The world is still coming back together, misshapen pieces of a sensory puzzle. Atkinson pulls me to my feet and shoves me out over the frozen ground.
But the second I put weight on my left knee, the joint erupts in pain. I grit my teeth, eyes watering. It takes me a second to get a grip. I’m coherent enough now to realize how dire our situation is. So I force myself to tough it out, limping after Atkinson as he hurries over the wintery fields. There’s simply no alternative.
It feels like an eternity that I stumble along, knee screaming, nearly falling again and again. Yet the pain clears my head, a tempest that overwhelms everything else.
By the time we reach the portal, I can hardly bend my knee at all. Atkinson has already set to work, removing a maintenance panel just like he did with the rover.
“Any luck?” I say, collapsing against the wall as he tugs at a coil of wires. In response, the portal miraculously opens.
“Done,” he says curtly.
He ducks inside, and I hobble after him.
As soon as I’m through, the portal seals behind me, silencing the great, moaning roar of the punctured dome. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the dark.
The lights have been cut, but instead of green, the runners are the noxious red of an emergency lockdown. A kind of underlying dread seems to rise from the quiet, a haze broken only by the rhythmic sequence on the overheads.
“Dome breach,” declares a stern yet calming tone. “Cadets, report immediately to your sleeping pods. Dome breach…”
We linger briefly, listening for the scurry of unseen feet—cadets rushing down hallways to do as they’re told. But we’re far from the sleeping pods, and it’s early. Cadets will likely have just finished up with their showers. A simple trip upstairs, rather than a panicked rush from every corner of the colony. For that I’m grateful.
One less thing to worry about.
My suit is making far too much noise, and anyway, my knee can’t support the weight any longer. I detach the halves and carefully ease them into an alcove. Risking a glance, I find that the fabric of my jumpsuit is still intact. Whatever damage was done to my knee, it’s concussive. Which is actually not a very comforting thought.
Atkinson has also shed his suit, picking at his forearms as he trudges deeper into the colony. Without the extra load, I’m again able to establish a sort of hop-step pattern that mostly shields my knee.
Yet by degrees, new pains begin to reveal themselves, and my shoulder is throbbing with renewed sharpness. When I reach beneath my jumpsuit and down along my collarbone, I have to bite my cheek to keep from crying out. The flesh is torn anew. My fingers come back slick with fresh blood.
Focus, Lizzy, I tell myself firmly. We have an entire colony of doctors looking for us. After the bombs are in place, I can lapse into a coma for all I care. But until then I need to remain alert.
We continue on with sharp vigilance until I split off at the Xeri domes, headed for the Sick Bay to gather the explosive compounds—and for Kog, to seal my newest wounds. With a cursory nod, Atkinson continues on to the Workshop alone.
I’ve just reached the Sick Bay when I hear approaching footsteps. As I duck out of sight, a team of doctors rushes past in a flurry of reddish white.
I hold my breath until they’re gone, then glance at the frosted doors of the operating room. The nitroglycerin—medically used to improve blood flow but a potent explosive in liquid form—will be in there. And sutures for my shoulder, if I’m feeling adventurous.
Kog hasn’t proven sufficient to the demands of my recent lifestyle.
Caution—or maybe fatigue—keeps me grounded longer than necessary. I finally suck in a breath and swing my arms, pitching to my feet, incidentally bending my knee.
Pain spirals up my left side, pushing bile to the back of my throat. But I clench my jaw and stumble toward the doors. I’m on the point of turning the handles when I hear a crash on the other side.
I totter backward, almost knocking into a shelf of gauze as adrenaline floods my body. Someone is in there—possibly a doctor. But who? And why? I have no weapons now, no means of defending myself in close quarters. I can’t even run away.
Heart throbbing like a hammer, I wait and listen, hoping for some kind of clue. But nothing is audible over the drone of the alarm.
At length, I lay out my options. I can either wait or try to surprise them. I might be able to get ahold of a scalpel and use it as a knife. But just as before, the notion of deliberately harming someone—of cutting them and watching them bleed—makes me queasy. And that’s assuming I’d even be quick enough in my current state.
