“Still sleeping it off,” Morgan says. “He’s going to be pissed he missed all the fun.”
A number of prone forms litter the floor. Looters who were stunned and will eventually be put in detention.
“All right,” Radcliff says, “let’s—”
Air blasts through the port. Grains of sand strike my face. I shield my eyes with a hand, peering into the sudden cloud. A sandstorm? A rumble rattles my bones as another powerful gust of sand hits me. Talk about bad timing.
“Get inside,” Radcliff orders.
My dad grabs my hand and my mother is already holding his other hand. The three of us head toward the base. A roar reverberates in the air around us. That doesn’t sound like a storm.
“Lyra Daniels!” a loud voice shouts from above.
I glance up and almost trip over my feet. The shuttle has returned. Its engine wash swirls the sand around us. The noise vibrates down to my toes. Or is that my fear? Because Jarren is standing on the open hatch. And he’s pointing a weapon at me. Not a pulse gun.
“Can’t let you live. Sorry!” he yells.
Purple fire explodes from the weapon. I yank my hand from my dad’s just as someone tackles me. When I hit the ground, all the air whooshes from my lungs. But it’s the daggers of pain that sizzle along my skin that claim my full attention. It’s excruciating. As if every centimeter of the fabric of my clothes has turned into sharp tiny needles, digging deep into my flesh.
If I had any air, I would scream. Instead, tears flood my vision. The weight on top of me compresses my chest. Black and white spots dance in front of my eyes along with arcs of purple lightning. Passing out would be very welcome at this point. Static buzzes, replacing the shuttle’s roar.
“Don’t touch them,” Radcliff orders. “Wait until the crackling stops.”
The swarm of spots condense into one solid circle of blackness that grows until it fills the world. Everything stills. Pain dissolves into the peaceful silence. I’m untethered, floating free. Then I’m flying along the star roads, crossing trillions of kilometers in seconds.
It’s exhilarating. The universe’s infinite tangles twist and swirl and spiral and circle and dip and jump and cross and pulse and zip—a living, breathing organism all around me. It’s as if all the molecules in the air suddenly became visible. And I’m swimming through them with ease. All the answers I seek are here, within reach.
Then the sharp acrid odor of burnt hair intrudes on the beauty. A fog of light encroaches, erasing the links of time. Pain returns, but it’s sullen, broody, hiding in my muscles. Ice touches the back of my neck, shocking me toward consciousness with greater speed.
Another icy kiss jumps my heart and it beats with quick annoyed thumps. Noise drills into my head. A pulsing, pounding rhythm.
Lyra. Can you hear me? Lyra. Answer me.
Lyra. Please answer me. Can you hear me?
Please. Please. Lyra. Answer me. Lyra. Please.
It’s relentless.
Sand coats my mouth, clogs my throat, fills my nose. I cough. Hard. Loud cheers erupt. Then I’m tipped to my side as a coughing fit racks my body. I curl, trying to expel the grains irritating my lungs. Gritty saliva pools under my cheek.
When the spasm releases my muscles, I wilt, sucking in deep breaths of air. I crack open one eye. My lashes are heavy with grit. Dr. Edwards peers at me. We’re almost nose to nose.
“Welcome back,” he says.
The burning pain in my throat prevents speech. Which is a good thing, because I desperately wish to return and I suspect the good doctor went to quite a bit of trouble fetching me from the depths of the Q-net.
I close my eye, letting that last thought—the depths of the Q-net—sink into my memory to be inspected and ruminated on later.
Adult voices discuss logistics over me. A bit of strength sweeps the fatigue and pain into the corners. I doubt it will stay there long so I open both eyes. Legs. Boots. Piles of sand.
Lifting my arm, I reach… Fingers intertwine with mine. I recognize the touch. My mother’s. No need to see what a lifetime of seeking comfort from her has ingrained in my soul. My contentment lasts until the legs shift, giving me a better view of…a white sheet covering—
Niall! Memories flash. He’d tackled me right before I was shot and killed. He was hit. Murdered! A raw cry of anguish erupts from me as I surge forward, reaching for the fabric. Mom calls my name, but I’m determined. If I came back, he sure as hell can, too. I will make him.
Twenty-Three
2522:171
Yanking off the sheet, I freeze. Menz’s not Niall’s body is underneath. His, not Niall’s, eyes are flat and lifeless. Two equally strong emotions grip me at once. Menz saved my life. It’s not Niall. Menz died because of me. It’s not Niall. A man is dead. And it’s not Niall. I’m an awful, awful person.
Mom pries the sheet from my fingers and re-covers Menz. “The doctors tried to revive him, too, but he’d gotten the brunt of the hit.”
I glance around. The security officers appear exhausted and sad. However, they smile at me, happy I’m alive despite the fact I caused Menz’s death. My gaze snags on Niall. His expression mirrors mine—pained relief.
“Wearing that jumpsuit under your clothes saved your life,” Mom says to me the next morning. “Why did you put it on?”
