by Kate Blair
Once we reach the forest camp, Celeste needs help with her luggage, so Mom and I give her a hand as Jovan takes his genelab equipment to the half-finished hospital. It starts to spit rain as we lug Celeste’s boxes to her hut. I pull up the hood on my landsuit. I can’t get a word in over Beta’s crying, and once we’re inside, Celeste paces up and down, patting her baby’s back and trying to shush her.
Astra, Mom, and I help Celeste unpack a little. I don’t know what to do. What to say.
“Are you sure you won’t come back with us?” I ask Mom and Celeste.
Celeste shakes her head.
“What about the creature?”
“We won’t go near the forest at night. I’ll take a pulse gun if I go during the day.”
“But … the baby. She’ll be safer on the Venture.”
Celeste looks fierce. “I know what is best for my baby. I’ve had this fight with Astra already. I’m not going through it again.”
I glance at Astra. She looks worn out, heartbroken.
“I didn’t … I just mean, there isn’t much food, and …”
“We have dried supplies, plus what we can get from foraging. And there will be fruit on the trees soon, early crops in the fields. Beta won’t need to take probiotics and supplements to make up for the limited diet and lack of light. The water is cleaner. The air is fresher, better for her tiny lungs. She’ll grow up strong and live longer.”
I want to keep arguing with Celeste. Point out all the ways she’s putting her child at risk. But I’m not going to change her mind, and I don’t want to leave on a bad note. This might be the last time I see her. So I swallow my objections.
I can’t stay here anymore.
“I should go.”
Celeste’s eyes glisten. “The planet would be better for you, too, Ursa. Make you healthier, fitter. I’d love to have you here. And I’m worried about the ship. It was never meant to last this long, and now it’s been damaged.”
Astra clutches her hands together, looking at me, obviously afraid I’ll change my mind and stay with Celeste. But I shake my head.
“I’m sorry. There’s too much to do on the ship. We need all the engineers to fix her.”
Astra exhales. Celeste’s gaze drops to her baby’s head. “I’ll miss you, little sis.”
I step close and put my arms around her and her baby. It’s awkward, as Beta keeps screaming. I wish I could be there for her and Celeste, to help them to survive until flights can start again. And I’m suddenly glad Mom will be.
I step back and wipe my eyes.
“I love you, Celeste.”
“Love you too.”
Mom comes over. Gives me a hug. “I’m so sorry, Ursa,” she says. “For all the ways I let you down. I love you.”
I want to tell her she’s letting me down again by staying here. But I do understand, so I bury my head in her shoulder instead. Celeste and Beta need her more than I do. I have Astra.
“Love you too,” I mumble into her landsuit, before pulling away.
“I’ll see you back on the shuttle,” I say to Astra.
I can’t look back as I head out of the hut. Can’t see Celeste, Beta, and Mom huddled in the primitive room. I head toward the landbikes alone. None of this feels real.
Jovan’s leaving the hospital. I’m so glad to see him, I run across the mud to his side.
“Time to go?” I ask.
“We’ve still got thirty minutes. Don’t you want to say goodbye to Sabik?” He points him out, over at the edge of the village, apparently unbothered by the rain. He’s with a group of agricologists. They’re pulling a tarp over a heap of wood. Looks like they’re planning another bonfire tonight.
“I guess I should,” I say, trying to sound normal in spite of the heaviness in my chest. I don’t want to say goodbye to anyone else. It makes it all too real.
“I’ll give you some space,” Jovan says. “I’ll be waiting for you on the shuttle.”
I smile at him. He’s so tactful and thoughtful. We’re standing close to each other, and his eyes are on mine. Neither of us looks away, and the moment lengthens between us.
He leans down, just a little. I push myself up on tiptoes, and just like that, our lips touch. His are soft and a little wet from the rain. He slides a hand around me, pulls me into him, into his warmth. I try to relax into the kiss. But there’s so much going through my head, I can’t concentrate.
