Tundra 37

by Aubrie Dionne

  §

  On the fail­ing con­trol deck of the Ex­ped­i­tion Mestasis wondered if where they’d ended up was any bet­ter than stay­ing on Old Earth.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Captured Star

  “In case you don’t re­mem­ber to chem­istry class, un­der stand­ard con­di­tions, hy­perthium is the light­est metal and the least dense solid ele­ment on the peri­odic table. Like all al­kali metals, hy­perthium is highly re­act­ive and flam­mable, so we typ­ic­ally store it in min­eral oil. It looks real nice when cut open, shin­ing with a metal­lic luster…”

  Gemme’s head bobbed up and down as Tech rambled on. The tun­dra spread be­fore the sight panel in an end­less slate of shiny white. At first, she watched with fas­cin­a­tion, look­ing for more tentacled beasts or wiry-haired mam­moths, but three hours of the same ho­ri­zontal ice land­scape made her drowsy.

  Must. Pay. At­ten­tion. Im­port­ant in­form­a­tion, vi­tal to the suc­cess of the mis­sion.

  Glan­cing back, she saw Luna clean­ing her fin­ger­nails, and Brent­wood fast asleep, a pla­cid ex­pres­sion on his face. If only she could see what oc­cu­pied his dreams. Gemme turned back around and fo­cused on Tech’s words.

  “Con­tact with moist air cor­rodes the sur­face quickly to a dull, sil­very gray, then black tar­nish. But we’ll see what it does is this fri­gid at­mo­sphere…”

  She didn’t get very far.

  §

  An ant’s head peeked out of a mound of sand. The an­ten­nae twitched as if de­tect­ing her. The in­sect emerged, crawled down the side in a wan­der­ing zig­zag, and dis­ap­peared into the long-stemmed grasses. The sand swirled around it and Gemme wondered if it would sink into quick­sand, but the ant con­tin­ued on as the golden swirls spiraled out, shoot­ing into the grasses like dust in the wind.

  Had she fallen in the biod­ome?

  “Oh my, Jenny, are you okay?”

  Someone pulled her arm and she scrambled up into the sear­ing rays of sun­light. Sol­aris Prime on Tun­dra 37 felt like a mi­cro­scope light com­pared to this gi­ant burn­ing ball of gas threat­en­ing to blind her and bake her all at once.

  “You went down so fast. I tried to catch you.” The fa­mil­iar wo­man with nut­meg hair helped her brush sand off her sun­dress.

  “It’s okay. I’m fine.” No mat­ter where she was, she was still em­bar­rassed to have fallen on her face. The back of her jaw throbbed with pain.

  “Good. Mikey’s truck is pulling up right now.”

  She fol­lowed the wo­man to an an­tique Old Earth vehicle that looked like it be­longed in a junk­yard heap more than on a road. The paint gleamed red as an apple in the places that weren’t eaten away with am­ber rust.

  “We’re rid­ing in that?”

  “Yeah.” The wo­man ran up and scooped a pair of pink high heels from the back. “Don’t for­get your shoes.”

  Gemme took the pointy heels in her hands won­der­ing how any­one could ever walk in such an ab­surd design. They couldn’t pos­sibly be­long to her, yet the pat­tern of con­cent­ric circles painted on the toe re­minded her so much of some­thing she’d once owned. Bend­ing down, she slipped the right one on her bare foot. Her toes wiggled through in a per­fect fit.

  The wo­man had already climbed in the back. “Are you com­ing?”

  Gemme slipped on the other shoe and walked around the pickup, mak­ing sure not to touch the rusty paint, and stuck her head in the open sight panel. A young man with curly dark hair and a nose the size of a pear stared back at her. Dis­ap­point­ment tinged her heart. Some­how, she thought she’d re­cog­nize him.

  “Mikey?”

  “Dude’s at the party wait­ing for you. Come on in.”

  She hes­it­ated, one hand grip­ping the doorframe. Had she been here be­fore?

  “What’s with you today, Jenny? You look like you ate the wrong mush­rooms.”

  “Don’t mind her, Wal­ter; she’s been spacey all morn­ing. She gets like that when she spends too much time with her num­bers.”

  “It’s all cool, Lisa.”

  He reached over and popped the door loose. The metal squeaked as she swung it open. She climbed in, bal­an­cing pre­cari­ously on her heels. The furry fab­ric of the seat felt strange un­der­neath her bare legs as she sat down. A dangling card­board peach waf­ted a sickly sweet scent from the rear­view mir­ror.

  She turned back to Lisa. “I thought you said Mikey was com­ing to pick us up.”

