweeps lower to avoid the shots, but the other dodges right into a second blast. We see the wide wings tangle, and it splashes into the river. Bilal gets a second shot off, but the remaining bird slashes away and past us.
“Keep an eye on it,” I call. “Keep firing if you have it in sight.”
“The next stretch is pretty straight,” Jazzy pipes back. “Can’t see around the bend yet.”
“Longwei, how you doing?”
“Let’s increase the speed,” he answers. “Add to it and we can hit this straightaway hard.”
I glance over at Genesis 12; we’re a few lengths behind them, but nothing we can’t change. I reach through the link and find Longwei. Together we pump the engines and our speed jumps. Defoe and Requin are moving overhead, watching our progress from a distant checkpoint. They look pleased, but it’s hard to tell as we pick up speed and the rapids splash brightly against the sides of the ship. Within seconds we’re passing Genesis 12.
Behind, a pair of laser cannons fire. “Bird’s back,” Roathy grunts. Another round of shots pulse into the air. “It’s coming around your way, Bilal.”
“Can you make a net?” I ask, struggling to concentrate. Even forming words causes my focus on the nyxian links to slip. “Wait for it to get close?”
Bilal replies with an affirmative. I watch him reshape the nyxia as we approach the first turn in the river. “Can you scan around the corner, Jazzy?” Katsu asks.
He and Jaime are focused. Not a word the whole time, except through the sensitive nyxian link they’re sharing. Jazzy tries to direct her pulse scan that way, but it dissipates before it can reach that far. “We’re going in blind,” she says. “Forty more meters.”
We’re all bracing tight when the bird comes diving out of the sky. It’s right on top of Bilal as he pulls the trigger and a nyxian net springs out beautifully. The metallic-looking bird croaks in surprise as the sprung rope collapses and tightens. A second later it plunges into the river. There’s a whoop from the crew.
“Nice shot, Bilal,” I say. “Longwei, do you want me to pull back a bit?”
“No,” he grunts. “Look how far ahead we are.”
I glance back. He’s right. We’re about thirty meters in the lead and distancing ourselves every second. Genesis 12 is still battling their birds. We can actually win this, I think. But the thought vanishes as we round the corner. Jazzy calls out the danger, and every crew member turns to look. A wall of rocks stretches across the entire Waterway. On the other side of it the river continues its winding course, but I see no way through.
“Kill the engines, Longwei!” He does it, but we’ve still got too much speed. “Katsu and Jaime, can you skid us to a stop?”
“We can try. Everyone hold on,” Katsu says. “Jaime, cut right on three.”
Everyone gets a good grip on their console. I realize I’ve been gripping the arms of my chair tightly the whole time. I hear a dull scraping sound as our engines cut. Both Katsu and Jaime yank on their consoles at the same time. The ship wheels too fast, though, leaning over to Katsu’s side like it’s going to flip us.
“Jaime, hit your suction!”
The turn has us slowing down, but I can feel the ship lurching in its progress, wanting to capsize. Jaime taps his console just in time. There’s a whooshing suction and the boat evens out as his side tries to pull us to the closest metal ramparts.
When we rock back to a normal position, I say, “All right, release it.” He does. The rest of the crew is breathing heavily, panic in their eyes. “Jazzy, what are you seeing?”
She leans to one side and shows us. “It’s straight across, no openings. Maybe we can climb over it with the suctions?”
Standing, I take a look at the stretch of rocks, thinking it might just work. Azima squashes the idea, though. “It’s too uneven. We’ll tear the ship apart.”
Jaime nods in agreement. “I don’t think it can be crossed that way.”
“Then what?” I ask.
We’re all looking helpless when Genesis 12 comes pumping around the corner. They’ve dealt with their birds. I wait for them to see the rock wall, to cut their engines, and stop like us. Instead, they hold their steady pace and head straight for it. We all watch and listen as Morning commands them.
“Hold! Not yet!” They’re twenty meters from the rock face when she shouts, “Now!”