Shrugging, I say, “I felt safer.”
I’m in the infirmary, again, waiting for Dr. Edwards to release me from his care. This time I’m in no hurry. Lying here doing nothing suits me just fine. According to DES and ninety percent of the people in the base, I’m officially dead.
Being dead means no school work. No required soch-time. No access to the Q-net. Avoiding the cameras. All preventive measures in case Jarren is searching for me. I’m no longer on probation, but I’m still going to stay with Radcliff for protection. I’m not dead, but I might as well be. Jarren has neutralized me as effectively as if he killed me permanently—according to Edwards, my heart stopped beating at one point.
If I’d just kept my word. Once Niall was clear of the shuttle, I should have returned and gone with Jarren. Menz would still be alive.
“…listening to me?” Mom asks.
“Uh…”
“That’s all right. We can talk later. Get some rest.” She kisses my forehead and leaves.
Sleeping is now my full-time occupation. Jealous? And I plan to do a damn good job of it. I roll over on my left side, squirm into a comfy position, and… I can’t sleep. Lovely.
Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. That I’m moping and pouting and I should be grateful that I’m alive. That I should focus on the positive. I did rescue the team from detention. Except they’re not…complete. If I hadn’t interfered, Jarren and his men would have left with me and without hurting anyone. Menz would still be alive. And really, what do I know about security? Nothing really. What a huge ego, thinking I could outsmart the looters.
And this is the time you say that it’s not my fault. That Jarren fired the weapon. He’s to blame. That no one asked Menz to tackle me. That he died doing his job. That he understood the risks.
Yes, I agree with you. They are all true statements. Factual. My brain is in total agreement. Too bad my heart’s not on board. And you can’t force the heart.
I flip to my back and stare at the boring ceiling. The tiles are lined up in straight rows and columns just like the Warriors. But very unlike the Q-net—where everything’s interconnected, just not in straight, predictable lines. There are many theories out there about the afterlife—in fact the Terracotta Army on Earth was created to protect the Chinese Emperor in the afterlife. Maybe the shadow-blobs are demons from the afterlife who found cracks into our existence. In that case, I would have encountered them during my brief visit to the afterlife. Instead, I flew through the Q-net—my own personal heaven.
Which makes sense, I’ve a knack for worming. Good enough to bring Jarren from wherever he’s been hiding to stop me and kill Menz. Makes a girl not want to use
a terminal ever again. But the more I mull it over—’cause let’s face it I have plenty of time to do just that—this all started when I pieced together that alien artifact. The symbols intrigued Lan and she figured it out and must have told Jarren. Perhaps she sent her research to him as well. He’s had years to decipher it, plus he worked in the pits. Something must have clicked for him. I doubt I’m really clever enough to understand what it means.
My mom returns in the afternoon as promised. “Dr. Edwards says you’ll be released tomorrow morning.”
I guess a change of scenery would be welcome. She hovers next to my bed and I suspect there’s something she needs to tell me but is reluctant. I speak fluent Mom. “What is it?”
Mom studies my face. “They’re having a funeral for Officer Menz in two days. You don’t have to go if you’re not feeling well.”
“I’ll go.”
She squeezes my hand. “We’ll be there, too.”
When she leaves, I wonder if it will be the same as the funerals we had for our time-traveling friends. I doubt it. This is real, while then it was just play acting. We did it because it hurt to watch your friends leave and it was better to think that they were gone than to think they were living their lives without you and loving other people. That we were just that important to each other. Same when you left the others behind. From experience you knew that they’d eventually continue on just fine without you. It just makes it quicker if you cut all ties. We convinced ourselves it was easier that way.
But it was just fake. Because in the back of our minds, we knew they lived and loved and some had children. Denial in its purest form. I wasted so much time pretending, when I could have been exchanging messages, learning about their lives and joys and trials. Menz and Lan are truly gone and the pain is nothing like we pretended.
Beau visits me later. He moves with care and a nurse hovers at his elbow, but he waves her off before sitting— slowly—in the chair next to me. His color is better, but it’s obvious he needs more time to heal.
“I hear you completed our mission. Well done, Daniels.”
“Then you haven’t heard all of it,” I say. “Jarren escaped. It was an utter failure.”
“I have to disagree with you. Our mission was to rescue our team members from detention and that is exactly what you did.”
“Which wouldn’t have been possible without your gallant sacrifice.”
“Oooh…gallant. I like that!”
Despite myself, I grin. “You would.”
“Is that your way of thanking me?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He remains quiet for a while, but then laughs.
“What?”
“All those bets on when you’d wind up in detention, and it ends with all of us in detention first. You should do some major gloating over that.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Beau cocks his head at my unenthusiastic response. “Do you know Niall bet you’d get through the entire probation without going to detention?”
“Yes. But it probably would have been better if I did go.”
“Lyra—”
“What was your bet?” I ask before he can make a lame attempt to improve my spirits.
