Bile churns in my stomach as I lean closer. “It bothers me. A. Lot. I’ve just had more experience at hiding my emotions. And I had more time to deal. My parents let me know we were leaving Xinji well before your ship arrived. You had what…thirty days? I understand exactly what you’re going through, and I promised myself the same thing when I left Xinji—don’t make friends because you will leave them or they’ll leave you.”
Niall stares at me, but his anger has dulled into a simmer. “But you made friends.”
Friends as in plural? I think about it. I did. Huh. “I guess that broody-leave-me-alone isn’t my style. Besides, it helped.” The truth—a surprise. “You said boredom kills, well it’s like the same thing. Being with others is a break from the pain. And, let’s face it, no amount of anger or sadness is going to change anything. We’re still stuck on Yulin.” I pause. “Well, I am. You’ll be gone when that Protectorate ship arrives.”
Now my anger returns. I stand. “And do you know what?”
Niall tenses.
“Being an asshole and pushing me away to save yourself from future pain is a dick move. I’m the only one who understands what you’re going through. You could have talked to me, instead, you hurt me. And guess what? When you leave, it’ll still hurt me because it’ll remind me of King Toad and how we’d once been friends.”
Not waiting for a response, I walk away. Yelling at Niall probably didn’t help him, but I can breathe easier now. And I did promise to talk to him. That counted, right?
I don’t see Niall again until seven days later. I’m searching for pieces of the General in the debris of Pit 4. Even though there are still fragments missing and cracks zigzagging throughout, the General is as complete as I can make him from the chest down. You can see his pointed armor flap. Digging through a pile of rubble, I find what I hope is his left arm, but it’s stuck under a section of another broken Warrior that’s too heavy for me to lift. I’m about to call for one of the techs to help when Niall appears and hefts the Warrior as if it weighs nothing. Show-off. I tug the arm free and return to the General.
Niall trails after me. He’s wearing his security uniform—not the jumpsuit, but the everyday one. The long-sleeved shirt is light gray. It has his last name and the word “security” embroidered on the left breast. The uniform also includes tactical pants, boots, and a weapon belt—all black in color. There’s a pulse gun in his holster. I ignore him. There’s nothing left for me to say to him.
“You’re here late,” he says.
The General’s been insisting I finish him. Yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but I think, once he’s finished, the Warriors will stop marching through my dreams. Of course I don’t tell that to Niall. Instead, I continue to ignore him as I sit down and brush the sand off the General’s arm.
Niall crouches down and grabs my wrists, stopping me. I glare at him.
“My dad gave me my sketchbooks back,” he says, releasing my wrists now that he has my attention.
Wow. Radcliff listened to me? Good thing I’m already sitting down.
“I know you said something to him. Thanks.”
I grunt. “You’re still a jerk.”
“Yeah, well, I’m now getting lectures about joining the Protectorate, since you ratted me out. My dad and I are still fighting.”
“Then you should have told me that was a secret… oh, wait…I believe you were telling me to get lost at that time.” I regret my outburst when he flinches—because I’m not normally that mean. “I’m sorry it caused you more trouble. It was another poor attempt to help. Don’t worry, I’m done interfering.”
“Are you done illegal worming, too?” he teases.
Or he tries. I just can’t banter with him anymore. “No comment, Officer Radcliff.”
A pained expression grips his face. “Lyra, I’m…”
My mom once said that men are physically incapable of verbally apologizing. Now I believe her as I watch Niall squirm.
“I’m-”
“Lyra, do you know if your father’s down below?” Dr. Bernstein interrupts us. His tone is harried and his gray hair is sticking up.
Niall straightens. “Something wrong?”
Bernstein eyes Niall’s uniform. “I can’t reach him and a sandstorm is coming. We need to close all the outside vents right away. It’s a significant one.”
“He went down a while ago,” I say. Probably still there if they couldn’t reach him. The extra layer of sandstone makes communications difficult.
