Tundra 37

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Tundra 37 Page 24

by Aubrie Dionne


  He checked the ridge, and his tri­umph dropped like the elec­tro­cuted mam­moths, sink­ing into his stom­ach. No one was fir­ing, mean­ing no one was there. Col­lect­ing the third pole, he ran across the snow.

  They would never aban­don their posts. Some­thing had happened. Anxi­ety rose like solar flares in his chest as he stuck the third pole down and com­pleted the tri­an­gu­lar de­fense. As the cries of the mam­moths re­ceded, si­lence fell over the val­ley.

  “Gemme, Tech, Luna?” he shouted, and his voice re­ver­ber­ated against the dis­tant moun­tains.

  His world stopped. What if he was the only one that sur­vived? Think­ing he put him­self in the thick of the danger, he may have left his team ex­posed. Brent­wood’s hands rose to his fore­head just as the rum­bling of the landrover’s en­gines ig­nited, pro­du­cing the best mu­sic he’d ever heard. The vehicle cres­ted the ridge and re­lief flooded his sys­tem.

  Thank the Guide they’re safe.

  He shut off the laser for the bot­tom of the tri­an­gu­lar de­fense and signaled Tech to drive down the in­cline. The landrover pulled in the peri­meter and he fol­lowed, clos­ing the space be­hind them by re­act­iv­at­ing the beam. They may have scared the mam­moths off for good, but he wasn’t go­ing to take any chances.

  The hatch opened and Tech came out first, hob­bling onto the snow. The man looked like he’d gone to hell and back again. Weary eyed and slump­ing for­ward, he gave Brent­wood a wave. “Nicely done, sir.”

  Gemme fol­lowed Tech, jump­ing from the hatch. She ran to him and threw her arms around him, the force push­ing back her hood. Her nut-brown hair ticked his chin. She calmed him like noth­ing else could. He closed his eyes and soaked in the mo­ment. The close con­tact triggered a long­ing in­side him and vis­ions of a meadow and a log cabin flashed be­hind his lids. Was he go­ing crazy? Or were they some­how star-destined lov­ers, mar­ried in pre­vi­ous lives? Brent­wood shook the foggy memor­ies from his head and gripped her close.

  Tech cleared his throat and Brent­wood opened his eyes. The older man stood be­hind them, his eyes dark and hooded in warn­ing. “It’s not time to cel­eb­rate.”

  Brent­wood pulled away from Gemme far enough to look into her face. “Where’s Luna?”

  Gemme looked down at his chest. “She’s dead.”

  Her words slapped him in the face and he pulled away in guilt. He hadn’t even thought about the bio­lo­gist in his rush to hold Gemme. What kind of a lieu­ten­ant was he? A mem­ber of his team had died and here he was think­ing of ro­mance. “Dead?”

  Tech’s voice was soft as he ex­plained. “One of the mam­moths spot­ted us on the ridge. Smart bas­tards, I’ll tell you that. It came bar­rel­ing up and tore into our hideout, caus­ing an ava­lanche. The ladies went down with the snow, but I landed on the other side by the landrover.”

  He shook his head as if to ward out the memory. “I saw it all. The snow trapped Gemme, but Luna was free. Luna pan­icked and took off to­ward the landrover. The mam­moth saw her and charged with its tusks. I’d been thrown from my laser, and it took me a while to find it.”

  Tech ran a hand through his beard. “I tried to dis­tract the beast by fir­ing from the top of the landrover. I got it away from her, but I was too late.”

  Still grasp­ing what he had said, Brent­wood put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Tech. It’s not your fault.”

  More like my fault. Brent­wood’s mind swam with guilt.

  What if Tech had gone down and I stayed?

  What if we’d left her in the landrover?

  Second-guess­ing all the de­cisions he’d made that day, he thought of a thou­sand ways that may have turned out bet­ter. Luna’s death loomed over his head. He rubbed his temples, try­ing to straighten out his thoughts.

  “I talked to her be­fore she died.” Gemme spoke up, break­ing him out of his trance. “She was try­ing to tell me some­thing; some­thing I think she’d re­cently figured out, or was keep­ing from us the whole time. I’m not sure.”

  “What did she say?”

  “A lot was go­ing on. I didn’t catch everything and Luna was hard to un­der­stand with all the blood in her throat. She men­tioned not let­ting the Seers get some­thing.”

