Up ahead, Jarrod stopped and raised his fist into the air. A signal to stop.
As one, they all crouched, listened.
Litsa closed her eyes. She heard the breeze weaving its way through the grass and the sound of crickets chirping their night songs. Off to her right, an animal scurried away, small, maybe a mouse.
If they were close to a hive, they would hear it, but even before they were in earshot, they would smell it, a dirty, stagnant stench like brackish water and decaying vegetation. Litsa sniffed the air, caught no such scent.
Until the breeze shifted.
Faint, but it was there, carried on the wind. Jarrod must’ve caught it, too.
She watched as Jarrod opened his fist and pointed with a chopping motion, off to the left. She moved toward him, as did the others, and they knelt in the grass beside him.
“It’s close,” he whispered, “Maybe one hundred, one-fifty yards. Over that rise.”
Mirda, a tall girl with reddish hair, stood and looked around, getting her bearings. She had been a warrior for almost as long as Litsa, and she was just as skilled with the bow. “I know this place. Beyond the rise is a draw, higher terrain to the north, open to the south and east.”
Hives tended to settle in low spots during the night, where the land provided some measure of protection. It was a perfect spot.
“Litsa, we’ll move north, approach from the high ground.” Jarrod gestured toward Erik, one of the older warriors who had encountered more than his share of Riy. As such, the man was patient and not prone to error. “You and Mirda will swing south, approach from the flatlands. Get close enough to judge its size, then we’ll meet back here.”
“Understood,” Erik replied. He and Mirda moved off to the right, heading south.
Even though the hive would be much less active, there was still a great deal of danger getting this close. A few drones might still be out there, and, if triggered, they would have to deal with the jumpers.
Litsa felt Jarrod touch her arm. “Let’s go.”
They moved slowly through the grass as they approached the northern side of the rise, being careful with each step. The stench grew worse as they drew near the edge of the draw.
Litsa heard it first and tapped Jarrod’s shoulder to get his attention. They both stopped, listened.
It was a sickening sound, as if a thousand wet snakes were knotted in their den, squirming against each other. Wet leather, rubbing, rubbing. The sound rose and fell, as if it were breathing. Up close, a hive was a horrid thing to behold, a giant, undulating mass, full of all the life it absorbed—human and animal. Composed of nothing but death, it was alive, a simple organism of many parts and pieces, unthinking yet aware.
As they emerged from the grass and found themselves at the edge of a sharp drop-off, they saw it. It was big, much bigger than Litsa expected. It filled the majority of the draw, and, because of its size, was uncomfortably close. The stench was nearly overpowering, and Litsa found it hard to breathe without coughing.
Not more than fifteen feet away, the surface of the Riy hive moved in undulating waves, stretching, contracting. The currents and eddies moving within moaned sickeningly as if the bones of all the dead it contained were trying to speak.
This one was too large to kill. But they could burn a good portion of it—if they were lucky—and force it to move away. She glanced at Jarrod. He was thinking the same thing. They had both seen enough.
If it moved during the day, then all bets were off, but if they found it here the next night, they would burn it.
They both jumped when they heard a loud pop from the south.
The sound of a drone releasing its spores. Followed by a woman’s scream.
Mirda.
The hive reacted, its surface vibrating violently.
Jarrod grabbed Litsa by the arm and ran, retracing their steps though the grass as jumpers thumped to the ground around them.
Chapter 13
“What do you mean, ‘We don’t know when we are’?” Hunter asked.
Lucas shrugged. “Like I said, this is completely outside my field of expertise, but I read something once that might explain what we just saw. At least I think it might. Caitlyn, you described what we saw as a pole, correct?”
“That’s what I saw,” Sif replied. “A long black pole that appeared and disappeared. At regular intervals.”
“Right. Every fifteen seconds, it appears, stays there for ten seconds, then disappears again. Let’s say this pole is massive, infinitely long, and it’s spinning at near the speed of light.”
