Dove Exiled

by Karen Bao

  “The odd-sounding thing at the end bugs me,” Yinha says. “Dodeca-chordata. We haven’t picked at that yet. Any ideas?”

  “Dodeca . . . like a dodecahedron,” I say. “A twelve-sided die. It’s the prefix for twelve.”

  “And chordata is a certain group of animals, right?” Anka says. “I remember that from Primary.”

  “Right,” I say. “The phylum includes anything with a spinal column, and a few more clades besides.”

  “So, twelve animals,” Umbriel says. “Which ones, though? Loads of animals have spines. It’s gotta be a superlong password if he used a dozen species names.”

  “Phaet, did your family celebrate the Lunar New Year?” Yinha says. “I don’t mean the crappy light show the Committee puts on in the Atrium on January first; I mean the ancient Earthbound new year based on the Moon’s phases.”

  I frown. Will my answer help at all? “No . . .” Observing Earthbound holidays is illegal, and she knows it.

  “Hmm. Well, my family did.” Yinha grins at the secret memories. “We made tofu dumplings every January or February, depending on when the holiday fell. The Chinese zodiac changes by year, not month, and it’s a twelve-year cycle. Twelve animals. And they all have backbones, I think.”

  Excitement zips through my spine—the kind I feel when I’ve got a good problem to solve.

  “So your conjecture is that Cygnus’s password consists of the daemons of their birth years?” Lazarus says.

  Anka shrugs. “Sounds like something he’d do.”

  I nod. My brother loves puzzles and obscure information; Yinha’s idea unites both.

  “What year were you born, Phaet?” Yinha asks me.

  “2331,” I answer.

  “You’re a pig,” she says, and a smirking Lazarus promptly types PIG in the password box.

  Umbriel snorts, sounding slightly like an Odan hog.

  “Hey, hotshot,” Yinha scolds him, “if you were born the same year as Phaet, the pig is your zodiac animal too. And that means you’re supposed to be honest and gallant but also really naive.”

  Umbriel is silenced, for now.

  “On what grounds . . .” I trail off, shaking my head. How could Umbriel and I, who are so different, fall under one zodiac symbol and supposedly have the same personality traits? No wonder the Committee banned astrology. Not only does it strip away individual agency; it’s the opposite of scientific.

  “Take it easy, Phaet,” Yinha says. “The zodiac’s not supposed to be an exact science. Anyway, pig should really be translated as boar. Sounds mightier, yeah?”

  Lazarus deletes PIG and enters BOAR into the password box.

  “Let’s figure out Mom’s animal next,” Anka says. “She was born in 2298.”

  “Yeesh. I don’t remember which animal matches up with that year.” Yinha punches some numbers into her handscreen’s calculator function, and then nods. “Your mom’s a tiger. Brave, but often in conflict with authority.”

  Anka hugs herself, curling into a ball. When she speaks, her voice is tiny. “That’s why she’s not a tiger anymore. She was one.”

  Lazarus, bowing his head out of respect, enters TIGER into the box in front of BOAR. It now reads, TIGERBOAR.

  “Now it’s my turn,” Anka says. “I was born in 2336.”

  “Hm . . . that makes you a dragon,” Yinha says.

  “Great!” Anka says. “I hoped it would be something fierce. Well, Lazarus, you can add dragon to the password.”

  “Gladly, as always,” he replies. “Here we go.” He types DRAGON and hits Enter.

  PASSWORD INCORRECT, the screen says in red letters. My heart sinks deeper in my chest, and my face flushes with frustration.

  “This grit hasn’t gotten the best of us yet,” Yinha says. “I forgot something. Do any of you have a birthday early in January?”

  “Me,” Anka says. “January tenth.”

  “Well, that explains things,” Yinha says. “The Lunar New Year usually falls a couple of weeks after the standard new year. So that makes you”—Yinha scratches her chin—“a rabbit. Easygoing and organized.”

  “Seriously?” Anka makes bunny ears with her first two fingers. “The zodiac creators got it all wrong.”

  “They didn’t see you coming,” Yinha says. “A roaring rabbit.”

  I tamp down the anxiety and watch as, instead of TIGERBOARDRAGON, Lazarus types TIGERBOARRABBIT into the HeRP.