  Brent­wood hadn’t trus­ted the Seers since the crash, since he saw their hid­den orb. The Leg­acys and the Seers went way back, ever since the very first Leg­acy asked the pair of them to drive the ship. They’d kept secrets from the rest of the crew for cen­tur­ies. “Not let­ting the Seers get what?”

  “Get out?” Tech offered. “The Seers are pretty old and shouldn’t be wan­der­ing around.”

  “No.” Gemme shook her head. “Be­fore that I’m pretty sure she said it was about Beta Prime.”

  Tech shrugged. “She might have been talk­ing gib­ber­ish. I know I couldn’t make much sense if a mam­moth’s tusks poked me like a pin cush­ion.”

  “Enough.” Brent­wood put up his hand, his gut twist­ing with Tech’s grue­some de­scrip­tion. “We’ll fig­ure it out later. Right now, we need to take care of Luna’s body.”

  He thought for a second. “Her fam­ily will want to see her body when we get back to the Ex­ped­i­tion. Let’s wrap her up and have a ce­re­mony right here, say our last words, then get star­ted on set­ting up the min­ing drill.”

  “Good idea, chief. I’ll get the body.” Tech shuffled back to the landrover.

  Brent­wood searched in their equip­ment for her thermal sleep­ing co­coon. When he saw her blank face dangling from Tech’s arms, his stom­ach clenched up. She’d died on his watch. He’d have to live with that for the rest of his life. She’d had feel­ings for him, and all he did was scorn her, push her away. Now he could see every move she made was to get close to him. He’d been so blind. If he’d known Luna’s feel­ings, he wouldn’t have ap­proved the bio­lo­gist for the team.

  No. You can’t blame your­self for everything.

  She’d wanted to be a lieu­ten­ant so badly, her fam­ily would have found a way to put her on Al­pha Blue, even if he’d turned her down. He was the only thing she couldn’t buy with fa­vor, es­pe­cially now that the match­mak­ing sys­tem had crashed.

  “It’s not your fault.” Gemme came up to him as he pulled down Luna’s sleep­ing co­coon.

  “I’m a lieu­ten­ant, everything that hap­pens on this mis­sion is my re­spons­ib­il­ity.”

  She put a hand on his arm. “We all feel at fault.”

  He looked at her with a steady blue gaze. “You have noth­ing to feel bad about. She pushed every­one around, and you still helped her at the very end.”

  Gemme shrugged. “It’s the least I could have done.”

  They laid Luna’s sleep­ing co­coon on the snow and Gemme helped him slip her body in. Tech hef­ted her up and placed her in the cargo hold of the landrover. Gemme tucked her blonde hair back gently. “There, it’s done.”

  The sky had clouded over dur­ing the laser fight, and now a light snow fell, cov­er­ing the mam­moth’s foot­prints with a dust­ing of white. Brent­wood brushed the flakes off of Luna’s sleep­ing co­coon. He couldn’t pro­tect her dur­ing the fight, but at least he could make sure Al­pha Blue ten­ded to her body with care. “She’ll have a formal fu­neral on the Ex­ped­i­tion, but I feel like they have so many to deal with be­cause of the crash, now might be a good time to say your good-byes.”

  Tech walked up and fol­ded his hands in front of him. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to my laser in time. Rest in peace, Ms. Leg­acy. You’ve served the Guide well.” Al­though his speech was short, his voice was sin­cere.

  He walked away, drag­ging his feet through the snow and Gemme stood up next. “Luna, I know we weren’t the best of friends. I for­give you for push­ing me into the re­cyc­ling bin that day. I can only hope you’ve for­given me. I wish I could have done more to save you. I hope your soul rests at peace.”

  Gemme j
oined Tech as he un­loaded the min­ing equip­ment, leav­ing Brent­wood to speak in private. Mixed emo­tions flooded his thoughts. “Ms. Leg­acy, Luna, I’m sorry I couldn’t be who you wanted me to be. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to save you. In re­turn for your sac­ri­fice I will fin­ish this mis­sion. I’ll make sure Thadi­ous Leg­acy’s dream lives on, and the people of the Ex­ped­i­tion con­tinue. If you were try­ing to tell Gemme some­thing, or warn her, I’ll fig­ure out what it was.”

  He closed the lid of the back hatch and watched as she dis­ap­peared be­neath the door. That night he’d have to send a no­ti­fic­a­tion to her fam­ily. Brent­wood sighed and col­lec­ted his thoughts.

  So much to do, and no time to grieve.