After a moment, I pull away. His eyes are still closed. I admire his high cheekbones, glistening with water. His full lips. But it’s like I’m looking at him from a distance. Then he opens his eyes and smiles, wider than before.
“I’ll catch up with you at the shuttle, then,” he says. “Launch is at 1720.”
I watch his back as he jogs away. Why didn’t I feel anything when we kissed?
Perhaps I’m like my mother. Perhaps I can’t get close to people.
No. It’s just that things are changing so fast. There has been too much death. I used to feel something when I kissed Sabik. I need life to get back to normal, on the Venture.
I take a deep breath and jog over to Sabik. I don’t think he saw the kiss. He was too deep in conversation. Not that it matters, of course. As I approach he glances up and waves. He finishes securing the tarp and walks over.
The rain changes as he approaches. I can see the downpour coming across the village just before it hits us, like a wall of darker sky swooping in from the forest. It flattens Sabik’s messy hair, makes it look like black sap. It runs down over his eyebrows, making him blink. I pull my hood lower over my face, but it doesn’t stop it getting in my eyes, too.
“Let’s get inside,” Sabik shouts as the hiss grows around us. There are puddles already, the rain hitting them like drops of molten solder. We slosh our way into Sabik’s hut. It smells like wet wood. I try to shake off the water on my landsuit, in my hair.
“Planning a bonfire?” I ask. “In this weather?”
“It’s going to clear up later.”
I don’t know what to say, so I listen to the drumming on the roof above us, the drip of my landsuit onto the floor.
“I’m worried about you,” Sabik says. “Don’t go back to the ship.”
“You’re worried about me? You’re the one on the planet. How are you going to survive?”
“This place is designed for us,” he says. “Some of the landclearers are fixed, and the fields are partly planted. The village is almost finished, and, thanks to Jovan, we can continue with the releases.”
“There’s something in the woods.”
“No one has been hurt during the day. We’ll take care. We avoid the woods at night anyway. You’re less safe on the ship.”
I tilt my head to one side. “How did you work that one out?”
“It won’t just be Vega and Yuri. Sooner or later, there will be fighting over the ship. It’s just been postponed.”
“You don’t think we’ll ever be completely safe?”
“I don’t think there’s such a thing as complete safety.”
I should argue, but I’m exhausted. The rain has chilled me, and I’m numb and tired. I want to curl up in my cabin and have this all go away. Have things go back to the way they used to be.
But that’s never going to happen. I check my linkcom.
“I’ve got to go,” I tell Sabik. “We’re taking off in fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll take you back to the shuttle.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I want to.” He holds the door open, and we step out in the rushing downpour.
I’d warmed up a little in the shelter of the hut, but out here I’m shivering again.
Sabik nods toward the landbikes, and we tramp over to them. Sabik pushes his wet hair from his face and climbs on the nearest one. I get on the back. I almost put my arm
s around him, like I used to. But I reach for the back handgrips instead. He waits until I’m settled, then guns the engine. I try to peer between the trees as we go, but rain is in my eyes and all I can see are the glowferns. By the time we’re at the shuttle, there’s mud splattered all over me. I try to wipe it off, but my hands are as filthy as my clothes. I can’t wait to get dry and warm, back on the Venture. I can’t wait to put this mess behind me.
I give Sabik one last hug before I step up on the boarding platform. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll look out for your family. See how I can help.”
“Thanks.”
Tears mix with the rain on my cheeks. I take one final look at the surface. There’s not much to see. A muddy mess and a dark forest. The horizon is gone, swallowed up by the downpour that’s staining the whole world gray. My mother, Celeste, and her daughter are somewhere on the other side of the trees.
I wipe my wet face on my even wetter sleeve. I can’t stand to be here anymore.
I wave to Sabik and step inside. The people on board are quiet, and many are as muddy as I am. Astra is near the back, head in her hands, back heaving. I scan the faces.