When I don’t hear anything for another full minute, I slink forward and press my ear against the glass.
Strained breathing, thick and guttural. Almost animal. Whoever’s in there, they must be hurt—or worse.
I suddenly have a horrible image of the doctors turning to new kinds of torture, surgically altering my friends to make them cooperate. But no, Dosset would never risk the health of his cadets.
Or would he? Apparently, he already burned out several of my peers in his furtive search for a replacement.
But I’m taking too long. Atkinson will have already reached the Workshop and begun assembling the bombs. So, bracing myself, I tug on the handle. Cold air rushes over me in an antiseptic swell.
The operating room is divided into two halves—one for surgery, one for recovery. Plastic sheets hang between them, fluttering in the metered flow of the oxygenators.
It isn’t hard to tell where the breathing is coming from, it’s so loud. I glance at the far wall, a mosaic of cabinets and drawers. Each holds surgical implements, disinfectants, and, of course, the more potent medicines and painkillers. Perhaps even Verced, it now occurs to me.
But to reach them, I’ll have to pass the recovery beds and the source of those horrific gasps. My hands are shaky as I step forward and come to a decision. I reach up and yank aside the curtain—
And my heart stops.
“Noah!”
I stand paralyzed—dumbfounded—and abruptly, very weak. My fist tightens on the white fabric to keep me from collapsing.
He’s tied to the bed by the wrists. Microfiber straps, just like they used on Atkinson. But that’s hardly the worst of it.
The familiar, gentle face is now bloated in purple and green smudges, dark crescents underscoring his eyes, a thick white bandage covering his nose. He must have kicked over a side table, because it’s lying on the floor, silver instruments scattered at my feet. When he sees me, he squints. A strange expression crosses his features.
And in that moment, I know. I’m too late. He doesn’t recognize me anymore.
“Noah,” I say again, more softly this time. Tears prick my eyes. “I’m so sorry. If I could have stopped them… but I didn’t think—”
“Lizzy?” he asks. Again my heart stops.
He remembers.
And suddenly I’m crying. I don’t even know why. I close the distance between us and wrap my arms around him fiercely.
Because I thought I’d lost him. Because I thought I’d lost everyone. But here he is, right in front of me, and he remembers.
He tries to reach out to me, but his wrists catch on the restraints.
“Sorry,” I choke into his shirt. “I’m sorry. I—”
“It’s okay,” he says awkwardly. “You didn’t do anything.”
For a minute I let myself cry, just allowing myself to be close to him. To someone I can trust. But then, at last, I have to pull away.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, swiping at my eyes. “I just—”
“You thought they’d erased my mind?” he asks.
But that’s not it entirely. If I’m honest, I’m not sure what it is. Now that I’ve remembered our friendship and everything it could’ve been, things feel different between us. But how? All of that is still just in my head.
He doesn’t know.
“Why didn’t they?” I ask, fumbling with the
straps to free him. “Erase your mind, I mean.”
“They wanted to, I think,” he says. “But they couldn’t. See, the thing about sedation is, you’ve got to be able to keep a patient breathing while they’re under. And breathing has been a bit challenging since Sarlow broke my nose. Well, that’s not completely accurate. Since I broke my own nose when I tackled her into a bench.”
I shake my head regretfully.
“Dumb move. All for a girl who was just going to run away.”
“Looks like she came back.”
“Yeah, well I think she came back a little late,” I say. Even with a broken nose, his gaze is penetrating. I pull the first strap free. “You look horrible, Noah. What were you thinking?”
“Lots of silly things,” he says, a rueful smile tugging his lips. “It’s not true what they say, you know. You should never follow your nose. At least, not with your body weight.”
“I could’ve told you that,” I say, pulling the second strap loose. “I took a nosedive down the side of a mountain earlier. Wasn’t pretty.”
“A mountain? Like, a mountain mountain?”
“Rocks and everything.”
