In the lake’s deepest canyon, she found her prize.
Gathering her body in close, she streamed like an arrow toward the ship. There it rested, gorgeous and patient, just as Gwen remembered. She flowed right for the white communication oval near the airlock. Manipulating the water pressure, she drew words in Genesai’s language to introduce herself and outline her intent.
Red words of reply streaked across the oval. Welcome, Gwen, friend of Genesai. I remember you. The blood of my love has fed me well. To the surface I will rise.
The ship lurched and shook, dislodging itself from over a century of lake-bottom sludge. She rose and rose, and Gwen followed, drafting in her powerful wake, loving being surrounded by something other than air. For a few seconds, Gwen thought of nothing but being Ofarian, her mind gloriously empty and soaring.
They burst to the surface in a mountain of white, burbling water. No one on land would be able to miss that. Gwen prayed Xavier and his people were doing what she’d asked.
She slithered back through the water, aiming for the antsy crowd on the dock, and wound herself up and around one of the posts. Several Tedrans anxiously crept back, pointing to where she stretched her liquid form in a long puddle atop one of the wide slats. She let go of the water form, her body shooting straight up, to rematerialize in front of the gasping crowd.
Reed wasn’t among them.
“Look,” Xavier said, and she was thankful for the yank back to the task at hand.
She turned and gazed out at the water. The calm, unaffected water.
“Wow,” she murmured. There was no trace of the alien behemoth that had emerged from the lake depths.
Xavier kept his attention on the water. “The mask will dissolve for anyone who touches her. It’s like when we went through the Plant, why I couldn’t let anyone touch us.”
And like the homeless man who’d been forced to drink Mendacia to keep the illusion alive regardless of touch.
“The ship is floating at my eleven o’clock,” Xavier said. “Tell Griffin to head that way. He’ll feel it when the bow of his boat strikes the ship. If any part of the illusion fails, we’ll fix it.”
He nodded toward an idling, barnacled tourist boat roped to the dock, Griffin at the controls. How he’d swung that, she never knew. She started for the boat.
“Gwen.”
She turned back to Xavier. He glanced down the row of Tedrans standing next to him. “There are eight of us working the illusion, but it’s huge. And it shifts constantly. I don’t know how long we can hold it.”
“We’ll hurry. I promise.”
She found Genesai pacing on the edge of the dock, like a dog who hates water dying to jump in after a favorite toy.
“She’s there!” he cried. “I see her! How do I get to her?”
Apparently Xavier’s magic meant nothing to the ship’s creator. Gwen guided Genesai to a rickety ladder and showed him how to climb down into the waiting boat. He could barely hold himself steady on the rungs, he was shaking so intensely from the excitement. Standing in the boat, Griffin tried to keep Genesai steady. When Genesai had gone halfway down the ladder and only his head poked above the dock, Gwen wrapped her hands around the ladder posts and crouched.
“I just realized,” she said, eye level with him, “that I’ll never see you again.”
He stopped, confusion lifting his upper lip high into his cheek. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“Good point,” she muttered to herself in Ofarian. Then, to him in his language, “It’s both, I suppose. It’s happy for you, but sad for me, in a way. What I’m trying to say is that I think I’ll miss you.”
For a moment she didn’t know if he understood, or if she’d incorrectly translated her emotions. Then he gazed back at her with such clarity that she knew he comprehended a hell of a lot more than she gave him credit for.
“Gwen,” he said. “You are not your people.”
The words squeezed her heart so tightly she could barely breathe. He gave her his version of a dirty, lopsided, youthful smile, and half jumped, half fell to the boat.
She straightened and turned. Nora stood right behind her, chin lifted, spidery hands clasped at her waist. The milling Tedrans gaped at her as though she were queen. Every quarter second Nora’s expression shifted. Fury to pride, frustration to hatred, fear to relief. But never, ever gratitude.
Gwen didn’t expect it, and didn’t need it.
“My father and the Board will be brought to justice. I promise you.” That was one promise Gwen knew she could keep.
