Nyxia

by Scott Reintgen

  The worst part is Bilal. It’s not hard to do the math. Each fight he misses is costing him. Slowly I’m moving up the scoreboard as he goes through physical therapy and gets fitted for a walking boot that will help him return to action. At this rate, one of us isn’t going to make it to Eden.

  Today I fight Morning. Her first two fights took a combined ten seconds. I pluck up my boxing gloves and cross the gangplank. She’s already waiting there, dueling hatchets in hand. When she sees I’m her opponent, she reaches up and clicks her nyxian mask off. She sets it aside and gestures for me to do the same.

  Since that one early morning, we haven’t talked. Morning’s been too busy training her team toward perfection. But the second her mask comes off, there’s a smile on her face. It’s the kind of smile you get when you’re picking up a date, not when you’re about to get surgical treatment from a pair of hatchets.

  “I like you,” she says quietly. “I like your music. I like your jokes. None of this is personal, but as long as you’re standing there and I’m standing here, you’re not gonna win.”

  “And I was hoping you’d cut me some slack.”

  “Never,” she says. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind walking around Eden with someone like you, but you’re gonna have to earn your own way. Fathom?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “That’s my word.”

  “Take it back,” she replies, giving me that secret-level grin. “If you can.”

  We both put our masks back on. I watch her, arms up in a defensive stance. I trace the movements of her muscles, the shuffle of her feet. I know she will strike, and that when she strikes, it will come faster than I imagine, in a place I could not have guessed. Her eyes give nothing away because she doesn’t glance where she wants to attack, a mistake too many of the others make. Her eyes are locked on mine.

  She feints wide, switches her stance, feints inside, and then ducks forward. The twist her body gives to avoid my swing would be poetry if the final couplet weren’t her hatchet in my neck. She spins before my second swing can come across and plants the second one in my stomach. Above, my avatar collapses. Damn, she’s fast.

  “Four seconds,” she whispers.

  As she slides past, she bumps my shoulder playfully. I trudge across the gangplank to join the others and try to keep my cool. I watch the next few matches without much interest. Isadora bests Brett, Jazzy loses a lopsided duel against Omar, and Bilal’s avatar forfeits to Anton. It’s not until the final match that I feel my attention drawn back to the boats. Loche, the Australian boy with the pretty hair, stands across from Longwei. Before they can fight, Morning runs down and crosses the gangplank. She whispers something into Loche’s ear and runs back across. The Aussie gives a tight smile and advances.

  All of us lean over the railing to watch, like a whisper from Morning will result in some kind of miracle. But Loche looks more uncoordinated than ever. He dodges a sweeping stroke from Longwei’s sword, barely parries another, then ducks close. He doesn’t swing, just wraps his arms around Longwei’s chest and gives himself a shove over the railing. We watch them plunge into the dark blue, out of sight. Their splash settles, and there’s nothing but dark rapids.

  Our eyes flicker to the avatar screen. Loche’s figure looks calm, heartbeat a bit quick, but still alive. Longwei’s is thrashing wildly on the screen. His heartbeat is flying and his oxygen levels are plummeting. Loche is going to drown him.

  I shove past the others and stand next to Defoe. “You can’t let him drown.”

  “He won’t drown. We have a system in place.”

  Longwei’s avatar is starting to turn blue. We watch as his struggling arms get weaker and weaker. I glance back at Morning. Above her mask, the look she returns is hard and unyielding.

  “Is that what you told him to do? That’s cheap.”

  Morning doesn’t flinch. “You’d do it, if it was the only way you could win.”

  I shake my head and look back at the screen. Longwei’s avatar doesn’t have a pulse. Below, Loche’s golden hair bobs up out of the water. Under one arm, he’s holding an unconscious Longwei. Divers appear from nowhere, fit an oxygen mask over his head, and pull him out of the Waterway. I rush down the stairs.

  I might not like Longwei, but he let me be his captain, and being captain means being there for moments like this. I stand by until they revive him. His eyes are bloodshot and his throat is bruised. He stares at the lights overhead like he’s not sure what happened. I sink to his side and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “You’re all right, Longwei,” I say. “You’re going to be okay.”

