Flame: A Sky Chasers Novel

by Amy Kathleen Ryan

  “Seems to me everyone wants power,” Waverly shot back.

  He tossed his head back. At first Waverly thought he was choking, but his eyes sparkled, and she realized that he was laughing—a desiccated rasp tore out of him. “Quite right! Quite right!” he said, clapping.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked, trying not to show her apprehension.

  His eyes glistened like beads pushed into cracked clay. Slowly he pushed his chair away from his desk, picked up a cane, and began to walk around the desk toward her. She drew away from him.

  “Saint Anne has been discredited. Surely you must comprehend the position that puts her in, not to mention the rest of the crew. And the church elders.”

  “What position is that?”

  “We’re vulnerable now. To chaos. To unpredictability.”

  “So?”

  “Predictability is what ensures the continuance of civilized behavior. Unpredictability is the enemy of progress. Of productivity. Of wealth.”

  Waverly didn’t know what he was getting at, but something about him was strangely fascinating. He looked utterly at home in this dark room, surrounded by what must be a priceless library. Behind him hung a gloomy landscape painting, nineteenth century, Waverly guessed, showing rolling hills under a cloudy sky.

  “I think you might be the key we’re looking for to make the future more … sustainable,” Dr. Carver was saying.

  “Who’s we?”

  “The church elders. They’d be known as the Central Council on the Empyrean.”

  “Are you one of them?”

  “I am.” He nodded humbly.

  “What do you want with me?”

  “Haven’t I made myself clear?” the man said, amused. “We want you to help us destroy Anne Mather.”

  The room suddenly felt very still, very quiet. “What?” she whispered.

  He laughed at the look of astonishment on her face. “As one of few genetic sources for our first generation of babies, Waverly, not to mention your performance on the day of your escape, you have a certain moral authority. I want to use this authority and grant you a forum to tell your story. Expose Anne Mather’s lies.”

  She stared at him. “She’d kill me.”

  “She might try,” he conceded.

  “Why would I risk that?” Waverly asked.

  “Name your price,” he said evenly.

  Waverly rubbed at her temple with cold fingers. The thought of putting herself in more danger exhausted her. She wanted to fade away, become part of the background, live a small life, help her mother get well …

  “Jared called you Dr. Carver. What kind of doctor are you?”

  “I am a neurologist, among other things.”

  “Can you tell me what’s been done to my mother?”

  He tilted his head in question.

  “She’s acting drugged, or brain damaged or something.”

  “Is her speech impaired?”

  “No.”

  “Is she dizzy? Having trouble walking? Does her face look strange? Droopy?”

  “No.”

  “It doesn’t sound like a stroke, though I can’t rule it out without an examination.”

  “Could you come see her?” Waverly asked eagerly.

  “I’m retired,” he said. “You should take her to the regular medical staff here.”

  “I can’t trust them,” Waverly said, remembering the doctor she’d taken hostage during her failed attempt to rescue the parents, the same one who had drugged all the girls and taken their ova. She didn’t want to see him again.

  “All right,” the old man said, blinking slowly in a kind of smile. “I would be glad to look at your mother.”

  Waverly stood up from her chair, and he raised his eyebrows.

  “You mean now?”

  “Please,” Waverly said, aware she was begging, but she didn’t care.

  The man pressed a small red button on his desk, and soon the door opened and Jared appeared pushing a wheelchair. With practiced moves, he helped the old man into his chair, then placed a crocheted afghan over his knees. The doctor waved a bony finger toward the darkened corner and barked, “My bag.”

  Wordlessly, Jared picked up a black doctor’s bag from the floor and hung it on the old man’s chair.

  “You lead the way, Waverly,” Jared said, and Waverly walked out the door with them close behind.

  When they got to Waverly’s lone apartment in the abandoned corridor, Regina was sitting curled on the couch in stocking feet, sipping at a cup of tea. “Waverly!” she said. “You brought company!”