Sif glanced at Hunter, who once again had that Don’t ask me look on his face.
Lucas caught his look, too. “I know, it sounds crazy, but just hang with me here for a minute. An object like this, generating its own powerful gravitational field because of its mass, spinning at that speed, could theoretically cause a whirlpool effect in space-time.”
“You’re saying that’s why we were pulled off course,” Sif said, “because of the thing’s gravity.”
“Exactly. A fellow named Frank Tipler wrote about something like this back in 1974. He called it a Tipler cylinder, and he saw it as a way to travel in time.”
Sif searched Lucas’s face for any sign that he was joking, and found none.
“A time machine?” Hunter asked.
Lucas nodded. “As an object nears the cylinder, it enters the space-time whirlpool the cylinder created. According to Tipler’s theory, an object orbiting one of his cylinders could travel backward in time. A time machine.”
“And you think this is what we saw?”
“I have no idea what we saw, Caitlyn, but like I said, this was the first thing I thought of. Constructing a Tipler cylinder is impossible. Well . . . mathematically it is possible, but practically? Not so much.”
“Constructed? You think this is man-made? Or alien-made?”
Lucas shrugged. “I don’t know. But I do know what I saw—what we all saw—and I know the effect it had on the ship. Why it appeared and disappeared, at regular intervals, like you observed, Caitlyn, is something I can’t explain. Stephen Hawking basically said Tipler was full of crap, that it’d be impossible to produce such a thing without negative energy, which is all theoretical, too.”
“But you’re right,” Hunter said. “We all saw it. Whatever it was, it was real, not theoretical.”
“So, Lucas, when are we?” Sif asked. “If this thing was some sort of Tipler cylinder, and we were caught in its whirlpool, you’re saying we went back in time?”
“I don’t know. But, consider this. Liv, report receiver diagnostic results, please.”
“Diagnostic tests on all receivers complete with negative results.”
“The receivers are working perfectly,” Lucas said. “There’s nothing wrong with them. Liv ran three sets of diagnostics, and I’ve physically inspected the units myself.”
“So if they’re working, why isn’t anyone answering?” Sif asked, then it dawned on her.
Lucas nodded when he saw the realization cross Sif’s face. “Liv has been sending automated radio calls and telemetry since the moment we got the comm systems up and running, transmitting continuously. No one is answering because—if I’m right—there might not be anyone there to answer.”
Sif pushed herself from her chair and floated over to the control center’s front windows. In front of them was Earth—a beautiful blue-and-white spinning ball in the middle of space. The thought that everything she knew—the people, places, all the history—could all be gone was a tough pill to swallow. “I don’t buy it. How could everyone just not be there?”
Lucas joined her at the front viewport. “They’re not there yet. At least the world we all left a month ago. If I’m right.”
Sif shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around Lucas’s theory. “This Tipler guy. Did he happen to say anything about how far back in time we could’ve gone?”
“Theoretically, one could only travel back in time to the poin
t where the Tipler cylinder was constructed.”
“And we have no idea when that was.”
“None. Like I said, what we saw resembled a Tipler cylinder, and we have no clue whether or not what we experienced was a naturally occurring phenomenon, or man-made. Or alien-made. Or something. We were only trapped in the cylinder’s effects as long as it was visible, though. Ten seconds, as we observed on the tape. As soon as it disappeared again, and we suffered that nasty power surge, we were back in normal space. Pointing at Orion instead of Gemini, like you observed, and Resolute entered the fail-safe mode, firing the mains to take us back to Earth.”
“So we left as the first humans to travel to Mars, and instead, we’re the first people to travel back in time.”
Hunter joined them at the window. For a moment, all three stared at their home, lost in their thoughts.
“Liv, how long until orbital insertion?” Hunter asked.
“Fifteen hours, twenty-three minutes.”