  Gemme scanned the sight with Tech’s min­is­creen while Tech worked on the drill. Their faces shot up as he ap­proached.

  “To­mor­row, I’m go­ing to the beacon’s co­ordin­ates. I’ll in­vest­ig­ate the device linked to the orb. I have to fig­ure out what Luna said. I must de­cide if we should take it back to the Seers or des­troy it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Hollowness

  The Ex­ped­i­tion, 2751

  Mestasis hadn’t al­lowed her­self to roam back into those com­plete memor­ies of Old Earth in hun­dreds of years, and now she knew why. Every fiber of the re­mains of her body panged in sor­row, vi­brat­ing in dis­son­ance with her mis­sion ob­ject­ives. She couldn’t al­low her mind to wander into such dan­ger­ous ter­rit­ory, yet her thoughts opened the for­bid­den door.

  What if I’d stayed be­hind?

  Us­ing her good eye, she gazed across the con­trol cham­ber at Abysme. Ever since the crash her sis­ter hung limp and des­pond­ent from the wires at­tach­ing her to the ceil­ing like a blind rag doll. Abysme had left her, and Mestasis shivered as the loneli­ness crept in. If she wanted her sis­ter back, she’d have to learn more about the one thing that had in­ter­ested Abysme be­fore the ship had crashed. She had to plunge into the orb, to em­brace its power and learn what it was meant to do. Yes, to help Abysme, she had to go in.

  The en­ergy from the cos­mic swirls called to her, stronger than be­fore. A re­peat­ing elec­trical im­pulse res­on­ated from its depths, the same code she’d given to James on their first date at the Techno Ex­press. She could re­mem­ber his fin­ger­tips brush­ing hers vividly, and in the orb, their secret com­mu­nic­a­tion lived on.

  But was it him?

  Mestasis’s mind crawled to­ward the orb, wary and eager at the same time. Its power had surged ex­po­nen­tially since they crashed, and she didn’t know if she could con­trol her­self. She steeled her nerves. The last time she could barely pull her­self away, and the ship needed at least one tele­path at the helm. Thou­sands of lives res­ted on her shoulders, and she needed to know she could re­merge to keep them safe. Root­ing a part of her­self within her body, she con­nec­ted to the en­ergy and al­lowed her mind to slip into the depths like a diver into a bot­tom­less pool.

  §

  The light blinded her as she passed through it. Shapes formed in the dis­tance, black fig­ures curled in dan­cing poses with sala­man­ders creep­ing into tri­angles. A single blade of grass poked through dusty soil and she reached out and ran her fin­ger along the edge, the tip so sharp it al­most cut her skin. Golden swirls of sun­light fell on her skin. She stood on a floor of con­crete, sleep­ing blankets spread out in a row of three.

  A wo­man wear­ing a grubby beige uni­form hummed a song, un­rav­el­ing her long braids in front of the an­tique mir­ror.

  “Mom?” Mestasis’s voice quivered.

  She didn’t turn around when she spoke. “I have a double shift to­night. Make sure your sis­ter eats din­ner.”

  “Mom.”

  This time her mother did turn around. Her dark eyes shone like brown vel­vet from the halo of her wavy hair, and her skin looked sleek and vi­brant, high cheekbones carved into her heart-shaped face with thick lips and teeth white as pearls. Her mother’s beauty cap­tiv­ated her and she stared, brim­ming with un­shed tears. Here was an­other chance to tell her everything she’d neg­lected on Old Earth.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t visit you, Mom. I was work­ing so hard, I thought I could give you a bet­ter home, I thought I could save you.”

  “My dear Metsy.”

  She rose from the crate and Mestasis’s heart poun­ded, long­ing for her mother’s arms to en­velop her, to feel her love.

  Her mother put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I know I can count on you.”

  Mestasis paused. Count on her for what? To save the people aboard the Ex­ped­i­tion? “What are you talk­ing about, Mom?”

  “I know you’ll look after Bysme. I’ll be home at 5:30 to­mor­row night.”

  “But?” Mestasis felt oddly mute. Here she was open­ing her heart with everything she’d ever wished to tell her for cen­tur­ies, and her mother spoke as if she’d see her the next day.

  She kissed her on the cheek, her lips soft against Metsy’s skin. Warmth spread through­out her face and neck. She could have stood in that mo­ment forever, but her mom pulled her hand away. She shuffled to the kit­chen and packed three soy­bean wafers into her old work bag.

