Green lights.
Yanking the door open, I slip through and slam it shut behind me. I’ve just ripped off the gummy and am about to take off running when I catch myself. Turn back to the reader. Flatten my bare, bloody thumb against it. Red lights.
I repeat the process, hands shaking.
“Come on, come on…”
One last time the lights flash red, then stay frozen. The lock begins aligning. I step back, relief cascading over me in a waterfall that pools in my gut.
SLAM.
The impact of McCallum throwing his weight into the door makes me recoil so sharply that I almost fall over. Even through the metal, I can hear him shout in frustration. His fist slams the door, and for an irrational moment, I fear he’ll break right through and seize me.
But of course, he doesn’t.
Don’t rest yet, Lizzy, I tell myself. I don’t have time for relief. I still have to get off the colony. Turning, I see a brightly lit hallway leading back to the Wheel.
Now, in the blinding light, I am most vulnerable.
I begin a careful trot, my floating steps making it hard to gain any speed. As I move around the Wheel, the corridors blur. It feels as if I’m running underwater. The breath, the step, the momentum, the weightlessness, all carrying me to a decision I can’t possibly be making, though it’s the only decision I have left.
To leave is death. I know that. But now I think I understand what drove Atkinson to this moment. To be willing to die rather than give up the reasons I’m living. If I let Dosset take my memories, he’ll take away my parents, Chloe, and Noah… only empty space will remain.
And I really believe that would be worse than dying.
I round the bend and see the airlock. Limp to the keypad. Type the code and smear blood over the numbers.
Red lights.
Taking a shuddering breath, I slump against the wall and try it again, more slowly. But it still doesn’t work.
“Elizabeth?”
Spinning, I see Doctor Bauer coming up the hall behind me. She looks exhausted. “What are you doing?”
“The code changed,” I say numbly.
“Yes.” She looks me over, and the color drains from her face. “Oh my god, Lizzy, you’re hurt. We need to get you to the Sick Bay immediately.” She starts toward me, but I shrink away. “Lizzy,” she implores. “I’m going to help you.”
“Help me forget?” I say with evident hostility. I’m surprised to see shock and hurt flicker across her features. “If you really want to help me, prove it. Open the airlock and let me go.”
“There’s nothing out there,” she says gently. “The terraforming isn’t finished.”
I can sense that other doctors won’t be far. What amount of arguing will change her mind? Bauer really thinks she’s doing the right thing, to keep me safe.
I’m too weary to conjure a strategy out of this. I’m out of friends, out of tools and ideas. Short of threatening to hurt myself, what can I possibly do?
Maybe nothing. If all the doctors care about is keeping us alive and healthy, Bauer won’t allow me to hurt myself.Will she?
I decide to take the gamble. Ragged with desperation, I dig into my pockets and retrieve the three empty Verced inoculators. Then I hold them to my neck.
“One of these knocks you out, right?” I say. “Atkinson took two and he almost died. With these, I’ll overdose for sure. Right?”
She swallows, her expression now turned to clay.
“Elizabeth, you don’t understand—”
“Open the door,” I say.
For a second I expect her to call my bluff. After all, I’ve never been very good at lying. But then I hear another voice behind me.
“Let her go, Olivia.”
I whirl to find Shiffrin up the hall, maybe six meters away. Her hair is matted, and deep bags are slung beneath her eyes. For an endless moment, we just stare at one another. Then I hear Bauer’s fingers typing, and the airlock begins to twist and click.
As soon as it opens I retreat into the cave-like room, paranoid they’ll still try to stop me. But they both stand as still as statues. I suddenly wonder if maybe I was wrong about the doctors. If maybe, like the cadets, some of them were manipulated into doing things they never wanted to do. But if that’s the truth, it seems far too late to matter.
I punch the button, and the door begins to close.
The empty inoculators hit the floor, and I stumble to the nearest spacesuit, fumbling with the straps, fingers sticky with my own blood. My only hope is to get the suit on before the airlock begins to depressurize. If I don’t, I’ll be dead in less than a minute.
