Slowly I begin to nod. Because I think I know what he’s getting at. And as much as I don’t want to admit it, I think he’s right.
“We’re going after Dosset.”
Chapter Twelve
That’s where the conversation ends.
We all agree it’s best to get some sleep and sort things out in the morning. Especially now that Dosset is considering “more drastic measures,” I feel we’d better not push our luck. A sweep of the sleeping pods is in no way outside of his capabilities. Empty pods will draw more suspicion than we can afford.
As a result, I now sit alone in the tool shed, sucking on the core of an apple from Chloe. Having no Atkinson to share with, I ended up with a feast of stuffed poblano peppers and pearly printed grain topped with a mango chutney.
It took a small argument to convince Noah to leave me by myself, but this time I insisted. For Chloe. And, really, for myself. I need some time. To think, and to sort out what could possibly come next, now that our first plan has failed so completely.
I’m surprised to find that it’s actually kind of nice to be alone. Listening to the hiss of the sprinklers, the dribbling of water on the roof as I probe my tender jaw. I feel stupid for the way I acted with Terra. It’s just… I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t know what to do.
Everything is different. At least for me.
Because now I know the secret. That the people of Earth are dead… and also, that Aster has been abandoned. The problem is, I don’t know if either one is true. Or what it will mean for the future if we fail to bring Dosset down.
Dosset.
I wish I had a window into his memories, to fully understand what it takes to turn a man into a monster. Poisoning the minds of others, stealing away their pasts. It goes beyond cruelty and arrives at a place entirely more chilling.
Unlike me, with my anger that ignites so suddenly, Dosset makes his calculations coldly. Then he takes what we love most and somehow he believes it’ll help us.
Revisions, he calls them. Simple adjustments to the truth to cloud the way we see the world. Now that I think of it, the procedure is named appropriately. He has changed our vision, skewed the way we see life. The way we see each other, and ourselves.
And what twisted logic could have led him to this? It must be very elaborate. I crack the door open and toss my apple into a compost bin. If we manage to defeat him, I guess I’ll know the answer in a few days.
If not, I guess it doesn’t really matter.
Fatigue finally takes over, and I crawl beneath a table to nestle amongst plastic pots and bags. I’m grateful for the extra fabric of the lab coat. I also manage to find a thick blue tarp on one of the shelves. I crinkle it up around me, which helps reflect some body heat. Although my stomach already feels empty again, somehow I manage to get comfortable.
But when I close my eyes, I don’t begin to wander the secluded avenues of sleep as I’d hoped. Instead, I see the horrific scenes of the day play out on the backs of my eyelids.
The coffin cart. Running out of air. Cadets frozen in cryosleep. Mercer’s shiny, pocked face. Dosset’s eerie smile.
Atkinson.
His bloody arms, his haunted eyes. And, finally, Chloe and Noah stepping out of the shed together. The way she stood so close to him, and how he didn’t move away.
Heat flares in my face, making my bruise ache. Why does it bother me so much? If Noah and Chloe have become friends, or even something more, I should be happy for them. It means things can go back to being a little more normal.
But even though I’ve held them in shadow, I can’t shake off his memories. All the times he went out of his way to talk to me despite his clouds of anxiety. I may not be an authority on friendship, but I know him well enough to know that he loves me.
Correction: that he thinks he loves me. I’m sure a lot of girls would swoon over the whole pining-boy scenario, but sappy displays of affection have always made me sick. Yet even here in the seclusion of the shed those very feelings are trying to surface, to play out in my head like some tragic, pathetic movie.
I scowl, feeling irritated all over again. If he’s so head over heels for me, why doesn’t he tell Chloe the truth? Why haven’t I told Chloe the truth? I push the questions, the memories—all of it—to the back of my head, where I relegate everything else I don’t want to think about. It’s become increasingly easy to do, even if it does make the headaches worse.