  “Hello, Mrs. Marshall,” the doctor said jovially from the doorway. Jared pushed his chair into the room, gave Waverly a polite nod, then left to go stand in the hallway next to the guard, who barely acknowledged him. “I’m a doctor and I’ve come to have a look at you.”

  Regina looked at Waverly, confused. “I feel fine.”

  “Just routine,” the doctor said and worked his chair closer until he sat directly across from her, their knees almost touching. “Follow my finger with your eyes, dear.”

  Regina obediently set aside her tea to give him her full attention.

  The doctor had Regina repeat several sentences after him, checked all her reflexes, and had her remember long lists of objects. He ran her through simple arithmetic and asked her all about her history. Waverly sat in the armchair, watching. Her mother seemed to pass every test with flying colors, but that only frustrated Waverly. If the doctor couldn’t see what was wrong, how could he fix it?

  When finally the doctor turned to look wonderingly at Waverly, she rushed to explain. “It’s her emotions. She’s not bothered by anything.”

  “Like what?” the doctor said, visibly confused.

  Waverly stepped forward and took hold of her mother’s hands. “Mom. Remember how I told you the Empyrean has been destroyed?”

  “Oh,” Regina said, assuming a worried expression. “Oh yes. That’s terrible.”

  “Aren’t you upset about it?” Waverly asked.

  “Of course, dear!” Regina said, no more touched than if they’d been talking about a ruined dress. “It’s terrible.”

  Waverly looked at the doctor, who wrinkled his brow, perplexed.

  “Regina,” the old man said with authority, “I was very sorry to learn that so many of your friends were killed.”

  “Oh, I know!” Regina said, shaking her head as she took up her mug of tea again. “It’s been very difficult.” She took a sip, smiling anxiously at her daughter, hoping to please.

  The old man asked another dozen questions, each more provocative than the last, probing for some emotional response. At last he shouted, “Some mother you are! Not caring that your daughter’s home is destroyed! You must not love her. Someone ought to take her away from you.”

  “Oh no,” Regina said, finally becoming agitated. “Please don’t take Waverly away again!” She broke into tears and hid her face in her hands. “Please. I care! I know I do! I just feel so strange!”

  Waverly sat down next to her mother on the sofa, a protective arm over her shoulders, and glared at the doctor.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But at least now we know she’s still in there somewhere.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Waverly cried. “What did they do to her?”

  The old man worked at the handle of his cane with his bent fingers. “I don’t know,” he said, bemused. “I’ll have to ask around.”

  “Will you please?” Waverly asked. “Maybe you can fix her? If you find out what’s wrong?”

  “I’m sure there’s some kind of treatment.” He nodded.

  Waverly laid her head on her mother’s trembling shoulder. “It’s okay, Mom.”

  “I didn’t mean to make him mad,” Regina whispered.

  “You didn’t,” Waverly said. “No one’s mad at you.”

  “Jared,” the doctor said to the door, not bothering to raise his voice. Immediately Jared came back in and took his pl
ace behind the wheelchair. As the old man was wheeled out, he raised an eyebrow.

  “Remember what we talked about,” he said sternly. “I’m counting on your help.” Jared pulled him out the door backward, and the old man kept his eyes steady on Waverly as he added, “Just as you’re counting on mine.”

  Waverly looked at her mother’s confused, wandering eyes, and with bone-chilling dread, understood exactly what kind of trade the doctor meant to make.

  REUNION

  Kieran walked into the central bunker, his hands crammed into his pants pockets, trying to control his anxiety. Mather had called him the night before to inform him that after four days of stalling, she was finally gathering all the surviving Empyrean children together for a breakfast reunion. The room was bright with flower arrangements and glass pitchers of fruit juices. Children had already situated themselves into the rows of metal chairs, arranged in front of a small riser where a microphone and a podium stood. Did Mather expect him to make a speech to the Empyrean kids? Did the kids expect it? Why should they, after he’d failed them so utterly?

  “Kieran!” cried a squeaky voice. A group of little girls rushed up to him, gripping his hands and clothes, all looking at him with hope.

