Terra Nova

by Shane Arbuthnott

  Molly looked down at the device Arkwright had put on her chest. It was tall and angular, with multiple dials and gauges along its length. It wheezed through vents so narrow the air could barely escape. She shifted, trying to dislodge the machine, but Arkwright held it in place, pressing its four feet down into her ribs.

  “You can relax,” he said. “I have been told this does not hurt.” He placed his hands inside two brackets on the side of the machine and turned a dial with his thumb. The machine’s wheeze turned into a high whine.

  He was right. It didn’t hurt. There was a feeling in the center of Molly’s chest like falling, but it wasn’t her that was falling. Instead, every sensation and emotion seemed to tumble out of her, up toward the machine. First her panic ebbed away into it, and then the discomfort of the harness digging into her back. Her fear for her family. Her fear for herself. Her exhaustion. The physical sensations from her body flickered out piece by piece, like someone turning out the lamps in a house. It never hurt, not for a moment.

  It was the single worst thing she had ever experienced.

  When every sensation was gone, Arkwright thumbed the machine off. He lifted up the device, folded the legs and put it back into the bag that rested on her shins. His movements were quicker now, and the green of his veins was brighter. Molly began to shiver, though she did not feel cold. She did not feel anything.

  He removed the bag and bent the harness back down over her chest, locking it in place. Molly felt a ghost of pressure as he turned the key.

  “Perhaps I will ask again,” he said, his voice stronger now. “Is Haviland’s journal safe?”

  Don’t tell him, she thought, but it seemed only a reflex of resistance. She could not muster the will to care. “It was safe before I came here. My family had it.”

  Arkwright pulled his gloves back on. “Very well then.” He picked up his bag and left, the door clicking closed behind him, leaving Molly hollowed out on the bed. She closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was sleep that waited for her there or simply the darkness on the inside of her eyelids. She retreated into that blank darkness and wondered how it could feel so horrible to feel nothing at all.

  When she woke, everything hurt. Her muscles felt like someone had wrung them out, and even lifting her arms was painful. But she could lift them, she realized. Someone had removed her restraints.

  She opened her eyes. There was no one in the room now, though she could see people moving outside her window. She thought she might hear the clink of plates and cutlery in the common room. She was hungry. She pulled her legs up and tried to sit, but her stomach muscles could not hold her. She closed her eyes.

  A few moments later she heard her doorknob turn. She opened her eyes and shifted her head slightly to see Van Orden coming into the room.

  “Ah,” he said. “I expected you to still be asleep.” He strode forward and put his hand to her neck. “You may want to rest a little longer this morning. The ache takes time to fade.”

  “You…you knew he—”

  “Save your breath. Your body needs it, and there is nothing you need to say now.”

  “Arkwright—”

  “I can give you something to make you sleep, if you insist on pushing.”

  Molly clamped her mouth shut. This is why they’re not hurting me, she realized. They want me in good shape for Arkwright. She felt anger boiling up in her stomach, and it was so good to feel anything at all that she closed her eyes and held on to it.

  “Good,” said Van Orden. “You seem fine. I will check on you again in two hours.”

  He left, his feet shushing across the floor and out the door. Molly kept her eyes closed and then clenched them tighter as she felt tears building. She held herself as still as she could until the sadness passed, leaving only the anger behind.

  Her mind pulled in two directions. One part was telling her to get up, move, find a way to escape so Arkwright could never, ever touch her again. The other, though, was lingering on the memories of her brief connection to Legerdemain. He had felt safe, calm, until her own fears had alarmed him. He’s okay out there. Okay without me. The two thoughts warring in her mind were so distracting that she hardly saw the room around her. It took her several moments to realize she hadn’t heard the door click shut when Van Orden left.

  She tried to sit up, but she still couldn’t. She twisted around until she could see that someone was holding the door open. The man with the harness slipped silently inside. He stood at the door, looking down the hall. Then he carefully pulled the door shut, making sure it did not fully close and lock him inside. He saw her watching him, put his hand to his lips and shook his head.

  He walked to her bedside and opened his hand. In it was a small biscuit. She took it in shaking fingers. Even chewing the biscuit felt exhausting, but the food woke her body up. With each bite it was a little easier to move, to chew, to look at the man and not close her eyes. He split his time between watching her and watching the window.

  “Thank you,” she whispered when she had finally finished.

  He nodded. “Food helps,” he said in a soft, deep voice that crackled as if from long disuse.

  “You talk,” Molly whispered. “Theresa said you didn’t talk.”

  “Better to listen, in a place like this,” he said. “Quiet now.”

  He reached out and touched her harness, fingertips probing the lock. He placed his hand over the place Arkwright’s device had sat, fingers hovering just above her shirt. His lips tightened until they almost disappeared, and he frowned.

  “Does he do that to you too? Use that machine on you?”

  The man nodded.

  I’m so sorry, she thought. It’s my fault. I knocked Arkwright out of those machines.

  The man said something, but Molly didn’t catch the word. It sounded like another language. He repeated it more slowly: “Wisk-a-can.”

  “Wiskacan? Is that your name?”

