At first, I’m not aware that the images have faded. Then a small, choked sound escapes my throat. I stand alone, shivering, feeling as hollow as a broken promise. The grief swells until it suffocates me. A shackle in my throat that can’t be set free.
Staring at my metallic reflection, I realize that what Noah said all those weeks ago was truer than he ever could’ve known.
You can’t go home. Not ever. Even if you want to. Once it’s been torn down, it can never be built again. Not the same as before.
I miss them so much. Who I thought they were when I was small. Who they should have been when I grew up. And I’ll always wish they could’ve been more. There will always be a hole in my life that should have been filled with loving parents.
But that isn’t the story I got. Instead, all of these longings are overshadowed by my hatred of who they turned out to be and what my life turned out to be as a result. And in this moment, with all that’s happened on this desolate planet, I realize something else I hate.
Myself.
Because I’m just like my parents, aren’t I? Maybe because of them. Maybe because of my choices. Either way, I’ve managed to pick up their worst qualities.
Haven’t I treated Chloe the same way they treated me? Haven’t I refused to see things from her perspective—from every cadet’s perspective—all this time? Rather than understand them, I’ve used my intimate knowledge of their lives as a tool for reaching my personal goals.
Without meaning to, I’ve become the very thing that I abhor.
“But you don’t have to be that way,” I whisper longingly to my reflection.
I’m reminded of what I said to the others back in Noah’s pod that first night. I told them the reason we needed to remember the past was so we didn’t repeat it. So that we could grow beyond it.
Only, I was the one who wasn’t listening. I was blinded by my own thin perspective, consumed by my fears.
Well, I’m listening now.
The world grows still as the voices fall silent inside my head. I realize how quiet it is in this room. As if the whole world stopped talking at once. And I’m listening.
I feel a tension start to lift off me. As if the knot at the back of my head has finally come free and all the threads are tumbling down in a wave. Tears well at my eyelids. Just like in the ice cave, when I realized how I could use the virus to my advantage, I have a surreal moment of clarity as everything fits together.
All this time I’ve been mourning my parents. But I don’t have to mourn them anymore. There are others who do love me, who care for me, who see the Lizzy I could be. Like Noah.
From the beginning, hasn’t he seen my potential? Hasn’t he tried to pry beneath my rocky surface and nurture what he found there?
I can be that girl.
I don’t have to let anyone use me. I don’t have to bend the truth. Even if I’m not ready to forgive just yet, I don’t have to be tied to my scars, to the people who wounded me, or to the anger and fear that grew out of it. I can be myself and be honest and not be afraid. Not of getting hurt or of hurting others.
And that’s when I realize that I know how to save my friends. How to save everyone, even the doctors, and finally put an end to the Revisions.
Yes, I have a plan after all. And it begins with Atkinson.
Chapter Nineteen
“There’re two parts to the plan,” I say. I’m back in the kitchen, having roused Atkinson from a doze. The coffee machine spits thin, black liquid into a carbon mug. “Well, three, I guess. The first part is getting back into the colony undetected.”
“I can manage that,” Atkinson says. When I knocked he’d only just nodded off, apparently overcome by fatigue. He still seems jarred by my sudden willingness to help. “I was able to bypass Aster’s security without much trouble. Once we return to the colony, we should be able to simply enter through one of the airlocks.”
“Great,” I nod. “After that, we need to make a few bombs.”
His eyes widen.
“Bombs?”
“When Dosset wanted to flush me out, he decided to use ‘more drastic measures.’ I’m simply returning the favor.”
“So we’re going to… to threaten him?” Atkinson asks uncertainly.
“No,” I reply. “We’re going to destroy the biomes.”
He stares at me while I retrieve the mug and take a careful sip. It’s awful. But the caffeine should keep me awake for this.
“I’m not sure I follow,” he says.
“Dosset cares about keeping the cadets healthy more than anything, right? So our best shot at stopping him is to threaten that health.”
“With bombs.”
