“So what’s our first move?” Noah whispers.
“Well, our first priority is getting Atkinson the nitroglycerin. After that, we’ll get started on recruiting our fearless leader.”
“Wait, what?” he says, frowning. “I thought you just said you’d give it a shot.”
“I did. And I will. Just… trust me, okay? I think Terra is the leader we need.”
My casual tone sounds flimsy, and I know it. All I can hear are the terrible things I said to her during our last exchange. But Noah wasn’t there for any of that. He hesitates only a moment before he says, “Okay, sure. Terra it is. Where’s Atkinson?”
“In the Workshop, hopefully.”
“That’s on the other end of the colony from the Polar pods.” Noah’s frown deepens. “If you’re sure we need Terra, you should go after her while I take Atkinson the nitro.”
His words pull me up short. “Wait, you think we should split up?”
“Don’t you?”
“Why would I?”
“Your knee for one,” he says slowly. “You said it was bad.”
“I’m great at limping.”
He cocks his head at me. “Um, sure, but there’s a good forty-some doctors out there looking for you. Hopping aro-und on one leg seems like kind of an unnecessary risk, don’t you think?”
“Too bad,” I say dismissively. “I’ve got meds. I’ll be fine.”
“Lizzy…”
Defiantly, I get to my feet. My knee almost buckles, and I can’t quite hide the way I shift my weight, grimacing.
“I’m not going to risk you getting caught,” I growl before he can say another word. “Not again. All right?”
He looks as surprised by my words as I am. Where is this coming from? He obviously has a point: I’m in no shape to be trudging around the colony, and speed is critical to our plan. So what is my problem?
“Look, I might have a busted-up nose, but you can hardly stand,” he says tolerantly. “I’m just saying, you won’t be able to run if you’re spotted. So let me help.”
“I’ve gotten away every other time, haven’t I?” I say, unable to stop myself. “And last time you tried to ‘help,’ look what happened.”
I gesture at his nose, and his eyes widen.
“It happened because of you!” he snaps, finally out of patience. “Do you remember what happened when you got stuck in the Helix and we thought you’d been captured?”
“That doesn’t—”
“We spent the whole time making plans for how to save you, but there was nothing we could do. Only wait. I swore if you somehow made it back, I’d never get into that position again. That’s what was going through my head when I tackled Sarlow. That’s what I was thinking the entire time I sat here waiting for them to decide I was ready for the procedure.”
“Noah—”
“No,” he says, and I’m surprised by his intensity. “If I’m going to trust you, you’ve got to trust me too. This works two ways.”
He isn’t asking for anything outrageous. But I don’t want to let it go. What if something goes wrong and he needs me? I can’t risk losing him again. And yet, is it really my decision to make?
You’re being selfish, I tell myself bitterly. You’re already doing it again.
“Do you trust me?” he insists.
“Okay,” I say in frustration. Even now, using my anger for confidence. “Yes, okay, I trust you. I just… I don’t want anything to happen to you. All right?”
“I’ll be fine, I promise.”
I give him a flat look. “You can’t promise me that.”
“Fine. That’s true. But we’re still splitting up.”
“Yes, you win. Are you happy now?”
“I’d be smiling if it didn’t hurt so much,” he says, but then he smiles anyway. “Ow. Really, seriously, never do this. It’s the absolute worst.”
“Come on.”
We exit the Sick Bay, our levity vanishing in the cold, lifeless halls.
It’s immediately obvious how dumb it was for me to argue with him. My knee has stiffened, reducing me to a stilted hobble. I hang onto his arm and he guides me, carefully steering my tiny, weightless leaps.
Every few meters we pause to listen for doctors, but none are forthcoming. Thankfully, Noah’s breathing has grown less ragged now that he isn’t thrashing against the restraints.
Too soon it’s time to part. Noah lingers at my side. I can tell he doesn’t want to leave me. I linger too. Because, despite his promise, we both know there’s a chance that, again, this could be the last time we see each other. And neither of us knows how to say that kind of goodbye.
“See?” he finally whispers, pointing at my leg. “You really didn’t have a leg to stand on.”
I can’t help but smile.
“No one nose better than you, bandage boy.”
He snorts, then swiftly quiets himself, scrunching his face in pain.
And suddenly I feel a compulsion to do something I don’t entirely understand. Like when I chose to stay the night in his sleeping pod just to feel his eyes watching me sleep. It’s odd, but in some way, it seems like the most natural thing I’ve ever done.
Because he saw me for who I could be, before I saw it myself. Because he trusted me when no one else did. Because even without the memories to fall back on, he never gave up on loving me—whatever that might mean.
So in case we fail and I never see him again, I want him to know that I’m thankful. For his friendship. For his trust. For being the boy that he is. And since I don’t have the time or the words to say all these things, I reach up on the tips of my toes and brush my lips against his cheek instead.
I don’t give Noah time to reply. I just whip away, letting my momentum carry me into the Polar halls, which are throbbing red, just like my body. I’m so distracted by the buzzing in my limbs that I almost don’t see Doctor Meng bouncing a flashlight in a wide arc and headed right toward me.
