I immediately lost what little hold I had. “Hanna!”
“Got you.” She somehow pulled the reins of Pinnacle back from my loosened grasp and we held them together, scrambling for purchase, for some sort of control. “I think I’ve charted its path, but it keeps fighting me.”
I went silent, all my concentration focused as I searched for a weak point, an entry point. Changing tactics, I tried expanding my awareness, broadening it, using every output and input source Pinnacle had access to.
I dove deep into the network, like Pinnacle had attempted to do to my brain. I wanted to control it like it would have controlled me: see with my eyes, hear with my ears, touch with my hands. I needed to inhabit the network.
For the briefest of seconds, I wished Luka had come. He might have been able to communicate better with Skyfall—it was his people’s design, after all. But he was so changed from the form it was designed for . . . maybe it would have been useless, after all.
And then it hit me. Luka might not have been able to help me, but someone still could.
Skyfall continued to rise into the atmosphere, but its path curved. It was climbing over land, reaching the optimum altitude to disperse its payload. The explosion of gamma radiation that would sterilize Earth.
“No, no no no!” Hanna said, and went silent as I felt her working to correct its path. Skyfall stuttered, stilled in midair as they waged war for control.
I had to trust that she would win. I reached my consciousness out to its farthest borders—the GPS and communications satellites that Pinnacle had access to. And, as I had hoped, I felt God-Mother’s curious and concerned awareness reaching out from the border of Earth’s atmosphere.
God-Mother, help me save this place.
Once invited, I felt her swooping strength come into me, invading the network with such a furious strength it was as though she had been quietly tapping at the door this entire time. She was so very old and so very strong she didn’t even need to be physically connected to us.
Her thoughts were radio waves. Her wireless hands touched our internet, our satellites, our computers. I saw glimpses of our world as she saw it: arcing rainbows of light across the surface of our world, each person connected to another and to machines through dozens of interlinked pathways. Trillions of connections. Our entire world was a neural network, a living organism, each human a neuron passing messages along endless dendrites.
Joined with her now on a common mission, I finally saw just how powerful she was. Why the megobari, though utterly misguided in their hate, had been willing to destroy themselves to rid the universe of these beings. How so very many of these God-Mothers working together would be a terrifying force.
It was God-Mother who found the weak point in Skyfall’s firewall and dismantled it like a master locksmith. But it was Hanna and I, together with Pinnacle, who directed Skyfall to fly out of the atmosphere.
I closed my metaphorical hand around Skyfall and kept it from releasing into the open air.
“What should we do with it?” Hanna asked. “It’s not able to be shut down once activated. We’re just delaying it. As soon as we disconnect from Pinnacle, Skyfall will go back to autopilot and detonate.”
“Detonate it on the far side of the moon,” I suggested. And if those megobari bastards are camped out there, serves them right.
“But it’s so close,” Hanna said. “The moon might absorb it all. We don’t know how big the explosion will be. The radiation burst might be so intense as to overcome the gravitational binding energy of the moon, and then we’d only succeed in breaking up the moon and causing it to rain down on Earth.”
I swore. Repeatedly.
God-Mother made her presence known, unobtrusively, like raising a finger to gain our attention.
She had a solution.
Forty
GOD-MOTHER WOULD TAKE Skyfall. She would take over the temporary stay Hanna and I had put into place on the detonator, and fly far from here. As far as possible, toward the interior of the galaxy, where there was naturally more radiation and less chance of impacting any galactic life. Once safely away, she would take her finger off the trigger and let it detonate, destroying the weapon for good.
We were silent. I sensed Hanna’s utter bewilderment with what was going on and promised to catch her up later. If we had the time.
“Why would you do that?” I asked, half in awe, half suspicious of God-Mother’s selflessness.
I am dying, she reminded me simply. I would prefer this to the alternative. And I will do whatever is necessary to protect my children.
She would leave them here, she said. They would survive without her for a short time, though not for long—it would be the equivalent of cutting out a majority of their brains. They were only satellites orbiting her; without God-Mother, they would eventually stop foraging for food and starve. They would not know how to continue living.
But she had a plan for that, and as she explained, I saw the elegance of it. She had come a long way, borne much pain and many losses, to provide a future for her children. She needed my help to complete the task. There was no way she could guarantee that I’d help her; she could only hope and trust. Trust a member of another species like she’d sworn never to do again.
“I will help you,” I promised. And I meant it with my whole heart. “I won’t take no for an answer.”
God-Mother did not have a mouth, but I could feel her smiling—or whatever emotion she exuded that was translated by my brain as a smile.
“Can we trust this thing?” Hanna asked me, as privately as was possible in this weird pseudoreality. “We’re handing a weapon that can cause mass extinction to an alien with questionable motives.”
I felt that God-Mother heard her. But I was the one who answered. “Her motive is to save her children. That’s always been her motive. Do you sense any dishonesty in her?”
It was possible that God-Mother was a master manipulator. That she was expertly hiding her true thoughts and intentions behind a simplistic front. But I didn’t think so.
