by Pintip Dunn
“He’s cleared for visitors,” the medic says. “Would you like to see him?”
I turn to my father, questioning him with my eyebrows.
“Go ahead, my eye-apple. I haven’t spoken to Carr since our days by the pond.” He moves his shoulders. On the King, even a shrug looks royal. “I probably shouldn’t interact with him until the Fittest Trials are officially complete.”
I nod. All the disparate emotions coalesce into my next words. “Okay,” I say to the medic. “Take me to see Carr Silver.”
Chapter
Twenty-Two
My heart thumps so loudly as I walk down the corridor it could be a signal from Earth, the one for which our computers are constantly searching—and have yet to find. Does Carr know I’m coming? Is he mad? Will he even look at me?
There’s no one to ask. The medic left me in the care of a bot and disappeared to his duties. The bot zips down the hall, lights blinking on its head, oblivious to my distress. It doesn’t even pause as it passes the turn-off to Astana’s room.
“Wait!” I dash down the hall toward my best friend. I stumbled to her room twice last night, but both times she was sleeping.
I didn’t wake her to tell her about Carr. There was nothing she could’ve done, and, well…I’m a coward. One more item to add to my ever-growing list of faults.
When I screech into the room, the meal cart’s waiting, steam rising from the honey toast. But no one is here to eat the food. “I don’t get it,” I say out loud. “Where is she?”
The bot whirrs up next to me. “Princess Blanca is conducting some tests on the patient named Astana Silver,” it says in a sultry robotic tone, its eyes fluttering. Great. I’ve got a Flirtatious Bot.
“Tests? What kind of tests?”
“I’m not sure,” the bot coos. “But when I find out, you’ll be the first to know.”
I roll my eyes. It will do no such thing. The programmers just added that line of dialogue for fun.
“Princess Blanca files a report with the council every two days, detailing her experiments and theories.” The bot flips its nonexistent hair over its shoulder. “She’s been varying the composition of the formula, to see if it’ll lead to a better absorption rate. Getting desperate, if you ask me.”
I blink at the last sentence. That’s not a line the engineers would’ve programmed, and the bots can only regurgitate something they’ve heard or read. Does that mean there’s a report somewhere with that characterization of Blanca? And if so, who wrote it?
I return to the corridor. The bot zooms in front of me, swaying its nonexistent hips before resuming its forward progress. Blanca must be approaching her deadline for making a recommendation. And from the bot’s information, she doesn’t seem to be any closer to a solution.
No matter what her findings, she has to advise the council to make all the patients Aegis. She has to. She might be cold, but even she wouldn’t let all those people die. She wouldn’t let her assistant die. Right?
With my sister, you can never tell.
The bot slows in front of a doorway, points, and then sashays away. Anxiety slams back into me, and my heart rate doubles. I take a large breath, which is a total waste, because when I round the corner, it gets knocked out, anyway.
Carr’s on a medical bed, wearing a flimsy tunic. A few wires trail from his body to machines monitoring his vitals. His olive skin is a couple shades off, but his eyes are as black and focused as ever.
More importantly, he’s smiling. At me.
“I was hoping you’d come visit.” Even his eyes smile, as flirtatious as the bot but a whole lot sexier.
Relief flows through me. He’s doesn’t know. He’s doesn’t know. He’s doesn’t know. His smile loosens my neck, my shoulders. And, unfortunately, my tongue. “You look good.”
He grins even wider, and I flush.
“I was talking about your health, not your attractiveness.” Oh crap, crap, crap. “I mean, the way you look is good, too. If you like the lean, muscly type. Which I do. I mean, who doesn’t?”
Dear Dion. Can the airlock open and suck me out now?
“Is that all?” he asks.
I nod mutely, since clearly, I can’t be trusted to use any more words.
“Why don’t you come here, then?” He scoots to the side of the mattress, rearranging the wires, and pats the space next to him.
