Once I recover my breath, I ask, “Why did you bring your sketchbooks?”
“To test a theory.”
I wait.
He scrunches up the end of his T-shirt as if trying to gather courage. “I watched the camera feed of us in Pit 4.”
Oh boy.
“Other than the four of us, there’s nobody else there,” he says.
Now I have proof of my insanity. Great. I sink lower in my seat.
“However…”
I risk meeting his gaze. “However?”
“Unless you’re a skilled actress, something knocked you down.”
Did he just… Hope wells. “Does your dad think that, too?”
He gives me a sour look. “Of course not. I’m biased due to my relationship with the witness.”
And hope dies. I huff. Sounds like Radcliff.
Niall leans forward and picks up the mystery box. He taps it on his leg before turning to me. “After the… incident, you told me you couldn’t describe the shadow-blob, but could shape it.” He hands me the box. “I don’t want to upset you. If you’re okay with the PTSD diagnosis for what happened, give me the box back and it’s all in the past—never to be mentioned again. But if you’re not okay with it, then open it.”
I rub my stomach, remembering the sound of ripping fabric. Definitely not okay. Inside the box is a fist-sized glob of molding clay. Fear swipes my heart, but also warmth. Niall believes me. And just like that, the ever-present tightness in my chest lessens. But now I have a new problem. What shape do I show him?
Deciding to start with the first form, I work the clay until it’s an approximation of what I saw.
“Wow, it really is a blob,” Niall says when I show him.
“Well, it’s a shadow. It doesn’t have… density… thickness, just a shape. Does that make sense?”
“Sort of. How tall was it?”
“It changed height as it moved, going from a meter to two meters or so—like a giant amoeba.” I pull the clay, creating appendages. “And the…tentacles… arms, turned into long sharp blades when it got close to me.” Adding edges to my sculpture, I try to duplicate what I saw, but fail. In my hands is basically a blob of clay.
Niall stares at it with a furrowed brow, which is way more effort than really needed for El Blobbo. It’s sweet. Then he pulls the top sketchbook off the pile and pages through it. When he finishes, he puts it aside and takes another and then another. For once, I’m content to wait…well, not really, it’s killing me and I’m itching to peruse one of his books. Would he mind…I’m reaching for the discarded pile when Niall makes a small ah sound.
He flips over a bunch of pages, revealing a drawing of one of the Warriors. It’s impressively detailed and written on one corner is Pit 2, Row 33, Column 4.
“I liked this guy’s expression,” Niall explains.
The Warrior has a fierce, scowling countenance. Figures.
He turns the page. “And here’s the back of him.”
Another accurate sketch, including the man’s short hair.
Pointing to the bottom of the Warrior’s coat, Niall says, “There’s a line of symbols here.”
I peer closer. “That’s Chinese calligraphy—it’s the craftsman’s name. All the Warriors are marked by their creators.”
“But at the end is a blob. Maybe your blob.”
I have a blob. Lovely. It did indeed appear to be a blob, but it could easily have been a smudge of dirt, a blemish, or the date the piece was crafted. All of which I mention to Niall.
He responds by finding two more Warrior sketches with signatures and a blob—another in Pit 2 and one in Pit 4.
“How many of these did you draw?” I ask.
“I had to do something while I was dodging you,” he says.
I punch him on the arm. “I knew you were avoiding me. Jerk!”
Laughing, he grabs my wrists. I try to free myself, but he’s stronger and soon I’m pinned under him on the couch. Now we’re both a bit winded, although I suspect his reasons are different than mine. I need to get into shape.
“Once you start training, I’m going to have a tougher time wrestling you,” Niall says.
“You bet your…uh…ass.”
“I see you’re already learning from Elese. So I better take advantage of it while I can.” He dips his head closer, kissing me.
All my worries fade into the haze of bliss. If this is going to be the downside of getting pinned, he can pin me all he wants.
