by Robert Reed
The network switched away from the scene, or the camera died.
Another hound, I understood. A healthy hound. I breathed and shuddered, and Beth asked, “What will they do next?” She wasn’t paying attention to the TV, but was staring out the window instead.
“They aren’t going to wait long, whatever they do,” said Cody. She stood and put her hands on her hips, watching the pasture and thinking.
“We’ll be ready,” said Jack.
Marshall coughed into his hand.
“If Florida comes,” said Cody. “Then we can talk to him. That’s our big hope.”
We nodded.
Cody looked at Jack, and she said, “I was wondering. What would you want him to do for you?”
“Do?”
She paused. “Who do you want brought along, Jack?”
His hard eyes stared at the floor for a long moment, then he said, “Nobody.” Then he said, “I don’t know,” and he blinked several times. He sat up and told us, “I’ll think about it.”
I turned back to the TV. There were reports of fighting inside the main Hadley domes, and several of the largest farms were infested with hounds hunting organics. The entire lunar population was armed, all that world a battlefield, and the saving grace—if there was such a thing—was the absence of good organics. Given time, said the newscaster, the hounds would run out of raw materials. The key was to keep them from the farms in the meantime.
We ourselves had nothing to do but wait.
Marshall napped on the floor, Beth on the long bench, and finally I had to lie down beside Marshall and shut my eyes, just for a moment, and when I opened them again the angle of the light had changed. It was later in the afternoon, and I sat up and found only Beth with me. I breathed and turned and saw no one else.
“Ryder? said Beth. “Cody’s on the roof.”
“Where are—?”
“Below,” she said, “They needed toilets.”
I heard Cody on the roof. She was standing near the east edge, boards creaking. A long minute passed, then she whistled hard, slicing at the air, and she shouted, “Get up here now! Now! Now!”
Two new vans were pulling off the main street. I saw the sun on their windshields.
“Climb!” she cried. “Fast! Now!”
The lead van was filled with uniformed guards. They drove hard over the pasture, the grass whispering beneath them. I counted eight guards, and they were nearly to the oak with Jack in the maze but Marshall still below. He was in the open and pulling at his pants, and one guard shouted, “That one!” and Cody threw a chunk of concrete. I saw it dropping and the windshield shattered, and she threw a larger chunk that struck the roof and left an ugly dent.
“Get in! Get in!” shouted Cody.
Marshall’s long body was clinging to the trunk, then it folded and vanished into the maze. One guard stepped down, brandishing a dart gun. Another said, “Don’t.” He said, “They aren’t squirrels, you shit. We’re not dropping ’em from trees!”
Cody used a slingshot now. I saw the streaking colors of the marbles, guards ducking, some hugging the van and others digging helmets from the back end—plastic riot helmets with long face shields. There weren’t enough helmets for everyone, and Cody could still punish their bodies. A blue streak, a green streak, and a guard would flinch and moan. Then one of them yelled, “It’s kids, Jesus! Go on! Get up there!”
The second van—a fresh one with an intact windshield—had crept up behind them.
Dr. Samuelson and Lillith emerged. Behind them were my folks and Marshall’s folks and Cody’s moms. All of them looked like rags wrung dry. They were talking among themselves and watching us, and Marshall’s mom cupped her hands around her mouth. “Son?” she shouted. “Son?”
Marshall and Jack were beside me, panting.
Jack picked a target and heaved a chunk of concrete. It struck the grassy ground, and he said, “Shit.”
“They’re climbing,” said Cody. “I don’t have the angle here!”
I saw two guards managing the trunk, clinging to our little steps. They had cutting tools and helmets and dart guns in their black holsters. I was scared and helpless. I couldn’t make myself fight them, but I kept holding my place; and then Jack was beside me with a huge rough piece of concrete in both hands, his body leaning into the open air and bending at the waist and him throwing hard, grunting hard. The higher guard took the blow between his shoulder blades. He turned rubbery but somehow held tight. Blood soaked his shirt, and I saw sweat on his face and the pain making him tremble. He was looking straight at me. Then Jack said, “Back, Ryder. Out of the way,” and he threw a second piece of concrete, hitting the man square on the faceplate.
The guard tumbled, his feet catching the man beneath him and both men ending up on the dirt slope. They cursed and rolled in agony. Cody kept the others from approaching, marbles flying. Another guard said, “We need more gear. They said kids in a tree, Jesus.” And still another said, “We haven’t time. We do it now.”
Dr. Samuelson came forward.
He spoke to one guard, and the guard said, “Kids in a tree! You never told us they were fucking criminals!” All the guards were retreating, the one man stripping away his bloody shirt and glaring at us, hating us. Dr. Samuelson said, “Talk to them. Convince them there’s no time for nonsense.” He was talking to our folks.
“We’re not leaving!” Cody cried from the roof.
Tina said, “Cody? We know where you’re going. You’re going to be absolutely safe, believe us!”
May said, “There’s no place for us, dear. Understand.”
Marshall’s folks pressed to the front, panic in their faces. I could see them trembling, his mom the worst in the bunch…a sickly kind of panic on her face. “Marshall?” she shouted. “Dear? Listen to me.”