  “My mommy isn’t here!” cried Harmony Goia, hanging on to his shirttail. “Where is she?”

  “Mine neither,” cried Stephanie Horan, pulling anxiously on one of her red curls. “They won’t let me look for her.”

  He looked from one little face to another, at a loss. Weeks before, Anne Mather had sent a complete list of all the parents held captive on this ship, which meant that any parents not on the list must be dead. As acting captain, Kieran should have informed the children, but what could he have done with all that grief? Now here they were, their hopes of finding their parents on this ship completely dashed. He could see the ravages of worry on their little bodies. Stephanie had pulled one lock of her hair so relentlessly she was making a bald patch in her scalp. Little Monica Reese was sucking on a red, infected-looking thumb. Teresa Pratt picked at bloody cuticles. They were all pale and fretful and too thin.

  What could Kieran tell them? “I…”

  “Felicity!” cried Stephanie, running toward the door, forgetting all about Kieran.

  He looked up to see Felicity Wiggam coming toward him, a radiant smile on her face. Kieran tried to think of something to say to her, but she was already kneeling down to kiss the children. “I missed you so much!” she said to each of them. They barraged her with questions, and she held her hands up in surrender. “One at a time!”

  When she’d finally appeased the little girls, she came to him, took both his hands in her own, and kissed his cheek. She smelled like vanilla soap. “Kieran, how are you?”

  “I…” His mouth had gone dry.

  “I heard about the Empyrean.” She blinked tears from her large blue eyes. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Me neither,” he said quietly.

  “Felicity.” Stephanie was pulling on Felicity’s light blue dress. “Have you seen my mommy?”

  Felicity turned to the little girl, her smile wiped away. “No, my sweet girl. I have not.”

  “Where is she?” The little girl pulled savagely on her red curl.

  “I don’t see any adults here,” Felicity said, looking around the room, then she turned to Kieran. “Have you seen my parents?”

  Kieran opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t make himself say it. He didn’t need to. Felicity saw it all in his pained expression. She froze as the color seeped from her face.

  “I’m so sorry,” Kieran finally said.

  “I knew it,” Felicity said, swallowing as though she felt like throwing up. She pulled Kieran away from the little kids, who were watching her in fear, and whispered, “There’ve been rumors that most of the Empyrean adults were killed.”

  “They were sucked out the air-lock doors when Mather first attacked,” he whispered, relieved to have someone to confide in. “Hundreds of them, but we never knew which ones until we got the list of captives from Mather.”

  “But they don’t know yet,” Felicity said, looking at the young faces as children wandered between the refreshments table and the rows of chairs, unmoored and bewildered.

  More children from the Empyrean trickled in over the next few minutes. There were many tearful reunions between friends, little girls clasping hands, boys patting each other on the back, older kids wrapping littler ones in loving embraces. When Melissa Dickinson entered the room there was a general outcry, and she opened her arms to a wave of children. Barely taller than the kids she’d taken care of, Melissa had cared for the youngest children on the Empyrean, and they all adored her. She kissed each of them on the cheek, then herded them to the seats. The little ones still looked worried, but Melissa’s soft, sweet voice had calmed them.

  Waverly was one of the last to arrive, and with her was Kieran’s own mother, holding hands with Regina Marshall. They’d been friendly with each other on the Empyrean but never close. Now the two women strolled together, speaking softly like best friends. Waverly found Kieran in the crowd and held up a hand. He wove through the milling children to get to her.

  “Waverly.” He resisted the urge to hug her.

  “They’re all asking about their parents,” Waverly said. Her face looked drawn with lack of sleep, and her voice was throaty and weak.

  “What do we tell them?” he whispered.

  She shook her head, looking like a lost little girl.

  “Tell them the truth,” someone said, and Kieran turned to see Felicity next to him.

  Waverly rushed at her old friend, and the two girls held each other, their faces hidden in each other’s hair. “Why did you stay here?” Waverly asked her. “Why didn’t you come with us when we escaped?”

