The Lying Planet

by Carol Riggs

  Grumbling, Jeff and Vic slink off.

  “Can’t get decent help around here,” Daniel says, but his tone is congenial. “So, let me answer the usual question you safe zoners have. My face has gathered wrinkles and I don’t have much hair because I’m forty-seven. It’s called ‘aging.’ For some reason, everyone tells me I look older than any adult in the zones. They must’ve started their lab-generated families really young, or else they have better genes or some sort of miracle wrinkle cream down there in the valley.” He chuckles.

  I try not to stare. It’s natural for his face to be creased like that? Weird. But then, the zones are alien-filled. Mom and Dad and the other adults have looked the same all my life, exactly like the people in the database they’re mimicking. Apparently shape-shifting has no need for this “aging” process.

  “Done.” Marnica loosens the section of hacked-off pants and leaves the room, taking the cloth with her.

  Daniel motions to the tub. “Throw your leg in for rinsing. This will sting like ten thousand levels of fire and brimstone, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  I swing my leg over and brace myself. Daniel hefts the bucket and pours a cool flow over my knee, which trickles down and washes over my burn. Pain floods my leg. I hiss out a breath, concentrating on Daniel’s sharp gray-blue eyes as hard as I can.

  “I take it there’s no running water in this colony,” I say, trying not to grind my teeth.

  “Right. Destroyed long ago by invading aliens. At least this northern dwelling cluster has intact plumbing to carry away used water. We use the buckets of water along the wall for washing hands and flushing toilets. For fresh water, there’s a hand-crank pump at the well out back. I’m a stingy old buzzard about using our ludmium power—just ask anyone here. We have one lud-cell charger plus a spare we’re fixing up. We make do with what we have.”

  “At least there’s shelter and water,” I say.

  He adjusts his grip on the bucket. “Which safe zone are you from?”

  “Sanctuary. The commander and a lieutenant drove me and another guy to a place a few kilometers south of here…the other guy didn’t make it.”

  Daniel’s expression turns stormy again. “That’s a barbaric practice. I don’t know why they can’t just banish kids without branding them and hunting them down like animals. I tell you, if I had military backup, I’d storm those three zones and take them over. Get rid of their two Testing Machines and confiscate every one of those flamers.”

  Time to break the news about the aliens. “Yeah…speaking of flamers, I don’t think the dogs are reacting to the sulfur. Ajax pawed his ears right before he started to go crazy, like it was a sound or vibration he didn’t like.”

  Daniel keeps rinsing. “Nonsense. I’ve seen the dogs do that, but what kind of noise would be setting them off—the whine of the flamers?”

  “No, the team members make gravelly, slushy sounds when they speak. It’s the sound of their language. You probably won’t believe this, but I think the adults in the safe zones are the same aliens who started the War. They shift into human form during the day.”

  Daniel’s eyes narrow. “I have zero respect for those zoners, but that’s one colossally far-fetched theory, boy. You must’ve hit your head or got your circuits crossed from listening to Marnica tell War stories on the way here.”

  “How else would the teams get the flamers?”

  “Easy. They looted them from alien ship wreckage before the military protectors cleaned up. Now they use them to bully other survivors and act like they own the planet.”

  He sure doesn’t have any love for the safe zones. “Sorry, that’s not the way it is. They are the aliens. About eight hundred of them took over Sanctuary and are pretending to be human.”

  Before Daniel can do much more than frown, Shelly breezes in, carrying a spray bottle and wearing pants that are cut off mid-thigh. Her arms and legs are bruised, burned, and scratched. Her two short ponytails stick out to the sides, looking disturbingly similar to alien ears.

  She belts out a hoot as she sees me. “Jaaay! What’re you doing in the outer zones? You never made brew or stole supplies.”

  I sigh. “Along with other diabolical deeds, I walloped the Machine with the branding iron.”

  A laugh bursts from Shelly’s mouth. “That’s great! I wish I’d thought of that.”

  Daniel stands. “We’ll debate your wild theory some more later, Jay. Shel, finish up here with a bandage. Dry gently around the wound and don’t wrap it too snug.”