Thirty seconds. I release the bottom half of a spacesuit, hands shaking, as the vents begin to fluctuate. I squirm up into the top half, then released the clamps to stagger forward, stooping awkwardly to pull up the bottom half and clip the suit together.
Fifteen. As I straighten, my vision swims, red lights swooping around me, the added weight pulling me down again like an anchor.
Ten. I go down to a knee, fingers working the clamps of my boots.
Five.
I click on my air as light floods the room.
The door is open. A bleak, tumbling desert swirls before me, clouds momentarily parting to show a brilliant sun setting over the Red Planet. But I don’t stop to take it in. Stumbling out of the airlock, I make my way off into the wasteland of Mars, moving as quickly as I can.
Like an omen of what awaits if I continue on this journey, the clouds swallow up the sun, stealing the light from the surrounding world.
Faintly, I hear the airlock close behind me.
Chapter Seventeen
I am going to die on Mars.
That’s my only thought as I plod further away from the colony, kicking up dust with every step. My adrenaline is gone, my panic is gone—everything is replaced by the weight of my suit, of being awake and bruised and bloody, of knowing that every breath I take is a ticking clock.
Already my mind is straying down dark corridors, wondering how far I’ll get before I collapse into the rusty dirt that will surely be my grave.
I can’t allow myself to think like this. Not yet. Instead, I focus on my steps. Just one foot in front of the other, Lizzy.
Just one foot in front of the other.
Because the colony is in a valley, no matter which way I go I’ll have to climb. I can make out tire treads half-buried in drifts of dirt as they wind up over the nearest hill. A rover must’ve driven this way. How long ago was that? Hours? Days?
I’ll bet Aster is in that direction. And if that’s the case, I’d say my best chance of survival is to head that way too.
Maybe that’s where Atkinson went before his oxygen ran out. Assuming he made it out of the airlock. Last I saw, he didn’t even have a suit on.
The colony slowly shrinks behind me as I trudge along. Since I’ve seen Mars only through portholes, it feels profoundly alien to be wandering among rocks the size of domes, cliff faces chiseled by winds for millennia. Again I’m struck by the wild reality that life existed here.
And that if Dosset hadn’t pulled the plug, it would have existed here once more.
How far did Aster get before Dosset shut her down? Back when we arrived on Mars, the atmosphere was very thin. Less than one percent of what we had on Earth. I wonder how thick it is now, if plants are able to eke out an existence from this dirt.
I wonder when it became too thin to breathe on Earth and everyone began to suffocate.
“Stop… thinking,” I mutter, the words coming out one at a time, punctuating each exhale. Already I feel nauseous, but I don’t think it’s simply related to my breathing. It’s everything I’ve put my body through over the past several days. I take care not to stumble. If I do, I’m afraid I might not have the strength to get back up again.
Finally, the incline tapers and I begin to crest the hill. At the top, I turn to take in the valley and the colony once more. It’ll be the last time I see it—though t
echnically it’s the first time I’ve seen it from the outside.
Shining white domes form a ring of pearls around the Helix, the surrounding fields of solar panels winking like fish scales in the fading sun. It reminds me of a Stitch, in a way. All interconnected diodes and gossamer ties. I shiver deeply at the thought.
On the other side of the hill, the road snakes down a rugged slope before disappearing into a valley far vaster than ours. And out there… out there…
I stand motionless, staring over the plain. For maybe a full minute I watch and blink, teetering as the wind rises up and tries to topple me.
It’s not like Earth.
It doesn’t even look like a planet.
The soil is cracked and broken into sharp, zigzagging fissures. An emerald smoke curls upward in surges, as if the very ground is breathing.
As if the very ground is dying.
There are more of those scrubby bushes, much more, dotting the landscape with progressive intensity the farther they get from the colony. In the distance, I can make out spindly trees too, like tiny people lost out on the plain. To my left are hundreds of saw-toothed caves in a titanic canyon wall, the plateau rising in a dizzying climb up from the valley floor, with ivy-like creepers forming esoteric designs in the rock. And there, cradled in the middle of the expanse, is a single ivory bead.
