“I need to speak with Doctor Shiffrin,” I say, not meeting his gaze. “It’s an emergency.”
“So is this broadcast,” is his reply. “It’ll have to wait.”
“Fine. I’ll just go to my theater, then.” As tactfully as possible, I try to step past him. But again he stops me.
“The Xeri theater is this way,” he says, a bite of annoyance in his voice.
For a second I’m confused. Then I remember: I’m wearing Noah’s jumpsuit. With a clear orange badge that designates me as a Xeri.
As I’m trying to piece together a more convincing excuse, I catch sight of McCallum just up the hallway, moving toward us.
“Right,” I say, allowing myself to be directed the other way.
I try to keep calm, but I can’t seem to slow my breathing. How am I going to get out of this? If I try to run, McCallum will notice. If I get trapped in a theater, I’m sure to be discovered. Somehow, between here and there I need to slip away unnoticed.
But there’s no opportunity. More Xeris join us at the Wheel, and I’m boxed into the middle of the group. I’ve nearly reached the Xeri theater when a flash of red catches my eye; Noah, his bright hair easily noticeable from the other end of the room. For a split second our eyes meet. A moment later he’s at my side.
“What are you doing?” he whispers in my ear, tugging me away from the group. “You were supposed to hide.”
“I couldn’t get away,” I say. “McCallum—”
But another white coat is approaching.
“You two,” says Doctor Hitch impatiently. “What do you think you’re doing? Emergency meeting. That means stop talking and start walking.”
“Sure,” Noah replies.
With no other choice, we’re corralled back into line, slowly filling out the tiered seats. I’m wedged between Noah and John, a Polar with sallow skin. Around us, the room is burning with panicked whispers. Speculation about the virus. Skittish laughter. Hitch jogs down the stairs to the front, circling the holographic imager.
When he turns, his sharp eyes scan the room in a predatory way. Nervously I slump lower in my seat.
“You have to get out of here,” Noah breathes, sitting rigidly beside me.
“Good idea. How?”
Suddenly the alarm stops and the room goes quiet.
“All right, everyone,” says Hitch. “We’ve got word from the colony director, Doctor Dosset. It turns out that yes, the virus we informed you about on Monday is still spreading. And it gets worse.” He sucks in a tight breath. “Apparently the virus is more contagious than we initially thought—and if left untreated, it can be deadly.”
Murmurs break out around the room again, volume and tension escalating.
“We’re on the lookout for a cadet,” Doctor Hitch continues. As he speaks, my face blinks to life on the holographic imager, a plain photograph like a mugshot. I’m tempted to sink further, wishing I could vanish into the chair, but I realize this will only make me look more conspicuous. I settle for pulling my hat so low that I can’t see past my knees. “Her name is Elizabeth Engram, a greenskeeper. She has presented symptoms of the virus, including aggression, delirium, and paranoia. If you see her, you’re to report to a doctor immediately—not just for our safety, but for hers as well. The longer she goes without treatment, the less likely we can save her.”
Hitch goes on about the virus, assuring everyone that they’ve nearly perfected an antidote, that as long as I’m caught they’ll all be safe, but I’ve stopped listening. Because whatever chance we had, it’s over. I don’t give Dosset marks for creativity, but he got the job done. No one will believe me now.
And surely, if our “rebels” had intended to keep quiet, this will break their silence. The longer I sit here, the sooner I’ll be found.
I sneak a sidelong look at the aisle. I need to run. But to reach the exit I’ll have to leap over Noah and another cadet, which will be tricky. And there’s the question of where I’ll go. I guess I’ll just have to work that out along the way.
My heart is pounding in my ears, but my legs feel rooted to the floor. It’s just like a race. Once the gun goes off, there’ll be no stopping. They know I’m here. And Dosset has made it clear that he will hunt me across the colony, room by room, until he has me back under the glowing lights of a Stitch.
“This virus is crazy,” says John, fidgeting. I keep my eyes on my knees, hoping he isn’t talking to me. But I can feel his gaze like a gun in my face. “What if they can’t find her before she infects the rest of us?”
