“Are you ever coming back?”
“We don’t need to talk about this now.” He fiddled with his canteen.
“Why won’t you look at me?”
David chucked the container at a tree and clenched his fists. “Because you know the answers to these questions. I don’t know why you keep asking.”
“Maybe I need to hear you say it.”
“It won’t change anything.”
“It might, if you let me see your eyes.”
The cracked part of my heart healed as he turned completely away from me. I couldn’t read his mind, but I could read his eyes, and he knew it. Despite his words last night, he still wanted me, but he was trying to do the right thing. Stinking alien chivalry.
“David, please. We need to talk about this. Why can’t … ”
The ship groaned like a dog stretching after a nap. David sprang to his feet.
“What is it?” I asked.
“The power.” He sunk his hands into the gelatinous sides of the hull.
“The power what?”
David gaped and stepped back. Edgar grabbed my pant leg and pulled me away from the ship, before hiding behind my ankles.
The ship moaned and howled as if in agony. Was that even possible? The hull pinched and tucked. Leaped forward and back. Lurched and righted itself. The shimmering surface coalesced into several forms before the angles sharpened, and the material seemed to harden. A smooth triangular form loomed before us, the sides swirling in opalescent glory. The trees mirrored along the surface, before the mass dropped, settling into a big, beautiful, perfect ball.
“What do you think, Edgar?” David asked.
The gargantuan spider scurried from behind us and jumped toward the ship. He sunk through the surface as if he’d canon-balled into a vertical swimming pool.
David laughed.
“That’s good, right?” I asked.
“That’s very good. Ready to go?”
“Already?”
“We don’t have all that much power. If we’re going, it has to be now.”
“Oh, umm, okay.”
I glanced back at the planet and shot off a few hundred shots at high speed. Maybe one of them would capture the real color and the pearly quality of the air. I picked up the few canisters and knick-knacks littering our camp and stuffed them into my backpack with my camera. I snatched David’s water bottle from the ground and slipped it into the outer pocket.
Done. Cleaned up like a good Girl Scout.
My gut twisted, and my eyes burned. Why was I going to cry? I wanted to go home, but maybe a part of me had already bonded with this strange place.
Then I remembered the giant, man-eating dogs and the tears faded instantly. I was definitely ready to trade up green planet X for blue planet Earth.
I slung my backpack over my shoulder. “I’m ready.”
David threw our supply cases through the liquid wall, slipped his fingers into my hand, and gently tugged me toward the ship. He disappeared through the side of the hull, sinking vertically before he pulled me through behind him. A flash of frigid liquid stung my cheeks and hands before we stepped into a solid, gray room: the same room David had jettisoned me from when he thought we were going to crash.
Two escape pods glistened beneath the low lighting. Two. If anything happened, we’d leave together this time. And if David didn’t like it, he better get over it now.
“This way.”
I dropped my backpack and followed David to the front of the ship where two chairs finished forming near a set of large windows. I settled into the one on the right. The chair molded to my body and enclosed around me. “I can’t move.”
David took the seat at my left. “In a minute, you’ll be glad of that.”
His chair didn’t spring to life. He still moved around freely. Couldn’t he get hurt if something happened?
“Edgar, are you with me?” David asked, continuing his perusal of the console.
A wave of yellow glow folded over the wall and windows before fading back to gray.
“Good. Let’s give it our best.”
David leaned over and kissed my cheek, then my bottom lip. He lingered for a moment as if memorizing my scent before returning to his chair.
What was that all about? I was too terrified to dwell on it. Were we kidding ourselves? Could that tiny tuna can really have enough power to cut through a planet’s atmosphere?
David sunk his arms into the controls of the ship, and the chair came to life around him, locking him in but still giving him the ability to move. I guess the co-pilot being immobile wasn’t an issue. Either that or David told the ship to keep me out of trouble. The latter was more feasible. We might have words about that later—if we lived.
The windows disappeared, melting into solid gray walls. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer.
Could God hear me all the way out here? Did he take care of people on other planets, too, or was I crap out of luck the second I left Earth? I forced the thought away and continued to pray. Paralyzed in a cocoon of molten metal, there wasn’t much more I could do anyway.
“Here we go,” David said.
The ship quaked around us before settling. My body lifted, and my abdomen sank like it does when a plane takes off. The sensation continued to deepen, as if a hole had been cut to allow my organs to leave my body and drift out into space. My necklace rose out of my shirt and hovered before my face, the etched charm catching the flickering lights. It seemed suspended, hanging in time, before the clatter returned. My head vibrated within my enclosure. Pain lanced through my temples. Bile rose in my throat.
Beyond the rattling in my brain, David grunted and growled. Were we in trouble? Was the ship breaking apart? Were we going to …
Silence. Stillness. My necklace lay across my blouse, motionless.
The plain metal wall stood before me. Unblemished. Unbroken.
David puffed out a breath, and his next came quickly. My bindings relaxed as my chair released me and returned to its original state. David slumped forward, sinking further into the console.
“David, wake up!” I grabbed him and pushed him back into his chair.