  “Yes, sir,” Shelly says with a mock salute. She grabs a towel from a shelf while Daniel takes off with the empty water bucket. I haul my leg out of the tub. Shelly blots my leg dry, sprays it with turmroot solution, and tapes on a bandage. She adds a careful spritz to my ear and the welted brand on my forehead.

  As I wince, her nose wrinkles. “Phew. That shirt’s gross.” Her expression transforms into an unexpected grin. She scoots closer and pats me on my ribs. “Here, I’ll help you take it off. Arms up, bud.”

  I lift my arms. My face heats up as the shirt comes off.

  “Ooh, check out those muscles. Too bad you got all those battle wounds on top of them.” She clicks her tongue in sympathy. Then she grabs my forearms, pulls me to my feet, and herds me to the lounge room. “I’ll be right back with a clean shirt.” She leaves me on the couch.

  I prop my leg onto a low table and lean back against the cushions. The dog lying by the retracting glass door rolls its eyes toward me without moving. We study each other. The animal looks as soul-weary as I feel. But it’s great to be safe, bandaged, and not thirsty anymore. Although it’s strange to have Shelly Fergusen flirting with me. Maybe she figures Aubrie will never join me here, that I’m un-spoken-for in the outer zones. Which might be all too true. I squeeze my eyes closed, as if doing so will cancel out my next thoughts.

  I might not ever see Rachel and Tammi again. Or Harrel and Misty. Peyton. Even Leonard, old nettlebur himself. A powerful wave of emotion rolls into my throat and lodges there like a fist. Even worse, I left Peyton frowning in the courtyard, our last words part of a heated argument. That’s the last time I actually talked to her, anyway. I need to make that right—and I have to get back and warn everyone about Farrow’s hunting game.

  Someone steps up and kneels on the couch. I open my eyes to find Shelly next to me with a shirt and a smirk. “Reach for the stars, muscle boy.”

  “Give me that shirt,” I say, not caring that I sound bristly. “I can put it on myself.”

  “Shy today, are we?”

  “No. First, Farrow tried to kill me with a flamer. Thomas Baker got burned to death, and two big dogs tried to attack me. I’m sick of all this death and horror.”

  Her smirk vanishes. “I got branded and shot at, too, remember. My forehead makes me look like an ugly freak. And it’s hard work living here. We have to forage for stuff we can’t grow. We ration lud-power. We boil our drinking water and have to heat water for baths. We didn’t know how great we had it in Sanctuary. The only good thing is we’re free.”

  “Yeah.” I swallow hard as I pull my shirt on. Freedom. That doesn’t mean a thing if my sisters and friends are still in danger. The sad-looking dog meets my eye again. “Is that your dog by the door?”

  “No, that’s Kenna. She used to be Mick’s dog,” Shelly says. “Mick went off to snoop around Fort Hope to see what supplies he could steal and got himself incinerated. He didn’t want to worry about Kenna when he left that morning, so he didn’t take her. Now she mopes all day. It’s like she knows he’s gone for good.”

  Kenna stares into the back yard. A fenced worrel area and a rabbit pen stand beside the garden. A yellowbird bobs around on wire-thin legs, but Kenna stares at it without a flicker of interest. I exhale at the same time she does.

  “Did Daniel find these wild dogs and tame them?” I ask.

  “Nope. The original settlers from Earth brought cryo-embryos with them, same as they brought the other animals. A
few dogs ran off and went wild, but the settlers raised the rest for companions. Daniel’s uncle specialized in breeding dogs.”

  “But you can’t eat them for food or milk them or anything?”

  “Nope.”

  Companions. That doesn’t seem too useful. Even Gizmo, my favorite hen, lays eggs to be productive, and someday—although I hate to think of it—she’ll end up in a tasty stew. But the dogs do make a great warning system to protect against scavenger teams.

  “Why don’t the dogs attack the team instead of us?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “Something about a fear-aggression center that triggers in their brains. Daniel says they found out after the War that dogs and other non-human carnivores started acting too spooked to challenge what they’re afraid of. They’re panicked and confused, so sometimes they attack the nearest human instead. Lucky us.”