He breaks it off with a sigh. “I hate being the sensible one.”
“Then don’t be.” I reclaim his lips and he responds. He releases my wrists and his fingers are in my hair, pulling it away from my neck. Then he moves to suck on my earlobe. When he nips it, I just about jump as a shock of pleasure spikes through me. From an earlobe! Who knew?
A shuffle of boots sounds and we jerk apart, turning to the door. Thank the stars it’s still closed. Radcliff’s muffled voice reaches us. We rush to straighten our clothing and smooth our hair. Niall picks up his sketchbook just as Radcliff enters.
He studies us for a moment. “Niall, don’t you have an early shift?”
“I do,” Niall says, but doesn’t move.
Radcliff grunts then says good night, disappearing into his bedroom. We share a smile, but then Niall sobers.
He taps a finger on his sketch. “I think we should see if one of these signature-blobs survived the looters’ attack. Get a better look at it.”
Anxiety swirls in my stomach. “We can look at the images in the Q-net. They scanned and catalogued the first two pits.”
“I think it’d be better to see and feel the real thing if we can.”
“You want to search through the rubble?”
“Yes.” He rushes on. “We have an approximate location and some of the broken pieces are quite large.”
“But what if I see the shadow-blob or have a panic attack?”
“We’ll take it slow. If you’re uncomfortable, we’ll leave.”
I consider. Eventually, I’ll have to go into the pits again. And the thought of being afraid to enter is unacceptable to Lyra Daniels, Refuses to be Ignored. Besides, I might not see anything and that would put the entire shadow-blob thing behind us. “All right. When?”
“Tomorrow after soch-time. I’ll work it out with my dad.”
Not expecting it to be so soon, I frown.
Niall takes my hand. “Don’t worry, Mouse. I’ll be with you.” He picks up the clay blob and crushes it into a ball.
The next day I’m a bit on edge during soch-time. My thoughts keep circling back to the pits and what I might or might not see there. If we even go. Officer Menz escorted me this afternoon in his usual silence, which I’m learning is just his easy-going nature to be quiet and it’s not that he’s annoyed with having to guard me. Plus Radcliff didn’t mention Niall at all this morning.
But when soch-time ends, Niall and Beau are waiting for me outside. Niall’s familiar glower is back.
“Your father has conditions,” I say by way of a greeting.
“Yup,” Beau says even though I wasn’t talking to him. “You two get to bring along the best-looking officer on the team.” He gives me a little bow. “And you have to promise that if you feel at all anxious, you’re to tell us right away and we’ll skedaddle.”
“Skedaddle?”
“An official term. In layman’s terms it means to leave with the utmost haste.”
“Ah.”
“Do you promise?” Beau asks.
“Uh, yes, I promise to tell you when I need to…er… skedaddle.”
“Excellent. Shall we, my lady?” Beau sweeps a hand out.
“We shall.”
Beau and I take point while Niall trails behind. Beau keeps up a one-sided dialogue the entire trip to the archaeology lab. I suspect it’s either to keep my mind off of where we’re going or to annoy Niall. From Niall’s ever-present scowl, I’m leaning toward the latter.
Of course
my parents are working in the lab. Their pleasant chit-chat is just a façade. Underneath, they’re scanning me with their parental powers of observation, seeking any signs of distress. I think calming thoughts, but it’s hard to stay focused when two officers guard the entrance into the pits.
My dad claims he needs to go into the pits to check on progress with the hearts. “They’re closing in on a method to move them without destroying them.”
“That’s great,” I say, half-distracted, as our little group enters. Not much has changed in the pits. Teams of archaeologists work to reconstruct the Warriors. The faintly glowing lights cast multiple shadows. None move. A relief. I can do this.
At Pit 2, Niall pulls a large flashlight from his belt. My father hesitates, but then says, “Be careful and don’t break anything.”
We all turn to him with incredulous expressions.