  His whole body shudders. The medics start asking him questions, working on his breathing, but as they do, Longwei’s hand falls atop mine and squeezes. He doesn’t say thank you, but he doesn’t have to say it. When they clear him, we walk back up to our rooms together.

  “Did I lose?” he finally asks.

  I laugh. “Barely, Longwei. Just barely.”

  After his attendant promises me for the third time that he’s going to be fine, I storm out of the room in search of Morning. I don’t know why I’m so mad, but I can feel the rage like it’s bone-deep. I know she wants to win and lead her team to Eden, but Longwei could have died.

  I knock on her door for a few minutes, but there’s no answer. When I backtrack to the lobby, I find curly-haired Alex shuffling a deck of cards. His eyes are tracing Eden’s oceans.

  “Where is she?”

  Alex glances over. “Who?”

  “Morning. I need to talk to her.”

  He nods now. “She said you would. She’s down in the Tower’s Rabbit Room. Working out or something. She said to tell you to come find her if you asked.”

  I thank him and move toward the stairs. I’ve used the Rabbit Room here once or twice too. Either loosening up muscles before the day starts or getting in some extra training. The lower down in the station I go, the less I see of Babel’s techies and marines. Vandemeer explained that these are their long-term employees. Some of them have been stationed out here for close to a decade. I end up walking a lengthy hallway that branches out into a handful of odd corridors.

  In the distance I spy Morning leaned up against the door to the Rabbit Room like she’s been waiting for me all this time. Her arms are crossed and she barely looks like she’s broken a sweat. Her mask hangs from the utility belt at the hip of her suit.

  “Hey, I need to talk to you,” I say.

  She pushes off the wall and meets me halfway. “Same.”

  “Look, that stuff that Loche pulled—”

  Morning cuts me off with a hand gesture and a look. I’m about to say something else when she crosses the distance between us, comes close enough that we’re breathing the same air, and drops her voice to a whisper. “Let’s do our talking where there aren’t cameras.”

  There’s something intoxicating about how she slides away and gestures for me to follow. She moves down one of the side corridors, gives me a lingering over-the-shoulder look, and ducks into one of the mechanical rooms. The invitation might as well be blasting through speakers, but I stand there staring at the empty doorway because I have no idea what’s going on.

  Does Morning want to talk, or does she want to talk? I may have bragged otherwise to the Most Excellent Brothers, but I’ve never really done that kind of talking with a girl like Morning. It’s one thing to flirt with Shae Westwood or Samantha Givens at a basement party. That kind of talk with those girls was a second language. It never had any weight because we were just kids. It was never about anything more than the moment. Morning’s different somehow. I realize my preparation for situations like this is a stash of song lyrics and movie scenes. I wipe the sweat from my palms and follow after her.

  Two steps inside and everything’s clear: she has something else in mind.

  Morning waits at the back of the room, her hands on her hips and her mask on. She’s not alone. Anton glides out of the shadows with one of his knives leveled at me. He gestures for me to kee
p walking as Omar blocks the exit. The Egyptian manipulates his nyxia until it stretches across the entrance with a static snap. The room’s sounds echo louder now, like we’re cut off in our own world. My eyes flicker between them before settling on Morning.

  “Why all the James Bond spy stuff?”

  As I ask the question, I realize I’m mad. Mad that she led me on and embarrassed I let my imagination color so far outside the lines. Morning doesn’t flinch away from my stare.

  “We need to talk to you,” Morning says. “Without Babel listening.”

  “So that’s why there are three of you and just one of me?”

  “Omar insisted on coming. We’re just being careful.”

  “Right. So if I don’t want to talk, you just let me go?”

  Anton spins his knife. “There are other ways to get the information from you.”

  “Shut it, Anton,” Morning says, stepping forward. “If you want to leave, then leave. I brought you here because I know I can trust you. I know we can ask you questions and you won’t go running off to inform Babel.”

