Destination Unknown

by K. A. Applegate

  Fly through space toward no particular goal, have the solar sails work both to accelerate and decelerate and then have the absurd good luck to land on a planet with reasonable gravity and a very convenient landing strip positioned wherever they happened to touch down?

  Absurd.

  But to do all that and somehow end up vertical ?

  Maybe were still asleep, Jobs muttered.

  I dont think so, Duck. I dont have dreams like this.

  The voice was instantly familiar.

  Mo?

  MoSteel leaned out into view overhead. He was perched in the captains seat. He was smiling, but nothing like his usual Labrador-retriever grin.

  Im alive, MoSteel reported. If this is a dream, its the mother, father, sister, and brother of weird. We got all of weirds cousins in on this. Come on up. You gotta see this. You have got to see this.

  CHAPTER THREE OKAY, THIS IS NOT CERTIFIED ORGANIC. THIS IS MESSED UP.

  It took some effort but 2Face managed to climb up to where MoSteel sat. He took her hands and hauled her up by main force. He was amazingly strong, especially given the weak-kitten state she and Jobs were in. He must have been awake longer. He seemed more fully recovered from hibernation.

  Once up, 2Face helped MoSteel pull Jobs up to their now-cramped spot. They squeezed together onto the back-support of the copilots chair, with their heads pushed into gray panels of switches and knobs and LEDs.

  MoSteel nodded toward the other seat. A space suit was strapped in place minus helmet. A skull lolled against the collar.

  The commander, Jobs said. To 2Face he explained, He decided he didnt want to come.

  Yeah, MoSteel said.

  2Face stared. It was almost comical. A grinning Halloween skeleton dressed up as an astronaut. Surely it had been there a long time. She tore her eyes away, unwilling to think about it. Her mother was dead. She had no grief to spare for this poor man.

  MoSteel said, If you stand up you can look out and around through the side window here. Careful, though, it takes a while before the old body gets hooked up right. And watch this panel here, sharp edges.

  Jobs stood. 2Face stood, held on to what should have been an overhead array of switches. She looked.

  She gasped.

  The ship stood tall, the only man-made thing. Filling the narrow view was a landscape that seemed to literally vibrate with color and movement. Green and yellow and blue. There were trees with royal-blue trunks and branches, brown trunks, even purple. Leaves that were more like rough smears of color, light and dark greens, honey-golds. The branches seemed to poke in and out of the leaves with only the most rudimentary logic.

  Tall grass, or at least something that at first glance looked like grass, extended down a hill to a blue-and-violet river bordered in umber.

  Beyond the river the grass took over again, offset by a smear of reddish-brown.

  In the distance was the suggestion of a village, whitewashed walls tinged green and red tile roofs set at improbable angles.

  Above it all, the pulsating blue sky, so alive, but at the same time flat, without depth.

  Excellent, huh? MoSteel asked.

  What is it? 2Face wondered aloud. None of it seems real. I mean, I think its real, but its like . . . I dont know. I dont know how to explain it. I mean, the sky, its as if the blue isnt air but a million small blue birds flying around all packed in close together.

  Its beautiful, Jobs said. The colors are so intense. How can it be real, though? Look at the way the river moves. Shouldnt water move like water, no matter where you are? Its more like . . . like it kind of smears past, like, like big sections of it kind of move together.

  Maybe its ice. Maybe its not water at all, 2Face suggested.

  Or maybe our heads are all messed up, MoSteel suggested. You know? How long were we asleep? You know your eyes dont totally focus when you first wake up and stuff sounds too loud and all?

  2Face tore her gaze from the agitated, too-bright landscape. Maybe youre right. Maybe its all in our heads.

  This ship is standing upright, Jobs said cautiously. Thats impossible. Unless its real, I mean. But theoretically its impossible. So maybe this is just a dream.

  Deep, MoSteel mocked.

  Maybe my mom isnt dead, 2Face whispered. Maybe none of them are dead. If its a dream. We dont know, right?

  The three of them sat down, wedged uncomfortably together, hugging to keep from falling, sharing one seat until MoSteel leaped the gap to reach the chair occupied by the skeleton. Were going to need to bury him, I guess.