  “All part of the plan.” She gave her a wink and mouthed, “Trust me.”

  Wal­ter flicked a knob on the front panel and a strong drum­beat vi­brated the in­side of the pickup. A man’s voice came on the speak­ers, “Ooh my little pretty one, pretty one. When you gonna give me some time, Shar­ona?”

  Gemme covered her ears with her hands and Wal­ter turned the knob again. The sound quieted.

  “Don’t like The Knack?”

  Gemme ques­tioned him by rais­ing her eye­brow. He shrugged and turned the wheel. The pickup lurched for­ward and she braced her­self against the front panel.

  He gave her an apo­lo­getic smile. “For­got to re­mind you to buckle up.”

  They rode past trees, so many of them in all shapes and sizes, mak­ing the biod­ome on the Ex­ped­i­tion seem like a child’s ter­rarium. A lake spread on her sight panel, wa­ter rip­pling in blue crests with a white sail­boat rid­ing the waves. Gemme’s feet itched to stand on the sandy beach and wade in the shal­lows.

  Wal­ter pulled up in front of an old gabled farm­house painted in fad­ing lav­ender with beige trim. He parked be­hind an­other Old Earth an­tique with gold let­ter­ing that read Chev­ro­let.

  “Last stop, gals. Thanks for fly­ing ‘Air Wal­ter.’”

  Gemme pulled the plastic handle and the door popped open. She fol­lowed Lisa and Wal­ter onto the covered porch. Flowers dangled from bas­kets hanging over her head, and a spindly to­mato plant clung to a stick in an old bucket by her feet. A black cat meowed and jumped off the back of the porch as if they in­truded on its nap time.

  Lisa smiled at her. “You ready?”

  “Ready for what?”

  “You’ll see.” She opened the screen door and ushered her in.

  A chorus of voices echoed, “Sur­prise!”

  People jumped out at her from either side, hold­ing plastic cups of golden li­quid. Some crouched on the stair­case, and oth­ers stood the hall­way wav­ing rib­bons and lace. Gemme shrunk back, bump­ing into Lisa. “What’s go­ing on?”

  “Don’t look so cross! I know it’s not your birth­day, Jenny. This is some­thing much, much bet­ter.”

  The crowd par­ted, each face beam­ing in a smile as if she were a queen re­turn­ing to her throne. She wished she knew their col­lect­ive secret. She felt like an out­sider try­ing to play a game without know­ing all the rules. It was a feel­ing she’d ex­per­i­enced a lot lately.

  Lisa pushed her to the kit­chen at the back, where a three-tiered chocol­ate cake sat on a bright yel­low li­no­leum coun­ter­top. As if those sights didn’t sur­prise her enough, Brent­wood stood be­side the cake, wear­ing a loose-fit­ting shirt with palm trees and khaki shorts. A tan made his skin golden bronze, high­light­ing the blond in his wavy hair. He looked so good Gemme gasped air in, hold­ing her breath.

  His lips curled in a half-sorry, half-mis­chiev­ous grin. “I wanted to sur­prise you with some­thing big. Maybe then, you’ll say yes.”

  She ex­haled and her voice shook. “Say yes to what?”

  He reached in his back pocket and brought out a vel­vet box. People whispered around them, pok­ing their faces through the door. Lisa pushed them back. Brent­wood lowered him­self to one knee and opened the box. A teardrop-shaped dia­mond winked back at her like a cap­tured star.

  “We’ve had some pretty rough times, with you go­ing away to NYU and me join­ing the po­lice force, but
we’ve made it through. You al­ways be­lieved in me, in us. I love you, Jenny, and I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?”

  Gemme didn’t re­cog­nize half of what he said, but she knew the an­swer be­fore he fin­ished his last sen­tence. She placed her fin­gers over his hand that held the box. His skin burned like the sun. “Yes.”

  Ap­plause filled the room in con­ta­gious hap­pi­ness. Wal­ter hollered, “Mikey and Jenny forever.” But all Gemme could fo­cus on was the warmth of Brent­wood’s skin un­der­neath her fin­ger­tips. He held out her hand and slipped on the ring. Joy welled up in­side her, ex­plod­ing like solar flares in her chest. She didn’t care if they were Mikey and Jenny or Miles and Gemme. All she knew was the sense of com­fort he gave her just by star­ing into her eyes.