“It’s our best shot,” I told Hanna. And besides—I trusted you, and you betrayed me. An alien intelligence couldn’t do worse.
The thought escaped me without volition, and I realized as soon as it happened that Hanna would hear the words.
“Cass, I . . . I didn’t know.” I couldn’t see her face, but Hanna’s emotions came across. And it was perhaps the first time I’d ever heard her contrite. “I thought I was doing the right thing. Protecting . . . everyone.”
“We all make mistakes,” I said, still angry.
God-Mother worked with us to redirect Skyfall’s path. We let her take control as it flew out of our atmosphere and into the open port of her ship. A few beats later, a small sliver of ship detached from the main body. God-Mother took her ship, took Skyfall, and directed her course.
I could sense her pain at leaving her children. Her determination to save them. Her hope for their future. I’ll keep my end of the deal. I promise.
This weapon killed my sisters, she responded, already far away. It is fitting I should join them this way. Ensure that it never happens again.
The sole survivor of systematic slavery and genocide. The last survivor of this terrible weapon, volunteering to fall under the blade of her oppressors. I was under no illusion that this sacrifice was for us—for Earth, for humanity. We had done terrible things ourselves. Oppression and slavery and genocide were part of our DNA, too. We were no better. We hadn’t yet destroyed an entire planet of rival aliens, but that was simply from lack of opportunity.
This was to save her children. This was a charge for us to do better for future generations.
And I was going to honor that sacrifice if it killed me.
With silent acknowledgment, God-Mother shouldered our burden and headed for the stars.
Forty-One
I OPENED MY eyes to my mother’s face.
I jumped. Or tried to. But my body wouldn’t respond. I tried opening
my mouth and that, too, wasn’t working.
“Shh, shh, my love. You’re all right.” My mother’s eyes were full of tears, but she was smiling, holding my hand tightly inside both of hers. I could feel her soft hands, her warmth. She’d been holding my hand a long time. My other hand was cold. “It’s temporary. The paralysis, I mean. You were connected to that computer so long, they said . . .” She shook her head, confused. “They explained, but I didn’t catch all of it. Your brain’s neuroreceptors need to recover from all that stimulation. The important thing is you are okay, and you are safe, and I love you. You brave, brave girl.” She kissed my forehead over and over, holding my face in her hands.
When she sat down again, my vision was blurred from tears. I didn’t immediately notice the other figure in the room.
Hanna stood at the foot of my bed. “Yeah, it happened to me, too.”
I blinked and the tears fell down my cheeks, clearing my eyes. Her arms were folded across her chest but she was smirking.
“Didn’t last as long for me—I’d been training with Pinnacle for a lot longer. First time, I was out as long as you. Doctors say you’ll get some locomotion back in a few hours. They can knock you out until then, if you want.”
I tried shaking my head, couldn’t. Blinked instead.
“I take that as a no.” She came and sat on my other side. My mom didn’t let go of my hand. “I just thought you might want to know what’s up. You’re at a hospital in Houston. They’re giving you fluids and electrolytes and monitoring you. The government backed down after I explained what happened. I told them we neutralized the risk and they don’t know enough to contradict me, just that there are no more explosions. Luka’s apparently working to set up a meeting with his people, making sure I’m not a liar. He doesn’t think that they’ll . . . do what they did again, now that the main problem is gone.”
She was being intentionally vague for my mother’s sake. I’d have to tell her later how much I appreciated that.
“Anyway, the rest of your family is waiting outside. If you want them to come in, just blink.”
I blinked.
She nodded and stood. “I’ll leave you alone. There are more people waiting to talk to you when you’re able to get up and around.” She gave me a pointed look. “We have some loose ends.”
That could wait. Other people could handle that. Luka could handle his people alone for a bit.
As the rest of my family poured into the room—not just my dad and my grandma and my uncle, but also my mom’s sisters, my other grandma, all my cousins, and their kids, until the room was full to bursting—I just let myself be swallowed up in the suffocating, overwhelming, unconditional, complete love I had never fully appreciated until now.
“I do not know if they will agree to meet with you,” Luka said.
I was perched on the edge of my bed, my balance still a little fragile, my legs contrasting darkly against the white hospital gown and bedding. I’d finally convinced my mom to go get some rest after she had been sure I could speak, sit up, and walk to the bathroom on my own.
There was an actual security guard at my door—hired by the hospital, my mom had told me, because apparently someone had leaked just enough information about what my role had been in “saving the world.” Funny for a girl who had a bright red bumper sticker that said “FALL RISK” on my hospital room door.
I told the guard to let Luka in first, and wait a few minutes before bringing up Emilio and Mitsuko.
Luka had gone to embrace me, and then paused halfway, unsure. I laughed and told him he had better hug me. I was relaxed and happy, still drunk from all the love my family had heaped on me.
“I don’t know how you did it. But thank you,” he whispered in my ear.
“It wasn’t all me.” My arms were too tired to hold him long, but I didn’t want him to let go. He’d held me tight until Emilio knocked.
