“… kind of a space brat, I guess. Spent more time out here than on Earth, but anyway. How about you? How was your first night on Eden? A success?”
“We were almost eaten a few times,” Anton remarks. “Does that count?”
“Really? Is that …” He points at Jaime’s wound. “Something did that?”
Jaime returns a dark stare. “No. This happened during my launch sequence.”
Kit frowns before darting back to the other topic. “There are some serious preds down here. The Adamites did their best to clear the area out, but push one species out and another one comes sliding in. I knew Babel would jettison you during the best atmospheric window or whatever, but landing at night? Brutal. Everything down here hunts by moonlight. So what’d you see? Any everhounds? I’m dying to catch a glimpse of one.”
“We saw a century,” I answer. “An eradakan. A pack of clippers too.”
Kit shakes his head in disbelief. “Been here four months, and I didn’t know there were centuries on this continent. You know how rare they are? Was it big? Must have been huge.”
Morning throws out a rough estimate. The rest of us are walking, stiff and silent. Anton’s staring at the kid like he’s from a different time period, but Jaime’s hands are shaking with anger. I shoot him a quick keep it together look, and he just clenches his jaw even tighter. Kit’s small talk is important. We need to learn as much as we can about Babel, and he seems like the type who will keep talking as long as there’s someone with a pulse nearby. But there’s still the fact that he thinks this is all fun, like this is all just a game. I thought that once too.
As the tower’s entrance comes into view, Kit pulls back his right sleeve. I realize for the first time that only that hand is gloved—and that the glove is anything but normal. A white nexus is implanted in the palm. The same neurofibers Babel used for our mining simulation stretch to each finger before suctioning tight to the skin on his wrist.
With a lazy backhand, he casts a digital interface into thin air.
It’s like a floating computer screen. The projection has a series of blue-tinted applications, tabs, and icons. We all stare as Kit double taps a button here, shuffles an object there. Another backhand sends the display spiraling back out of existence.
There’s an answering grind of metal. Overhead, windows open at Kit’s command. A series of solar panels to our right start to rotate. Finally the front doors of the tower gape open.
Kit lowers his hand and realizes we’re all staring.
“What?” he asks. “It’s standard tech. Didn’t Babel have this on their ships?”
Morning nods. “They did. One day we’ll stop being so surprised by it.”
“Understandable,” Kit replies. He starts through the doors but glances back at Jaime as he goes. “All right. Let’s get you down to the med bay. The other two squads are still a few hours out, so you can pick your hive first. This central space is shared by all three units. The hives are your personal space. A little pro tip: Hive-1 has the sunrise views. If you’re looking for blackout sleep, though, go with Hive-3. Sun doesn’t really hit until late afternoon.”
Inside, the tower’s almost hollow. Sunlight casts down from the windows, filling the entire structure with bright light. A pair of black staircases curl up and around the tower walls like a helix, crisscrossing to form a catwalk every twenty meters. The main floor is decorated with cushions and mismatched rugs. All the furniture is nyxian, but rough workmanship. The kind of half-formed manipulations we did in early training sessions.
“It’s not much,” Kit says. “But make yourselves at home.”
Jaime looks uncomfortable as he follows Kit toward the med bay. Morning slings a pack over one shoulder and marches in the direction of the first hive. She’s about halfway there when she realizes none of us have budged. “What?” she asks, turning back. “No sunrises?”
Anton just shakes his head. Azima wags a finger.
“You’re my queen down here,” she admits. “But sleep is still my god.”
Morning glances at me. “Et tu, Brute?”
“Two words: blackout curtains.”
Morning slides back our way and rolls her eyes. “Hive-3 it is.”
We follow a path that takes us out of the tower, underground twenty paces, and into a connected building with gentler lighting. Half the roof and an entire wall are made of glass. “This is one of the buildings we saw,” Azima says. “I thought they were greenhouses.”
The other half of the hive looks more like a bunker. Nyxian walls separate rooms that could double as fallout shelters. They’re arranged in a circle, honeycombing out for effect.