Genesis 12 nose-dives. We watch nyxia spread up from every console like armor. The eight stations form a sleek black dome that seals the entire ship. At the same time, the boat submarines down beneath the water’s surface, beneath the rocks, and out of sight.
Just like that, they’re gone.
“Holy…,” Katsu whispers through the comm. “How do we do that?”
Jazzy scrambles through her console, but before she can find the button, the scraping noise sounds again. “What is that?” I ask. “Are we beached?”
The answer comes splashing over the side of the ship. Jazzy screams as the first bird lands on the floorboard with a thunk. Its eyes are boiled red and its body looks half metal, half nightmare. It snaps at Azima with a sword-sharp beak. She ducks a shoulder but can’t dodge the sweep of the bird’s outstretched wing. The blow knocks her hard against the railing. She slumps down, but before it can snap her in two, the light of a pulse cannon colors it white. The cannon shot nails the bird in the chest, taking it writhing overboard.
Roathy nods at us. “I think I got it that time.”
We’re all breathing heavily as we return our attention to the course. Jazzy finds a screen she didn’t see before, and the nyxia submarines over us. Carefully, Jaime and Katsu navigate through the underwater cave and pop us out the other side. We’re too far behind, though. Genesis 12 is a distant speck rounding a distant corner. We should be proud, but when we cross the finish line it’s as the second-place team. There’s no pride without points. The scores have changed even before we arrive. I want to say something positive, to act like a captain, but as we dock, nothing heroic comes to mind. Anton doesn’t even need to taunt us. Their celebrations are mocking enough. We head back to our rooms, trying to ignore their victory and our failure.
DAY 2, 8:15 A.M.
Aboard the Tower Space Station
The next morning I’m the first one out in the common area. It feels like the captain thing to do. Wake up first. Think about how to change the game and beat the odds. I know I have just twenty-nine days to prove I’m worthy of going to Eden. Even the air I’m breathing has a taste of finality to it. This is the end of all my hard work. If I win, it’s the beginning of something more.
I take a seat in front of the window that faces Eden. It hangs in the dark of space like a quiet promise. The sight of the foreign planet makes me think of an old song by the Alabama Shakes. I scroll through my player until I find it. It starts with light echoes of sound before the instruments raise up and Brittany Howard’s voice blasts every note with color.
I remember the music video for it too. A black astronaut wakes up in space and realizes he’s slept his way through the universe and deep into the empty nothing. He sits in the command chair trying to contact home, but there’s only his voice, only the realization that everyone else is gone. Until some foreign sun strokes the horizon. You don’t find out what happens to him, but there’s a strange hope in that golden light.
Someone taps my shoulder just as I throw the song back to the beginning.
It’s a surprise to see Morning. She’s fully suited up, minus the nyxian language converter. Without her mask she looks like a completely different person. The intensity of her eyes is thrown off by the soft shape of her chin, the casual smile on her lips. She points to the empty seat next t
o me and I nod her into it. A quick glance shows that the room’s full of empty chairs she could have chosen. The idea that she wants to sit with me has me curious. I tug out an earbud as she folds her legs up beside me, her eyes taking in distant Eden.
“I can’t believe we’re this close,” she says.
“Some of us are closer than others.”
She nods at that. Her place on Eden is guaranteed. Her captainship too. It should have her relaxed and coasting through the last thirty days, but I get the sense she’s got other goals in mind. There’s something larger riding her shoulders, some burden I can’t quite grasp. My goals are far simpler: make the final cut and get the hell home.
“You American?” she asks.
My mask sits on the nearest table. I realize this is the first time in a while I’ve had a conversation without it. “I’m from Detroit. You?”
“San Jose,” she replies. “We moved all over, though.”
I nod before giving her name tag a side-eye.
“Morning. Never heard that name before.”
She glances back at Eden. “Mi abuelita chose it. She said I was like a brand-new day.”
It’s such a pretty line that I don’t know what to say back. Quiet carries the next thirty seconds. The Shakes are still trembling through my earbuds, loud enough for Morning to notice. She nods over. “Can I listen?”