Somehow I manage to bend myself into the shadow of a doorway as he mutters into his watch, then hurries on.
From there it doesn’t take long to reach the sleeping pods. Terra’s room is halfway down on the right. I let my pace slow, wondering what sort of conversation is about to unfold. It won’t be easy. But somehow, in my bones, I feel like it could be my first real step as a new Lizzy.
Rather than reach into my memories for a code, I simply tap my knuckles against the plastic and wait for her to answer.
Chapter Twenty
“What—?”
I watch the tremor of disbelief roll through her at the sight of me standing in her doorway. Who knows what she assumed happened to me after she abandoned us in the Workshop. Judging by her expression, she at least felt sure she’d never see me again.
And yet, here I am.
“Can I come in?” I ask.
Still, she’s speechless. I gently push into her pod and close the door behind us. After several failed attempts, she finally shakes off her astonishment.
“H-how did you—?”
“Just barely,” I finish, sinking into her chair. “We need to talk, Terra.”
“We have nothing to talk about,” she retorts. Coldness swallows her surprise like a morning frost. “Get out.”
“Just listen—”
“I said, get out!” she snaps. “Get out before I call the doctors and you—”
“Apologize?” I interject. This is so unexpected that she falters again. I sigh, my energy dwindling. “Sit down, Terra.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“Déjà vu,” I say with a humorless smile. I suddenly feel like this week will never end. “You and me, we need to get some things straight. Not like before, when I tied you to a chair and made threats. We need to have a real talk. In which we trust each other.”
“You expect me to trust you?” she sneers. “Trust starts with respect, Elizabeth. Of which I have none for you, and you so clearly have none for me.”
“You’re right. These pa
st few days, I haven’t. So let me start by respecting you enough to say I’m sorry.”
She narrows her eyes, looking for the blade she expects to find hidden in my words. “No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No. You expect me to believe you’re sorry?”
“That’s right. For writing you off so quickly when we met. For bullying you at times. For losing my patience so fast, and for taking out my frustration on you in the Bolo Biome. But most of all I’m sorry for not listening to you about the rebellion. It might’ve actually worked if I hadn’t let my pride get in the way.”
As I’m talking, each occurrence flashes through my mind in graphic detail. But this time they don’t come with the painful headaches. Rather than feeling hindered by the memories, I feel somehow free of them. Rather than burdened, empowered.
Terra just stares at me. Eventually, she does sit.
“I once asked why you were helping me,” I go on hesitantly. “But now I think I might get it. Because we both had parents who damaged us, growing up. Right? And we both ended up with a lot of problems because of it. And the worst part is, a piece of the damage they did was that we ended up being like them in certain ways. Didn’t we?”
“You only know that because of those stupid memories,” she mutters. “And sorry, but you don’t get to come in here and ask questions like that. You didn’t earn the right.”
I bite my tongue. Just be honest, I remind myself. No versions of the truth. Just the truth itself, as well as I can manage.
“Okay,” I say patiently. “Let me give you some answers instead. My parents had a messy divorce when I was fifteen. And they put me in the middle of it. They treated me like a burden to be shuffled around or a weapon to be used against each other. The biggest reason I came to Mars was to get away from them.”
“A lot of people have bad parents, Lizzy. So what?”
“So, it wasn’t until yesterday that I realized I hated not just them but myself too. Because in a lot of ways I’ve acted like them. I only think about myself, and I shut everyone else out to keep myself from getting hurt. And who cares who I neglect in the meantime, just as long as I can be sure I’m safe, right?”
She shifts on the mattress, bunching the microfiber sheets in her fists then smoothing them out again. “Yeah, that sounds like you,” she says at length.
The comment is meant to bother me, and as usual, it does. I try my best to remain calm. My being ready to trust her doesn’t mean she’s anywhere near ready to reciprocate. It took me almost a week to admit these things to myself—and that was with the aid of the entire Memory Bank. This could take awhile.
Of course, we don’t have awhile. In fact, our time is very short. Atkinson and Noah could detonate the bombs at any moment.
“That’s why you helped me, isn’t it?” I say, pressing forward. “Because of your past and your mother. Because you knew if Dosset made you forget—”
“I’d just keep being awful, like her?” she finishes sweetly. Then she shakes her head, a bitter smile on her lips. “Oh, Elizabeth, you still haven’t put it together, have you? I don’t remember my mother. Not even a little. Instead, I just have you.”
“Me.”
“Yeah, you. Every time I see you, or you do certain things, I get this sense of someone else. Someone that I hated. And it sets me off. Like I’m possessed or something. I just want to rip you apart.”
“It’s called a body memory,” I say. “It’s a learned aversion to—”
“Great. Well, I have a lot of those, I guess.” Her nostrils flare as she breathes sharply through her nose. “So, yeah. When you tied me to a chair and told me about her, it all kind of fit. I had this image in my head of a faceless woman that I would see sometimes. And then other times I’d hear her voice. Not a real voice. But a judgment. Like, I’d want to eat something and then the voice would say, ‘You’re disgusting.’ It’d tell me all kinds of things. About how I’m useless and clumsy and not good enough.”