“Like a hive,” Anton remarks. “So very clever, Babel.”
Morning glances back the way we came. Kit’s voice echoes, but it’s growing distant.
“Remember the plan,” Morning says. “We get work done and we keep our eyes open. I wouldn’t reveal much to Kit. He seems harmless, but he’s with Babel, end of story.”
“So anything we say to him, he’ll relay to Babel?” Azima asks.
Anton shakes his head. “Not just to Kit. I would assume anything you say inside this building has a chance to reach Babel, including this conversation. So let’s stick to small talk until we know how things work down here.”
Morning nods. “Rest first, talk later.”
Anton chooses the first room, tosses his bag in one corner, and slams the door shut. Azima wanders off to explore the rest of the hive. Morning gives me a long look, the same stare she gave me the night I visited her room in space. She glances around once, making sure no one can hear us, before asking, “Do you want to be alone?”
I shake my head. “Nah.”
“Let me settle in,” she says. “Just a minute.”
She moves to the room on the far right. I take the room next to hers. I set my knapsack down in one corner and sit on the edge of the bunk. The room’s mostly dark, with the only light leaking in from the hallway. It’s the first time I’ve been alone since the landing, and I was too panicked then to think about anything but finding the others. Now I have a second to wrestle with everything that’s gone down. Roathy’s hate chases me through space. Isadora’s final look echoes. And Bilal …
Babel killed him.
Babel killed him.
A dark part of me thinks that that was always the danger of letting them in. First Kaya and now Bilal. I made them a part of me, I housed them like organs, and Babel decided to rip out the pieces I let myself need the most. In those hollow spaces, hate wants in; hate is already growing.
Morning opens the door. She looks exhausted, but one glance in my direction has her crossing the room. She kneels beside me. “Emmett,” she says. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
She frowns. “You’re not fine, Emmett.”
“Really, it’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“Emmett,” she repeats carefully. “You’re not fine.”
I glance around the room. For some reason, the whole place looks colorless. Even Morning’s face seems like a faded portrait. “Seriously, I’m good.”
I’ve never seen Morning look so heartbroken. “You’re crying, Emmett.”
“I’m okay. I don’t … I’m not …”
“Come here.”
She sits down on the bed next to me. The only safe place is her arms. I lean that way and let my head fall into her lap. Morning strokes my hair, the way Pops always did for Moms. It takes about a minute for my senses to come raging back. My eyes are thick with tears.
“They took them from me. Bilal. Kaya. They took them from me.”
Morning whispers softly. The graze of her fingertips against my head is the only thing that keeps me from fading to dust. At school I learned to be tough. I learned that real men only cry at funerals. Friends—and sometimes teachers—taught me to keep my emotions out of life’s equations. It was Pops who poked holes in that theory. Sometimes he would cry when Moms had her bad days. He never apologiz
ed for a single tear. Neither will I.
Morning holds me. When I close my eyes, Bilal smiles down out of the dark. I can’t bear looking at him, though. So I move off into dreams or nightmares or both. I know I’ll have to say goodbye, one of these days, but not yet, not now.
Chapter 4
A Dysfunctional Family
Emmett Atwater
I wake up to raised voices. I reach for Morning, but she’s gone. The room’s dark. I can’t tell if that’s because it’s night or because I slept through to the next morning. The voices continue to echo down into Hive-3 until I’m on my feet, stumbling toward the sound.
Our hive is empty, but in the tunnel I spy someone leaning against the wall that connects the underground to the tower. It takes a few seconds to place Katsu’s bulky frame. As soon as he spots me, he pushes off the wall and wraps me in an unexpected hug.
“I thought you were going to sleep through your own trial,” he says.
“Trial?” I side-eye him. “What trial?”
“Let’s just say you’ve caused some controversy.”