  The document opens.

  My sister throws her arms up; they land, one around Umbriel’s shoulders and one around mine. I squeeze her back, harder than I meant to.

  We did it. We found a way in.

  “Brilliant,” Lazarus says. He touches Yinha’s hand, his face brightening.

  Pretending not to notice, Yinha tilts up her mug to chug the rest of her tea, blocking her face. When it’s empty, she slams it down on Lazarus’s desk with a clang.

  “Read the blasted note, people.”

  And we do.

  This is the fourth or fifth time I’ve tried starting this letter, Phaet. I can’t even count to five anymore. They’ve shorted out every circuit in my brain. I’ve seen you rescue me so many times. I’m scared that if you actually come, I’ll think it’s another hallucination.

  When I woke up in this cell, I realized that they’d bugged my handscreen. But they left it jailbroken so I could send out distress messages. Theoretically, they could use those to find my accomplices.

  I tried to disable the bug, but it failed. Maybe because my head was messed up. So I played stupid. Sent messages to people who didn’t exist. While they sniffed down the wrong trails, I hacked into some security pod feeds. Then I flew the pods around until I found the Law exit. I programmed them to help. If you show up, they’ll take you to me.

  They beat me bloody when they found out about the fake messages. They filmed themselves shocking me. They sent the tape to you guys to make you come get me.

  I know you, Phaet. You’ll come running in a second. That’s why I’m writing this. So that when you show up, you’ll know what to do. I have no idea how to get you this document. I can’t send it through cyberspace or the Committee will get their hands on it. But I have to write this down before I forget.

  When you get to Base I, go to the Law lobby. Find the pod that hangs around the third seat in the first row of the waiting room.

  Don’t try to find me without the pods. It’s a labyrinth in here. This isn’t the Base IV Pen.

  They put a tungsten and carbon fiber collar on my neck. It’ll suffocate me if I leave my cell. Bring something that can cut or burn through it. Bring guns. And people—but not too many, for nukes’ sake.

  Sometimes, I see you and Anka and Mom. Even Dad. All of you, lined up in a row. It’s in my head, but it feels real. I’ve got to remind myself who’s alive and who’s dead. It shocks me worse than electrocution every time I sort you all out. But it keeps me from going crazy.

  I know you probably won’t listen to me. So if you need to come for me, come prepared. Don’t make me put you with the dead people.

  The message ends. I feel my fingers turn to ice.

  It’s okay, it’s okay. He can still form coherent sentences. Still, I can’t shake the numb panic creeping through my limbs. While Cygnus doesn’t sound broken, he doesn’t sound like himself either—there’s no laughter between his words, only jagged shards of hope. It’s like he’s aged twenty years in mere months.

  But he’s left us a trail. He found a way, even under the worst conditions imaginable. Although he hasn’t given us his exact location, we can find it if we follow his directions. Cygnus may have discouraged me from coming after him, but that evidence of his love for me makes me want to help him even more.

  I feel the eyes of Yinha, Anka—even Umbriel. They’re watching me, waiting for me to tell them what to do next.


  I throw all my weight behind my next words: “It’s time. We’re going to Base I.”

  33

  “ANDROMEDA’S STUFFED HER BODYGUARD TEAM FULL of Dovetail-friendly Mili—” Yinha stifles a yawn. “Militia. Me, Nashira Phi, Eri Pi. Callisto Chi will be on board too, but that can’t be helped; it would look suspicious if Andromeda’s own daughter didn’t come. Colonel Arcturus Theta will remain on Base IV to advise the General and keep him from going berserk if the election gets crazy. Which I think will happen.”

  Lazarus blinks away sleepiness, opens his mouth wide in a yawn. His black hair points in a couple hundred different directions, and he’s developed a pimple under his bottom lip. With the approach of our mission, chinks in his impeccable appearance have started to appear. I like him better for the imperfections. “Should we be concerned for Asterion?”

  We’ve already discussed Lazarus’s plans. He’ll arrive on Base I several hours before we get there, under the guise of preparing for the presentation he and Biela will make to the Committee about the Dovetail situation in Base IV’s Shelter.