  Brent­wood stood and cupped her chin with both his hands, his touch so gentle, yet dir­ect. He brought his face down and kissed her pas­sion­ately, as if he could join their souls right then with his lips. She melted into his em­brace and par­ted her lips against his, cur­rents of pas­sion stir­ring urges in her body. Noth­ing else mattered but here and now, this per­fect mo­ment in a uni­verse of end­less time.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Spare Parts

  “Please, Rizzy. If you do it, I prom­ise I won’t ever tell on you and Daryl again.” Vira pressed her palms to­gether in a tri­angle and beat it in the air in front of Rizzy’s nose.

  Rizzy looked away, lean­ing on her sleep pod as the fuel cell re­charged. “I don’t know. You’re talk­ing about break­ing into Dad’s private work­shop and steal­ing his equip­ment. Not just lift­ing a cookie or an ex­tra blanket, or even sneak­ing a kiss.”

  “It’s for my new pro­ject.”

  “I don’t care what it’s for. I just don’t want to get in trouble. Thanks to you, I’m in far enough as it is.”

  “I’m sorry I told on you, okay? I won’t do it again. Dad won’t even no­tice the parts miss­ing. He’s too busy try­ing to fix things in his job.”

  Rizzy bit her lips as if she was con­sid­er­ing it, tap­ping her fin­gers on the pod’s plastic curve. Vira held her breath. Her chest threatened to burst.

  “All right.” Rizzy poin­ted a fin­ger at her. “But you leave my poster alone, and your days of tattletal­ing are over.”

  Vira pre­ten­ded to squirt glue over her mouth. “My lips are sealed.”

  “Fine.” Rizzy pulled out her il­legal ID tag, the one that had got­ten her trapped in the up­per levels in the first place and waved it in the air, the shiny strip on the back glisten­ing. “Where are you go­ing to stash all this stuff any­way?”

  Vira punched the corner of one of the pan­els in the floor and the metal popped up. Un­der­neath lay a rusty com­part­ment lined with dust. She used Rizzy’s fa­vor­ite ex­pres­sion. “I have my ways.”

  Rizzy gave her an ap­prais­ing look and laughed. “And they think I’m the one to look out for.”

  Vira stared at the poster as she waited, won­der­ing if the sor­cerer would tell the Seers about her spy­ing if he could spring right off the wall and talk. Be­sides Daryl and Rizzy, every­one else fol­lowed the Seers as if they were gods.

  But they weren’t.

  They were once two hu­man girls very much like her­self.

  Vira wondered what they were like when they were her age. Would they have been friends?

  A plastic bin of gears, gad­gets, and shiny tools dropped in front of her with a rat­tling plop. Vira blinked and shook her head, look­ing up at Rizzy.

  “I didn’t know what you wanted, so I grabbed everything I could.” She put her hands on her hips. “Good enough?”

  “I’ll say.” Vira pulled out a mo­tor and a roun­ded metal beam that she could use as a steer­ing wheel.

  “So we’re good?”

  “Yup.”

  “Good. Be­cause I’m go­ing over to see Daryl right now, and if Mom or Dad comes back you tell them I’ve gone to study for col­on­iz­a­tion tests with Derva, k?”

  “Derva Leg­acy?” Vira’s tongue al­most fell out of her mouth.

  “Yeah, they won’t ques­tion that, will they?”

  Vira nod­ded. No one got in the way of the Leg­acys, and Derva would be an ex­cel­lent study part­ner. She al­ways aced all the tests. “K. Col­on­iz­a­tion tests with Derva.”

  Vira didn’t think Mom or Dad would be back any­time soon, any­way. They both worked so much now, she hardly saw them at all. Rizzy was sup­posed to babysit her. But, she didn’t need her sis­ter to look after her. She was the one that ended up look­ing after Rizzy.

  “Have fun.” Vira waved and Rizzy smiled, duck­ing out the door. Maybe hav­ing a sis­ter wasn’t that bad after all.

  She dug through the parts scrap­ing the bot­tom with her fin­ger­tips and sighed in frus­tra­tion. No wheels. How was she sup­posed to re­pro­duce the con­cen­trated bursts of air that her hov­er­craft en­gines did without a de­cent power source?

  She threw a box of metal bolts against the wall. If she was ever go­ing to go any­where, she needed wheels. Slump­ing against the wall, she bit back tears. Everything was so much harder for her than for every­one else. She’d avoided feel­ing sorry for her­self for so long; she de­served a good bout of cry­ing.

  A whizz­ing sound came from the kit­chen. The clean­ing droid sped in, va­cu­um­ing the mess she’d made with the bolts. Its front nozzle swelled with the bolts as blue but­tons flashed on its sides. Vira picked up a screw­driver to throw at it, when she no­ticed the shiny wheels spur­ring it for­ward.