“Don’t break anything more. How’s that?”
Not much better. I wave him off.
“Are you—”
“Go. Shoo,” I say.
Niall and I share a smile of affectionate tolerance that says fathers. He toggles on the flashlight and a beam of white light pierces the dusty air. Now it’s his turn to take point as we carefully traverse the rubble. Stepping over an arm and avoiding a head, I edge around a jumbled mess of body parts. I check the shadows. Frequently. They move with the light, but don’t appear abnormal.
Or should I use the word sentient?
Only if I want an extended stay in the infirmary.
We arrive at the approximate location of Column 4, Row 33. The debris isn’t as thick in this area. Beau hands me his flashlight so Niall and I can search while he stands guard.
I take the right side, while Niall goes to the left. Sweeping the beam over the nearby pieces, I scan the clay for the artist’s markings. After an hour of finding nothing, Niall suggests we check the other Warrior. And when that has the same results, we head to the site in Pit 4.
Both officers tense when we enter. There are four guards near the hatch, so it’s not because they’re worried about an attack—half the security team is in here. No, they’re bracing for me to freak out. Lovely. I remain calm despite the increased thumping of my heartbeat. No shadow-blobs. Not yet.
The Warrior Niall drew was in the last row. As we navigate through I notice there’s not as much rubble in this section. Probably because close to five hundred Warriors had been stolen before the attack. Memories of the looters’ actions replay in my head. They moved as if they had a plan, which makes sense. But what doesn’t is that they didn’t just take the Warriors closest to the tunnel they dug. They moved along a row, but then skipped some. It was as if they were—I suck in a sharp breath.
Niall’s next to me in an instant. “What’s wrong?”
I gesture around me. “I just remembered. The looters cherry-picked certain Warriors. Do you think they chose the ones with Lan’s symbols?”
“It’s possible, but...” He illuminates the mess with his light. “It’d be hard to say for sure.”
And I didn’t see what happened in the other pits. We continue our search, but are unable to find any signatures or blob marks. Gathered around the General, we discuss our next move.
“Guess we’ll have to check those files,” Niall says. “Good thing we’re working on the symbol project so we’ll have access to them.”
Beau strides over from where he’d been “guarding” me, but it appeared like he was talking to the other officers by the hatch. “Are you done?”
“Yes,” I say.
“What were you looking for?”
“Just some calligraphy,” Niall says brusquely. Is he jealous?
“You mean like these?” Beau points to a spot behind the General.
We quickly join him and sure enough there’s a small row of Chinese characters along the bottom of his coat— the artist’s signature and a blob. I lean closer. Yup, still a blob or a squiggle or a doddle. I trace it with a finger, but it doesn’t trigger any associations. Niall pulls out a piece of paper, presses it against the row of characters, and uses a piece of his chalk to make an etching—very old school.
The discovery worries me. When Niall showed me his sketch, I didn’t remember that the General had a blob as well. Then again, when I do a reconstruction, I’m looking at the shape of the pieces, not what’s on them. But I must have seen it. Perhaps my subconscious tucked the image away. I gaze into the distance as my thoughts tumble over each other. What if my concussed mind created those shadow creatures, making them into a shape that I’m somewhat familiar with?
Except—
There’s a shadow-blob moving along the back wall. No, wait, there’s two.
Three.
Seventeen
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My vision shrinks until the three shadow-blobs are all I can see. The sound of Niall’s chalk rubbing on the paper matches my pulse. Panic climbs my throat. Drawing in calming breaths, I try to view the situation logically. Are they a figment of my imagination or deadly creatures who are invisible to everyone else but me? As much as I’d love to believe my parents, surely I’m not that special.
But what about the attack? The ripped shirt? I clutch the flashlight tighter as I replay what happened the last time. It only came at me after Niall and Beau flushed it out. So if I don’t bother them…they won’t bother me. After all, people have been working in here without any trouble.