  “Wîskacân,” he said again, the pronunciation slightly different in a way Molly wasn’t sure she could replicate.

  “Hi, I’m Molly.” He tried out the word. At first he put the emphasis on the wrong syllable, but by the third attempt he had it.

  “Hi,” Molly said. “It’s nice to meet someone like me.”

  “Not like you. You are of air. I am of fire.”

  “How did you know? That I was changed by an aetheric spirit—an air spirit?”

  “I feel it. That is not important now.” He leaned closer. “We must find a way to escape.”

  “You want me to help you get out?”

  Wîskacân smiled slightly. “We will help each other.”

  “But how?”

  He knelt on the floor and held out one finger. Molly managed to lift herself just enough to watch him. He took a series of deep breaths, then placed his finger on the floor. He began tracing a curve on the floor, and his finger left a thin line of embers behind. His breathing quickened. He drew a full circle with the embers and touched the center of the circle with the flat of his palm. When he lifted his hand away, there was something dark there, flickering with yellow light. Molly gasped.

  “Is that a font?”

  Wîskacân’s breathing was rapid now, and he fell sideways onto his hands. The circle of embers flared and went out, and the dark point in the center of it vanished. There was no trace left on the floor of anything having been there.

  “How did you do that?”

  Wîskacân stood unsteadily and held the lock of his harness. “I cannot keep it open with the iron. We must break free of these.”

  “But Arkwright has the key. I can’t—”

  “Not yet, but soon. For now, think. Listen. We will find a way.”

  They heard footsteps coming down the hall. Wîskacân moved swiftly to the door, out of sight of the window. Two orderlies walked past carrying trays of food. Once they were gone, Wîskacân turned back to her.

  “Find a way,” he whispered to her, then slipped out the door and down the hall.
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  “But I can’t. I can’t help you,” she whispered after him, knowing the words wouldn’t reach him.

  NINE

  It took Molly another day to be able to get out of bed without falling. She hated feeling so helpless. But the electricity hadn’t come back, and after a night of dreamless sleep, her muscles were working again.

  Theresa was already in the common room when Molly arrived. She was sitting and picking at her food. The other patients milled around, moving in slow motion with their blank eyes wide. Theresa saw her and motioned for Molly to join her. What does she want from me now? Can’t she see I’m helpless—that all I ever do is make things worse? Molly ducked away from her gaze and went to the kitchen window.

  “Hey,” she said to the cook who handed her a tray, “I could really use a bath.”

  “Talk to an orderly,” he said, turning his back on her.

  Molly took her tray to the table closest to the toilet, which always seemed to be empty. She could feel Theresa’s eyes on her. Please don’t come over, please don’t come over. Though Theresa watched her for a long time, she left Molly alone. Eventually she rose and walked away. Molly lingered until there were fewer people around and then used the toilet. She returned her tray and went in search of an orderly.

  As she passed his room, she peeked in at Wîskacân. He was lying on his bed, looking as if he was asleep. There was a tray of untouched food beside him.

  None of the orderlies were in the hall. She went past her own room. The hallway ended only a few yards down at a locked door, but on the right side of the hall there were windows that showed what looked like a staff room, full of men and women in white sitting around cluttered desks. Molly knocked on the window three times before one of them looked over at her. An ill-shaven man with white skin—one of the people who had restrained her—rose slowly to his feet and left the room. A moment later the locked door beside her opened and he stepped through.

  “What?” he said.

  “I need a shower.”

  He nodded, looking glum. “Go to the common room. I’ll meet you there.” He closed the door and disappeared. Molly hurried back to the common room, still empty, thankfully, and after a moment the door beside the kitchen opened. The ill-shaven man gestured her through, putting a towel and new clothes into her arms.

  “End of the hall,” he said. Molly walked down the hall and through the last door. Inside was a long row of showers. The shower stalls were divided by thin partitions but open on the side that faced the door. Molly looked at them in horror. Please don’t tell me I have to shower in front of someone.

  “I’ll be just outside the door,” he said, and Molly exhaled. “It’ll be locked, so knock when you’re done.” He handed her a sliver of soap.

  “Okay. Umm, thank you.”

  He closed the door, and Molly listened to the lock slide into place. She breathed deeply. It felt good to have that locked door between her and the world.

  She put her clothes on the bench that sat against the wall and went to the far right shower—as far from the door as she could get. She stripped off her clothes, struggling for a few moments to get her shirt out from under the heavy harness. Finally she turned on the water.

  She’d only used a shower a few times before—even when they were off the ship, her home had only ever had an old tin tub—and it took her a few moments under scalding water to work out how to adjust the temperature. But once she had it sorted out, the warm water splashing down across her back felt like sunlight on her skin, and she stood soaking in it. The soap in her hand dissolved to nothing. She raised her face to the water, letting it drum against her eyelids. Gently she pulled at the bandage on her nose, peeling it off. Her nose ached but seemed mostly fine, so she let the bandage fall to the floor. She ran her hands through her hair and scrubbed as best she could without soap, her fingers scraping off the grime and sweat of days.