I climb onto the mattress, and my shoulders brush against his chest. His very warm, very strong chest. Heat emanates from his skin and wraps around me.
“Vela?” His lips graze the shoulder of my caftan and then slide up the cotton seam until they touch the bare skin at my neck. I shiver, ridiculously glad I’m not wearing the loop.
“You still owe me a kiss.” The lips travel up my neck.
“Are you sure you want to? I mean, are you well enough?”
“Why don’t we find out?”
He closes the gap between us. Or maybe I do. Only an inch separated us—either of us could have swayed forward. But then our lips touch, and that inch is the difference between night and day, Earth and Dion, inside the bubble and out.
I feel alive in a way I’ve never felt. There’s a life force that starts deep inside me and spirals outward, so I don’t need a bed in order to rest. Don’t need the shield in order to breathe. Don’t need food in order to live. Don’t need anything except Carr.
We pull back, our grins as big as the ones painted on the Jolly Bots’ faces.
“I’m sorry you can’t compete in the challenge tomorrow,” I say without thinking.
He stiffens. “Who says I’m not competing?”
Oh Dion. Not jolly. Make that intoxicated. So drunk off Carr I don’t know what I’m saying. But it’s too late to take the words back now. “The medic says you need two days of bed rest—”
“Forget the medic!”
He sits up, and I move to the bottom of the mattress, cheeks flaming.
Despite our embrace, his skin is waxen, and his breath comes in quick, shallow pants. The seizure might not have affected his ability to kiss, but he’s definitely not in top form.
“You’re in no shape to compete,” I say. “Look at you. You can’t even sit up without getting tired. How can you possibly hope to win?”
“I have to try. My sister’s counting on me. Don’t you see that?”
“No, she’s not. She burst a bubble when she found out you were competing. And I don’t blame her.” I sweep my hand out, encompassing his bed, the wires, this whole awful situation. “Why didn’t you take that bite? Why did you have to go and give yourself a seizure?” My voice shivers and breaks. I wrap my arms around myself, afraid the rest of me will follow.
“I’m not a quitter. And I didn’t come this far to give up over a piece of bad luck.” He picks up one of the wires and rolls it between his fingers. “I’ve had misfortune all my life, and it’s never stopped me before. If it had been any other fruit, this wouldn’t have happened. Grapes, oranges, peaches…”
He trails off, and my face turns into the freeze frame of a hologram. I try to unstick it, mold it into something more natural, but the more I try, the gummier it feels.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” Not good enough. I ransack my brain, searching for something, anything to say. But I come up with nothing. Nothing.
He studies my face, pixel by untruthful pixel. “You know how I said I’ve never heard you lie?” He drops the wire. “Well, something tells me you’re lying now.”
I swallow hard. I can’t deny it. And yet, how can I tell him the truth? I knew switching the fruit was wrong the moment Astana suggested it, but I went along with her idea anyway.
Just like I shouted encouragement in Zelo’s ear. Just like I picked a challenge at which Zelo would excel. My conduct since this task began has been one wrong after another.
If anything is sacred to us, it’s the Fittest Trials. Dying to save the King—and thus our entire colony—is the most honorable sacrifice that a person can
make.
None of us wanted the terraforming pods to malfunction. None of us asked to live inside a set of intersecting bubbles without enough land to feed us all. The Aegis system we’ve developed is a last resort, just like the tradition of selecting a Fittest. In order for our colony to thrive, we have to make hard choices. And we justify those choices by putting the Fittest on a pedestal. By remembering, above all, what the Fittest is giving their life for.
And here I am, being dishonorable at every turn. By manipulating the outcome of the Trials, I’ve sullied the meaning of the Fittest. I’ve made a mockery of the sacrifices that the previous Fittest boys and girls have made for my father. For my colony.
I thought my actions were justified. I thought Carr’s life was worth me turning into a liar and a cheat.
But now, looking at the boy across from me, the one who’s so honorable he won’t even succumb to a bite, I’m not so sure. Maybe some things aren’t worth any price. Maybe there’s a fate worse than death.