  “You know why. I didn’t want to go back,” Felicity whispered. Kieran wondered what she was talking about, but now was not the time to ask. “Oh, there’s Sarah!”

  Sarah Wheeler and Randy Ortega had just come in accompanied by two armed guards. Sarah spotted Felicity and wove through the crowd to give her a brief hug. “We all missed you,” she said, but her words were clipped.

  “Kieran!” yelled Jamie Peters, a blond little boy who had valiantly cared for his younger brother. “Where are the grown-ups!” His face twisted with intense anxiety, and he tore at his hair with his fingers. “Where’s my MOM?”

  All the kids turned to look at Kieran. They were in agony. He couldn’t make them wait any longer. He walked to the podium with leaden steps. The room quieted as he took his place at the podium and turned on the microphone. “Hello, everyone.”

  “Where’s my mommy!” shouted a little girl who, Kieran knew, had been orphaned. Several other children erupted into tears.

  Kieran stared into the audience of hopeful faces, wishing desperately that he could give them what they wanted.

  “Your mommy loves you,” he managed to say. “Like my dad still loves me.”

  “Where is she?” cried a little boy whose mother had been sucked into space along with Kieran’s father.

  “She’s with my dad,” Kieran choked out. “She’s watching down on you now.”

  The little boy looked eagerly up at the ceiling.

  “No,” Kieran began, but he could only hide his face in his hands. He should be strong enough to do this, but he couldn’t lift his head to look at them. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and someone guided him from the podium to sit in the front row. When he looked up, he saw Felicity had draped her arm over him. “Look,” she whispered.

  “MOMMY!” called a little boy.

  There was a great shuffling, and suddenly a cacophony of cries and screams as the children rushed toward the door.

  Filing into the room were the forty or so surviving adult crew members from the Empyrean. Children stampeded toward them, arms outstretched, wailing as they were swept into tight hugs. Mothers picked up little girls and twirled them. Fathers knelt down and wrapped th
eir arms around children two and three at a time. Behind them all stood Anne Mather and several of her armed guards. Mather had such a look of tearful joy on her face that Kieran had to look away. He didn’t want to believe she was capable of anything other than cold calculation.

  He knew he should gather up the children whose parents had not appeared, but something was happening. Regina Marshall had knelt, her hand on the arm of Jamie Peters as she whispered into his ear. He melted onto her, crying helpless tears, and she wrapped him up in her arms. This scene was repeated over and over throughout the room as orphans finally received the news of their parents’ passing, one by one, delivered by a loving adult.

  Kieran looked at Felicity, who was crying, her blue eyes bloodshot, cheeks blooming pink. He opened his arms to her and held her while she sobbed. Over her shoulder he saw Waverly holding Serafina Mbewe, kissing her plump brown cheeks. Serafina’s legs were wrapped around Waverly’s waist, her ankles hooked, looking like she never wanted to let go. Waverly looked up and blanched when she saw Kieran with his arms around Felicity. He felt embarrassed, but not enough to let go.

  “Murderers,” someone muttered. It was Sarah Wheeler, her jaw rigid with fury. Neither her parents, nor Randy’s, had survived. Randy was crying openly and without shame, and Sarah rubbed his bulky shoulder with a tenderness Kieran would never have guessed possible for her. But when one of Mather’s armed guards walked by them, Sarah narrowed her eyes and shouted, “Murderer!”

  Felicity pulled away from Kieran’s embrace to watch. The guard, a tall man with a heavy, protruding jaw, rounded on Sarah. The glare he gave her was chilling, and several people took a step away, but Sarah looked up at the man with unvarnished hatred. “How many of our parents did you kill?”

  The man made a fist, and he stared, challenging her to keep going.

  “How many kids did you orphan?” Sarah shouted. More people turned to take in the scene. Randy reached for Sarah’s shoulder but she jerked away.

  “You’re murderers!” Sarah shrieked. She shook from head to toe, and tears spilled down her cheeks. “We should kill you all!”