  No hurry, Jobs said darkly.

  MoSteel pulled at the seat belt but it came apart in his fingers. The corpse shifted, slid, fell off the side of the chair, fell to the bulkhead with a sound like a dropped bundle of sticks.

  Sorry, Commander, MoSteel said without seeming very disturbed. What are we going to do? MoSteel asked Jobs, sounding to 2Face as if it couldnt possibly be his responsibility to figure it out himself.

  2Face wasnt sure she liked him. She was drawn to Jobss quiet, thoughtful way. But MoSteel had a way of being jumpy in his own skin, like there were too many calories being burned. He reminded her of the landscape shed just observed.

  I guess sooner or later we need to go back downstairs, Jobs said. His reluctance was evident in his look and tone. He didnt try to hide the fact that what was down there in the Mayflower capsule horrified him.

  2Face definitely shared that sense of horror. Pain was down there. Loss. Unimaginable loss.

  MoSteel rocked back and forth on his heels and looked like hed rather talk about something else. He stood up and looked out of the port-side window and yelped.

  Yah-ah-ah! He pulled back, blinked, looked again. He pointed accusingly. Okay, this is not certified organic. This is messed up.

  Weve seen it, 2Face said, feeling a little annoyed.

  Uh-uh. MoSteel shook his head vigorously. He pointed at the starboard-side window. Youve seen that . You have not seen this .

  Jobs frowned and with help from his friend made his way across to the far seat. He took a long look, several breaths, and took 2Faces hand to guide her across.

  She pushed between the two guys and looked.

  No, she had not seen this.

  It was in black-and-white. Entirely. Not a splash of color, not a glimmer. The sky was gray with puffy white clouds. The ground was broken up into a series of deep channels or canyons cut deep around precarious mesas. Looming in the distance, rising up from the fractured plain was a massive mountain range, snowcapped at the jagged peaks.

  No color. None. Light gray and medium gray and darkest gray shadows edging to black in the deep places.

  They raced back at dangerous speeds to check the first view. It was still there, still a wild profusion of greens and blues and golds.

  Two landscapes. Completely incompatible. Completely impossible.

  The dream thing is seeming more and more likely, 2Face said.

  There should be a chronometer of some kind, Jobs said suddenly. He began searching the ranks of dials, readouts, and switches. Most of the readouts were blank. But when he toggled certain switches some of the readouts came to life.

  There should be some kind of mission clock, he muttered. Time from launch or whatever. There. There it is.

  A small digital readout displayed a long string of numbers.

  Its still running. Look. Not seconds, minutes. Its only showing minutes, 2Face said, looking over his shoulder.

  Two-hundred-sixty-two million, eight-hundred-seventeen thousand, nine-hundred-and-twelve minutes, Jobs said. Mo?

  To 2Faces amazement MoSteel calculated instantaneously.

  Five-hundred years, twelve days, and some spare change, Duck, MoSteel said.

  CHAPTER FOUR WE HAVE TO DO WHAT WE CAN.

  As they descended into the capsule again, Jobs was grateful for the mysterious landscape of the planet. Grateful for the mystery of how the shuttle carrying the Mayflower capsule had come to land in so impossible a posi
tion. Anything that took his mind off the work at hand was welcome.

  His father and mother were dead. If his brother, Edward, was still alive at all, he was unconscious.

  Five centuries. They had drifted through space for five-hundred years. Not strange that the untested hibernation equipment had failed his parents, more surprising that it had preserved him. Nothing man-made worked for five hundred years.

  Another mystery. More unknowns. So much better than the knowns.

  I dont think wed better open any of these units, Jobs said. Even if we see someone we think is alive, we better let them be. I dont understand how this system works. But it must have a programmed revival sequence.

  I hear something, 2Face said. Listen.

  Jobs heard it, too. A human voice. Groaning.

  MoSteel scrambled into the basement, through the hatch and then down the circular steps as fast as a monkey, sliding more than stepping.

  Someones alive down here, he called up.

  Jobs and 2Face followed at a more normal pace.

  How did he do that? 2Face whispered. The thing with the minutes, I mean.