“Mm,” I mutter.
“I’d just like them to tell us what it is. Some of us are medically trained. Maybe we could help them with the antidote or something.” He pauses, shifting in his seat. “Hey, are you okay?”
I want to scream Shut up, moron, you’re going to give me away. But instead, I manage to quietly say, “Yeah, I just don’t feel great.”
And now he’s looking at me closer.
I really need to stop using that excuse.
“Maybe you’ve got the virus,” he says. It sounds like he meant it as a joke, but his voice comes out flat.
“Okamoto,” Hitch snaps. “If you don’t stop—”
He halts mid-sentence. With mounting panic, I realize just how quiet the room has grown. I look up and lock eyes with Hitch, who is staring right at me.
“It’s her!” someone gasps.
Noah bolts upright and yanks the cadet beside him out of his seat, pushing him into the aisle. Startled cries fill the air. But Noah is still moving; he reaches back and pulls me up by the arm, propelling me toward the exit.
“Run!” he yells at me. “Lizzy, run!”
It’s pandemonium. Everyone starts rising and shoving as I launch up the stairs. But no one tries to stop me—in fact, cadets stumble over each other, some falling over the tiered seats in an effort to avoid me. I blast through the door, voices shouting, noises of a scuffle at my back, and then there’s Noah, abruptly at my side with a burst of speed that can only be adrenaline.
I look up just in time to see Sarlow looming in my path.
But somehow Noah out-sprints me. He throws himself into her, going over a plastic bench, fists and legs flying.
“Go!” he shouts. “Don’t stop for—”
His voice is cut off and I almost do stop, wondering what happened, but manage to resist. My last sight of him is with his arm pinned behind his back and blood gushing from his nose. Sarlow’s face is scarlet with anger as she holds him down and glares after me. Then I’m gone.
I head for the Polar Biome’s archway but shift course at the last second, realizing I’ll only end up trapped in the habitat. Now that the cameras won’t track me automatically, my best shot is to put as much distance between me and my pursuers as I can. Then I’ll slip away from the cameras altogether, leaving the trail cold, and find a corner far from prying eyes.
My mind is blank as my body surges, arms pumping, feet soaring on instinct. Survival drives me like a cornered animal. Underlying everything, all I know is that if they catch me, the memories of the world go with me.
I turn a corner and find myself in the Clover domes. Not so very far from the bioreactors. If I’m going to disappear, this is as good a place as any.
Hoping that Sarlow and the others are still far behind, I dance clear of four cameras in a row—at least as far as I can tell—and reach the access door. With my last shred of focus, I evoke the key code and turn the handle, tumbling inside.
Light sensors power on as I totter between the giant cylinders like massive silver kilns. As part of the reclamation cycle, these reactors convert human waste into pure oxygen, water, and compost. They even produce electricity. At the moment, my only concern is that they offer a wide enough shadow to hide in.
I slide down between a pair of them, gasping as much out of horror as from the effort of running here. And that’s where it catches up with me.
They’ve got Noah. Dosset will put him straight into an interroga
tion room. Pull apart his brain, piece by piece. Learn who was involved and what we were planning. We’ve taken too many risks. The cadets know. The doctors know. Everyone is against us.
And Noah is gone.
The thought tries to suffocate me, but I shove it away. Think, I command myself. This isn’t the time for sorting out my feelings. It’s the time for taking action. We can stop this, can’t we? Get to Dosset before he can cripple Noah’s mind?
But no, the rebellion isn’t even started yet—and now it seems it never will be. We don’t have a Stitch. And even if we managed to get one, Dosset will never leave the Helix willingly.
For a long time, I just sit here, trying to get a handle on my emotions. No longer sensing any movement, the lights slowly dim until I’m in darkness, only the winking orange lights of the bioreactors to keep me company. I click on the beacon and wait.
But for what? The blackness strips away the distractions, and just like in the coffin cart, I’m left with nothing but my thoughts. I see Noah’s face, the blood gushing from his nose. Feel the numbness trickle down my arms and legs, moving out from a hole in my chest as, again, reality overwhelms me.