His blank eyes stared at nothing. He panted three times before his gaze centered on me.
“You’re okay, David. We made it.”
He blinked and sat up, rubbing his shoulders. “Remind me never to try blasting out of an alien atmosphere again.”
The windows re-appeared. A quarter of the green planet peeked at us from the right, while the left sparkled with millions of stars.
Another wave of yellow washed across the ship.
“That means we’re ready to go.”
“Already?” I asked. “But you look exhausted.”
“The rest is only piloting, not keeping the ship from breaking apart. I’ll be fine.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “From here until Earth, it is up to the ship.”
I sank back into my chair. “Can you tell if we’re going to have enough of that cohesive stuff?”
“Molecular cohesion.” He sunk his hands into the controls. “The static in the atmosphere gained us thirty-eight semphons of power.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“It’s not much, but I think we can get home.”
“Not to play devil’s advocate, but what happens if there’s not enough static or, you know, cohesiveness?”
David’s deep intake stretched the fabric of his tee-shirt across his chest. “If we lose molecular cohesion deep in space, we will know for a fraction of a second.”
“A fraction of a second?”
He looked away again. That was enough to tell me that we wouldn’t survive long if that happened. Cripes.
I stood, wiping my forehead. We weren’t safe. It could be over at any second, and there would be nothing we could do about it.
His arms surrounded me. He nuzzled my hair. “I’m sorry I dragged you into all this.
”
“I was the one who found the stupid powder. I’m sorry for getting you into this.”
David’s grip tightened. As safe as I felt in his arms, I had to wonder; maybe he wasn’t all that sure about the cohesion-thingy. Maybe he was holding me in case we …
Yellow flashed across the hull again. David’s grip loosened, but only slightly. We touched foreheads, and a swirl of warmth squiggled from his skin into mine. I still trembled. How cold was it in space? Would I feel anything? Would Mom be waiting for me?
“I’m scared,” I whispered.
“I know. I’m here. I won’t let you go.”
Heat shot from his hands. His essence filled me, soaring through my body as easily as he walked through liquescent walls. He embraced me from within as effortlessly as he held me in his arms. I was not alone. Maybe I never would be again.
The lights grew brighter, and David leaned away. His semblance ebbed out of me. I grabbed hold with my mind, desperate to keep him near.
“Let go, Jess.”
My eyes fluttered open. What had he said?
His fingers trailed my cheek. “You need to let me go.”
Wait a minute, could I …
I closed my eyes and pulled harder with my mind. He seeped back into me.
In the outside world, I heard him snicker. His arms tightened around me again. Everything that was David filled me, warmed me from within.
“I really need to get to work.”
His voice echoed through my mind, but I wasn’t sure if he’d actually spoken. I blinked and let go.
David stepped away; his lips turned up only on the left. He backed toward the console, almost as if he was afraid I’d do something to him, all the while with that adorable poop-eating grin on his face.
“Be good.” He turned back to the console.
Be good, he says. How could I be good when I just figured out I could do mental mojo?
I concentrated on the back of his head, thinking with all my might. He turned and raised an eyebrow. “Stop it. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
I turned to hide my blush. You couldn’t blame a girl for trying.
A wave of deep purple light cascaded over the sides of the ship. The walls moaned a deep, deafening cry of sorrow. There’s no way that was a good sound.
“Jess, sit down.”
My chair turned toward me. Stupid, creepy, demon chair. If I was about to die, it was not going to be strapped to something. “No way. I want to help.”
“There’s nothing you can do!”
He pulled his arms out of the console and ran past me. Edgar materialized out of the ceiling.
“Where is it?” David yelled.
The gargantuan arachnid scurried to the far wall, stopped at hip-level, and spun like a top. David knelt and inserted his hand into the partition. He gasped and pulled free as if something bit him.
“What happened?” I asked. “What did you feel?”
He grimaced. “Outer space.”
30
A gray oval appeared where David had withdrawn his hand. A shape not larger than a walnut. The color blurred and doubled in size.
“No, no, no, no, no!” David held his temples, ran back to the console, and sunk his arms in.
“Are we losing cohesiveness?” I asked.
“Cohesion.” His gaze darted to mine as the ship shook around us. “Jess, you have to sit down. I don’t want to worry about … ”
A pop like the explosion of the world’s largest balloon bombarded the cabin. The air rushed out. My lungs seized. I grabbed my throat, before the air returned in a whoosh. I breathed deep, relishing the oxygen, and steadied myself on the wall.
Something creaked, and the temperature plunged like walking outside in the winter. David screamed and stumbled from the console. His back slammed against the wall beside the monitors. He slid to the floor, propped up beside the chairs.
My breath turned to white puffs as Edgar lunged through the air, landing on the growing mass of gray in the hull. His legs worked furiously.
The air about the room thickened and swirled as I dropped to my knees beside David. The cold lashed my cheeks. I took David’s frigid fingers into mine. “What do I do? Tell me what to do!”
His turquoise irises dulled to a pale lavender. His teeth chattered. If I was cold, he was freezing to death.