Nora’s cold, doubtful eyes flickered out to the nothingness in the middle of the lake. “How do I know the ship’s really out there? How do I know Genesai will take us home? How can you assure me your kinsman won’t drown us out there?”
Gwen sighed and gestured to the Tedrans and the vehicles parked across the road. “You can’t trust me, not even now?”
The black diamond stare hit her hard. “I will never be able to trust an Ofarian. Surely you can understand that much.”
Gwen supposed she could, though it made her sad to hear.
Nora had no idea what awaited her back on Tedra. Could be anything. More war. Exquisite peace. Who could possibly say? But Gwen didn’t say that, allowing Nora to keep a firm grasp on her concept of Utopia. Truthfully, the Tedrans had never felt hope before, and to squash that now would be the most evil thing Gwen could do. She could no more promise the Tedrans a tidy existence here on Earth than she could on their home world.
Nora looked over her shoulder. The Tedrans shifted, awaiting her attention and direction. “Adine,” she called, extending her hand. “Let’s go home.”
Adine pulled away from the crowd edge. As usual, she’d blended in with everyone else. The half-Tedran stared at Nora’s hand as though it were Pandora’s box.
“I’m not going,” Adine declared.
“What?” Nora exclaimed.
Whoa, Gwen mouthed.
Adine kept tucking her hair behind her ears, forever losing the battle with the wind, but doing a great job of establishing her defensive position otherwise.
Nora stood toe to toe with her daughter. “This is what we’ve been working for.”
For once, Adine did not look away. “No. It’s what you’ve been working for. It took me a while to realize that.” Her brown eyes swept across the star-filled sky. “I always thought it would be incredibly exciting to go up there, to see Tedra. But as I got older, I became aware that those thoughts weren’t mine. I believed them because you’d drilled them into my head since I was old enough to listen.”
Nora puckered her lips, ready to spit. “This place is wicked.”
Adine held up a hand. “And it’s the only home I’ve ever known. I’m not a Tedran, Nora. I’m not a Primary either, but I know I belong here, not up there. This is home, and I’m not leaving it.”
Adine smiled—actually smiled—turned on her heel, and walked away. It was the first time Gwen had ever seen Adine turn her back on her mother. Apparently, by the stunned and hurt look on Nora’s face, it was a first for her, too.
Adine pushed through a resisting crowd, the Tedrans scowling at her in confusion. Why would a Tedran not trust Nora, and her own daughter to boot? They turned their hopeful, devoted faces to Nora, who lifted her chin even higher and gave them a sad smile that seemed to reassure them.
Good leaders, Gwen thought, loved their people. She could blame Nora for nearsightedness and a twisted sense of vengeance, but Gwen would always believe that Nora held the survival of her people above all. She could never begrudge Nora that, because it was exactly how Gwen felt about her own people, despite their flaws.
“I wish the best for you and yours,” Gwen told Nora. “I hope you can at least trust in that.”
Nora inhaled deeply and swept a dreamy look over her huddled masses, on their way to a new life. “You know, I think I do.” Then she went to the ladder and lowered herself into the boat, refusing Griffin’s assistance.
FORTY-ONE
Gwen supervised as Griffin packed the boat with Tedrans, who clung to one another and pressed away from the railings, away from the water. The boat backed up with an engine whine, then it put-put-putted into the open expanse, toward Xavier’s eleven o’clock.
Everyone on the dock held their breath. Gwen didn’t realize how close she’d moved to Xavier until her arm brushed against his. He startled but didn’t move away. He and the other Tedrans stared intently out at their illusion, some with arms wrapped around their middles. One ground his fingers into his temple.
All Gwen could see was the pain of Tedrans in the draining room. These eight here on the dock hated using their power, but they did it for their people. It was one of the bravest, most selfless acts Gwen had ever witnessed.
Far out in the water, the boat stopped. Jerked. A whisper of magic drifted across the waves, a warm breeze in the midst of the cold September night. The black atmosphere above the boat wavered, rippling. Gwen squinted, trying to discern the ship’s lovely shape. One of the Tedrans groaned. The illusion snapped back into place.