“Where’s Jovan?” I ask. The few people who hear me shrug.
“Don’t leave without us.” I step outside again. Sabik’s figure is disappearing through the rain, slouching toward the landbikes.
“Have you seen Jovan?” I shout, trying to keep a tremble from my voice. “He said he’d be waiting here for me.”
Sabik turns and shakes his head, so I pull out my linkcom and ping Jovan.
No reply.
I peer down the forest path and scan the shuttle camp, blinking against the heavy rain splattering into the mud all around me. Jovan isn’t here, and there are no landbikes coming. The chill of dread snakes through my insides as I peer through the rain. I try not to think of waiting for Maia at the shuttle that day. I check my linkcom again. It’s 1720.
I ping the engine room. Aldrin is on duty. I ask him to find Jovan’s linkcom and tell the shuttle to wait. We’ll miss this overhead pass of the Venture. Jovan will be disciplined.
When my linkcom pings again, I check it, hoping it’s Jovan explaining why he’s late. But it’s Aldrin, sending Jovan’s linkcom’s coordinates for the last five minutes. I switch to map view, and my breath stops in my throat.
Jovan’s in the forest, near Maia’s grave.
And he’s not moving.
I run in the direction shown on my linkcom and slip, falling face-first into the sludge. I push myself up. Spit out the rotten taste of mud, the clammy dirt on my tongue. An arm grabs me and pulls me to my feet.
“What’s happening?” Sabik says.
“Jovan. I think he went to say goodbye to Maia, but he hasn’t come back.” I shove my linkcom into his hand.
He peers at the display, then looks up and into my eyes. “Come on. Let’s find him.”
We hurry toward the path to the graveyard. The sky lights with a flash. I’m glancing around trying to work out what it is, when there’s a loud rumble from right above me. I drop to my knees and cover my head, instinctively.
Another bomb? The shuttle?
I peer through my arms, but the shuttle is still there. Everything is the same. Sabik kept running, but now he’s stopped and is looking back at me.
“It’s a thunderstorm,” he says.
I straighten up, feeling stupid. Of course. They’re louder than I imagined.
“I can look for Jovan,” Sabik says. “You stay here.”
I shake my head. I have to find Jovan.
We sprint off the runway and down the mud-soaked path together.
But the linkcom’s directions soon lead us off the path and into the trees. There are mini-rivers running along the forest floor, puddles that are deeper than they look. I’m soon up to my ankles in mud, and water spills over into my boots. My feet are soaking. Another rumble from overhead. I keep walking, trying to ignore how much it sounds like a giant beast growling. The flash makes me flinch, makes me clutch a tree, although that’s probably the worst thing to do. Didn’t they say to avoid trees in a thunderstorm?
I keep going, wiping at my eyes and trying to follow Sabik. He reaches into his tool bag and brings out a machete. He hacks at the forest as we go, leaving a trail of oozing red sap. I stumble after him, tripping over roots and fallen branches, glowferns swishing around my ankles, but we’re taking too long.
More lightning, with rumbles almost immediately after. Even louder than the rhythmic crash of blood in my ears is the mad hiss of rain on the trees. The noise of each thunderbolt shakes through my rib cage. The flashes make the forest painfully bright. I look up just in time to see a forking bolt of light slam down from the sky just ahead of us.
My hand is shaking as I check the linkcom again. We’re almost there, where Jovan should be. I try to listen, but the wind in the trees and the hiss and patter of water block out any other sound.
Sabik stops, and I run into his back. “What’s that?” he shouts over the rain.
I peer where he’s pointing. There’s a gap in the glowferns. A large hole in the ground, half full of water. The next flash of light illuminates solar panels and other tech from the ship, deep in the mud. What a waste. Then I spot a scrap of something red, right at the bottom.
Oh no.
I shove past Sabik, who grabs my shoulder as I pass, but I push on, slide down into the hole, splashing toward the red.
But it’s too small to be Jovan.