  In a low voice Jobs said, Mos crazy, hes a wild man, doesnt care about much except the next adrenaline rush. Doesnt mean hes stupid, especially with numbers.

  Idiot savant, 2Face muttered.

  Mos my best friend, Jobs said. He would have said more, but MoSteel didnt need defending. If 2Face was as smart as she seemed, shed come to appreciate MoSteel. If not, well, that would be her loss.

  Sorry, 2Face said.

  They reached the level where MoSteel squatted beside a young woman. Jobs recognized the Marine sergeant. Her uniform, like his own clothing, was brittle and in tatters, but the dark camouflage pattern was still recognizable.

  She was not alone in her berth. A child lay there, a boy, seemingly asleep on her belly. It wasnt a newborn. It might have been a two- or three-year-old. And there was a weird, cylindrical, almost translucent piece of skin that seemed to hold them together. It began near the sergeants shoulder and snaked its way into the babys side.

  Tamara was awake. Confused, as Jobs had been on waking, sleepy.

  Take it easy, take it easy, MoSteel comforted her in a gentle voice. No rush. Youre not going anywhere yet.

  The woman blinked and tried to focus. She tried to speak but only a groan was heard.

  2Face leaned over. Youre on the shuttle still. Weve landed. Somewhere. We dont know where.

  Jobs pointed to a small round hole in the womans uniform near where the long, cordlike piece of skin started, and gave 2Face a significant look.

  2Face tugged gently at the cloth. It tore easily. The bullet hole in her shoulder could be clearly seen as a neat round scar, lighter than the surrounding flesh.

  Tamara seemed to be trying to form a question.

  You were shot. You may not remember it right away, Jobs said. A stowaway shot you. But it looks like it healed during hibernation. Maybe the machine . . . maybe just time . . .

  No, Tamara said, forcing the word out. Baby . . . my baby . . .

  She must have been pregnant when she went into hibernation, 2Face said in a low voice. Then, loud enough for Tamara to hear, The baby was born. God knows how. Its right here. Its on you. In fact, its attached to you.

  Tamara nodded slowly. Her hands felt blindly and MoSteel gently guided her fingers to her babys face.

  The baby opened its eyes. Jobs recoiled, banged his head on the low deck above. 2Face cried out, an expression of pure horror.

  The babys eyes had run, liquid, out onto its mothers belly. It stared at them now with empty eye sockets.

  Wha . . .? Tamara moaned.

  MoSteel was the first to recover. Nothing. Nothing, lady. Dont worry, its okay.

  Tamara slipped back into sleep. The baby, at any rate, blinked its empty eyes and seemed to be watching them with great interest.

  Jobs, 2Face, and MoSteel pulled back.

  Radiation, Jobs whispered. Five centuries in space. This capsule is lead-lined, but five-hundred years of hard radiation while the kid is slowly, slowly somehow growing and, I mean, during cell division and all . . . He stopped, unable to speak. He felt like a mountain was falling on him. Like a man standing on the beach as a tidal wave hits. He was being buried alive, smothered, crushed.

  Way too much.

  Jobs felt MoSteels hand on his shoulder.

  Its woolly, Duck, but you gotta strap it up and keep moving. We cant go all slasher chick and start screaming. Theres weirder stuff than this coming.

  Jobs nodded, but he wanted very badly to punch his friend in the face. He didnt want to be comforted, let alone be told he had to be a good soldier and get on with his life. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to wake up and not be here. It was too much, too much. Impossible to process a tenth of it, a billionth of it.

  His hands were shaking. A result of the hibernation? No. A result of waking up and seeing.

  We need to get some kind of grip on things here, 2Face said. Lets check every berth. Lets see whats what. How about that? One by one, bottom to top, okay?

  What she said, MoSteel agreed. He was looking very earnestly at his friend.

  Jobs covered his face with his hands. As far as I know we have no food. No water. Weve probably all taken a hundred lifetimes worth of radiation. I dont know what that is outside there on the planet, but it cant be natural. Maybe no air outside. My folks are dead. Yours, too, mostly. The whole human race is dead. Maybe just the three of us and . . . and that woman and some kind of mutant alien baby.