“With food,” I correct him. “If we remove the biomes, the colony won’t be able to make enough food to support itself. Dosset knows this. All we need to do is blow a few holes in the canvas and he’ll be forced to make a decision: either watch everyone starve or come clean. Even if he wanted to erase what happened, it wouldn’t fix the ruined domes.” I blow steam off my mug. “Certain plants should be able to survive, even with a wall breach. Once Dosset surrenders, we’ll gather seeds from the ones that can’t and begin cultivating the new land. That’s part three. Or four. I’ve probably missed a step or two.”
I slurp more coffee while Atkinson blinks at the floor, digesting my words. Gradually, an eerie grin lights his face.
“Yes,” he says. “I get it. We would be doing exactly what he did to me.” He looks up. Written all over his face is what I knew I’d find—hunger. Desperation for revenge. “We’ll be taking what he cares about most.”
“Right,” I reply, trying not to show my uneasiness.
It took some time to pull myself back together and to formulate the details of the plan. Knowing that he risked my life, I don’t trust him. At least not fully. But I need him for these next steps, there’s no way around it.
“We can probably get most of the materials we need from the Workshop,” I continue. “Once we’ve made the bombs, it’s simply a matter of splitting up and detonating them in each biome. Then, when the dust settles, Dosset will have no choice but to cooperate.”
“I know just the bombs,” Atkinson says. His gaze has gone a little glassy again. “Simple pipe construction. Very powerful.”
It’s late, but we stay up talking, going over every scenario. More than anything I’d like to slip away and give in to my fatigue. But these next hours, before the doctors show up to drag us away, will be the most critical of all.
Dawn is breaking when the conversation finally ends. Despite our exhaustion, Atkinson seems almost chipper. While I drink my fourth cup of sludge, he prints up breakfast, humming softly as he bustles around the kitchen. The whole scene reminds me bizarrely of someone’s father preparing for a family outing. A trip to the zoo.
One where the animals don’t wear lab coats and try to steal your memories.
“How many pancakes?” he asks.
“Twelve,” I say, rubbing the fire from my eyes. “And there’d better be syrup.”
“At least a ration,” he says, delivering the first batch in a steamy heap. “Bon appétit.”
Now he reminds me of Chloe with her tiny French interjections. To ignore this, I shovel down the stacked cakes until I can’t stomach another bite.
Once we’re finished, there’s nothing to do but put our ideas into motion. While I swap my suit’s carbon dioxide filters in the airlock, Atkinson steps inside the terrarium. He hasn’t been gone long when the lights begin to dim and flicker, the whole dome swelling as Aster churns back into an active state, sending ripples over the glass in acoustic waves.
Atkinson returns and gives me a sharp nod. We both step into our spacesuits and cycle the airlock. A moment later we emerge back onto Mars.
The sun is white and hazy in the sky above us, bleach-ing the dirt a terra cotta orange. I’ve left my helmet off for now, tucked under an arm. A high wind tugs at my ponytail, and I catch the foul smell of sulfur as, again, my bre
athing grows rapid.
Will my body get used to this kind of atmosphere? Running will certainly be a challenge. Though if I ever get the opportunity to run again for pleasure, I can’t say that I’ll mind much.
Gesturing for me to follow, Atkinson trudges around the dome wall. On the other side, I catch sight of the trail he took, a slivered canyon that cuts right through the plateau. It must’ve been carved by eons of wind—or more likely an ancient, long-evaporated river.
As we make our way toward the cliff face, I begin to grow lightheaded. Finally, I give in, sealing my helmet and getting the suit’s oxygen flowing.
But Atkinson doesn’t seem to mind the thin air. He doggedly traces a path between a graveyard of sun-baked rocks as, behind us, a billow of gray rises from Aster’s dome. It’s a mixture of aerosols, the compounds that so rapidly converted the planet’s atmosphere into something livable. Clearly visible in the violet sky.