  Us­ing all her strength, she emp­tied the en­tire con­tainer all over the floor. Pieces of scrap metal, used light sticks, and tiny drill ex­ten­sions bounced in the rug. The clean­ing droid beeped and turned in her dir­ec­tion. She held up a curled fin­ger and wiggled it in the air.

  Chapter Twenty

  Pulse

  Mestasis’s mind flicked through the latest sys­tem re­port with cas­ual at­ten­tion, a nag­ging pull from her memor­ies steal­ing her fo­cus. Mr. Reiner had tem­por­ar­ily sta­bil­ized the fu­sion core, and mech­an­ics had re­paired the hull breaches. The tem­per­at­ure on the ship re­mained stable, but the crops in the biod­ome still withered.

  Must re­turn to my memor­ies.

  She’d read Romeo and Ju­liet a hun­dred times in her spare time while driv­ing the Ex­ped­i­tion. Abysme had down­loaded a bunch of clas­sics into the main­frame be­fore they left Earth. Mestasis knew the end, but the tragedy mes­mer­ized her, mak­ing her re­live the story again and again.

  Her lo­gical mind kicked in. You can’t change the past. You can only im­pact the fu­ture by act­ing in the present.

  Yet, an in­dul­gent crav­ing deep in­side her rose up. You can see James once again.

  Mak­ing sure she’d re­viewed all status re­ports, she gave her­self up to for­got­ten dreams.

  §

  Old Earth, 2446

  Dr. Fields stood be­fore a blank ho­lo­screen, his ri­gidly pressed white lab coat con­trast­ing with the me­an­der­ing wisps of the re­main­ing gray hairs on either side of his head. In the ten years she’d known him, Mestasis thought he’d aged twenty. Per­haps it was bet­ter for them to have been born into a crazy world than for him to see it crumble around him as his youth trickled away. Al­though he tor­tured them with seem­ingly ex­traneous men­tal ex­er­cises, he was the closest thing to a father fig­ure that she’d ever have. Above all else, he be­lieved in them, even when they didn’t be­lieve in them­selves.

  The doc­tor pressed the panel and a timer ap­peared on the ho­lo­screen, the num­bers formed by golden swirls. “Five hov­er­crafts are fly­ing in the air space over TINE. One of them car­ries massive amounts of uranium-235 and plutonium-239, aka a nuc­lear bomb. You have two minutes to de­tect which one be­fore the en­emy blows us to smithereens.”

  Abysme stood up and poin­ted her fin­ger. “Not fa
ir! We can only sense elec­tro­mag­netic im­pulses in our build­ing and other build­ings con­nec­ted to it. Not through air. It’s im­possible.”

  “Elec­tro­mag­netic waves travel through air. Hy­po­thet­ic­ally, you should be able to de­tect it.” He flicked a glance over to a mir­ror, where they knew a re­search team awaited the res­ults of the ex­er­cise: men and wo­men with big pock­et­books and lots of cred­its will­ing to in­vest in TINE. His face re­mained stoic as he coun­ted off. “One minute and twenty seconds left.”

  “Damn.” Abysme paced back and forth while Mestasis closed her eyes, feel­ing vi­bra­tions in the floor un­der the soles of her feet. The air ion­izers in the room worked on max­imum, and two floors down, every­one had their ho­lo­screen on. So much noise to fil­ter out. She tried sens­ing the tem­per­at­ure of the air on the roof, and from there, the ebb and flow of sonic waves pro­duced by the en­gines of the ap­proach­ing hov­er­crafts. It seemed as though she tugged at threads no stronger than strands of Dr. Fields’ gray hair, the con­nec­tion snap­ping whenever she pushed her mind through it.

  A new pulse caught her at­ten­tion, a dis­tant tap­ping like Morse code. Her heart somer­saul­ted in her chest. It was the rhythm she’d handed to James on the nan­odisc. He was call­ing to her. She’d stood him up the next day at the Techno Ex­press be­cause of the death of their mother. Em­bar­rassed and un­will­ing to talk about it, she’d avoided the café ever since. Mestasis had to choose: fol­low James’s sig­nal or com­plete the test and time was run­ning out.

  What if he needed her?

  Her mind shot to the ori­gin of the code, trav­el­ing un­der­neath her feet to a cor­ridor con­nect­ing to an ad­ja­cent build­ing. Her thoughts jumped down sev­eral levels to a credit ma­chine on the right wall in the hall on level sev­enty-seven. Just as she pulled her mind back to the roof of TINE, the timer beeped.

  “That’s it girls.” She opened her eyes and Dr. Fields stood with an ex­pect­ant, al­most plead­ing look in his face. “Tell me which hov­er­craft holds the bomb.”