All I know is, I’m not proud of the girl I’ve become. And I know my father wouldn’t be proud of me, either.
“There was a last-minute change.” My words are slow and hesitant, like water that has to be coaxed from a pump. “The challenge was supposed to use oranges. They were swapped out for apples.”
“Who made the switch?”
I take a deep breath. This is it. After I confess, he’ll either hate me or forgive me. But at least he’ll know the truth. “I did.”
“Why?” He wrinkles his forehead. I know the instant the answer dawns on him, because the creases disappear. “Astana told you about that night, didn’t she? When she fed me the apple while I was asleep.”
“I didn’t know you would get hurt,” I whisper.
“Do you think that makes any difference? You cheated!” He shakes his head, back and forth and back and forth. Each motion slices through me. Because his words aren’t a rejection. They’re total and complete repudiation. “You’re sullying what it means to be the Fittest. Taking what should be good and noble and turning it into something selfish and base.”
“Carr…” I reach out, hoping to remind him of what we had a few minutes ago. Of the person I used to be before the Trials.
He jerks away, so hard one of the sensors pops out of his wrist. Beep! Beep! Beep! the machines yell at me. Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!
“I was wrong about you.” His eyes are cold, so cold they burn right through me. “You’re not the girl I thought you were. Not the ruler I thought you could be.”
His statements slam into me, leaving me gasping for breath. He’s right. He’s confirmed what the council’s known all along.
I’m not fit to rule.
I have no words. Even if I did, they wouldn’t matter. A team of medics rushes into the room to deal with the incessant beeping, and Carr pronounces his final verdict.
“Please leave.”
Chapter
Twenty-Three
“Some of the stones are lighter or heavier than the weight that’s been assigned to that particular candidate,” a bot reports to me above the roar of the waterfall. “Just as you suspected.”
Aha! Gotcha, Mr. Saboteur.
I jam my hands on my hips and scan the spectators who have gathered to watch the final challenge. A group of boys play catch next to a trough of stones, and a little girl and her mother splash in the stream near the waterfall. Bubble Falls, the water’s been dubbed, since the hillside is part of our colony’s energy shield. A few Aegis lay out spreads to rival all picnics. Mountains of sandwiches, craters of chips, oceans of lemonade.
No one notices my perusal.
No one disturbs the stones in the trough.
No one acts like a potential saboteur.
“How’s the quality of the stream?” I ask the bot.
Its digital eyeballs bounce, and the bot spins first to the left and then to the right. Must be a Hyper Bot. “Fine. No foreign substance has been detected in the water.”
“And the chasm floor? Any disturbances there?”
“No.” The bot pokes its mechanical arms into the ground and hops forward. “Other than the stones, everything looks to be in proper order.”
“Good. Please make sure all the blocks conform to the assigned weight for each candidate before the challenge begins.”
The bot hops backward and whirrs away. I continue patrolling the area, making sure nothing looks out of place. I may not be fit to rule a colony, but I still have a challenge to run. And if my saboteur is out there, trying to cause trouble, I’ll be ready for him.
Or her, my mind whispers. But I don’t like thinking that way. Because if it is a “her,” there’s one person who emerges as the primary suspect. And I’m not ready to entertain that possibility.
At least not yet.
…
An hour later, I focus on a single spot in the water, looking for the smallest ripple. Willing Carr to appear. Come on, Carr. You can do it. Break through that surface.
An instant later he does, limbs flailing and eyes bulging. The pressure in my lungs relaxes. I’ve been holding my breath as long as he has. He made it. He’s safe. At least for the moment.
Water splashes throughout the stream, in big surges and small, as candidates claw their way out of the depths. They bring up stone blocks—rectangular, heavy, and proportional to the candidates’ weight, no thanks to the saboteur—and deposit them on the shore before diving down for another. Again and again and again. Until one of them does so forty times.