Beyond him, two voices volley back and forth. I finally recognize that Morning’s is one of them. The other one is Parvin’s. She might be a head shorter than Morning, but she’s not remotely intimidated. I remember Parvin as a strategical mastermind in the Waterway. She and Morning would always consult as they took in a new course. Like Jazzy, she doesn’t usually break under pressure. The argument has heat rising along Morning’s neck and her cheeks, but Parvin is a perfect picture of calm. She adjusts her nyxian-framed glasses—clearly a parting gift from Babel—before delivering a reply.
“We deserve to know what happened,” she says.
“I told you what happened,” Morning flings back. “You’re just gonna ignore the fact that Babel did this? Seriously? And it wasn’t just Emmett and Roathy. Anton, Jaime, Alex … they all had to fight. Connect the dots, Parvin. None of them wanted to do this.”
As I step out into the light, the entire room goes quiet.
Everyone’s here. The other squads must have arrived while I was sleeping. And it’s pretty clear that they’ve already taken sides. Anton’s spinning a knife in circles on the nearest tabletop with a lazy finger. Golden-curled Alex perches on the same chair. He’s tapping out a drummer’s rhythm on Anton’s shoulder. They look as inseparable as they did up in space. I expected Alex to look more scarred after what Babel put him through, but the relief of being at Anton’s side must be keeping the damage at bay.
Azima is standing behind Morning in clear support. She’s buried her hands in her hips, like she finds this entire argument exhausting.
There are three neutral parties too. Omar looms against one wall. He’s the biggest person in the room, but I can see him tapping his arm nervously, like he can’t stand the idea of two close friends fighting. Longwei and Jazzy sit in front of him, neutral judges of an entertaining tennis match. I almost nod over to them before remembering that the entire room’s staring at me, waiting.
My accusers stand in support behind Parvin. For some reason, their nyxian masks make them look even angrier. Ida’s glare is a cold wind. Noor folds her arms, face full of disapproval within the perfect circle of her hijab. Holly actually cracks her knuckles like we’re about to box. But their glares are nothing compared to the sight of Isadora.
She stares at me like some horrible queen. I notice that the tight fabric of her suit has stretched. She sets a gentle, protective hand beneath her stomach as she walks forward. The gesture ends me. It’s not possible. How is it possible? I think back to the conversation I overheard on the Tower Space Station. Roathy and Isadora’s frustrated argument.
It wasn’t just an argument between lovers.
It was an argument between soon-to-be parents.
Parvin steps aside as Isadora takes two strides forward. She’s careful to let the entire room see her, see the child she’s carrying, as her eyes lock on mine.
“I want to hear you say it. Now that you know what you took from me, Emmett, I want to hear you say it. Tell me you killed him. Say the words.”
The accusation strikes like lightning. The following thunder almost drowns out my thoughts. If the room is a storm, we’re standing center, clear against the chaos.
“They put him in the room with me,” I say. “They wanted us to fight. Roathy—he almost killed me. But I left him, Isadora. I used nyxia to seal him in. I left him in that room alive.”
She hesitates, but only for a second. The brief softness steels over.
“Liar,” she spits. “He told me what Babel said. He told me there was only one way out. He—he promised me he would win. But you’re here instead. I know what that means.”
Her nyxian sleeve blurs into the shape of a spear. I take an instinctual step back as the substance responds to her anger. Morning slides between us, though. Her own nyxia forms into that deadly pair of hatchets. The rest of the room braces for impact. Anton’s knife is the only thing moving as it spins around and around.
Isadora considers Morning, then me. It’s clear she doesn’t believe a word I’ve said.
“Keep him,” she says. “For now. One day, though, I will claim him.”
I can almost feel the anger pulsing through Morning. I try to make my feet move, to say the right thing to calm her down, but everything feels numb. Omar crosses the room in two strides. He sets his massive hand on Morning’s shoulder to stop her from doing something she’ll regret. The whole room feels like it’s ready to explode when Kit comes barreling in from the opposite hallway.