  “Asterion went into hiding the day Linus was killed,” Yinha says. “His LPS chip was already out; now he’s disconnected his handscreen too. After Militia sacked his lab, they gave up on finding him. Making a big deal of the search would be too embarrassing. He’s too famous, you see.”

  “We’ve already embarrassed them,” Anka says fiercely. “If the Militia or the Committee tries anything on Election Day, I’ll—”

  Lazarus puts a calming hand on her shoulder to cut her off.

  “Anka, we would all prefer it if you stayed in Shelter without making a spectacle of yourself.”

  “Knew you’d say that.” Anka twists her mouth and gestures at Umbriel with her chin. “What about him?”

  Yinha sighs. “Umbriel should stay in Shelter too.”

  “I’m coming on the ship.” Umbriel straightens up. Now that he’s no longer slouching, he towers over everyone but Lazarus. “Andromeda can stow me away with Phaet.”

  “Do I have to order you to stay back?” Yinha points to her captain’s insignia. “Look, I like your enthusiasm, but you haven’t had any Militia training. You could mess everything up.”

  Umbriel lifts his hands, palms outward, but it’s not a gesture of surrender. He turns them over in the dim light, as if showing off the long, dexterous fingers; the nails, slightly overgrown; the double-jointed thumbs. “You want anything? I’ll pick it out of someone’s hands without him noticing. A security pod? I’ll snatch it from the air and stick it up my sleeve. If you get hungry . . .” Umbriel shoots me a small smile, the most welcoming gesture he’s made since our brief, torturous conversation. Even though it hurts, I look away. “Think. If Lazarus is with Biela, and Yinha, Nashira, and Eri are with Andromeda’s bodyguards, then Phaet will be alone. Cygnus said it in his letter: working alone on Base I is tricky, maybe idiotic. I could go with her into the Pen.”

  “Okay, I get it!” Yinha stomps her foot. “You’re coming too. That’s six of us! I’m half expecting Kappa to fly up from Earth and make it a party.”

  Wes. Why did Yinha have to mention him now? I’m more than willing to sacrifice everything for Cygnus, but I haven’t let myself think about one particular repercussion of our mission: I might never see Wes again.

  Umbriel scowls at me, as if I were the one who said his name.

  “Wesley sent me a message last week,” Lazarus says. I shift my weight forward, attentive. “The displaced Odans are adjusting poorly to Battery Bay. His older sister in particular. The Batterers have put on a fireworks display every night, but all the Odans can hear are the sounds of cannons and exploding grenades.”

  Yinha’s eyes dart between Lazarus and me, her face serious. “Sorry, Zee. I wish we’d left Saint Oda alone. Then and now. The raid, all those years ago? That’s what made this mess, right? It . . .” Her face closes off. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

  “But it had some positive outcomes, Yinha,” Lazarus says. “I wouldn’t be helping to depose the Committee, and you wouldn’t have become my friend, if the invasion hadn’t—”

  “Yeah, and I’d still be an active soldier.” Yinha turns away from Lazarus. “After my unit plowed through your city, I told myself I’d never return to Earth.”

  Yinha’s words jog my memory. If she helped raid Saint Oda . . .

  “Do you remember a girl with thunderclouds in her eyes?” I say.

  Yinha’s face crumples as though I’ve kicked her. Her cheeks turn pale instead of pink. Beside her, Lazarus frowns and averts his eyes. Anka and Umbriel observe their reactions, confusion clouding their faces.

  “So she lived,” Yinha murmurs. “I didn’t say anything, not to anyone. For ten years. But somehow you met her. What’s her name?”

  My breathing quickens. More and more pieces fit together: Murray said the soldier who injured her had a thin frame and eyes like mine. Yinha can’t bear to fight; now I’ve learned why. It was her. She cut Murray that night, and spared her.

  “Murray Carlyle,” I say. “Wes’s older sister. You saved her life.”

  Lazarus’s boot slaps the ground hard, and he straightens stiffly, running a hand through his already ruffled hair. This is a revelation for him too.

  Yinha sighs, rubbing her forehead. “Wes always did seem familiar. How bad is the girl’s scar?”

  I shake my head.