Except…
What if the workers get too close and…they attack? Ah hell.
“Lyra?” Niall asks. “Something wrong?” He peers in the direction I’d been staring.
“Do you see anything back there?” I ask in a steady voice—go me!
After a moment, he says, “No.”
“Beau?”
Beau steps closer to us. “No.” A pause. “Do you?”
I swallow. “I do. Same as before, except there are three of them.”
Both men pull their weapons.
“Can you shine the light on them?” Beau asks.
Oh! I forgot. Toggling on the flashlight, I aim the beam at the shadow-blobs. As soon as the light hits them, they vanish.
“Are they—”
I interrupt him. “They’re gone.” I switch the beam off. When my eyes adjust to the low light, I scan the shadows. Nothing.
When I return my attention to my companions, Niall and Beau are staring at me as if I’m about to explode.
“That settles it.” I tap my temple with a finger. “It’s a concussion-induced delusion that is easily banished. Remind me to use my night light when I go to sleep tonight,” I joke. No one laughs. Tough crowd. “Come on, let’s skedaddle, I’m hungry.”
They follow me from the pits. My mother is still in the lab.
“How did it go?” she asks carefully.
“Fine,” I answer. “Niall, where’s the etching?”
After a brief hesitation, he takes it out of his pocket and unfolds it.
I take it from his hands and show my mom. Pointing to the blob, I ask, “Do you know what this marking is?”
“Why do you want to know?” she asks in that same cautious tone.
“Just curious. It’s on the General.”
“Oh. We suspect it’s a way for the craftsmen to keep track of how many Warriors they’ve built.”
“Craftsmen?” Niall asks. “I thought the signature was the artist’s name.”
“It took a team of eleven to make one Warrior. The name on the Warrior is the leader of the team, or so we believe.”
“But that mark isn’t on every one,” I say.
“Right. We think they marked every two hundredth. Considering they constructed two point three million, it was easier to keep track that way.”
Beau whistles. “Damn. I didn’t know there were millions of Warriors!”
“Math,” Niall deadpans to Beau. “You should try it.”
Mom and I share a glance. Once the news is made public that there are another forty-two planets out ther
e, the number will officially jump to roughly five point nine million. Don’t be too impressed, I did the math the night the Q-net revealed the results of Lan’s research.
I hand the paper back to Niall.
“The grid papers were delivered to Tace’s office this afternoon,” Mom says. “Are you still planning to start mapping out the symbols tonight?”
I’m getting tired of everyone acting so careful around me. “Yes,” I say without snapping at her because it’s not her fault. I’m the one seeing imaginary shadow-blobs.
“Should I send you the Warrior files?”
“No. That would look suspicious. I’ll access them through your account.”
Mom crosses her arms, shifting her weight. “How long have you been able to do that?”
“Oh, look at the time,” I say. “I have to go or Officer Radcliff will…” I make a vague motion with my hand. Somebody help!
“Chew us out,” Beau says, coming to my rescue. “He’s a stickler for punctuality. Come on, Lyra.” Beau hooks his arm in mine and we head for the exit with Niall right on our heels.
“We’ll discuss this at dinner, Lyra,” Mom promises as the door closes.
Beau chuckles.
“You can laugh,” I say sourly.
“I just find it funny that she never thought of that even when she watched you chase that worm.”
“I would have liked to keep it that way.” Accessing other accounts was one of the first things Jarren taught me. I never tapped into my parents’ files, but I doubt they’d believe me now.
Beau laughs again. “Sounds like it’s going to be a fun dinner. Can’t wait.”
“You’re not invited,” Niall says.
We both turn our heads. Niall’s supernova glower is back and it’s focused on our linked arms. We stop.
“Easy there, Junior,” Beau says. “I’m not trying to steal your girl.”
Except Niall is not mollified. If anything he appears more pissed off. I should unhook my arm. Instead, I can’t help asking, “Junior?”
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