He stares at me.
“You went out on Mars?”
“Long story,” I say evasively. “Can you walk?”
“I think so.” He stands and immediately loses his balance, grabbing my arm for support. My knee groans, and I swallow a grimace of pain. “Sorry,” he says. “What I think and what’s real don’t seem to be in agreement just yet.”
Even through the pain, I’m keenly aware of his touch. The realness of him. Because it doesn’t seem possible that he could be here right now, leaning on me. I don’t exactly know what to think, but I know how I feel. Relieved. Or maybe grateful?
Or maybe something I’ve never felt before. The bloom of a seed that’s yet to be named.
As he regains his balance, he releases my arm, and this time I can’t help but gasp. He looks at me in alarm, and it’s then that he notices the red blotches on my jumpsuit.
His face pales, freckles sharp by contrast.
“You’re bleeding?”
“It’s just a cut,” I say, trying to sound dismissive.
Unzipping my jumpsuit, I make an effort to keep my face straight as I peel back the fabric, revealing the tattered skin. The Kog at least disinfected the wound, but the purple adhesive has since ripped free, leaving an uneven line of bloody flesh.
I kind of expect Noah to panic or be stunned or even disgusted. Instead, I watch a change come over him. It’s as if he’s flipped some kind of switch. Steady and calm, he leads me to the other side of the room, allowing me to lean on him for support. Without my boots to weigh me down, he nearly carries me.
As I settle onto the operating table, he retrieves supplies.
“This might burn a little,” he warns, and then he’s wiping away the blood with a mud-brown cotton swab, dissolving the last of the Kog. It does hurt, but only for a second. Then the flesh goes numb and cold, and he begins sliding a tiny hooked needle through my skin, looping black string, pulling the wound closed with practiced movements.
His hands don’t tremble, I realize. Not the way they would have when we first met. And it occurs to me that since I found him here, he’s been talking to me like he used to. Casual and easy. As if we’re friends.
I watch him closely, feeling how gently he touches my skin, noting the way his hair hangs near his eyebrows, as soft as brushstrokes, the radiant orange of a Martian sunset. He glances up and catches me staring. Unnerved, I look away while he finishes tying the last knot, a ribbing of shiny threads.
“Anything else?”
“I smashed up my knee a bit.” I zip my jumpsuit back up to my throat, covering a shiver. “But I think I’ll live.”
“Can you bend it?”
“Uh, kind of.”
He pushes off the bed, crinkling the paper top-sheet.
“Well, you don’t have to show me, but you should at least take an anti-inflammatory. And something for the pain, if it’s bad.”
“Do I need to sign for them?”
“Is that supposed to be a joke?” he asks in feigned astonishment. “Lizzy Engram, the most serious girl on the planet, making jokes?”
I almost remind him of all the stupid puns we’ve exchanged, but I’m again stung by the reality that he doesn’t remember them. He vanishes behind the curtain then returns carrying two cups—one with water, one with pills.
“Here,” he says. “Take these and let me know if they help. I don’t want to give you anything too strong or you’ll get loopy on me.”
“Thanks,” I say. Once I’ve taken them I sit back, considering how to tell him about the plan with Atkinson. “Hey, do you remember last Monday when I snuck into your pod?”
“Rings a bell.”
“I said I had some heavy things to tell you.”
“That’s right.” He looks at me suspiciously. “And now you’ve got a few more?”
“Well, I was out there. On Mars, like you said. And it isn’t what we thought. The planet is… habitable. It’s chaotic. And dangerous. But we could live out there if we had to.”
He watches me closely as he puts the tools away.
“And… you think we have to?”
“Yes.” I take a deep breath. “Atkinson was out there too. And he came back with me, with a plan to destroy the biomes.”
“Destroy the—?”
“It’ll prevent Dosset from lying anymore,” I hurry on. “If the biomes can’t produce food, he’ll have to tell the truth. To us, and the doctors. We can save the seeds of whichever plants don’t make it, then rebuild on Mars. Just like we were always meant to do. Dosset is keeping us here to be sure we’re under his control. Out there, he won’t have control anymore.”