It takes us a quarter of an hour to reach the nearest cave. As we climb over the lip and down among the shadows, I have the irrational fear that creatures are hidden here. Of course, there are no animals on Mars. But there’s a sense of something sinister keeping watch.
Above, meter-long icicles hang like teeth around the mouth of the cave. Atkinson’s breath forms ghastly puffs in the air until, with lips tinged blue, he secures his helmet at last.
Now we wait.
Centimeter by centimeter the shadows crawl across the valley floor, etched by the path of the sun. My stomach squirms—from nerves, from lack of sleep, from my several cups of coffee. I begin to worry that I was wrong.
Did Dosset anticipate our plan? Has he decided to just seal the colony and allow us to starve out here?
I run a dry tongue over my teeth, growing antsy. If anyone is out searching for us, they’ll surely be drawn to Aster’s dome first, especially with her murky plume visible a few kilometers high. Won’t they?
So what’s taking so long?
Another half hour trickles by and I begin to fidget like Atkinson, trying unsuccessfully to stretch in the restrictive suit. I’m about to suggest we go back to the dome and have lunch when I hear it: a vague rumble.
The resonance grows louder, and then a rover appears out of the canyon, crunching over loose rocks as it winds into the valley, headed straight for the dome.
“Finally.” Atkinson’s whisper is barely audible.
I crouch down beside him, afraid the white of my suit will give me away. But the rover doesn’t stop until it reaches Aster’s dome. Two figures get out, carefully approaching the airlock.
Sarlow and McCallum. It must be. I squint, only just able to discern them as the astronauts step into the airlock. The bay door shuts, and I leap to my feet.
“Let’s go.”
Atkinson scrambles down the slope after me, and we take off at a lumbering jog. I keep my eyes fixed on the rover, making every step count. Willing our pursuers to remain distracted. If Atkinson did his job correctly, the pair should have difficulty getting inside the terrarium. Which will hopefully buy us enough time to hot-wire the rover and escape.
Unless they sense a ploy and one of them returns to the rover, just in case.
I pick up the pace.
The return journey is perilous, maneuvering the uneven ground in our clunky suits. But the dome is still quiet when we arrive.
Atkinson sidles up to the rover’s entrance, an extended airlock that juts out the back of the vehicle like the socket of a giant vacuum. While he fiddles with an access panel, I bounce my weight from foot to foot, eyes glued to Aster’s bay door.
“How’s it going?” I ask, unable to contain myself.
No answer. Then I hear the telltale click of a lock shifting, and the rover’s airlock opens with a pneumatic hiss.
Only room enough for one.
“Me first,” he says simply, and he climbs inside.
The door shuts behind him, humming with the cycling of atmospheric pressure. I’m practically shivering, both from nerves and an excess of caffeine. So exposed, only meters from Aster’s dome, I have to remind myself that this was a necessary risk. That another journey across the entire valley would’ve taken too long, and we likely would’ve been spotted.
But it’s no consolation for the fact that if Sarlow or McCallum were to return right now, I’d have no means of getting away.
And suddenly, that’s exactly what they do.
The bay door opens and both figures emerge. I know with certainty now that it’s the two hefty doctors. The way they shuffle. Freeze. Cock their heads in disbelief. Break into a clumsy sprint, charging toward me with powerful, bitter rage.
I’m hardly aware of the rover’s airlock opening. One second I’m watching in terror as they race toward me, the next I’m stumbling inside, slamming my fist against the button, and the feeble carbon door closes just in time. An atmospheric readout spins from red to green; I stumble back into a bubble-like cabin as the rover leaps forward.
“Sit!” Atkinson barks, jabbing buttons in a frenzy.
Unsteadily I fall into a padded chair, my legs trembling.
The rover isn’t accelerating fast enough. In the rearview mirror, I can see the doctors tottering after us. But we pick up speed by degrees, and then they grow smaller and smaller, until finally, they disappear in a cloud of thick ruby dust.
“Too close,” I whisper. I can’t shake the oppressive fear that took hold of me at being stranded outside the airlock. “That was way too close.”