Sleepless, I lie in the gauzy light, feeling my head pound in time with my heart. It’d be nice to forget, wouldn’t it? To make it all just go away. At first I wished it would. Now I realize how awful it would be if one of us actually got caught.
If they hauled Noah away.
Read his mind.
Erased his memories.
Despite my annoyance, the idea of being erased from Noah’s mind makes me suddenly afraid. Like Atkinson, losing the ones he loved. I don’t want to find out what Noah would become if that happened to him.
Or what I’d become, knowing that I’m the one responsible.
I roll over and try to get some rest, but sleep remains elusive. I’m plagued with the worry that I’ll get caught. That I’ll end up losing everything and everyone I care about, and no one will even know it happened.
When I do sleep, I have terrible dreams of being locked in a cryobed. The ship is twirling through space, off course, but everyone else is asleep. Over and over I scream at them to wake up, but we just keep floating, floating, aimlessly drifting toward the black hole that yawns before us, like the hole left by all the things we forgot, all the people who were crushed beneath the weight of things too big for us to outrun.
It’s with a gasp that I wake this time, not a scream. I’m shivering, covered in the sweat that never seems to evaporate in the tropical heat. The pink glow of morning fills the air like the ghost of an exotic flower. It feels too early for duties to have begun. Probably a little after seven. The colony won’t rise until eight. Then it’ll be fitness hour, shower, breakfast, and Group.
What I wouldn’t give to slip into the cafeteria and eat a warm breakfast with the others. The meal from last night has only awakened my appetite, causing my stomach to tighten in a painful fist. Too uncomfortable to lie still any longer, I fold up my tarp and carefully put it back where I found it. Then I stretch and absently peruse the shelves for useful items.
My findings are mostly what you’d expect in the way of jungle tools: ropes, synthetic netting, and, of course, bolo knives—the flat hacking blades for which the biome was named. I always thought they were machetes, but I guess there’s a difference in the width. For a fleeting moment I consider taking one, but decide I’d better not. I still have Verced, and the knives are too conspicuous. Even if I did need to attack anyone.
At this point there’s no getting around the fact that, having not showered in days, I’m beginning to stink. If I hope to blend in while walking the halls, I can’t go on like this. Plus, the thought of clean clothes is almost more appealing than food. I resolve that it’s worth the risk. The cameras won’t recognize my face anymore, and it’s not as if they have surveillance in the bathrooms.
The very instant eight hundred hours is announced, I head out, trotting down the path toward the Bolo domes then exiting back into Scrubs. It’s the first time I’ve returned since talking to Chloe in the kitchen three days ago.
Has it only been three days? And just four since I got the Memory Bank. It seems unbelievable that such a short period has passed.
Somehow it feels like a lifetime or two.
When I enter my old hallway, an eerie sense of foreboding fills me. I haven’t been back to my pod since that very first day, when the memories began unfolding in my mind. Have they removed my things yet? Probably left plenty of extra cameras and microphones lying around, just in case I was dumb enough to return.
Playing it safe, I punch the code to Chloe’s pod instead. She’s not here, of course; she’s in the Fitness Center, exercising with the othe
r cadets. Everything is perfectly in order, undergarments and spare jumpsuits neatly folded and tucked in their drawers.
I take what I need and hurry off to the showers, hoping to beat the stream of sweaty cadets that will soon be forming.
Heavenly. That’s how the water feels. Like being reborn. As if I’m not just washing my skin but receiving an entirely new version of it. The foams and gels rinse off days of sweat and grime, and with it, much of my worry. It’s incredible how a simple thing like water can change your whole perspective.
I towel my skin until it’s pink, and even blow-dry my hair with the wall unit since no one is around to notice. Then I clean my teeth and step into fresh clothes for the first time in days.
Noah’s jumpsuit is more rumpled than dirty. After zipping into it, I shove the lab coat down the laundry collector, taking the Verced and stun gun with me.