“I’ll get him and then contact my father,” Niall offers. “Go to the Control Center and alert the teams in the field. We’ll meet you there.”
Bernstein nods and rushes off. Niall descends the ladder. I’m left wondering if he was going to apologize. Perhaps something like, I am so sorry, please forgive me. Or maybe confess? I am so in love with you, I can’t think of anything else. Uh…probably not that one. Why would I even think that anyway? He’s been such a jerk.
I sigh. However, he just lost his family and he didn’t arrest me. I do miss teasing him at soch-time. Plus he made sure I ate after our mission to Yulin. And look at the way he just jumped into action to help. And that kiss… Argh. Why does everything have to be so… complicated?
I should be more concerned about the sandstorm. But we’ve had a few already and everyone who is involved knows the drill. The scientists outside hunker down in their protective tents. It’s all good. Bernstein just panicked because he couldn’t reach my dad.
Speaking of my dad, he and a handful of others climb out of the hatch one at a time and bolt toward the base. Niall is last and he glances at me and hesitates. I making shooing motions. He needs to alert his father and help prep the base. After he takes off, I can’t help smiling. Pah.
During a sandstorm, I’m safer in the pits, so I finish cleaning off the General’s arm. He’s missing a couple fingers. I return to the debris pile and search. There’s a bunch of smaller pieces that…resonate with me. Weird, I know. I grab a bucket and start filling it with bits of his armor, a finger, and a rounded section that might be a part of his shoulder. I dig through the fragments for a while. Then I find his face.
My blood turns to ice. There’s something very familiar about his features. Granted, I’ve seen more than my share of Warriors and the General looks a little bit different than the regular foot soldiers. He has full lips and a mustache under a fleshy, almost pudgy nose. He has a little drop of hair on his chin. His beard is below his jawline and comes to a point in the front. The rest of his head has been broken off, but I’m sure I’ll find it… eventually.
It seems creepy to be holding a face without a body so I set it down near his statue, arranging it so he can watch as I rebuild him. Even I’ll admit that’s bizarre. It’s definitely time for a break and I realize I’m the only one still working in the pits. I stretch my back and turn to leave. A grinding noise sounds from the far side of the pit. Wow, that must be a big sandstorm if I can hear it down here. I investigate. The clamor is coming from the loose pile of sand that filled the hole the looters dug. There’s movement from within and sand gushes out.
The wind? This deep? No. It’s not the storm. Mind-numbing fear flushes through me, rooting me to the floor. The pit is collapsing! More noise rumbles from deeper in the pit. Clouds of sand fill the air. I sprint for the exit. Another grinding whine comes from Pit 3 and the Warriors in Pit 2 are shaking with a vibrating hissing. The tunnel’s wall on my right disappears as a large metal blade rips through it. Metal? I skid to a stop.
It’s a digging machine. And the only people who use them at dig sites are— Looters!
Protect the General is my first thought. Which I immediately ignore for the better advice of protect myself. Once those machines break through, the pits will be overrun with looters, who I can’t stop and who will steal the Warriors. As I race toward the exit, another thought pops into my head. If the looters find the factory below, they’ll destroy all those hearts. My reaction is instant. I cannot let that ha
ppen.
Argh! I change directions. At the hatch, I shove the ladder inside and… Think! The cover is too heavy. What else? I scan the room as the whine from the machines diminishes. There’s a long table. I drag it over. It’ll cover it, but the legs don’t fit.
Please be a folding table. Please be a folding table. I lay the table on its side. Yes! I kick the supports to collapse the legs and then position it over the hole. It’s not gonna work. I drag a tarp over the table. It’s still too obvious. The pepper sweet scent of Yulin’s air reaches me along with a haze of dust. Is that the crunch of boots?
Panicked, I sweep sand onto the tarp with my hands like a dog digging a hole. I grab a few big pieces of a random broken Warrior. Then I add my tools, adhesive and arrange them as if it’s a workstation.