I punched him in the chest. “You are not going to die, dammit! Tell me what to do. Don’t you dare leave me out here!”
David’s body hardened. The lavender faded to gray.
“David!” I pulled him to me, pressing our cheeks together to give him what little warmth I had. “Help me save us. Please, help me save us.”
I closed my eyes and pushed with all my might, injecting myself into him.
“Tell me what to do, David. Tell me what to do.”
The ship is dying, Jess.
I tensed, sorting out the words in my mind, realizing they weren’t mine.
David?
I grasped his hand. “How do I bring it back?”
We’ve lost cohesion.
“Then I’ll re-co-heat it. Dammit, don’t give up on me. What’s wrong? Why did we lose cohesion?”
There’s not enough power to keep the molecules fluid. They can’t move, so they freeze, opening a fissure. It can’t be undone without more power.
“I don’t buy that.”
We knew the risks. You mean everything to me, Jess. I’m sorry.
I blinked, jostled him from my head, and stood. David slid the rest of the way down to the floor. I rubbed my shoulders. He’d be dead in the next few minutes, and I’d be right behind him.
I wasn’t ready to check out yet. Not by a long shot.
Edgar chittered and circled in place, clicking his sharp feet on the tiles. He seemed more like a rabid animal than a smart, sentient arachnid. Maybe he had an idea?
I knelt beside him as he wobbled over the gray area. The rest of the ship still shimmered with rich opalescence, probably the only reason I was still breathing. So the problem must have been centered in that steely splotch.
The ugly, dull, gray hue seemed to be growing, despite Edgar’s furious efforts. I shivered as he dribbled clear fluids on the ship, darkening one area before he moved on. But the wall was turning gray faster than he could spit.
A glow emanated from Edgar, as if each blink of his eyes focused a beacon, keeping the area bright. The hull creaked, and the steely tinge expanded. The little dude wasn’t acting fast enough.
Think, Jess. Think.
He was spitting. Spit is liquid, just like the water I’d spilled on the metal beads in the woods. They’d come to life then. Could it be that simple?
I spied my supply case leaning against the wall. I grabbed my last water canister and dribbled the remaining droplets down the hull beside Edgar. The walls instantly absorbed the liquid and darkened.
Water. The ship needed water! Everything needs water to survive. This ship wasn’t a hunk of metal; it was a living thing. It just needed to drink!
I ran to the back of the ship and found David’s supply case. I plucked both water canisters out and sprinted back to Edgar. He screeched, baring his dripping fangs at me. I unscrewed the first bottle and drenched the wall. The molecules shimmered but didn’t take on the opalescent glow of the rest of the ship.
Edgar danced over the wet surface, blinking his glowing eyes.
Light. He was giving them water and light.
I dumped the second bottle over the swelling space and grabbed my camera.
More light. I needed to give the ship light. I hit the power button and pointed at the discolored hull. Flash.
I didn’t care about the picture. Flash.
Edgar moved back, giving me room. Flash.
My fingers numbed on the shutter button. Flash.
The far sides of the hole seemed to harden. Flash.
Please, God, don’t let the battery go dead
! Flash.
David struggled, shivering behind me. Flash. This had to work—it just had to!
The material in the wall darkened. Flash.
I fell back on my butt as the wall shimmered, churned, and took on an opalescent tone. I stared at the partition separating us from a frozen death. The metal swirled, forming a round pattern that dissipated before shifting back in line with the pattern encircling the newly healed fissure. Moving, like the rest of the ship.
Holy cow. I was right. It’s like a gigantic plant!
Panting, I pulled myself to David as the temperature rose around us. I covered him with my body, hoping to give him what heat I had left.
A hum filled the chamber, like a generator speeding up. David, Edgar, and I left the ground, flew through the air and smacked against the back wall. David groaned as he slumped to the floor.
He leaned up. “We’re m-m-moving again. What d-did you do?”
I helped him stand. “Just good-old-fashioned Martinez ingenuity.”
He glanced at the wall and seemed to stare at the canisters littering the floor. “W-water? You used water?”
“Apparently your ship was thirsty.”
“Thirsty?”
I nodded.
“That shouldn’t have worked.”
I kissed his cheek. “Maybe you should write a paper on it. It might make you famous.”
The walls melted back into windows. His eyes widened, and he tugged me toward the chairs and the console.
Bright light flooded the compartment as a beautiful blue and green globe greeted us in the distance.
“Earth!” I screamed. “We did it!”
31
I slipped into the copilot’s chair, afraid to blink as I memorized every line, every angle that made up Earth. My planet. Home.
David sunk his arms into the control panel. He shivered, but continued his chore.
“Are you going to be okay?” I asked. “It got pretty cold in here.”
“I’ll make it,” he said, staring through the windows. “Thanks to you.”
I sat up straighter. How many times had he saved my life while we ran from the Army the week we first met? More than I could count. It was nice to be able to do something for him for a change. I returned my gaze to my sparkling blue planet, but Earth’s cloud-covered oceans panned off to the left and disappeared from view.
Ashes in the Sky Page 19