She leans a little closer as I hand her the stray earbud and spin the song back to the beginning. Thirty seconds ago the track was about space and loneliness and other worlds. But as we work our way through the smashing lyrics, each new line sounds like it’s describing the distance between the two of us. On the scoreboard we’re a few galaxies apart. But here and now our shoulders are pressed together and our heads are nodding in rhythm. It’s the kind of moment you share at a high school lunch table, not looking down at a foreign planet.
I’m glad she doesn’t tell me how perfect a song it is. She doesn’t ask who sings it either. She does the opposite of what most people do: she just listens. I can feel my heart slamming around my chest as the song finishes. I fumble for something to say, but she gets there first.
“That’s an old song. I didn’t hear morphing in any of the lyrics.”
“Nah,” I say. “I don’t have any of that new-age stuff.”
“In love with the classics?”
I smile over at her. “I’m actually a fifty-three-year-old man. I just look young.”
For the first time, she grins. It’s not the smile she’s been wearing since she walked in the room. Seeing the new look is like finding a secret bonus level. I can’t help grinning back.
“Fifty-three?” she asks. “What’s your secret?”
“Lemon juice.” About five years ago, I remember Moms actually trying to use lemon juice on some age spots. Pops dogged her about it for weeks. “That’s all I packed, actually. No clothes, no books, nothing. Just a bunch of lemons. Trying to stay young, you know?”
She laughs at that. “So you’re good-looking and funny? Let me guess: they handed out senior superlatives on the ship and you were voted Mr. Congeniality of Genesis 11?”
I hitch on the idea that I’m good-looking. She speaks the words like they’re simple, straightforward facts. Like it’s something I’m well aware of. My brain scrambles for an answer, but I get caught up on thoughts of Kaya. In two minutes Morning’s assumed the same comfort with me that Kaya did in the beginning. The only difference is that Kaya made me feel calm and Morning makes me feel chaos. My right hand’s shaking so much that I have to keep it pinned out of sight.
“No chance of winning Mr. Congeniality,” I finally say. “Bilal swept that award, I think. Kid’s so nice he snagged all our votes. Honestly, it’s the only thing our crew can ever agree on. How about you? Most Likely to Be a Future President?”
She blushes and shakes her head. “They follow me because they trust me. From what I saw yesterday, I’m pretty sure that’s true of you too. That’s why I wanted to talk. I just—I don’t know—you impressed me yesterday. Protecting your crew like that. You care about them a lot.”
“Not really,” I say, which makes her laugh. “But Kaya cared about them. She always cared about everyone. After she died, I couldn’t just treat them like enemies. It felt wrong to act like who she was didn’t change me, you know?”
She looks at me like she doesn’t know. I remember that Genesis 12 has no idea what happened to Kaya. In their minds, Kaya’s death is nothing more than a mysterious asterisk. Morning’s smile fades as she considers the expression on my face.
“What happened to her?”
“It was an accident. A bad one.”
She’s quiet for a while before saying, “The two of you were close.”
“Might as well have been my sister.”
Morning reaches over and sets her hand on mine. I let my eyes fall to the floor. She gives a little squeeze, and for a second I imagine a world where we’re not about to spend twenty-nine days fighting each other tooth and nail for every point.
A little smile parts my lips. “Damn. Why’s your hand so cold?”
She shoots me the most scandalized look ever and tries to pull away, but I’m quick enough to snatch her hand back out of the air. It’s thin and callused and dark-knuckled. I take it between both my hands and rub warmth back through each joint. There’s a long moment where we both just watch the way my hands move over hers. Our eyes meet and…
…the door opens, and we about hit the roof.
My other bud rips from her ear and we both retreat a few steps, like we’re putting distance between ourselves and a crime scene. Defoe’s gliding through the doorway, fingers whipping across the surface of a data pad. He takes in our awkward postures and smiles.
“Making friends?” Our silence has him laughing. “Pardon my intrusion.”