  That fits what I thought earlier. The dogs panic from hearing the aliens’ gravelly snake noises… In my situation two weeks ago, Mr. Redmond’s voice set off the vermal’s fear-aggression center to make it run past him and leap at me, the closest human. It only happens near the aliens.

  “Are Blake and Marnica together?” I ask, trying to sound like I don’t care.

  “Nah. They’re just buddies. She’s not really his type.” She punches my shoulder softly and leaves the room.

  I sigh. Good news for Aubrie…assuming she makes it out of Sanctuary alive.

  In a few minutes, Jeff and Vic wander into the kitchen quarters across the room from me and begin dinner on a portable stovetop. Shelly wanders back in to chop vegetables. I offer to help, but Jeff tells me to rest up. Their chuckles, clanks, and conversation sweep over me while I fidget with the edges of the couch cushion. Soon, aromas of rabbit and onion stew float into my nose.

  Blake and Marnica join us in the lounge room as we start eating. After we’ve made a good dent in the stew, Daniel knocks a rabbit bone against the room’s central lud-heater.

  “Listen up. Jay thinks he knows what’s happening on this planet. His theory is straight-out disturbing, but some of it makes a twisted kind of sense. I want to hear what else he has to say.”

  The room quiets. Everyone turns toward me.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I put my spoon down. I’m sick of telling this tale, but with the intense look Daniel is leveling at me, I’d better get this over with. I glance around the room. Six of us have banishment brands seared onto our foreheads, the permanent marking of our good luck to be alive. Everyone sits motionless, their gazes expectant and wary. Except for Blake, whose lip is curling.

  I try to gather my thoughts. “This is going to be super hard to believe.”

  “Come on, spit it out,” Blake says.

  Daniel throws Blake a sharp look. “Don’t ever be impatient for bad news, son.”

  The tension in the room ramps up a notch. Jeff and Vic exchange glances, and Marnica rests a restraining hand on Blake’s forearm.

  “Our parents aren’t who we think they are.” I claw one hand through my hair. “The Testing isn’t what they say it is, either. Two weeks ago I found out our parents are aliens—the same ones who started the Genomide War.”

  The room breaks out into a pandemonium of swear words and exclamations.

  “No way, Lawton!” Marnica says. “I think the sun baked your head too long today.”

  “Our parents might be harsh and controlling, but they’re not aliens,” Blake adds.

  “I’ve seen them at night with my own eyes,” I say. “So have Harrel, Peyton, and Leonard. I made an imprintus for proof and left it with Harrel to show everyone. The aliens are shape-shifters who have crustacean bodies, fangs, and hairy heads with tufted ears.”

  Marnica snorts. “I told you that description of them this afternoon.”

  “You never said anything about ten spiny legs or beady black eyes on stalks,” I say. “You didn’t say they’re as short as my sister Rachel. You didn’t mention that when they talk, their voices sound like wet gravel.”

  The room goes quiet.

  “That’s exactly what they looked and sounded like,” Daniel says, rubbing his hands over his face.

  Jeff blanches. “Some of them are still alive? Daniel, didn’t you tell us they planned to eat humans?”

  “Yes, I did.” Daniel’s gruff manner is gone, stripped to a quiet rawness. “Near the end of the War, the remnant of settlers and military protectors captured a pair of wounded aliens. We learned of their schemes before they died. First the beasts planned to invade Liberty by crippling the biggest colonies. They wanted to reduce the population to prevent uprisings, and then they planned to take over smaller outposts and use the humans who were left to breed for food.”

  “That’s why they built the conception lab in Fort Hope,” I say. “They captured people, Tested them with the Machine, and used them to start embryos. The aliens figured out they need younger humans, food they can control until we’re ‘ripe’ at eighteen.”

  “They started the safe zones to grow us for food?” Shelly asks in a hoarse whisper.

  I nod and explain how the Testing works, along with the broth powder and how our human hearts and brains are awarded to our parents.

  “That’s about the grossest, most evil thing I’ve ever heard,” Marnica says.

  “Good thing I was done with my stew,” Vic says in a hushed voice. Jeff is silent and squinty-eyed, as if he’s in pain.