The moonlight was just barely bright enough to illuminate the Tedrans on the boat. They were tiny, shadowed shapes shuffling about the deck. And then they weren’t there at all. The illusion engulfed them. As they climbed into the ship’s airlock, they disappeared into nothingness, sucked into the Tedrans’ apparition.
Gwen watched, heart in her throat. When the boat was empty, Griffin gunned it back toward the dock and they started the whole process again. And again.
As the crowd thinned, she recognized the feel of eyes upon her. She’d know it anywhere. Her whole body had been tuned to it, an instrument awaiting its player.
Turning, she saw Reed leaning against a post, a yellow, bug-filled light hanging above his round head. His posture did an okay job of pretending to be casual, but she knew what those tight arm muscles meant, the intense train of thought drawing together his eyebrows. She’d seen it all the night she’d told him what she was.
She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. The rough edges to him were more beautiful than ever, and it hurt to look at him. He knew everything about her now, had seen it with his own eyes.
I’m just hers.
She felt like she knew him well enough to say that his tension wasn’t focused on her ancestry or anything that had happened here tonight. It was drilling inward. Hard, eating at him. She remembered what Griffin had told her, about Reed doing everything he had for her, not for her people. Even if it took her the rest of her life, she’d make him believe that she wanted him, not only what he could do for her.
After all, she was his, too.
He pulled away from the post. His lips parted, his eyes softened, as if preparing for a kiss. A giant invisible spaceship bobbed out in the middle of Lake Tahoe, swallowing an alien race in preparation to leave Earth, and Reed looked only at her.
She started toward him. The rigidity of his body shattered. The dimple flashed. He broke into a jog.
“Gwen!” Xavier’s strangled voice came from behind her. He sounded on the verge of breaking, and when she whirled back around, that was indeed what he was.
The final boat filled with Tedrans sped off toward Genesai’s ship. The illusion was cracking, tiny flickers of reality starting to show through. Xavier had fallen to his knees, face red from severe exertion, his hair soaked to the roots. He was Atlas, assuming his terrific burden alone.
Alone. Why was he alone?
She sped over to him.
“It’s getting…really hard…to hold this.” The tendons in Xavier’s neck popped out. He was crying, and seeing his tears might have affected her most of all.
He was close to empty, and the ship had yet to break away from Earth.
She had not come this far to fail in the final step. Xavier needed help. He needed more power.
She wheeled around and sprinted back down the dock. Legs pumping, she could honestly say she’d never run this fast or for a greater purpose.
“Where…” Reed called as she blew right past him.
When she got to the parking lot, she could barely see for the stars pricking at her periphery, and she could barely breathe for the constriction of her lungs. It didn’t matter. She ignored it.
The keys to the black SUV were in the ignition. She revved the engine, threw the shift into gear, did a jerky three-point turn, and squealed in reverse down the entire length of the dock at thirty miles an hour. The deckboards rattled angrily beneath the tires. The brakes screeched, stopping the SUV feet off the edge of the dock.
Jumping out, she saw Xavier now sat on his heels, his tall body listing to one side. Griffin was heading back with the empty boat.
Reed jogged to meet her at the back hatch. “What do you need me to do?”
She threw open the door, snatched out a box of Mendacia, and ripped open its top. “Dump it. All of it. Into the lake.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Reed’s big hands snatched two bottles at a time, his thumbs popping open the tops.
“Xavier.” She kneeled next to the Tedran. “I’m getting in the water. I know Tedranish. I can take over the illusion if I use all the Mendacia as it mixes with the water.”
“No…Gwen…” He couldn’t even shake his head.
“No arguments. When Griffin comes back, I want you on that boat. I’ll take over from here.”
The plan made sense in her head. She’d get in the water, utilize the Mendacia floating there, and then take over command of the illusion. Xavier would get on Genesai’s ship and she’d mask the craft’s rise into the sky. Easy as pie.