Aster’s dome.
Whatever I expected a terraformed Mars to look like, I guess my mental image wasn’t all that different from Earth. Despite my discouraging words to Noah so many days ago, I never really thought it could be so foreign.
We were bringing plants from home, weren’t we? Plants to inhabit this rock, to create a familiar ecosystem.
What’s happened here doesn’t feel familiar—or even right. It feels violent, harsh, savage, and uncertain. It makes me want to turn and run back to the simplicity of the biomes, where I know I’ll be safe. Even if it means living in a bubble.
But I can’t. I know that. So instead, I find myself stumbling down the hill, only just keeping my balance as I gather speed in a clumsy, tromping gait.
Is this what Aster was intended to do? Could it all be part of the process? Or did things go terribly wrong at some point, and Dosset decided to pull the plug before it got any worse?
“There is little use in keeping her online any longer,” he said. Maybe the world Aster was building was so far off track that there could be no correcting it. From the look of things, the problem wasn’t the terraformer’s effectiveness.
Yet another mystery to be considered, just as lopsided and strange as the rest.
My head has begun pounding again, making the dizziness worse, my movements more sluggish. I’ve gained too much speed in my distraction. I attempt to slow, but the decline has steepened, and the red world swirls around me in alarming shapes. Skidding, I hit a patch of loose gravel and my left boot catches in a hole.
I fall.
There’s a moment before impact when I envision my faceplate shattering, slivered glass thrown into my eyes, air sucked into the vacuum. My hands go up instinctively, and then I crash into loose rocks and dirt—I flip over and around, tumbling down, unsure which way is up until I come to an abrupt stop on the hillside.
Gasping, too terrified to move, I stare up into a tattered sky just as the sun breaks through. It washes everything a candle-lit orange as dusk settles, kindling the frayed clouds with a soft halo. Now that I can see the atmosphere, I realize how chaotic it is. The tufts of white and gray are carried off like sails in a high wind, the needle-like points of stars only just poking through, or winking between gaps in the canvas.
For a moment I feel like I’m twelve again, staring into the heavens with wonder.
But I’ve been careless—and it almost cost me. That fall could have been deadly.
Yet there are no alarms. Nothing feels broken. I register that I’m still taking giant, panicked gulps, and I attempt to calm my heartbeat. At this rate, I’ll plow through my oxygen in no time. I will myself to relax.
It’s not a race, I tell myself. If you don’t slow down, you’ll die even sooner.
That thought sobers me.
Gingerly I drag my body into a sitting position then ease back to my feet. My suit seems to have absorbed most of the fall. My shoulder is throbbing, though. I faintly wonder whether my wound is still bleeding. After a fall like that, it must be.
Now that I’m righted, I continue more carefully, focusing on maneuvering around the rifts in the ground, which are half-obscured by the billows of green smoke. The sun is again drowned in clouds, this time inky and menacing. Such dim light makes it difficult to see.
Still, here and there I make out the formation of striated yellow moss. It reminds me of the ice cave. I take care not to step on the tiny bulbs that poke up where the dirt has grown firm.
Yet, whether from the fall or the memories that preceded it, I’m struggling to keep my mind from straying. I concentrate on just reaching the dome, ignoring the pounding in my head, the painful pulsing of my shoulder, the surreal feeling that I’m not even moving as I drag myself over the rocky landscape.
Gradually the kilometers pass. Light continues to fade until it’s almost completely smothered by the swift, heavy clouds.
Then the lightning begins again.
Out here, I can hear it. It’s grating, sharp, and atomic. The flashes splay over the world in angry bolts, scattering monstrous shadows. It occurs to me that the reason I’ve never heard the thunder before is because the atmosphere is too thin.
I check my oxygen readout and find I’ve already used more than half of my supply. The knowledge makes my pulse quicken. But I take slow breaths, compelling myself to calm down. As long as I make it to the dome, I’ll be fine.