Voices call and echo through the pits. Time to go. Except figures step from the hole in Pit 4. They’re wearing gray coveralls with hoods and B-apps that have black masks. Only their eyes are visible behind clear goggles. They haven’t spotted me yet, but will as soon as I move.
Nothing I can do. I sink to the “ground” and grab my brush as if they’d interrupted me at work. One person yells and points to me and my heart does somersaults.
I clutch the brush to my chest as if it’ll protect me. Two of them draw weapons and walk slowly toward me. I don’t move. There’s no need to act terrified. Every part of me is numb with fear. My mind is screaming, I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead over and over and my insides threaten to turn to liquid.
The looters stop a few feet away. “Stand up,” one orders, aiming the gun at my head.
It’s not a pulse gun. It’s a killing weapon. I stare at the barrel—it flares out like the end of a trumpet that’s two centimeters wide. My legs are useless so I remain on the ground. He grabs my arm with his free hand and wrenches me to my feet. Yanking me close, he presses the barrel to my throat. I don’t dare breathe.
“Sorry, no witnesses,” he says.
Images of my parents and Phoenix flood my mind as the world freezes.
“Let her go,” the other man orders. “She’s just a tech.”
“But she’ll-”
“What? They’ll figure out pretty quick what we’re doing.” He points to his face. “Besides, she can’t identify us.”
My captor lets go and my legs buckle. Once again I’m on the floor. My throat eases a fraction and I suck in a thick breath coated with dust. I stifle a cough.
The “good” guy crouches down to my eye level. “We’re here for the Warriors. If you stay out of the way and promise to behave, we won’t hurt you.” The B-app makes his voice sound artificial.
Yeah right. Tell that to the people on Xinji.
“Do you understand?”
Not trusting my voice, I nod.
“Guard her,” he orders the other guy. “If she tries to run, you can shoot her.”
Then he yells at the others—when did they all arrive?—to get to work. He must be the leader.
My guard stares at me as if daring me to move. He keeps his weapon in his hand. I’ve no intention of misbehaving—if I live through this, I’ll never misbehave again. Instead, I watch as teams of looters throw nets over the Warriors before carefully tipping them over. They hook them to small four-wheeled vehicles that drag them up through the hole in the wall. They seem to be cherry-picking certain Warriors. They’re coordinated and efficient as if they’ve done this many times before. It’s amazing in a scary way. The rest of the Warriors in Pit 4 disappear. And it sounds like the same thing is happening in the other pits.
Hoping that the leader didn’t lie to me about my chances for survival, I count looters—four dozen at least—and vehicles and scan for anything that would identify them—nothing so far. After an hour or so I wonder what’s going on in the base. Do they know the looters are here? What about our professional security force? Then I remember the sandstorm. Could it be hiding all this activity?
I glance at my guard.
“Got a question, little girl?”
“Why?”
“An obscenely rich patron paid us lots of money.”
“Why didn’t you take more Warriors before?”
“That wasn’t us. And the Boss is pretty pissed about it, too.”
I gape at him. There’s more looters? But more importantly, did this group attack Xinji? No. There is no way they could travel from Xinji to Yulin in two E-years.
“Is your patron even going to be alive when you return?” I ask. “The time dilation—”
He laughs. “It sucks. Well it sucks for you.”
Before I can even process what he means, a high-pitched whistle cuts through the air. The workers have finished netting Warriors. They draw their weapons as the vehicles all disappear through the holes.
“What’s—”
A whomp sounds and a Warrior breaks into pieces and topples. No! Without thought, I’m on my feet. Surprised they support my weight after so much time folded under me, I step—
The guard jerks me back. His fingers dig into my right shoulder. “Flying debris will kill you, unless you’re trying to run away?” He releases me. “Go ahead, I need to practice my aim.”
I stop.
“Smart.”