She rocked to her feet and went to help Reed.
So much power in a bottle the size of a nail polish. Hundreds of them were glugging into the lake. In the moonlight, the thick, metallic Mendacia clung close to the top of the water, riding the waves in a crude, silver oil. How appropriate: the Tedrans’ magic refusing to mix with the Ofarians’.
Xavier collapsed to all fours.
“Hold on,” she begged him. “We’re almost done.”
Xavier didn’t hold on. He started crawling toward the edge of the dock. Griffin was still fifty yards away. Without warning, Xavier threw himself over the side, landing with a flat, hollow splash in the middle of the thick Mendacia puddle.
“Wait!” She lunged for him. “What are you doing?”
Xavier came to the surface, gasping and flailing. He struggled through the liquid, looking like a child who’d only been to a handful of swimming lessons. He opened his mouth and swallowed a great gulp of silver.
His long arms stretched for the ladder and he pulled himself against it. Fingers curled around the top rungs, his legs wrapped around the bottom, he clung to it for his life. The thick Mendacia dripped slowly off the ends of his hair and rolled off his clothes like they were made of plastic.
Gwen kept calling to him, telling him to come back up. He wasn’t listening to her. He mumbled in Tedranish, but the sound of the waves and the approaching boat and her own panic drowned out his words.
Out in the lake, the illusion solidified again.
Gwen flattened on her stomach at the dock edge. “Xavier. What are you doing? Let me do it. Get your ass on that boat.”
He lifted his face up to her. Strength had come back to him courtesy of that singular drink, taking the strain from his face and bringing clarity to his eyes.
“The illusion needs more than words,” he said. “It’s too big and you can’t swallow all this. It wouldn’t work for you anyway, not for an illusion created far away. You can only work on your own body. When the ship flies, it’ll need me.”
Shivering violently in the cold water, he turned his attention to the illusion. He reached up, grabbed the collar of his plaid flannel shirt in both hands, and ripped it off his body. Half-naked, he submerged himself up to his collarbone. Giant gooseflesh popped out on his wide shoulders.
“You’ll freeze,” she begged, but deep down she
knew protesting was hopeless and counterproductive. He’d made up his mind.
The floating Mendacia gathered to him, encircled him. He was commanding it, the lives of his brothers and sisters and mates and children. The struggle of his people. With a gasp, she watched the Mendacia soak into his skin. Drop after drop, it crawled up his neck and extended down his arms—coating his skin, burrowing in. He rose from the water to his waist, legs braced on the ladder, and his whole torso glowed molten silver. His gray eyes shined like crystal, lit from within. Water dripped from his blond, wavy hair and rolled off his platinum body.
He looked beautifully alien. He was Mendacia.
And through it all, he smiled. His luminous silver eyes drifted far away, staring someplace beyond the illusion. Beyond Earth.
She finally understood what he meant to do. “Oh, God, Xavier.”
“This is how I can help them,” he said. “I can help them get away safely and they can have true lives, the lives I gave them.”
Stars’ blessings upon them—the women he’d been forced to impregnate and the children he’d never know, who should wear their resemblance to him with pride.
Griffin pulled up in the boat, maneuvering it sidelong against the dock. “Xavier,” he called. “Come on.”
Xavier sighed. “Tell the ship to go, Gwen. I’ve got it.” When she hesitated, he barked, “Do it.”
There had to be another way. Xavier hated Earth, hated Ofarians. He deserved his place on that ship.
“Now, Gwen.”
She pushed to her feet, her body heavy. Yet she managed to stand on her tiptoes, wave her arms toward the unseen ghost of Genesai’s ship, and shout, “Go! Go now!”
Below her on the ladder, Xavier pushed his metallic body completely from the water. No more Mendacia floated in the lake. Now it sheathed him in magically metallic armor.
Griffin appeared at her side. “What’s happening? Why is he still here?”
Fingers to her mouth and throat, she murmured, “He has his reasons.”
Liquid Lies Page 35