At this point, I’m supposed to return to Noah’s pod to meet up with the others. That was the agreement. So I start the walk toward the Xeri domes. Along the way it occurs to me that it’s Friday. That gives us today, tomorrow, and Sunday to find a Stitch, form a rebellion, and corner Dosset. Only three days to pull off three daunting tasks.
Of course, I did manage to rescue Atkinson in a single afternoon. But now we’ve ruined the element of surprise. I hope Romie has finished that EMP.
We’re going to need it.
I’m stirred out of my thoughts by the sound of my name.
“Lizzy Engram, the Scrub,” says a girl. Her name is Samantha, I recall.
“Since when?” her friend asks. Jessica Berkley. Both girls are Bolos. They don’t notice me, so I fall into step a little ways behind them.
“Kayla said she hasn’t seen her since Monday.”
“Weird,” Samantha yawns. “Do you talk to Lizzy much?”
“Not really,” Jessica says. Then, more quietly, “She’s kind of… stuck up. She never laughs, and she’s always on that stupid treadmill.”
“I know.”
“Also, Michael said she can be kind of a bitch.”
Their words sting. But the experience is more strange than hurtful. These girls don’t even know me. It’s bizarre to hear them judge my actions and intentions so openly. I realize I haven’t used my memories to learn what the other cadets think about me. Well, besides Terra.
And speaking of Terra…
As I break away from the girls and mount the stairs to the Xeri pods, I hear someone approaching. A slender arm encircles mine. Before I can resist, I hear Terra’s sickly-sweet voice in my ear. “Ready for your performance?”
“What’re you talking about?” I say, annoyed at once.
“Our little rebellion,” she croons as she leads me to Noah’s pod and punches the code. Inside, I’m surprised to find Romie already waiting in the chair. No one was supposed to show up until after breakfast.
“Don’t you two eat?” I ask, pulling my arm free.
“Three days until the Revision,” replies Romie. Dark rings hang beneath his eyes, as if he hardly slept. Which doesn’t surprise me. From his memories, I know he has a hard time resting when a problem remains unsolved. “The next stage of the plan must begin at once.”
“Sit down, Lizzy,” Terra instructs me.
“I’d rather stand.”
I don’t even bother hiding my irritation, because again I’m sick of her making everything a competition. As far as I’m concerned, my bruised cheek says we’re even.
“Fine,” she shrugs. “But you’ll need your energy in a couple hours.”
“What’s she talking about?” I ask, turning on Romie.
“During fitness hour we talked with some of the cadets,” he says, almost guiltily. As if we’re back in front of the tool shed with him caught in the middle. “We invited ten from each dome subset. Only those we were sure we could reasonably trust.”
My whole body tenses with foreboding.
“Invited them to what?”
“A performance,” says Terra.
“A private meeting,” Romie amends. “Including us, there should be around forty-five cadets. That makes up around twenty percent of the cadet population. At its essence, the plan is for Terra to lead the group in distracting the doctors, while a smaller team covertly enters the Helix. We’ll corner Dosset with the help of my EMP, which is nearly complete. We just need to get our hands on a Stitch.”
“Hold on, back up,” I say, my emotions trying to catch up with what I’m hearing. “Nearly complete? We didn’t even talk about this.”
“Yes, we did,” says Terra. “Romie came up with the plan last night while we were waiting for you to get back from the Helix. Well, really it was mostly my plan, but he helped me iron out the kinks. Didn’t you, Romie?”
“Ah… well, it was mostly a hypothesis then,” Romie mumbles.
It might be petty, but this angers me. Up until now, they’ve been looking to me for some kind of direction. Or at least including me on the big decisions. Now they’re all keeping secrets, skulking around behind my back, not even asking my opinion.
What if I thought this was a bad plan? Because if I’m honest, I still maintain that putting Terra in charge of a rebellion is a mistake. She can barely be trusted to show up when she’s supposed to. But at least I expect her to try something like this. As for Romie and the others… yet again, I think of Chloe and Noah alone in the shed.
My fists tighten in my pockets.