He’s gone.
I try to shove it down, to focus. But I can’t. Not this time. It’s too much, and like a seam under pressure the canvas of my heart has torn at last, squeezing the tears from my eyes.
Somehow I knew. I knew this would happen—or something like it. That they’d take one of them and erase their memories. And it would all be my fault.
But they didn’t take just anyone. They took Noah. For some reason, that feels different.
“Why?” I whisper.
Why is he different from the others? And why did he sacrifice himself for me? I know he thinks he loves me, but that isn’t an answer—it’s only another question.
Why is he so sure he loves me that he’s willing to risk everything, even his own identity?
At the back of my head, inside a twisted knot of ignored memories, I know the answer is waiting. It’s where I’ve hidden everything I don’t want to admit to myself, everything I’m unwilling to face. And now, after everything that’s happened, I can’t seem to stop myself from tugging at the threads. Pulling them loose one by one until the knot slips.
The memories come in a torrent. They transport me out of the chamber, away from the bioreactors, back into the buried past. But these aren’t the memories of another cadet.
These belong to me.
I’m in the Sick Bay. It’s one of our first weeks on Mars, maybe the very first. I’ve been feeling groggy, with a persistent headache. Since Zonogal has just been called away, Noah is alone on duty. I tell him I need a diagnostic. He stares at me.
“You want me to do it?” he asks, a mumble.
At the time I think he’s being lazy. I scowl and say, “Who else?”
So he leads me back into the small alcove where the diagnostics are run. Has me sit on the stool and takes my pulse. He seems distracted. I swear he counts for at least two minutes, just staring at his watch. Maybe he isn’t only lazy, but incompetent too.
I bite my lip impatiently.
“Okay,” he says at last. “You seem good. I just need to look in your mouth and ears and eyes, and take a swab of your mouth.”
“Fine.”
We don’t say another word as he gently examines me with his medi-scope. His hands feel strange. Not like a doctor’s hands. Like… something else. I’m not used to being touched, especially not by boys. I’ve never been kissed. Never even held hands or gone on a date.
The fact that I’m thinking about these things makes me more uncomfortable, so I bite my lip harder and wait rigidly for him to finish.
But that’s just my side of the story.
The memory flips, as if the shadows have become deeper, the light more intense. Now I relive the experience through his eyes.
When I enter the Sick Bay, his hands go cold. He’s seen me around the colony, noticed me in the mornings when I run on the holotrek. But he hasn’t yet had the courage to say hello. I approach and tell him how I’m feeling, but he hardly hears me—he’s listening to the cadence of my voice, not the words I’m saying—until I ask for a diagnostic.
“You want me to do it?” he stammers.
All he can think about is having to sit right next to me, touch my skin, look into my eyes while mere centimeters from my face. As he leads me into the alcove, he’s keenly aware of each time his fingers brush my skin, sending electric currents up his arms, as if I’m made of lightning.
Trying to count my pulse is almost impossible because all he can think about is how delicate my wrist is. How like gravity I am, making his heartbeat swell the closer I get, like the tide.
Finally, he stops counting because he knows he’ll never focus long enough to get it right.
“Okay,” he chokes out. “You seem good. I just need to look in your mouth and ears and eyes, and take a swab of your mouth.”
For the next five minutes he wages war in his head, fighting to concentrate, but he can’t stop sweating. It’s a good thing I wasn’t seriously ill, because other than the swab of my mouth, he barely does anything correctly.
Later I learn that my symptoms were a lingering effect of the drugs from cryosleep still making their way out of my system.
But the memories don’t stop there. Week after week they go on. Awkward encounters. Fumbled greetings. Then one night Chloe drags me to the Polar recreation room for a ping pong tournament with some other girls. I’m usually very competitive, but tonight I’m tired from an eight-mile run and get knocked out by the second round. Meanwhile, Chloe makes it all the way to the final four. Noah is there, playing cards with Romie and Logan, a Polar.