  When she was clean enough, she sat under the stream of water, feeling boneless. Waves of sadness rolled up and over her. She wrapped her hands around her upper arms and squeezed, pressing her lip between her teeth. She fought hard, but there was no denying her tears. She cried. And once she started, she couldn’t hold back, and her anguish poured out of her in deep, racking sobs, her tears mingling with the water from the shower and trickling away down the rusted drain in the floor.

  “Molly?”

  The voice was so unexpected that Molly leapt to her feet. Her sobbing turned to short, ragged gasps, but she couldn’t quite stop. She heard footsteps now, coming toward her from the door, and she backed up and covered herself with her hands as best she could.

  Theresa stepped into view, a towel in her hands. She looked at Molly and nodded. “I thought it must be you. The medication stops things like that.”

  “I don’t…” Molly struggled to speak through the tears. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

  “I know. Did they do something to you? Hurt you?”

  Molly pressed her arms tighter against herself. Theresa nodded, as if that was an answer. “Can I use the stall next to you?”

  Molly nodded.

  “Okay then.”

  Theresa walked out of sight, and a moment later Molly heard the shower next to her start up. Molly returned to her own shower. The flow was a little weaker now, shared as it was. She wanted to sit under it again, but felt too self-conscious. She stood, head down, watching the ribbons of water drop from her hair to the floor, and waited until the crying stopped and her breath came slow and even.

  “He’s not dead,” she said faintly.

  “What was that?” Theresa said.

  Molly cleared her throat and spat into the drain. “He’s not dead. Arkwright.”

  She heard the water turn off in Theresa’s stall. “How do you know?”

  “Because he came to my room two nights ago.”

  “Is that why you didn’t come to the common room yesterday?”

  “Yes.”

  There were splashing footsteps, and Theresa came around the partition, wrapping herself in a towel. She sat on the bench next to Molly’s clothes.

  “What did he do to you?”

  “He had a machine. He needed my…He…” And just like that, the tears were back. I hate this place. The sobs grew harder and harder again, and she slumped down to the floor. A hand touched her shoulder. Theresa was wrapping her arms around Molly, and Molly wanted to pull away, to cover herself, but her self-consciousness was buried by a wave of anguish, and she found herself burying her face in Theresa’s chest instead, feeling soft skin and rough towel against her cheek.

  She didn’t know how long they sat like that, but Theresa didn’t move. She held Molly tightly against her, silent, cramped on the floor in the narrow shower. When her sobbing finally eased, Molly pulled herself away from the other woman and put her head under the flowing water. She scrubbed at her face, wiping away the salt and the snot from all her crying. Then she stood and reached down to help the older woman stand.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to do that in front of you.”

  “I have the feeling you try not to do that at all,” Theresa said. She looked down at her sopping wet towel and grimaced. “Do you mind if I use yours?” Molly nodded. Theresa dropped her towel on the floor and walked over to the bench. She began drying her hair with Molly’s towel. Molly noticed the way her skin wrinkled and sagged with age. So much life written on that skin. What will I be like when I’m that old? Will I even survive that long? And then she realized she was staring, and she looked down at the water splashing against the tile floor.

  “So what comes next?” Theresa said.

  “I don’t know. Arkwright’s using me, feeding on me to keep himself alive. He does the same to the man in the other harness. I don’t know how often he does it.”

  Theresa’s mouth tightened. “I wish he had the decency to die. But that wasn’t what I was asking. What are you going to do next, Molly?”

  Molly felt her shoulders knot up. �
��I don’t know. I mean, I can’t do anything. I’m stuck here.”

  “Really? You brought the greatest airship ever built down out of the sky, and a few walls are going to keep you in? With everything you’ve done, I’m surprised they’ve held you this long.”

  “I’m just a person. I can’t break down walls or fight orderlies who are twice my size. I can’t just escape.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?”

  The words echoed Molly’s own conflicted thoughts so exactly that they hit her like a blow. She backed up against the wall, the shower streaming down between her and Theresa.

  “I mean, I don’t want to go through that again. It felt so bad. I don’t want Arkwright to come back. But…”

  “I can’t hear you,” Theresa said.

  “I don’t want to go!” Molly said, louder than she meant to. “I think—”

  “You think you’re better off here?”

  “No. This place is awful. I don’t want to be here. But everything I do just makes things worse. Maybe people will stop dying if I stay.”

  Theresa said nothing. She simply sat, watching Molly through the water. Her gaze was like a physical pressure on Molly’s skin. Molly suddenly realized again that she was naked and brought her hands up to cover herself.

  “There was a girl on the Gloria Mundi. Meredith. She called me Midget. She died in the crash. And there were so many others I didn’t even know, but I tore the ship out from under them. And my sister. She was trying to keep the ship aloft. I…I left her there, ran to help Ariel instead of her. She didn’t die, but she might have. I thought she would die. I left anyway.”

  Her voice was getting softer and softer. Theresa stood, set aside her towel and walked forward to hear. Molly didn’t look at her.

  “There was a spirit who helped me. Toves. He came to ask me for help, and when I tried to get him home…” She flexed her fingers. “He died. And my family almost got caught—I don’t even know if my father got away or not. And before all this, before anything, my mother died when I was born, because I was born. Maybe I should be here. Maybe it would be—”