  “I thought so.” Yinha’s voice hitches. Is my former instructor about to cry? “Has she forgiven me?”

  “No.” I don’t see why I shouldn’t be blunt. “She doesn’t understand why you did it. Maybe someday you can explain it to her.”

  “I do not believe that meeting you would be healthy for Marina.” Lazarus gestures—it’s more of a twirl—with his right hand, and then places it on his forehead. “Due to circumstances beyond her control, of course, she has recently grown as unstable as the Juan de Fuca tectonic plate.” He shoots me a knowing look.

  I confirm Murray’s condition with a nod.

  Umbriel takes advantage of the silence to excuse himself, taking Anka with him. Yinha, who’s presumably had enough of Lazarus too, leads me toward a deserted spot in the Shelter dome. She sits on her left hand, over her handscreen, touches my arm with her right, and begins talking, quickly and urgently.

  “Stripes, all you’ve thought about lately is saving your brother, and that makes perfect sense, but you should know that Dovetail has . . . bigger plans for you.”

  What? My mind has no room for anything more than traveling to Base I and returning with Cygnus.

  “You’ve seen how people talk about you. The Girl Sage. They don’t know for sure if you’re alive, but the idea of you has kept them going. I hope that your involvement in this group doesn’t end when you get your family back. What if you rescued Cygnus, and then took a stab at the Committee? Something dramatic, bigger than them losing one prisoner, one election. Something to scare them gritless.”

  I can’t imagine the Committee being scared of a teenager, let alone a silent one.

  “You’d be like a girl from a story my grandma used to tell.”

  My arms hug my knees closer to my chest. “Go on,” I say in a tiny voice.

  “It’s just an old folktale, but okay. There’s a peasant girl, Si’er, and she lives happily in a village, until the local landlord kills her dad because he can’t pay his rent. Crazy, huh? But it escalates. The landlord kidnaps her. She’s his slave until a servant boy falls in love with her and frees her. She hides in the mountains, living off her garden and offerings from a nearby temple. Months go by, and shock and sadness bleach her hair all white.”

  Her diet was probably missing copper and a couple of amino acids, I think.

  “The landlord comes to pray at the temple during a thunderstorm, and bam! Si’er shows up, with her ribbons of white hair, and he thinks she
’s some goddess sent to punish him. He’s so freaked out that he’s literally paralyzed. She takes the incense burner, sets fire to the temple, and runs off into the night. She returns to her village, which is now free of the landlord’s cruelty.” Yinha laughs. “Mind-blowing, yeah? All the parallels? Proves that revolution’s been around as long as the human race.”

  She calls Dovetail’s fight a revolution. As if she’s confident we’ll succeed. Kick open the box, Asterion said. Yinha thinks she knows what’s inside.

  “I’m not saying you should burn the Committee alive, but maybe you could throw them off enough to make a difference. You get your revenge, your family gets its security, and all of us get democracy. How does that sound?”

  I’m not sure. So I say the only thing I’m certain of.

  “Cygnus first.”

  * * *

  And before that, the maintenance tunnels. I’ve stayed aboveground far too long. I plunge back into the murky maze beneath Lazarus’s office, not looking forward to being confined again. But this time, I have food in my satchel, a source of light in my hand, and more than a bit of hope in my soul.

  34

  THE NIGHT OF MARCH 31, 2348, I sneak back into Shelter.

  It’s not easy. I wait inside a maintenance closet, listening to dozens of Militia patrols pass through the metal door into the blocked tunnel. Every time, they open the door, shut it, and slide the lock into place. Always, the click feels like a rejection.

  Hours later, I finally hear the door shut freely. I tiptoe into the blocked area, sending a silent thank you to the Dovetail mole who’s given me access.

  With every hair-raising clatter or clang that reaches my ears, I curse my decision to return. But I can’t stay away. What if I lose Anka—or Umbriel—in the next twenty-four hours? I don’t want to regret having spent the last few hours before this mission cowering beneath the surface of Base IV.

  With Asterion’s flashlight on its low setting, I crawl across the dome floor until I find their campsite. Umbriel lies on his back, his arms spread, snoring gently through his open mouth. The scene takes me aback: he looks so boyish and unthreatening, so . . . kind.