For me, the problem isn’t technically a lack of oxygen in my suit. It’s the carbon dioxide. Once the filters in my suit become saturated, the carbon dioxide levels will begin to rise. First I’ll grow drowsy. Then disoriented, having real trouble staying awake. These symptoms will worsen until eventually, I’ll just pass out. Then I’ll die in my sleep.
Ironically, the same kind of fate Dosset had planned for me. A peaceful sleep that ends in a peaceful death.
But that isn’t going to happen. Not to me. I can handle a little carbon dioxide poisoning. It’ll work itself out of my system once I’m in the safety of Aster’s dome.
Never mind what I’m going to do after that.
“One problem at a time,” I mutter to myself. “Just keep moving, you’ll be fine.”
I press on, and the wind turns vengeful. It cuts low, whipping the smoke into ragged streaks, forcing me to stand my ground. Above me, the sky turns black as coal. It feels the way it did when a thunderstorm rolled in back on Earth. When the world tensed in anticipation, and you could taste electric pressure on your tongue.
Come on, Lizzy.
Returning to a state of survival once more, I hurdle over a giant rock, part of a landslide from the upper plateau. I’m just lumbering down a sharp decline when something strikes my faceplate, making me cry out.
I whirl back and forth, fists clenched, looking for what hit me. But there’s nothing.
Then I see the tiny white stone beside my boot. A second later, a stone the size of my fist bounces off a boulder to my left.
Hail.
Without hesitation I throw myself down the slope, running as fast as my suit will allow—which isn’t fast enough. More stones strike the landscape, skittering like golf balls into gaping cracks. I hold up a hand to ward off any more direct hits to my faceplate, afraid a big enough stone could rupture the glass.
Ahead, a thin wedge of stone forms a bridge over a rift in the ground. Swells of livid smoke churn around it, shuddering the air like a mirage.
“Come on, come on…”
I charge across the gap and keep running, right past a yawning pit big enough to swallow a dome. This close to the rim, I can see glowing soil deep below, pulsing with an eerily verdant light. Whatever Aster
has done to the planet, one thing is certain: It can support life of some kind now.
The hail continues to intensify, each clanking blow sending an echo of pain through my body. I’ve just made it away from the worst of the chasms when I look up—
And a giant chunk of ice hits my faceplate.
Instantly the alarm goes off, shrieking in my ears, making me recoil. I fall to my knees, pressing my hands against the glass, searching for the hole. But I can’t find it.
It takes me nearly a minute to realize that the beeping isn’t a fracture. It’s my low-oxygen reader warning me I’ve hit critical. I swear and jab the button to make it stop.
Weak with panic, I take a moment to regain my nerve, wincing under the deluge of ice. Then I force my battered legs to bend.
Somehow my suit feels twice as heavy as before.
Fatigue sets in. Despite ordering myself to run, I’ve reduced my pace to a weary trot. I’m gasping again, but I can’t help it. My air is becoming less breathable by the minute.
Though the hail has shifted to smaller stones, the downpour has grown even thicker. I can hardly see three meters in front of me. I could walk right into a pit and not see it coming.
My thoughts wander to Noah. He’s probably forgotten me by now. Maybe Chloe has as well. It almost pulls a bitter laugh out of me, the realization that Terra will be last to forget. But I don’t have the energy for laughter. My thoughts are thick, like a freezing river. Each wavering step takes all the strength that I have.
Only vaguely am I aware that another alarm has begun, this one more insistent than the first, though I don’t bother turning it off. I’m walking now, my steps slow and languid. I don’t even notice when the hail abruptly stops as if someone turned off a faucet. I teeter, stumble, and just raise my head in time to see white canvas a few meters away.
A dome.
Have I come back to the colony? My thoughts are having trouble connecting the dots. I was trying to get away from here. Or at least I thought I was. But now it doesn’t sound so bad, lying down in a cryobed. It actually sounds nice.
I could sleep forever and not really mind at all. I think I’d find that pleasant.
Biome Page 23