He stepped to the window, obedient and silent.
“You’re going to be with other children. And some astronauts too. In a kind of ark, I guess. You’ve been chosen out of millions of children—”
“Not me!” he answered. “Florida doesn’t give a shit about me.”
She blinked, not certain what to say.
He said, “Ryder’s the one he wants. Not me.”
Cody asked, “Where’s the ark?”
Tina answered, “Inside some asteroid, dear.”
Marshall’s dad grasped his wife’s hand, squeezing hard. He told us, “Enough of this. Now listen. We want you to come down now, and no excuses. Do you hear?” His voice-sounded unnatural, him trying to be harsh and frightening and not knowing how.
Marshall’s mom said, “Please now?”
The hatch on the roof opened, and Cody dropped into the big room. “What do you think?” she wondered.
“They’re not so tough,” said Jack.
Beth sniffled and said, “I’m not leaving,” with a desperate certainty. “I just won’t.”
“Look at my mom,” said Marshall. “See? She’s all pissed because it’s Ryder they want. Not me,” and he laughed. He shook his head and laughed and all I could see was his mom crying to herself.
“We just need to talk to Dr. Florida,” I said.
“Only he’s not coming,” Cody decided.
Dr. Samuelson stepped forward. He said, “Jack? Jack Wells?” I saw the guards talking among themselves. Lillith climbed into the second van, started the engine and turned toward the street. “Jack?” Dr. Samuelson persisted. “I was talking to your parents this morning, and can I tell you something? My honest impressions?”
Jack said nothing.
“This is a big opportunity for you, son. Both of us know how much you need to get out of here.” He paused, then he said, “Think of the amazing things you’ll see in space. And do. Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to ride a rocket to the stars—?”
“Fuck off!” said Jack.
Dr. Samuelson didn’t seem to hear him. He said, “There’s a large nickel-iron asteroid—one of Dr. Florida’s mining asteroids—and it’s hon
eycombed with chambers and bright lights, plus water and fresh new soil. A zero-gee park, in essence. We’re stocking it with plants and animals, and it’s going to be junglelike and green, and I will bet you anything, son, that you’d love to be there. I will.” Dr. Samuelson stopped, then he said, “Awful things might happen here soon, or maybe not. Either way, you get a free ride to this place. All right? Jack?” He kept his face turned up toward us, waiting for someone to answer him.
Dr. Samuelson had taken a briefcase into the Wellses’ house and left it, and I had to wonder what was inside the briefcase. Money? Drugs? Some sort of payment, I realized. He had come to the Wellses and asked permission to take their youngest son, and they had said, “Okay. If you pay us,” and that’s what he had done. All at once I could see it very clearly.
Cody said, “If there’s so much room, there’s room for our folks too.”
Beth sang a few rising notes.
Dr. Samuelson shook his head. “Just children can go. And mission specialists.” He looked straight at us, saying, “That’s the deal!”
“Then there’s no deal!” Cody screamed.
And Dr. Samuelson cursed under his breath and gestured at the guards. “Go and get them,” he said, “and now, and don’t make fools of yourselves this time.”
My dad said, “Listen. Isn’t there some other way—?”
“Sir?” said Dr. Samuelson. “Kip, wasn’t it? Kip, I’m going to ask you and all of these people to stand aside. For a minute.”
Jack was beside me, crying hard without any sound. And Cody touched me and touched Jack, saying, “All right. Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
This time the guards returned Cody’s fire, throwing gravel and sticks to keep our heads down. Cody was back on the roof, punishing them, and the two smallest guards rushed and climbed the trunk, trying for speed, and none of us throwing at them. Jack went into the maze, and I followed. We were carrying clawed hammers and Marshall’s net, and when we were in position we busted facing holes in the maze walls. The guards were using a potent, industrial-grade drill to destroy our thumbprint lock. We heard the whine of the drill, and I was lying on my belly in the blackness, reaching through the small hole and touching Jack’s hand. I felt its moisture and heat, and he gave me one end of the net. I heard him say, “Ready,” just as the lock died.
The hatch flew open.
The lead guard grunted and cursed and scooted up inside, blocking the sudden light. The net was tucked low and tough to see, and I kept quiet while he pulled himself closer in the blackness, feeling his way. I could smell his sour breath and his sweat, and I felt his body heat. I wanted him in the perfect position, just like Cody had described, and then his waist was beside me and he didn’t seem quite there and Jack yelled, “Now!” and the guard snorted, saying, “The fuck—?”
We tugged on the net, and it unfolded itself with an explosive ease. The guard’s hands and head were in the tangles. He couldn’t reach us or move. Shards of sunlight let me see his waist and belt, and Jack was screaming, “Ryder? Ryder? It’s on your side. Can you reach?”
I forced my hand to move, to grope, and suddenly I felt the hard angry shape of the gun, a small dart gun. I pulled it free of its holster. I had it in both hands and took an enormous breath, then yelled, “Got it!” with my lungs tearing.
Cody yelled, “Bring it!” from far overhead.