  With a wink, she took out an old plastic box and set it on the cracked plastic coun­ter­top. “Some­thing for you and your sis­ter to keep busy with.”

  “What is it?”

  She smiled as she slipped out the door. “Have fun.”

  Mestasis re­membered the box. She re­lived the night they’d opened the con­tainer to find a whole set of chess pieces. They’d stayed up into the next day design­ing a make­shift board with chalk on their floor and play­ing against each other un­til their brains felt like mush. It was one of the hap­pier nights of her young life.

  She yearned to open the con­tainer and sit with Abysme. The red coat of the king poked up un­der­neath a crack in the lid. She reached for it, fin­gers dangling in the air be­fore she jerked her arm away.

  It was only a memory. Her mom had said ex­actly what she’d said that night, ages ago. Noth­ing more. Her heart tore open when she real­ized her words would never get through, never reach the true soul that had been her mother. But everything seemed so real. The cool coun­ter­top un­der­neath her fin­gers had all the right cracks in it, her mom’s hand felt just right on her shoulder. Just as she re­membered it.

  But that was the prob­lem, wasn’t it?

  A thump­ing sound came from the back room. Mestasis turned to see a ten-year-old Abysme pop up from the blankets. “Did I miss Mom?”

  “Yes.” The sud­den urge to play the night out again rose up in­side her, but she squelched it down. Her sis­ter walked by, ratty pa­ja­mas two sizes too big trail­ing be­hind her. She opened the lid, the chess pieces fall­ing on the floor. “What’s this?”

  Mestasis knew her line even after all these years. “Mom left it for us.”

  “What is it?” She rubbed her eyes.

  “A chess set.”

  The longer she spent in the memory, the more en­ergy it took to re­mind her­self of real­ity. She needed to find a way to get Abysme back, not play with her memory. She knew of only one way to test the bound­ar­ies of the orb, to find out what it wanted. To do so, she’d have to risk her heart be­ing torn open all again. Mestasis closed her eyes and thought of James.

  §

  A young teen boy brushed by her as she held her steam­ing cup of syn­thetic cof­fee. She watched him dis­ap­pear between an old wo­man and her body­guard as they waited for their cof­fee.

  “Such a plain choice for someone so spe­cial.”

  Mestasis whirled around, and the li­quid in her cup burned the back of her hand, cre­at­ing golden swirls. The pain seared hot as the day it had happened. But she didn’t care.

  James stood be­hind her hold­ing his own dark bever­age. His pres­ence provided susten­ance for her starving soul. She s
oaked in his sil­ver eyes, feel­ing as though she could lose her­self star­ing into them. And she al­most did.

  He waited for her an­swer. People pushed by them, un­aware of their statue fig­ures, locked in a mo­ment of time.

  She knew what her line was, but this time, she tried some­thing else. She dropped her cup, the cof­fee splat­ter­ing across the floor, splash­ing against the feet of the other people in line. They stepped for­ward un­aware, like ghosts.

  Mestasis wrapped her arms around James and pressed her lips to his. He tasted like salt and spice, the all too fa­mil­iar sen­sa­tions over­load­ing her senses. She didn’t care about the Ex­ped­i­tion, the crew, or Abysme. She wanted to live in this mo­ment forever. To re­live it time and time again: the heat of his skin pressed against hers, the curve of his lips. The orb held her para­dise. She never thought she’d find it again. How could she give it up a second time?

  Mestasis’s heart gripped in her chest as she real­ized where Abysme was. Her sis­ter must have at­tached her mind to the orb. Crav­ing her memor­ies, the orb trapped her in a nev­er­land within its depths.

  If she searched deep enough in­side her­self, she found a hol­low­ness in the at­mo­sphere. A blur­ri­ness at the edges of her sight she hadn’t no­ticed be­fore. The orb wasn’t big enough to hold her there forever, to make each memory live on as real flesh and blood. But the di­men­sions of the beacon call­ing to it on Tun­dra 37 was.

  Mestasis pulled away and looked into his face. “James, you have to help me. Abysme is gone and I don’t know how to get her back. She’s stuck in this orb.”

  James gave her a quirky smile and ges­tured over his shoulder. “I found us a table in the back.”

  “No.” She pulled on his arm as he brought her to the same place they’d sat be­fore. The seat that had once ex­cited her now felt like a prison. James looked at her as if she’d com­men­ted on the weather. This vis­ion was a shadow of his true self. No one sur­round­ing her had a soul. Her heart broke all over again as she re­minded her­self he was gone.

 

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