“In fifteen hours, we’ll see if your theory is correct,” Hunter said. “You can write a note to Tipler telling him he was right and bury it somewhere. Maybe he’ll find it one day.”
“I hope I’m wrong.”
“So do I,” Sif said.
Chapter 14
Litsa dived under a clump of brush when it became clear she and Jarrod weren’t going to get out of this alive if they kept running.
Or moving.
After Mirda’s scream, the jumpers erupted from the hive, landing all around them, including one that lay just on the other side of the brush. She watched Jarrod dive into a tangle of brush just as she did, as two jumpers landed on either side of him. They were both motionless for—how long? Four, five hours? She completely lost sense of time.
They were trapped in an excruciating waiting game, staying absolutely still and waiting for the jumpers to move away, as they usually did. If one of the things sensed any motion close by, she and Jarrod would be transformed into Riy, and eventually absorbed into the pulsating mass slumbering in the draw.
Peering through the branches, Litsa watched the jumper extend its spiky tentacles—a few times in the last hour—feeling the air for motion, and, sensing none, retract them back into its lumpy body. But it did not move away.
It dawned on Litsa that she hadn’t heard any of the jumpers move.
The hives were sluggish at night. Whatever energy animated these things in the sunlight drained away in the darkness. The jumper nearest her was still moving, but not—she realized—as actively as a few hours ago. It must be weakened, too. But, if it was still moving, it might, even in its weakened state, sense her movement.
She could wait, and hope it would stop moving, but the sky to the east had taken on a purplish hue, heralding the coming sunrise. As soon as the sky brightened, the hive would send out new drones, cleaving them from itself, one after another, after another. The jumpers surrounding her and Jarrod would become more active, too, and more likely to sense their presence.
She stared at the one nearest her through the tangle of branches and leaves, and watched for any motion. The one she saw up close earlier that day had moved continuously, full of energy. This one looked almost dead. As if on cue to prove her wrong, its surface rippled slightly and then grew still. She waited, counting the seconds. A full minute passed before she saw another tiny motion.
The sky to the east grew brighter. It was now or never.
Slowly, she slid her arms beneath her and pushed herself a few inches off the ground. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she ignored the pain.
She paused. No reaction from the jumper.
She pulled her knees up, rested her weight on them, and crouched on all fours. She planned her steps, where she would run. Her bow was a few feet away—she wasn’t about to leave it behind again.
“Litsa.”
It was Jarrod, a loud whisper. He too was on all fours.
Litsa motioned in the direction of the Dak. He shook his head, mouthed No. Instead he held up two fingers, then pointed south, toward the open area where he had ordered Erik and Mirda to go.
He has to make sure, Litsa realized. He wouldn’t leave without seeing for himself that Erik and Mirda were gone.
The first warning bell was sounded, faint, but she could hear it. The watchers were on duty, waiting for their return.
Waiting for all four of them.
Jarrod was right. If one of them was still alive—holed up under a bush like they were—then leaving them out here would be tantamount to murder.
She motioned again, this time to the south. Jarrod was watching. She held up two fingers—her symbol for Mirda and Erik—then made a fist and placed it over her heart. She wasn’t going to leave them behind, either.
Jarrod glanced at the small jumper to his right, then slowly rose. The jumper didn’t react. Litsa looked at the one nearest her, and it hadn’t moved, either.
Jarrod held up three fingers and whispered, “On three.”
Litsa nodded.
He held up one finger. “One.”
Two fingers.
Then three. Jarrod took off running.
Litsa snatched her bow from the dirt, waiting for the telltale pop of the jumper exploding from behind. It never came.
Her legs, stiff from hours of lying in the same position on the hard ground, protested as she sprinted south, toward where Mirda and Erik were last, all the while pivoting her head and scanning the terrain in front of her for any jumpers. There was one to the right, and she gave it a wide berth, still instinctively turning her head and closing her eyes as she passed.