When I decide to leave early, Noah offers to walk me back.
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him.
“It’s not a problem,” he shrugs.
At the time I don’t notice his blush. As we walk down the stairs, I catch a glimpse of Chloe staring after us.
“Let’s go this way,” Noah says, pointing toward the Bolo Biome. It’s the long way back, and my feet already ache. But for some reason, I don’t say no. I’ve always liked the rainforest habitat at night when the sprinklers kick on.
We ascend to the canopy walkway just as the soft hissing begins, passing other cadets and doctors out for an evening stroll.
For the first kilometer, we walk in silence.
“Chloe goes bananas for this climate,” I say as the path winds through the banana trees, their bunches growing upside down like strange, alien chandeliers. Ironically, I never knew the fruit grew that way until I came to Mars.
Noah blinks at me.
“Huh?”
“Nothing.”
We fall back into uncomfortable silence. Noah seems fixated on the gray slats that pass beneath our feet. “Do you… ever miss home?” he abruptly asks.
“You mean Earth?”
“Earth, yeah.”
“Not really,” I say. And I realize it’s true. I don’t miss Earth. But I guess I feel like I should. “Why, do you?”
“I think so,” he says slowly. “But I guess I don’t know.” He looks up, eyes now wandering the canvas of the dome far above. I’m just thinking he won’t say more when he continues. “I guess it feels like I left home behind, but it’s also like home disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” I say skeptically.
“Yeah. Like I want to go back, but I feel like I can’t. I feel as if when I get there, it won’t be there anymore. Do you know what I mean?”
“I guess so…”
He seems flustered, searching for the words.
“It’s like… okay… when I was growing up, everything seemed so big and stable. But after coming out here, you see that we’re really just on these planets spinning through all this space. No one is steering the ship. And that’s kind of scary, isn’t it?”
By far, this is the most I’ve ever heard Noah Hartmann speak. He seems so sincere
. As if he’s almost desperate for me to understand him. And truthfully, there’s a part of me that knows exactly what he’s talking about. I, too, fear the chaos of life. But then, there’s a much bigger part of me that dreads admitting that fear.
“Does it make any difference?” I ask, oddly irritated by the conversation. “We’ve always been spinning through space, right? We just didn’t know.”
He glances at me in surprise.
“Uh, sure. I mean, you’re right. But…” His neck flushes, the red creeping up into his freckled cheeks. “I’ve been thinking about how it’s all disconnected. And yet it all works together in each moment, making life.” He points at my chest. “It’s like a heartbeat, right? Everything collapsing, then everything exploding outward. Like the big bang. It just happens. And it couldn’t be more unstable, yet we rely on it day after day.”
“Like ordered chaos,” I say.
His face lights up as we start down the stairs toward the ground floor.
“Right, exactly. But when you’re a kid, it isn’t chaos. It’s just a heartbeat. Your house isn’t floating through space, it sits on the ground. Once you get old enough you start to see that color is just paint and doors are just wood. Then, at some point, that feeling of home vanishes entirely. And… that’s what I fear. That nothing will ever make me feel like I’m safe again. That once you leave home, you never get it back.”
I have no idea what to say. It’s the first moment I realize that I’ve never seen him before. Yes, I’ve seen his height and his red hair. But I’ve never seen the person he is underneath. He just shared something deeply personal. Noah Hartmann, the boy who never speaks.
Yet for some reason, the exchange leaves me feeling as if I’m the one who opened up, not him.
We’ve reached the end of the biome.
“Um… thanks for the walk,” I say.
I hurry off. Behind me, he feels awkward. Almost wishes he hadn’t said a word.
But our conversation stays with me. It reminds me of something I do miss from home—having someone to talk to. Someone to share my own intimate thoughts with, who truly understands me. Like my dad used to be, before things changed.
Two days later during fitness hour, I see Noah stretching between workouts. As I walk toward the holotrek, I pass him and say, “You know, the one thing I hate about the Fitness Center is all the waiting.”
Biome Page 17