  Yeah. Like I said, very woolly.

  2Face said, Jobs, you said yourself: It cant be. The planet out there, the ship standing this way. It cant be. Not unless theres something else.

  Yeah?

  So, whats the something else, Jobs? Dont you want to find out?

  He laughed bitterly. Youre trying to appeal to my curiosity?

  We have to do what we can, 2Face said. Youre right, the human race is all over. Except for us. Me, Im not going to roll over and die. You want to give up, Jobs, I cant stop you, I guess, but I have to try. Were it , however many of us are alive on this stupid ship. Thats not why we should give up, thats why we cant give up.

  Well, good luck, Eve, go forth and multiply, Jobs snapped.

  2Face started to answer back, but Jobs saw MoSteel take her arm and shake his head. Hes coming around.

  Jobs glared at his friend. You think you know me, dont you, Mo?

  Yeah, migo, I know you. Theres some deep stuff to figure out here. You cant leave it alone. I know you pretty good, Duck: You cant leave it alone.

  Jobs nodded dully. He looked up at 2Face. The smooth half of her face was set, determined. The burned side, with its drooping eye, seemed to weep. There was a poem in there somewhere, Jobs thought.

  He should formulate a plan. He should step up and try to figure it all out. But right now the strength wasnt in him.

  Lead on, he said to 2Face.

  CHAPTER FIVE YOU DONT WANT TO SEE.

  It had taken . . . how long so far? 2Face had no way of knowing. No watch, no clock, maybe no need for them.

  It was taking a long time as time is experienced subjectively. Time dragged when it was measured out in hideous deaths and uncertain lives.

  And then there was the thirst. She wanted water. Needed it, and soon. And they had no idea where even to begin looking.

  So they kept up the grim task of accounting.

  Of the Eighty who had originally been chosen to fly on the Mayflower Project, one had died in the riot on the ground. His berth had been taken by Tamara Hoyle, who had been shotbut not killed by the stowaway Mark Melman who had, in turn, been killed.

  The mission copilot had been killed by D-Caf Melman. D-Caf had been given the hibernation berth belonging to the man he had killed. The mission commander had taken his life into his own hands.

  So seventy-nine people had entered hibernation.

  Of those, they had already confirmed twe
nty-one who were very definitely dead. Thus far 2Face had counted nineteen, plus Tamaras child, who were either alive and active or in various states of revival.

  Among the confirmed dead were both of Jobss parents, MoSteels father, and 2Faces mother. Older people had fared worse. Some adults had made it, like MoSteels mother and 2Faces father and even Tamara Hoyle.

  They climbed up a level.

  Cheese, MoSteel reported, checking the first berth. It was the shorthand term for the death that Jobss father had died. A death that filled the berth with greenblack mold.

  Cheese for the moldy ones. Crater for the ones, like one young girl, who had been killed by micrometeorites. And facelift for the ones who had been dried out, stretched, were nothing but parchment skin over skeletons.

  It was brutal jargon for a brutal job. They were protecting themselves, 2Face knew. They couldnt weep for each death. There were seven billion dead.

  Oh, god. Jobs recoiled from the next berth.

  What? 2Face asked. She was still worried about him. She didnt know if he was a strong person who had suffered a moment of weakness, or a weak person. They needed strength.

  You dont want to see, Jobs said.

  2Face hesitated. But no, she couldnt start giving in to the fear now. She pressed past Jobs and looked. A man. His body looked like a target, like hed been shot full of holes, bloodless holes. Something had burrowed tunnels, some as small as a quarter inch in diameter, some three times as big, in every exposed inch of flesh. He was dried out like so many of the others, mummified. But none of the others had been eaten alive like this.

  Jobs wiped his face with his hands. He looked sick. But then, 2Face supposed she did, too. This was vile work.

  Beside the worm-eaten man was a girl in the early stages of revival. 2Face had met her in passing, just yesterday. Just yesterday five-hundred years ago. A Jane. Not 2Faces kind of girl at all. But what could silly school cliques possibly matter now? She spoke some calming words to the girl, who fell back asleep.

  This ones alive, too, MoSteel reported from across the aisle.