Noah swallows as he leans against the table. I’m tempted to say more. To tell him about what happened on Earth and what’s at stake. But it still isn’t the time. The last thing he, or any of us needs, is that kind of emotional blow. We can sort it out when we’re no longer vulnerable to Dosset.
When there are no more dangers to run from.
“This is pretty drastic, Lizzy,” Noah says at length.
“I know. But I can’t see another way. We’ve tried the rebellion and cornering Dosset, and nothing seems to work. Maybe there’s a better option out there, but I can’t think of it. Apparently, since I’ve got everyone’s thoughts, no one can. This is just the way it is.”
For a time he just stares at the wall, and I wonder if he’s wrestling with his anxiety again. But then he takes a deep breath and nods.
“Okay,” he says.
“What does ‘okay’ mean?”
“It means okay. If you say there’s no other way, I trust you.”
The proclamation takes me off guard.
“You trust me,” I repeat.
“Yeah. If you say this has to happen, then I trust you. Only, can I ask what you plan to do after the bombs go off?”
“Do?” I say, confused. “Dosset will be finished. We’ll do whatever we want. Start over.”
“I get that. But what I mean is, who’s going to lead the colony after Dosset? When the bombs go off, everyone will panic. They’ll look for someone to make them feel safe again. If we set off the bombs, that puts Dosset in a position to step in and be the hero. To catch us, make an example of us. Demonstrate why he needs to stay in control rather than give it up. He can just play it off like he didn’t know Mars was habitable yet. And who could argue with him? The cadets don’t know anything. We’d have to trust the doctors.”
As usual, he’s cut right to the heart of the issue. I’ve been so fixated on the task at hand, I couldn’t see the bigger picture. This is the reason Dosset knew I’d try to corner him during the riot. Why all the airlocks were guarded when I returned this very morning.
“So what do we do?” I ask. “Who’s going to lead them?” And I narrow my eyes because, though I don’t say it, that leader can
’t be me. I’ve already proven that.
“It has to be you, doesn’t it?” Noah says as if hearing my thoughts and rejecting them. “You’ve got the memories.”
“But they don’t trust me,” I say in exasperation. “They think I’m just trying to convince them of something. I don’t really know them.”
“Then don’t try to convince them. Just be honest. Tell them exactly what’s going on.”
I bite my lip. Just be honest.
Isn’t that what brought me back? The realization that my parents might have worked things out if they’d simply been honest with each other? That if I could strip away the veneer of the domes, Dosset would be forced to tell the truth and set us free?
That I could be a different sort of person if I stopped hiding behind my fears?
Still, it was one thing to consider these changes in the solitude of Aster’s dome. Putting them into practice feels like an entirely different matter.
Can I really hope to change people without being manipulative like Dosset? Or selfish like my parents or cutting like Terra?
My thoughts linger on Terra and the way we’ve never really spoken without tearing each other down. How I’ve never trusted her with what’s really going on inside my head.
How I’ve never trusted her at all.
That’s when it dawns on me. All along, Terra insisted that the rebellion would’ve worked if she’d only been allowed to lead it. Because the cadets trusted her. Didn’t they show up in the glade, skipping duties to follow her?
And all along I stood in the way, refusing to let her do her part. Even though she was probably right.
So what if she’s still right? If I could somehow win her over, would the cadets still follow her?
It seems now that she was always the one to convince. More than anyone, the cadet who had every reason to doubt me. If I could make amends, maybe—just maybe—we could put the past behind us. She could be the leader we need.
Or our best option, anyway.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll… give it a shot.”
Noah smiles, then winces and gingerly presses at his bandage.
I suddenly hear voices outside the glass, and my sense of safety evaporates. We both freeze, staring at the curtain while muted tones deliberate. I realize that the alarm has stopped. The moment carries, and then I hear footsteps hurrying away, taking the voices with them. We both exhale slowly.
Biome Page 27