She caught up with Jarrod as he stood on a point of high ground overlooking the draw.
“They’re gone,” Jarrod said, his voice heavy. He pointed to a blackened spot of earth where the drone expelled its cloud of spores. And there was no sign of either Mirda or Erik. They were both part of the hive by now.
The clang of the second warning bell wafted through the early morning air as Litsa and Jarrod turned and began their trek back to the safety of the Dak.
Tonight, they would return to this place. They, and many others.
To flame the hive that took two more of their own.
Litsa could see the watchers at the top of the hill. For the second morning in a row, she was returning home after the second bell. It was also the second morning in a row she returned after losing someone. First Jeremy, and now Mirda and Erik. The wounds on her back were starting to speak to her, and she would need to make a visit to Lauren to have her dressings changed. Hopefully she—and Jarrod—would be spared the whip this time. Losing a gatherer under watch was one thing, but losing warriors was expected, unless it was due to error or incompetence. Jarrod, captain of the watch, led this mission, so she deemed it unlikely they would be punished for it.
“The fault is mine, Litsa,” Jarrod said. “I will approach Joshua and bear responsibility for Erik and Mirda.”
Litsa caught a hint of sorrow in Jarrod’s voice when he mentioned Mirda’s name.
“They triggered a drone,” Litsa said. “The fault was their own, and it almost got us killed. There’s nothing you could’ve done to prevent it.” Litsa saw the two watchers scramble down the hill, their duty over. The sky was blue overhead and orange to the east. The sun would soon break the horizon.
“Mirda and Erik?” one of them asked.
“A drone” was all Jarrod could say, as he dropped his gaze to the dirt.
“I’m sorry, my friend,” the watcher replied. “Mirda was a fine warrior.”
“She will be missed,” Jarrod said, his voice betraying his deeper feelings.
Warriors were not to consort with one another, especially when one of them was the captain of the watch. Litsa never saw the two of them together, but the tone of his voice said she had missed something.
“At sundown, we travel again,” Litsa said as they walked toward the secondary portal. “The hive is three miles east, a big one, cowering in a draw. We’ll need all
the warriors we can muster to tackle it.”
“In time, Litsa,” Jarrod said quietly, his voice full of an emotion Litsa had never heard him speak before: sorrow. “First, we must inform Joshua, tell him of the hive, and of our loss,” Jarrod continued. “The decision to attack will be his.”
“We must attack,” Litsa said, instantly regretting the cutting edge of her voice. Jarrod was obviously mourning Mirda’s death, and she gathered her composure. “If we wait, and the hive moves, we’ll lose our chance.”
“I understand,” Jarrod said sharply. “Joshua will decide, and we will abide by his decision.”
“Then we must convince him to attack.”
“Wait,” one of the watchers said, pointing to the east. “Look.”
Litsa saw a person stumbling toward them. “Mirda?”
“My God, it is her,” Jarrod said.
He began to run toward her, but Litsa held him back. “No, Jarrod. Wait.”
He wheeled at her, his eyes flashing. “She may be hurt.”
Litsa tightened her grip. “Or worse,” she said. Jarrod looked toward Mirda again, and Litsa felt his body relax.
Mirda was stumbling badly, her arms were hanging loosely at her sides, and her head was canted oddly, toward the ground.
“I need fire, now,” Litsa said, shrugging her bow off her shoulder and grasping three arrows from the quiver on her back.
One of the watchers ran up the hill toward the watch station. There was always a torch ready. Just in case.
“Mirda?” Jarrod called, his voice cracking. “Mirda!”
She didn’t answer. There was something terribly wrong with her. Erik probably took the brunt of the drone’s mist, and Mirda was exposed just enough to lead to this.
Mirda was transforming. Not yet fully succumbed, but without any hope. Even a little of the mist was enough to doom a person to a horrible fate. What was left of the warrior Mirda was trying to come home. And they couldn’t let that happen.
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