“He’s not looking good, is he?” Astana asks. This is the first challenge she’s been well enough to attend, and she sits in a wheelchair next to my C-trunk.
“No, he doesn’t.” Worry ricochets around my insides. Carr’s hanging onto the shore now, his forehead pressed against the mud as his chest heaves. “But he won’t have to last much longer.”
I skip my eyes from one pile to another, counting the number of rocks. Jupiter, 18. Zelo, 13. Carr, 4. The first boy to retrieve forty stones wins the challenge—and stops it. The remaining candidates will be ranked according to the number of blocks they retrieved.
Any other time, Carr would have led the pack. Today, two days after his seizure, every stroke is a victory. Every rock recovered, a miracle.
“He’s so mad at me.” My friend adjusts the portable stand on her wheelchair. “You should’ve heard him last night. I thought my skin was going to blister. On and on about my lack of character. If I didn’t have my integrity, I didn’t have anything. And if I couldn’t see that, then he’d failed in teaching me.” She blows out a breath. “I don’t know which is worse. His disappointment…or the fact that he blames himself. As always.”
“He’s only two years older than us. Why does everything have to be his fault?” I can’t decide whether to be confused or exasperated. Carr’s hands dig into the mud, holding onto the stalks of plants as if they alone can keep him afloat. Yep. Exasperated it is.
“You have no idea what integrity means to him. His, as well as mine.”
She’s wrong. After all these years, I’m finally getting a clue.
We fall silent as Carr dives back down. I jump to my feet. I can’t sit here any longer. I didn’t tell Astana about the weight of the rocks being off, but I can’t shake the feeling my saboteur’s here, watching the challenge to see how it will play out.
“I’m going to walk,” I say to Astana. “See who’s here to cheer on our candidates.” And see who’s watching the stones a little too closely.
As I weave through the crowd, a few colonists press their hands to their chests. Essex and Genoa, two Aegis from my class, rush up to share their predictions with me. Jupiter, with his finely chiseled muscles, is their guess for the top contender. Meanwhile, Miss Sydney pulls the blue sash over her eyes and pretends to sleep when she notices me.
I want to tuck my limbs into a precisely shaped fish ball, sufficiently packed so that it doesn’t fall apart. Between the Fittest families and the saboteur, I’
m beginning to feel downright unpopular.
I’m beginning to feel like a ruler.
I walk the length of the bank and am about to turn back when Cairo Mead’s brother, Cyprus, approaches me.
“Thanks for the concession, Princess.” He must be around fifty years old, with serpent tattoos decorating both forearms. “The others might complain, but I much prefer choosing the menu than having an evening meal.”
“Glad to hear it.” I ignore the tattoos and give him my best smile, carefree and light, the kind that belongs to girls who never have to deal with serpents, real or imagined. “You know, those meals you’re giving up are keeping my best friend alive. She’s over there if you’d like to meet her.” I point to where Astana sits, looking as pretty as the purple skies.
“There are a dozen others like her.” I smile again, but the curve of my lips feels more like a stretch across my cheekbones. Here it comes: the pitch I’ve practiced ten times in front of the mirror. “The meals are your right and your reward. I recognize and value that. But it would mean so much if you relinquished them on a permanent basis. You could save Astana’s life—and all the others’, too.”
He traces his shoe on the ground, turning up clumps of dirt and pebbles.
“The King’s already given up his meals.” The words tumble out. Too fast. Not the way I practiced. “He enjoys eating, but not at the expense of someone’s life.”
“I want to help your friend.” His voice is as gritty as the rocks beneath his feet. “But it won’t do any good unless the rest of the families agree. One or even two people’s meals can’t save them all.”
“Will you talk to them? Try to get them to see our perspective?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Thanks, Cyprus.” I press his forearm and don’t even mind that I’m touching the serpents. “One more thing. I know the Fittest families have been unhappy. Have any of the grumbles risen to the level of violence? Or, I don’t know, sabotage?”