She pauses, lip trembling in a flash of vulnerability. I feel like maybe I should say something. But instead, I just listen.
“When you told me about her, I knew it was the truth. I just knew. And then later that night, when you told us that if we couldn’t remember the past we wouldn’t grow beyond it? I knew you were right about that too. I hated that you said that. Because I knew if we failed, I’d just go on being like her. A young, miserable version of a woman I don’t even remember. And do you know why I don’t remember her?”
“Why?”
“The reason. Isn’t it obvious?”
“I don’t—”
“The doctors erased all my memories of her. All of them. Because apparently, she was such a terrible person, Dosset didn’t even want to leave a trace. Like a cancer. And yet with or without the memories, she won’t go away. She’s still ruining my life. Even from back on Earth.”
Her eyes, always cunning and sharp, now seem like open windows. The look is oddly intimate. I avert my gaze.
“So… when I told you, right before the riot, that you were just like her—”
“It was the worst thing you could’ve said,” she replies.
I nod. Because of course, it was. Even then I knew it was. Why else would I have said it?
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for that too,” I say quietly.
“You shouldn’t be,” she shrugs, the edge returning. “It was true, wasn’t it?”
I vaguely nod again, because I’m not sure what else to do. It was true—but it was harsh. And it feels like maybe a harsh truth can be as hurtful as a lie.
“Terra, there’s… a way we can still beat Dosset,” I say after a moment. “If you’re willing to help me, that is.”
“Still trying, huh?” she snorts. “What’s the plan this time? Release a real virus?”
“Actually something a little more drastic,” I say. “Atkinson is back. We’re going to plant bombs around the colony and destroy the biomes. It’ll force Dosset to let us leave.”
“What?”
“Mars is habitable, Terra.”
I watch the thoughts chase each other around her head for a full minute. It’s not hard to guess what she’s feeling. Disbelief, followed by hope, followed by cynicism. Considering all the reasons I must be wrong, then all the reasons I might be right. Finally, she just says, “What?”
So I back up. And I tell her as much as I can, as fast as possible. About my plan to stop Dosset and why it’s so important that when the smoke clears, the cadets have someone to follow. Someone who won’t use their secrets against them but will rather set them free.
“And who will that be?” she asks, her expression unreadable. “You?”
“Us,” I correct her.
A peculiar smile touches her lips.
“Oh, so this is part of the recruiting process?”
This actually makes me laugh.
“Well, I’m not going to say you’re my first choice.”
It feels strange to be talking to her this way. Like friends—as if we really are friends and not just relying on each other to overcome a common enemy.
“So what do you want me to do?” she asks. “Line everyone up in the hall and tell them I’m in charge?”
“If you think it’ll work,” I say wryly. “For now I just need you to be ready. They trust you. And when the bombs go off and the world starts falling out from under them, they’ll be looking for someone to trust.”
“When are the bombs going off?”
I look at the clock. It’s probably been half an hour since Noah and I parted ways. Really, the first bomb could go off at any time.
“Soon,” I say.
“We just wait then.”
“Yes. We wait.”
But as the minutes continue to crawl, electric numbers counting upward, a suspicion worms into my mind. A fear like swirling wind, eroding the edges of my calm, whispering that Noah was cornered. Or that something went wrong with the bombs. After ten, then
twenty minutes pass in silence, I can’t wait any longer.
“I’m going to see what’s taking so long,” I say. “Stay here until you hear an explosion.”
“What happens if I don’t?” she asks flatly.
“Then… you might need to whip up that rebellion on your own.”
Clicking the door behind me, I start back down the hall, my whole leg now stiff from the pain in my knee.
Where do I begin? It shouldn’t have taken long to build the bombs. Still, I decide to go to the Workshop, just in case they got held up. If they aren’t there, they must’ve run into trouble in one of the biomes.
The corridors are disturbingly lifeless as I shuffle along. There are no alarms, not even footfalls to stir the air. Only me, limping through the crimson halls as if I’m the only girl on the planet. I shake off the unsettling feeling as I duck inside the Workshop.
Empty. I don’t find any sign of their work until I reach Romie’s desk, where a space has been recently cleared.
Well, the problem wasn’t with the bombs. They must have hit a snag in the biomes. But which one?
For the sake of time, I’ll bet Noah and Atkinson split up. The Clover and Scrub habitats are closest to the Workshop, which makes them obvious first targets. Knowing Noah, he likely volunteered for woodland, simply because of its connection to me. I decide to start there as well.
However, I’ve taken only a few hop-steps down the hallway when I hear something. Pulse spiking, I come to a halt.
That’s when I see the white lab coats moving steadily toward me like ghosts appearing from a fog, rendered monstrous by the blood-red light. At my back, ahead of me—I’m cornered. And, in their hands, Verced at the ready.
They move with clinical calm.
“Elizabeth,” calls a familiar voice. It’s Shiffrin. “Don’t be alarmed, dear,” she says in her gentle, motherly way. “You’re scared and confused, I know. We can help you.”
I’ve crouched on instinct, legs coiled like springs, ready to flee. But this time, there’s no chance of escape. They’re knotted in threes and fours, shoulders forming a blockade across every path.
Biome Page 28