I hurried.
The big room seemed unnaturally bright and cool, sweat soaking my clothes. Cody took the plastic gun from me and studied it for a long, long moment. Then she said, “I think it’s like this,” and she aimed and fired, the woosh soft. A guard on the pasture gave a little cry. I peered out a window and saw him collapse, his face relaxed and his whole body helpless under his bulk.
She shot again, then a third time, dropping another guard.
No one climbed for us. Dr. Samuelson was shouting, his words smeared into nonsense and his face red and furious; but there wasn’t anything he could do. We had won, I felt certain; everything was going as we’d wanted. There wasn’t much time, no, but I imagined Dr. Florida coming anyway. I pictured him standing below—I saw him in his raincoat and hat—and he listened to me and nodded, saying, “I understand, Ryder. And I agree, yes, we sure will make room for your folks. At once.”
I blinked. The daydream wobbled and vanished.
Dad and May were walking together across the pasture, and I watched them and wondered what they were saying to each other. The guard we’d netted came sliding out of the maze, having pulled free; and he practically fell to the ground, then got to his feet and ran hard as Cody watched him, making little wooshing sounds with her pursed lips.
“Let me hold the gun,” said Marshall.
Cody didn’t answer him.
Jack was sitting on the long bench, his face happy and sad at the same time, in equal measures. He said, “We showed them,” without any light or life. “We sure did.”
Cody asked, “Is there anything to eat?”
Jack made himself stand. He opened a freezer and removed the flask of cold dark water. “There’s this.”
“Give it,” she said. I saw her take a long swallow, a faint black moustache on her own moustache, then she said “Anyone else?”
It didn’t taste too bad this time. I remembered the flavor of lemoned Pepsi, and it was like Pepsi mixed with the spring water. Beth had a tiny sip. Jack took three long sips. Then we stared at Marshall. The four of us had decided that everyone would have to sample it; and eventually Marshall wetted his lips, saying nothing. All of us had the same moustache, and we sat for a few minutes and looked at one another. I had never felt so empty of words or ever so close to anyone, not ever in my life. Then Jack looked outside and said, “They’re coming,” and I rose and looked.
May and Dad were carrying a long ladder across the pasture. The other parents joined them, walking alongside them. I heard them talking. Dr. Samuelson was standing behind the van, and he said, “Why not wait? I’ve put in a call—”
“Enough of you,” said May. “Good-bye!”
We watched them plant the ladder and adjust its settings, the highest section extending and then dipping toward us. My dad and Marshall’s dad and both of Cody’s moms were making sure everything was secure, and then they looked at one another. It was my dad who said, “Let them dart me if they want,” and he started to climb.
The ladder nearly reached the east windows.
Dad shouted, “You don’t have darts for everyone,” and he laughed as if something were truly funny. He was almost to us, and he said, “Well, it’s time I took a look at this place, anyway.”
We backed away from the windows.
Tina followed Dad, and Marshall’s dad came last. The three of them stood in the big room with us, studying their surroundings. Tina was crying without noise. Marshall’s dad looked winded. My dad cleared his throat and told us, “I think we’re in agreement about one thing, kids. We’ve never been so proud of you in our lives. Not ever,” and he didn’t cry. I could see him not crying. He wasn’t crying with his eyes or his mouth, and he blinked and said, “The thing is, however, that you’re leaving. All of you. You’ve got absolutely no choice.”
I made myself get lost. I didn’t want to listen, so I shut my eyes and let myself drift on memories and found myself as ten years old, on a day like today, walking the bottoms. There was a knot of kids and they waved at me. They were standing beneath a scrubby elm. They had found something in the weeds. Could I help them? Could I?
I trotted up to them and saw a baby bird—a featherless, flightless robin—lying on the ground inside a thick green stand of stinging nettles. One girl said, “We’ll take care of it if you can get it for us, please. We can’t quite,” and I got on my knees and tried. No hesitations. I put my hands into the nettles, and then all of my bare arm, and the stinging began at once and got worse every moment. The nettles pumped their poisons into my flesh, and I cried out and breathed and bit my tongue and tried harder. Th
e kids crowded around me, and I swallowed and tried to shake off the agony. The robin was desiccated, feeble, its head rising and dipping and rising again, its future set and me old enough to know its future and still I was breathing and bending, my shoulder starting to burn now, and now the side of my poor face—
—and Cody touched me.
I blinked and found myself back in the present. I couldn’t feel the nettles anymore, but I moved my hands just to be sure. Tina was telling us, “We just don’t have skills. We can’t go with you and eat food, waste air, and be in everyone’s way.” She smiled weakly and said, “Cody? Honey? You understand, don’t you?”
“So you learn things,” said her daughter. “You just learn.”
“If it were that simple,” said Tina. She shook her head and sighed.
Marshall’s dad said, “There’ll be adults. Some are at the asteroid now, making ready, and I’m sure they’re trained and thoroughly professional and…” His voice collapsed. He took a deep breath and said, “Not so talented as you, son. Of course. But I’m sure you’ll be patient with them.”
“Ryder?” said my dad.