I briefed them—very briefly. I didn’t have time to field their shocked, outraged, and bewildered reactions, waving my hand for them to quiet down so I could talk.
“We’re not out of the woods yet. There are still vrag in orbit; there are some rogue megobari commandos armed with, presumably, more explosives. We have a treaty to discuss.”
Luka cocked his head at me.
“Your people are still heading here. God-Mother sacrificed herself because I promised to look after her children. I’m not going to let another war break out when they get here. I need to talk to your commandos.”
“They’re not mine,” Luka said. “They don’t report to me. I am no more important to them than a child to the FBI.”
“But won’t they at least listen to you?” Emilio asked.
“Don’t tell them the reason for the meeting,” Mitsuko suggested.
Emilio’s eyes brightened, and he pointed at Mitsuko in agreement. “Yeah, do that.”
Luka sat down beside me on the bed. Reached over and held my hand. Searched my eyes. “It’s . . . I cannot guarantee this will go well.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
His face was beseeching. “Please . . . don’t judge me based on their actions. We are not all the same.”
I squeezed his hand weakly. “I know that.”
“There is another thing.” He took a long, steadying breath. “The threat is gone now. The original agreement between our people may have died with our crews. Would you wish to . . . should we . . . revive it?”
“I think . . . that’s not a decision to make between you and me. This involves everyone. And I don’t know how my country will feel about allying with aliens who just blew up shrapnel over all their major cities and tried to goad us into destroying ourselves.”
He gave a nod, resigned.
“But I’m willing to use whatever influence I have—and that may be none, just so you know—to try to convince my people to say yes.”
“Really?”
“Of course. What else are we going to do, turn you away to the cold darkness of space? You’re refugees. We could help each other. You guys could make it up to us by teaching us how to NOT destroy Earth, so we could share it with you and future generations. And humanity has a pretty sucky history of generosity and overcoming our differences, but . . . I think there’s a way we can move forward together. Become better together. Don’t you?”
He smiled. “When do you want to do this?”
“As soon as possible. Now, if you can swing it.”
And that was how we planned an impromptu intergalactic teleconference in my hospital room.
Mitsuko pulled the curtain over the window and told the security guard to let no one in under any circumstances.
Luka put in the call.
I sat in my hospital bed with my back to the wall, as straight as possible. Mitsuko had helped clean up my face and shape my hair in such a way that I didn’t look like a wild animal anymore. But that was more for my confidence. We wouldn’t be able to see each other with Luka’s communication device; they had apparently left Earth when the whole thing with Skyfall had gone down, and were now too far away to be able to speak live on video.
Not that we’d be able to understand each other. Verbally, anyway—Luka advised us that the device would translate our speech into text both ways.
The wall flickered.
Luka spoke normally. “Thank you for speaking with us.”
Text, in English, ran across the bottom of the rainbow display.
We are glad to see you yet survive, the one they call Luka. This planet came very close to annihilation.
Luka nodded as though these were typical pleasantries and didn’t mention that the only threat to Earth had come from them. “Is the fleet near? Has Tamaz joined you yet?”
The megobari seemed to think he wanted to jump ship with them. He is with us. We await the fleet from the fifth planet of this system’s star. We anticipate their arrival within one half of Earth’s solar year.
Six months. That might be enough time for us to prepare everyone on E
arth for their arrival.
Text flashed again. Do you wish to join us?
Luka shook his head, though it looked like it pained him. “No, thank you. Earth is my home, and it always has been. I hope, in fact, it can become the home of all megobari.”
And with that, he handed the device to me.
“Hello,” I said, heart in my throat. “I’m Cassandra Gupta. I’m the one who saved this planet’s ass,” and then stopped and shook my head because that was not only stupidly phrased but also probably untranslatable. “I’m here to tell you that we, as humans, would welcome the megobari refugees to enter into negotiations for a plan that would allow long-term sanctuary on Earth for all megobari who desire it.”
There was a long time before any response came through. I read that as shock. You are the spokesperson for your species?
“God, no,” I said, and Emilio had to stifle a laugh. “There are so many of us, and none of us can ever agree on something for very long. I offer only the chance to negotiate. But before that can happen, I need something from you. I need the virus, or the technology that enables the creation of the virus, that allowed for Luka’s family to adapt their forms to human.”
The response was almost immediate. No.
“Yes,” I replied. “First, because your biology isn’t perfectly suited for this planet.” That line had come from Luka. “And second, it may be a condition of the rest of my species to accept your living here. We have a hard enough time getting along with each other, with people who have the same DNA, but different skin colors or religions. At least at first, there’s no way we can work together if we cannot even communicate face-to-face.”
Acceptable, they finally said. For the stated purposes only.
“Actually, there was another thing. I need the virus now. And I need someone who can manipulate it.”
Then I explained to them, patiently and calmly, that I had given Skyfall to the last remaining God-Mother, and if I was not given access to the virus that would allow the remaining vrag in orbit to change their DNA and live the rest of their natural lives on Earth in whatever form they chose, that I would call back God-Mother.
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