But more whomps echo and more Warriors break until the sound is continuous. Horrified by the carnage, I cover my ears. They’re intent on destroying all the remaining Warriors and the assault goes on for hours and hours, or so it seems to me. When they finally finish the air is fogged with dust and debris. I cover my mouth and nose with the crook of my arm, blocking the grains with the fabric of my sleeve. My eyes sting and tear.
“Why did you demolish them?” I cry.
“Orders.” My guard pulls me over to another who is standing near the General. “What do we do with her?”
Terror sizzles through me, but I stay upright. Go me.
“Leave her, she’s harmless.” It’s their leader. The man who told me I wouldn’t be hurt.
Every atom of my being hopes he didn’t lie to me.
“But she’ll tell them-”
“What? She can’t identify us. Unless you said something?” His tone is dangerous even through the mask.
“She doesn’t know anything.”
“Good.” The leader comes close to me. “Don’t follow us. Stay right here and you’ll be safe. The sandstorm is still raging outside and your people will be digging through our blockade for another hour or so before they break through. Understand?”
“Yes.”
My guard grunts. The leader calls for everyone to evacuate and watches the rest of his people file past us until no one is left.
“Let’s go,” he says to the guard before heading to the tunnel.
But the guy lingers and stares at me as if deciding if I’m a threat or not. I try to appear harmless, but our conversation replays in my mind and my throat squeezes shut.
“Don’t say anything,” he warns.
“I won’t. I promise.” My words are almost a whisper.
Apparently satisfied, he follows his leader. Shaking from the encounter, I’m torn between collapsing in relief or hyperventilating.
Before the man disappears up the tunnel he spins around with his weapon drawn. “Sorry, but I don’t trust you.” He aims at me.
I dive behind the General. But I’m not fast enough. An invisible force slams into me, sending me flying back. I’m in the air so long, I know I won’t survive the landing. The darkness is instant.
Pain drags me from the comfort of oblivion. It throbs from the soles of my feet to the back of my head. Every centimeter of my body aches. I keep my eyes closed against the brightness stabbing through my eyelids. Groaning, I try to move my limbs to find a better position to ease the pain. My left shoulder flares to life with an intense agony. Unable to endure it, I cry out.
“She’s regaining consciousness. Increase the dosage,” a woman orders.
“Hold on, Lyra,” my mother’s voice whispers in my ear. “They’re putting
you back together.”
Am I broken like the Warriors? As my world turns fuzzy and the pain dulls, I imagine the doctors reassembling the pieces of my body. I hope they found them all.
Voices wake me. Pain pulses through all my muscles— even the ones I had no idea existed—but it’s not as sharp as before. Peeking through the slits in my heavy eyelids, I spot my parents talking to a doctor or nurse. They’re huddled together, looking…worried. A vision of my body with cracks and holes fills my mind, but I don’t have the strength to care. Instead, I drift back to sleep.
The next time I’m aware of my surroundings the lights are dimmer. My mom is asleep in the chair next to my bed. The smell of antiseptic and bleach confirm I’m in the infirmary. The small room has no decorations, just a night table, another chair, and medical equipment. Something beeps behind me. It’s not a strident sound, more of a soft reassurance. Beep—you’re doing fine. Beep—you’re breathing. Beep—you’re good. Beep— everything’s okay. Beep—your heart’s beating.
I take stock of my aching body. There’s an IV in my right arm near the crook of my elbow and I wonder how long I’ve been out of it that I need fluids. A long black clamp is on my right index finger and a few wires and tubes snake out from underneath my blankets and disappear. It’s probably best that I don’t know where they’re attached and what they’re for.
My left arm is secured to my chest in some type of sling. There is a bandage wrapped around my head that itches my scalp. My lips are stuck to my teeth and my tongue has turned to sandpaper.
Other than desperately needing a drink, I’m glad to be alive. I gaze at my mother. Should I wake her? She’ll want to know what happened. I try to recall the details, but a throbbing headache flares to life and I close my eyes against the pain. I’ll wake her later when I have more energy.
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