  I glare at her. “You sure about that?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” she says. “I’ve seen how you look at them, Emmett.”

  “Whatever.” She’s right, but I don’t like how this is going. “What do you want?”

  “The girl,” Morning says. “How did she die?”

  “Kaya. Her name was Kaya.”

  “Kaya,” Morning corrects herself. “How did Kaya die?”

  “I told you it was an accident.”

  “Right, but there are accidents and there are accidents. Whose fault was it?”

  The words catch in my throat. For a second I think about lying, but Kaya’s memory has made me better than that. “It was our fault. We were exploring an off-limits part of the ship.”

  “And what?” Anton asks. “She got sucked out of an air lock?”

  I hesitate again. This was Defoe’s one command: don’t tell the others about the Adamite. It’s possible they’ll use whatever I say against me. It’s possible they want one more person disqualified. But I know Morning well enough now to know that’s not the way she’d want to win. She thinks she can earn her crew’s way down to Eden. Nothing she’s done has been backhanded, because she can win the right way. I realize that other than Vandemeer, no one else knows how Kaya died. It’s been a burden I’ve carried on my own shoulders. But here and now? We can talk off Babel’s radar.

  “An Adamite killed her.”

  Air hisses through Anton’s teeth. The Russian circles nervously, knife tossing from one hand to the other. Morning’s considering my words and what they mean.

  “Why would an Adamite kill her?” she asks. “Babel told us they love children.”

  “He was blindfolded. He had no idea who he was attacking. Babel had him strapped to a wall. In a torture room. He lashed out at Kaya because he thought she was one of them.”

  Anton curses. From the back of the room, Omar says, “You were right, Morning.”

  Morning nods. “So there’s more to the story than Babel’s telling us.”

  “There always was,” Anton says, seething. “Their whole show is wizards behind curtains and trapdoors. Just give the order, Morning, and I’ll get the information.”

  She frowns, but eventually nods. “Do it. Just be careful.”

  A wicked smile splits his face. “You really mean it?”

  She nods again. “Go.”

  He pockets the knife and heads for the barrier Omar has thrown over the door. The Egyptian steps aside, and the sound of Anton’s echoing footsteps cuts off once he’s through. I turn back to Morning. “Want to tell me what the hell’s going on?”

  “Did you hear anything about the Babel Files on Genesis 11?”

  “Yeah, all of us did. It’s an article, right? Someone back home wrote it about us?”

  “Exactly. Did you ever read the article?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “How could we read the article? We’re out in space.”

  “Anton,” she replies. “He got me the file. We read it together. The person who wrote it had a lot of theories. About us. About Babel. Everything. Did you ever get the sense that maybe there’s something bigger happening here?”

  I think about that. There’s been an army of red flags raised along the way, but nothing that indicates a specific direction. “Babel’s corrupt and powerful. What else is there to know?”

  “We’re not sure,” Morning says. “But we want to find out.”

  “Look, I’m glad someone’s got time to play detective, but I don’t. You might be sitting pretty on the scoreboard, but I still have to earn my way down to Eden. I’d love to help you. I’d love to get justice for Kaya. But right now I have to focus on making the cut. So unless there’s anything else you want to ask me, I’m going to head back upstairs and prep for the next challenge.”

  Morning eyes me for a second, then nods to Omar. He pulls the nyxian barrier back into a ring and slides it over his finger. He considers the two of us for a second, then slips out of the room. I listen until the sound of his footsteps fades. Morning looks at me, and all the hardness in her expression is gone.

  “Those are my brothers. They’re just being overprotective.”

  “No kidding.”

  She reaches out and sets a hand on my arm.

  “You’re right. It’s not fair for me to drag you into this while you still have other things to worry about. But I meant what I said, Emmett. You’re the one I trust from Genesis 11. I can tell you’re an honest person. I like that about you.”

  No one ever taught me how to take compliments. All I can do is nod. “Thanks.”

  “I wish you’d been with me on Genesis 12.”