He taps a sequence and wake-up alarms thunder out. Assistants follow him through the entry as the other contestants rise. Morning puts a little more distance between us before standing there with her arms crossed defiantly. I try to think of something to say, but her Genesis 12 crewmates come pouring out of the lower rooms, and it’s like I’ve vanished. I move to the opposite end of the room and wait for my own teammates to come. The moment’s gone, slipped through my fingers. I stand there for a while, trying to catch Morning’s eye, but her nyxian mask is back on and she’s wearing that hard, stony demeanor with it now too.
She’s doing what I should be doing. She’s putting on the necessary armor and preparing for war. But as Genesis 11 files down to join us, and even as we head to the Waterway, I can’t shake the thought of her hand in mine.
DAY 4, 11:57 A.M.
Aboard the Tower Space Station
For more than forty-eight hours now, my world has been reduced to two things: Morning and losing. We haven’t shared any private moments. No listening to songs together. But we’ve made a sport out of locking eyes, out of looking away. It’s all made me feel guilty, because my team keeps losing to hers.
Genesis 12 stays one or two steps ahead of us in every competition. The gap doesn’t feel that big. We perform well, but we are always a mistake away from winning every challenge. We fight off birds and shock-eels. We navigate tricky currents and submerge into pitch-black caves. Always, though, Morning is mastering some new aspect of the game. Like Kaya she figures it out and then teaches it to us through defeat. I have never missed my friend more, never needed her at my side as much as I do now.
We don’t make a habit of socializing with the enemy, but the handful of conversations that do happen are very educational. Their crew has one clear similarity to ours: Babel plucked all of them out of poverty. It’s obvious that each contestant has their own desperate reasons for wanting to make it to Eden. It doesn’t matter if they’re from Colombia or India. The story reads the same. Winning will change everything for them back home.
And even though they always win, Genesis 12 keeps working hard. They take meals together, discuss strategies, and train
during free hours. When I suggest the same for us, the practice sessions go miserably. Roathy and Isadora are a plague. Katsu and Jaime aren’t taking any of it seriously. We lost these fights months ago, I realize, in the dark rivalries that Defoe forged between us.
But not all is lost.
As we watch the members of Genesis 12 climb the scoreboard, Babel gives us a chance to stand on our own. An event that depends on no one but ourselves. The day begins and ends with the Waterway challenges, but in between we fight. All the toys from the pit are set out on the docks. Megascreens descend from the Waterway’s walls, and we watch one another die as pixelated giants. The water challenges are a distant glimpse of Genesis 12. In the duels, we get to know them in an up-close-and-personal kind of way.
Holly, the redheaded girl from Ireland, has a nightmare of a right hook. Her footwork’s even a little better than mine. Their Egyptian giant, Omar, crushes Katsu on the first day using a mace I’m not even sure I could lift. Then there’s Anton. He fights with knives, dirty and quick, and he’s as dangerous with his right as he is with his left. He loses to Azima the first day, but dices Jaime up like a stuffed pig the next.
Luckily, not all of them can fight. Parvin and Noor were clearly relying on the same kind of strategy Kaya used in the pit. They’re accustomed to bleeding someone, avoiding them, and hiding out. But our fights take place on the rocking docks of the nyxian ships. There’s nowhere to run unless you want to fight underwater.
Alex, the tall, curly-headed Colombian, isn’t bad. Like Bilal, his reach and length help, but he’s not disciplined enough to beat the better duelers. On the first day, I stood across from their other big boy, Brett. I was worried until I saw him move. Lumbering and sloppy. I slid past a half-assed lunge and hit him with a deadly shot across the chin.
My other pursuer, Loche, loses both of his first matches. He curses every time he loses, and even Babel’s translators have trouble forcing some of the Australian phrases into something I can fully understand. I wouldn’t have to worry about either Loche or Brett, but Morning’s stubborn streak of victories might not stop. Already Alex has pulled ahead of me. Which is why the duels are even more important. I have to stay ahead of Roathy if I want a chance of going to Eden.
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