Atkinson nods sharply.
“It’s going to be bumpy,” he says, gloves clamped on the wheel. We pass a spear-like boulder. “You should buckle.”
We roll into a deep crater, gaining speed as we go. On the other side, I see the canyon already looming as if stretching out to swallow us. I have the paralyzing sensation that the world is folding in, and I consciously remind myself to breathe.
So far, the plan is working. The best thing I can do now is relax and conserve my energy.
But how can I? Last time, all of our plans failed. Last time, I barely escaped with my life. Now I’m going back. And when I get there, I may find that no one remembers me.
I bite my lip, eyes drifting over the time-worn rocks, cacti struggling for a drop of sun, needles like waxed chrome. If they don’t know who I am, I’ll just have to remind them. And really, what’s more memorable than homemade explosives?
I’m sure they’ll be very impressed, I think morbidly.
Considering the mania my announcement about the virus caused, this should be apocalyptic.
Neither Atkinson nor I speak, each surely feeling the strain of what’s to come. The rover makes good time. Soon the canyon walls are falling away, the Red Planet expanding around us.
I can see the hill I climbed yesterday, maybe two kilometers off. We accelerate into the low valley, gaining momentum for the uphill climb. At the slope, we grind and stutter, tires briefly shifting for traction. Then as we near the top I have the sudden, irrational fear that we’re too late. That when we crest the ridge the colony will be gone. Everyone will have disappeared.
We reach the peak, and I glimpse the basin below.
Of course, the colony is still there.
And they’re waiting for us.
Spacesuits are clustered around the nearest airlock, at least four of them, stark white against the ruddy ground. Another rover is already halfway up the hill, headed toward us.
“Marcus,” I begin, my voice tight. But he’s already accelerating and we’re tilting over the edge, gaining gut-dropping speed as we tip forward.
“Hold on!” he cries.
Within seconds we’re on top of the other rover. We almost clip its side, but the other driver manages to spin clear at the last second.
The whole cabin shakes as we fly down the slope. Atkinson banks clear of the airlock, throwing me into my seat as he whirls away, heading out and around the domes. We pass a biome, seemingly even more massive from the outside.
On we go un
til another airlock comes into view. This one is guarded as well.
“Dosset was ready for us,” I shout above the rattling din.
He looks at me then, eyes wild. We circle wide again, kicking up gravel as the doctors wave for us to stop. Out and around more domes, another biome towers into view. The sun is eclipsed as we enter the rim of its shadow. We’re headed straight for the geodesic wall.
“Atkinson?” I call. My heart is in my throat.
His face is drawn, arms locked.
“Hold on!”
The last detail I see is a bead of sweat frozen on his brow. Then there’s the crash, like thunder inside the rover. My world becomes noise and madness.
Awareness returns in pieces: white dust, an acrid burning, a deep pain in my ribs, my shoulder, my knee, and racking coughs that radiate knives into my lungs. Vaguely I’m conscious of hands tugging at the restraints that keep me in my seat. Then I’m dragged into startlingly cold air, both a terror and a relief.
My vision stutters, and I see the wreckage of the rover, its front end smashed and folded, protruding through an enormous gash in a hexagonal wall; a rift that stretches up and up like a tear in an immense sheet of paper.
I’m shoved into the dirt. Then Atkinson leans down, his face warbling.
“D-did we crash?” I try to ask, but I’m overcome with coughing again.
“Are you hurt?” he yells in reply. But my ears are ringing, and it’s hard to make sense of anything. It feels like I’ve been drugged.
He’s pointing at the wreckage, then out across the biome. I realize we’re inside Polar. To my left is the ice cave, and directly ahead of us, the snowy hill. There’s wind too, a chilling wind that calms my burning lungs.
But this feels wrong. There isn’t ever wind in this habitat. I glance back and realize that air is escaping through the hole in the canvas, rushing out into the vacuum.
“…before they realize what happened,” I hear Atkinson say.
Biome Page 26