  After four days of painful losses, I’ve been wishing the same thing. I can’t help thinking now about what that might have been like. What that could have meant for me, for us. But if I had been on Genesis 12, I would have never met Kaya, or Bilal, or Vandemeer. I wouldn’t be the person I am now without each of them. And I don’t want to wish that away.

  “Can’t change things now.”

  Morning gives my arm a squeeze before letting go.

  “I want you with me on Eden,” she says. “I really do, but I made promises. When we found out about your crew, I promised my team that I’d fight every second of every day to get them to Eden if they just trusted me to lead them. I don’t break my promises, Emmett. Not even for you.”

  DAY 9, 6:20 P.M.

  Aboard the Tower Space Station

  We float down the black river in silence. We’ve been roaming through the unlit rapids for thirty minutes now. Too long for my comfort. Babel has every light in the Waterway clicked off. Defoe claims it will simulate one of Eden’s moonless nights. The only light comes from Jazzy’s sonar system. Little green blips in a dark, inky sea. The only sound is the river. When we talk it is in whispers so quiet they sound more like thoughts. “We’re twenty meters from a rock. Need to drift left ten meters to hit the next strait.”

  We feel the subtle change in direction. There’s a flash of light in the distance, then nothing. “Was that them?” Azima whispers.

  No one answers. We started in one direction along the Waterway and Genesis 12 was sent the opposite direction. We caught a glimpse of them on the radar about five minutes ago and have been stalking them ever since. But somewhere in a rocky switchback, we lost them. I’ve got Jazzy throwing out fake radar signatures every ten seconds. Bilal’s sitting by her console, helping read the terrain. We drift for another five minutes before Jazzy whispers excitedly, “I’ve got them.” On her screen, I can see a little red dot burning through the black. “Fifty meters ahead, tucked against that big rock.”

  The rock looms like a deeper, darker shadow. Ahead, the river divides into smaller sections. I take a look over Jazzy’s shoulder and notice they’re waiting at the tightest squeeze in the river. The rock they hang from has them poised above the choke point, a perfect ambush.

/>   “Let’s anchor here,” I command. “No noise. Jazzy, ten-second scans.”

  The work is done in silence. When we’re nestled against the nearest rocks, I gather the crew at the center of the ship. Their faces aren’t recognizable in the black.

  “How do we know they aren’t throwing a false signal?” Jaime’s voice asks.

  “We don’t,” I answer.

  “It’s a solid choke point,” Katsu’s voice says. “I bet they’re just waiting for us.”

  “So why don’t we bait them?” Longwei asks. “Go through the strait, make just a tiny bit of noise, and surprise them.”

  “What’s the point?” I ask. “Sure, we know they’re coming, but they’ve got the upper ground. We’d be sitting ducks.”

  “Then we split up,” Longwei says. “Look at the scans—these rocks connect to the big rock. Half of us climb up that way. Someone grabs the flag and drops down to ours. We win.”

  “For once,” Katsu mutters darkly.

  “It sounds great and all,” I say. “But I can’t even see your faces right now. How are we supposed to climb up there?”

  There’s a pause. Then Longwei says, “Skillfully.”

  Little breaths of laughter.

  “All right,” I say. “Let’s do it.”

  It’s agreed that Katsu, Longwei, Bilal, and Jazzy should stay on board. The rest of us prepare for what will be a treacherous, slippery climb. Jazzy runs the scan and freezes the screen. We memorize the rock formations and pinpoint distances together. Azima suggests using nyxia for a little extra grip. It takes a few minutes, but we each manipulate the best pair of grip gloves we can in the darkness.

  “Everyone ready?” I ask.

  The affirmatives are quieter than river splashes. We grope for solid rock and lower onto our stomachs as quietly as possible. The path isn’t straight or even. My stomach and knees are rubbing raw as we make our way forward. Even when the path widens, I stay low and keep crawling. I can feel the slickness left and right of me. The slightest slip would ruin our surprise and send us into the river. I’m sure Babel has their divers on hand, but I don’t want to risk it if they don’t.