“Just for starters, what if the cadets refuse?” I direct my question at Terra, struggling to keep the edge out of my voice. “What happens when you tell them about the evil doctors and they think you’re lying?”
“Well, um… strictly speaking, she won’t be addressing them,” Romie replies, “You will.”
“Oh, I see. And I’ll just recite all their memories to them while I’m at it, right?”
“Is that a problem?” Terra asks, arching her back in a stretch.
“Yes. It’s a problem,” I snap. “I can’t do that. I already told you—”
“It’ll be too hard for you, I know,” says Terra dismissively, pivoting to Romie. “See? I told you she couldn’t do it. And since I’ll be the one leading the rebellion, it only makes sense that I address them. They trust me, not her.”
“Perhaps,” says Romie, his expression pained. “But we’re asking these cadets to take a very big risk. They’ll need more than trust. They’ll need proof.” He turns to me, and his sincerity catches me off guard. “I’ve been contemplating it since you told us that Atkinson abandoned us, and I don’t really see another option. Our window of opportunity is closing. By Sunday night the memories will be lost. Our only hope is for you to convince the cadets to help us unseat Dosset. And personally, I believe that will be achieved best with their own memories.”
I hear what he’s saying. And regardless of my desire to spite Terra, I know he’s right. Some piece of me already came to the same conclusion. But I can’t get around the idea of standing up in front of everyone, trying to call up memories on command.
Part of it is that I’m nervous. I’ve tried this before and failed. But the bigger part is the risk we’re taking. Forty-five cadets? We don’t know the first thing about running a rebellion. What if they turn on us?
What if someone gets seriously hurt?
And then the last part… okay, I’ll admit it. I feel uncomfortable. Because I’ll be asking all of them to trust me. These cadets, who apparently think such negative things about Elizabeth Engram. I don’t deserve their trust. And they know it.
It’s going to be a disaster.
My gaze finds Terra, who seems to be drinking in my discomfort. Strangely, her open antagonism is what snaps things into perspective.
I won’t change anyone’s mind by avoiding them. If I want the others to think of me as some kind of leader, I need to start thinking of myself that way.
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “Who’ll be there?”
“Huh?”
“The cadets. W
hich ones are coming?”
“You want their names?” Romie asks.
“Yes. I want to know which memories to get familiar with.”
“Let’s see,” says Terra, holding up one finger at a time. “Dylan, he’s a Clover. Nalika is a Polar. Keegan is also a Polar, and Danielle is a Xeri. Phillip—”
“Okay, just… stop,” I say wearily. There’s no way I’ll be able to conjure the memories of forty-five cadets in time. I’m going to have to wing it. “Just give me some room, okay?”
“Whatever you want, Elizabeth,” Terra replies. “But you’d better not screw this up too.” And she saunters out of the pod.
Romie lingers until after the door is closed.
“I wanted to give you this,” he says quietly, holding out a white plastic device. It’s about the size of a thumb drive. Surprised, I accept it.
“A token of your affection?” I joke.
He only gives me half a smile.
“It’s a beacon. I stole it from a scrapped probe and converted it to shortwave. I’ve got a few trackers back in the Workshop, which should pick up the signal. You know, just in case you ever get… separated from us again.”
This brings me up short. I look at him closely and suddenly realize why Romie spent all night thinking about the plan. Why he’s sticking up for me now, with Terra and the rebellion. He wasn’t trying to keep secrets from me.
He feels guilty.
At once, my anger cools.
“Now that you’ve patched me into the security system, I can always keep an eye on the cameras too,” he continues awkwardly. “But in case something else happens and—”
“Romie, what happened last night wasn’t your fault,” I say, pulling an encouraging tone from Chloe’s mannerisms. “Atkinson running away, the fight with Terra… those things had nothing to do with you.”
He falters into an awkward shrug.
“Perhaps,” he begins. “But if the EMP had been ready—”
“It wasn’t. You can’t blame yourself for things other people do, Romie. And you know what? Now we can use the EMP when it really counts.”
Biome Page 15