  Shelly throws her spoon across the floor with a clatter. “This is disgusting! They’ve preyed on us all our lives, treating us like a bunch of cows or pigs or worrels.”

  “I should’ve known,” Blake mutters. “I always thought my dad was ‘off’ in some basic way. Farrow and the lieutenants, too.”

  “Well, I didn’t have a clue,” I say. Dad is nothing like harsh, demanding Lieutenant Zemik. It’s a good thing Blake kept meeting Marnica and got himself banished, since he had no clue about who our fake parents really were.

  Daniel rubs his knuckles. “My parents were military protectors who died fighting in the War. When the bombing started, I was twenty-two. They shipped me off to a small outpost with my grandmum, my dad’s mother. The pair of wounded aliens swore they were the last of their kind before they died, but I had nightmares for years about running into more of the beasts.”

  “Didn’t you try to live in Sanctuary once?” Vic asks him.

  “Yes,” Daniel says, the word heavy. “I was combing the western valley for survivors seventeen years ago, and came up to the gates. The Board wouldn’t let me stay. Told me to move on, and warned me to keep away from the southern colonies where they scavenged—like they owned the planet.”

  “Lucky for you they didn’t kill you on the spot,” I say. “I guess you weren’t a threat by yourself, and you were too old and stringy for them to eat.”

  He grunts. “Pack of murderous brutes, regardless. They killed Mick. The teams flame my dogs. And it was always a head-scratcher where they really shipped their graduates. It sure as scorchin’ wasn’t Promise City, unless they’re doing some serious restoration work over there. The whole setup smelled alien to me, but it didn’t make sense—they looked human. I didn’t know they could shape-shift.”

  “It explains how they got those flamers,” Shelly says.

  I thump the couch cushions. “The question is what do we do about it? I got banished so I wouldn’t get killed for food, but I didn’t know about the Board’s demented hunting game. We have to get everyone out of the zones before their ceremonies. Where are those other settlers and military protectors living, Daniel? Maybe they can help us.”

  He shakes his head. “I searched for them for years after my grandmum died, but I didn’t have a working vehicle then. I finally gave up and collected banished kids instead. They may have rebuilt over on the coast by Rochester where there’s seafood. Or way down south by Wild Range.”

  “Can Earth help us?” Marnica asks.

  “Nope,” Jeff says. “The aliens destroyed the relay
equipment, and even if they hadn’t, the Earth dwellers wouldn’t get here until next summer.”

  “Then we’re alone.” I struggle against a massive wave of despair. Counting myself, there are seven humans against eight hundred and fourteen aliens in Sanctuary alone. Suicidal odds. “We have to do something. But it’d be really risky to sneak back in and help anyone escape.”

  “They’ll shoot us on sight,” Blake says. “It was hard enough going through the tunnel by myself. It’d be way worse trying to smuggle a lot of kids out.”

  Vic straightens as if bolstering himself. “Refuge needs help, too. There’s no tunnel there, but there’s a removable board near the woods.”

  “A friend of ours made a doorway board in Fort Hope, too,” Jeff says. “It’s a smaller zone, like sixty adults with a hundred and twenty kids. Most adults work at the conception lab or the hospital compound.”

  “The hospital.” I shiver, thinking of Rich disappearing in the night with supposed appendicitis. “Have you guys ever been in there?”

  “Nope. Known people who have, though,” Vic says.

  “Did they ever come back?”

  “A few. Only kids with serious accidents or problems go there.”

  “Same with Sanctuary,” Shelly says. “Otherwise the medical center handles it.”

  Marnica looks queasy. “Do they eat the injured or sick kids who don’t come back?”

  “Kids younger than eighteen wouldn’t be ‘ripe,’” I say. “They might just kill them if they can’t be healed.”

  “I bet the hospital is where they slaughter the graduates and make the broth powder,” Jeff says. “It’s a huge building, way too big for the few injured kids who go there. The aliens probably kill the graduates right after they donate starter cells for the conception lab.”

  “Sounds like a revolting but logical guess,” Daniel says.

  I stare at what’s left of my soup. How can we stop this? For years, we’ve been living a grisly lie. And there might not be a thing we can do about it.