“Incoming!” he shouts. “Put on your game faces! The Adamite emissaries have arrived. This is going to be one of history’s—” It takes him two seconds to pick up on the energy of the room. He holds both hands up in an innocent gesture. “But take your time or whatever. History can wait. I’ll be outside.”
He ducks through the entryway, and it’s like the ticking bomb stops at the very last second. Morning turns, angrily shrugging Omar away. Everyone moves like startled birds, preparing to go outside, but the attention from Morning and Isadora pins me in place. Isadora’s eyes are dark with promise. Morning’s are lost somewhere between fury and fear.
Morning takes a deep, calming breath and says, “I’ll take point. We need this to go well.”
“Then with all due respect,” Parvin cuts in, “you’re not the right person. Not right now. You can take back the lead when you’ve cooled off.”
Morning starts to snap something, but realizes she’s just proving Parvin right.
“Fine,” she says. “Parvin takes point.”
Our new leader adjusts her glasses and slides calmly forward.
“Come on,” she says. “Let’s go meet an alien species.”
There’s an awkward second as the group calibrates to their new commander. Some move toward the entryway. Ida is whispering furiously with Isadora. Holly turns a lock of red hair around one finger, listening to their argument, always so quiet.
Katsu comes forward and slaps my back. “Who’s having fun?”
Morning cuts in my direction. She takes her place at my side, grinding her teeth, as the entire group files outside after Parvin. Isadora follows, chin raised. Morning broods beside me. I’ve never seen her this way. I don’t know how to calm her down.
“So I catch heat for saving Roathy’s life,” I point out. “But Ida wasn’t exactly shooting daggers at Alex over Loche. Isn’t that what Alex being here means? That he killed Loche?”
Morning takes a steadying breath. “Ida doesn’t know which room Loche was in. She doesn’t know who killed him. I’ll make sure Anton and Jaime keep their mouths shut. It’s hard enough keeping one of you alive; we don’t need to throw another target on Alex’s back.”
There’s a second where we just stand there, breathing in the unfairness of it all. Babel’s sins are starting to count against us. “He’s alive. Roathy’s alive. We could ask Babel for proof.”
“If he’s actually alive,” she says
. “How do you know Babel didn’t just kill him after you left him there?”
The question catches me off guard. I realize she’s right. I really have no clue.
“I don’t know what to do,” she admits. “If she really decides to come for you, I—I can’t just hurt her, Emmett. Not with a baby. I don’t know what to do ….”
There’s an excited shout from outside.
“You’ve got my back. I’ve got your back. That’s enough for now.”
She shakes her head, like that’s too simple, like she needs to have a real plan.
“My big takeaway from all of this, though, is that you clearly like me a lot.”
She smacks my arm. “Lurch.”
Outside, the entire group waits in a line. I lead Morning carefully to the opposite side of where Isadora is standing. Parvin’s waiting at center, a few steps ahead of us. I glance over at Morning and can tell she’s still hot with it all. “Didn’t mean to get you demoted.”
She forces a smile. “Parvin will do fine.”
Dust swirls on the distant plain. Beneath the clouds, four black spheres speed in our direction. Electrical charges crackle between them, flashing every few seconds like horizontal lightning. They’re still a few thousand meters away, but covering ground quickly.
“Hey,” Morning whispers. “What was my guess? The second day after dawn?”
I look up at the sky and realize she was spot the hell on.
“Not bad.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I’ll collect my prize later.”
My eyes flick back to the approaching spheres. All four begin to unwind, black shards peeling open like the petals of a flower. Each vessel gapes open wide enough for their riders to come walking right out onto the plain. I can hear Azima laughing.
Anton glances down the line. “What’s so funny?”
“I just realized my breath smells like a nightmare,” she says. “Anyone have gum?”
The joke cuts straight through the tension. We all laugh, because the thought is so absurd. Forget that this might be the most important moment in human history, in our lives. The four figures continue their approach. From a distance they look like men, but we know they’re not.
Nyxia Unleashed_The Nyxia Triad Page 3