The hole is a good meter deep and just as wide. I’m up to my knees in mud and water, the chill cutting through me. The red thing is mostly buried in the slurry at the bottom. Wires and tubes lead into it. It’s soft, more like plastic than fabric. I wade through to it, pick it up, and stare for a long moment.
An artificial womb.
Now that I know what I’m looking at, I spot other genelab tech in the hole around me: the corner of an accelerated cell division unit sticking out of the growing puddle; empty food packs; discarded test tubes, a small centrifuge, and packages of medblood and nutrients floating in the mess. Enough for a mini genelab. They could splice and grow things with this. Someone dug a hole here and hid this stuff. But the artificial womb is falling apart and smells like rotting chemicals. It’s been buried for a while, by the look of it. A shovel lies in the mud next to the hole.
Who was digging here? Were they trying to find something … or to hide something else in the same place? The used womb is still in my hands, the rain washing away the mud. It’s stretched out larger than I’ve seen before. Too big for any of the releases we’ve had.
I swallow hard, as it all finally makes sense.
I glance up in time for the sharp stab of light in the sky to burn its way across my retinas, leaving me blinking, momentarily blind. Then there’s a crack like the world opening above me.
I throw the womb back in the water.
“Someone made the creature here,” I shout to Sabik as I clamber out of the hole, hands digging into the soft mud of the sides. The veins of lightning are visible on my eyelids when I blink. My throat is trying to close against the panic. “They were feeding it, too. It’s probably near. Do you have a pulse gun?” I fumble in my gear bag. I’m getting mud on my kit. I don’t care.
“No.” Sabik holds out his machete. “But you can have this.”
I shake my head, pull out my blowtorch, and turn the flame as high as it will go. I don’t know how much use it’ll be in the rain, but it’s the best I can think of.
There’s a howl, half muted by the rain, but clearly not the wind, not the thunder. It short-circuits me. Freezes me in place. I look over at Sabik. He’s wide-eyed as he pulls out his linkcom, hits the alarm. “We should go back. They’ll send protectors.” He shouts over the cacophony of the storm.
“Jovan could be hurt.” I pause to w
ipe the water from my face with my forearm. “The protectors will take time to get here.”
Sabik nods, jaw set. I try to walk calmly, but I’m nauseous and scared my resolve is going to crumble. My foot hits something buried in the mud. There’s a crack, and my leg slides out from under me. I fall on my back, breath knocked from me.
“Are you okay?” Sabik yells.
“Yeah.” I get up onto my knees and my hand lands on the thing that tripped me. It’s cold. Smooth. I pick it up. A broken jar. Some kind of clear liquid oozes out, running over my fingers and mixing with the rain. “What’s this?”
Sabik takes it from me. “Don’t know. Stinks, though.”
It does. Like sweat or urine. I wipe my fingers off on my thigh, and Sabik throws the broken jar on the ground. “Come on, then,” he says.
I check my linkcom again for Jovan’s coordinates. A few more meters. It’s hard to push myself on. Every atom in my body is screaming at me to stop. The hairs on my arms are standing on end.
There’s another flash then. But it’s not as bright, and when the rumble comes I flinch, but it’s more distant. Perhaps the worst of the storm has passed. Perhaps things will be okay.
But then there’s another flash, and I see him.
Jovan. Eyes open. Blood.
I turn away, but it’s seared into my memory. He’s torn open. Right across the chest, down to his waist. Glistening pink lumps of guts exposed to the air. Sabik reaches for me, but I push past him, grab a tree, and vomit.
There’s no point in checking for a pulse. Not when he looks like that.
I retch again, onto the ground.
Jovan can’t be dead. He’s coming back with me to the ship. I’m going to let him into my life. I choke on the sick in my throat. My stomach spasms. I heave more and spit it out into the glowferns. The rain washes it into the mud. My hands shake as I clutch the tree. And the next flash is weaker. As soon as I can move again, I straighten up.