He pauses. “Thirty days.” Beau holds up his index finger. “I figured the first five days, you’d be pretty freaked out over the whole probation thing.” He adds a finger. “Then the second five, you’d be on your best behavior.” His ring finger flicks up. “By fifteen days, you’d become comfortable with being around us.” The pinky finger is next. “And by day twenty, you’d figure out all the weak spots in our organization. Around day twenty-five…” He adds his thumb to the rest. “Boredom sets in and roughly thirty days after you were placed on probation, you’d try something that lands you in detention.”
I mull it over. “Sounds about right.”
“Oh? No bragging that you wouldn’t have been caught worming that soon?”
I shrug. “That was before.” Now, it sounds childish.
“Lyra—”
The door opens and Radcliff strides in with Niall, Morgan, and Keir in his wake. “Why aren’t you in your room?” he demands of Beau.
“I had to check on my partner. Make sure she’s okay.”
Niall’s frown deepens, which is the reaction I suspect Beau was hoping for with that partner comment.
“Did you want something, sir?” Beau asks when no one says anything.
“Yes. We need to do a debrief.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Niall, Keir, fetch some extra chairs.”
I sit up. They’re doing it here? I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about what happened. But I don’t have a choice. They return with chairs and my parents slip in. Soon everyone is sitting in a half-circle around my bed, facing me and Beau.
Radcliff meets my gaze. “All right, Lyra. Let’s hear what mischief you were up to while we were distracted.”
Interesting choice of words. I tell them everything. Beau adds a few details about the time we were together.
Radcliff leans back. “Quite the story. That’s an interesting theory about the HoLFs. But you shouldn’t have endangered yourself by surrendering to Jarren. Niall shouldn’t have helped you leave detention either, but it worked out.”
Anger swells inside me. “It worked out? Jarren escaped and Menz is dead. How is that working out?”
“Calm down, Lyra,” Mom tries to soothe.
But I’m feeling an emotion other than grief and it energizes me. “And don’t you dare blame Niall, he trusted me. My plan failed. I’m the reason Menz died.”
“That’s enough,” Mom says, standing. “No one blames you, Lyra.”
I press my lips together, seething. Of course they do. Their hearts know as well as mine.
Mom glances at Radcliff. “I told you it was too soon for this.”
He makes a noncommittal sound, staring at me. I glare right on back.
“All right. We’ll continue this at another time,” he says.
Good luck with that.
The next morning, I’m released and Keir and Niall escort me to Radcliff’s. No one says a word. It’s nothing but awkward silence the entire trip. I mumble a thanks and close the door to my room with relief. My jumpsuit is folded on the bed. It smells clean. I finger the material. It saved my life but not Menz’s. The clothes I wore over it were singed beyond repair and my bag is still on the shuttle unless Jarren ejected it into the universe by now. Radcliff believes he and the men that escaped are off the planet, but with Jarren’s superior ability to manipulate the Q-net, he could be parked right next door. Not a comforting thought. And no one has been able to answer how Jarren managed to get to Yulin in the first place.
Next to the jumpsuit are a pair of jeans and two shirts—the last of my clothing. Mom promised to scrounge for more, but I told her not to bother.
During dinner that night, my parents and Radcliff discuss…things. I’m not listening as I pick at my food. Niall isn’t there and I wonder what he’s doing, but I don’t have the energy to ask. Plus I’ve more important things to do, like sleep.
Menz’s funeral is the next day. It’s nothing like the mock ones we held. They were a party in comparison. It’s horrible. I’m not going to relate the details—they’re too painful. However, I’ll say this—I barely knew Officer Ivan Menz before the funeral. During the funeral, I learned what a loving, generous and kind man he’d been. Afterwards, I had to force air into and out of my lungs because of the crushing weight gripping my chest. Each breath is a conscious effort. I’ve never felt this terrible in my life.
Crawling under the covers of my bed after pretending to eat dinner, I’m starting to think Menz is the lucky one. He’s flying through the Q-net and I’m struggling to remain upright.
A few days later—no, I’ve no idea how many—Niall joins us for dinner. I haven’t seen him since the funeral. Dark smudges line his eyes and his hair is in need of a cut. He gives me a tired smile.
&n
bsp; After we finish eating and the adults all leave, Niall and I sit together on the couch. He tucks me close and drapes an arm around my shoulders. I soak in his clean scent of sage. His warmth eases grief’s hold on me just a fraction. Enough to say more than one word at a time.
“Can you draw a picture for me?” I ask him.
He glances at me. “Sure. What do you want me to draw?”
“Your choice, but make it small so I can keep it with me.” But I think about it. Paper doesn’t hold up very well. Then I remember Beau’s tattoos. “Does anyone in security do tattoos? You could draw one for me, and it’ll be with me forever. That’d be perfect.”
Shifting slightly so he can see more of my face, Niall asks, “What’s this really about?”
“When Jarren…when I packed my bag, I didn’t have anything of yours to take with me. And I want something…”
“In case I die?”
“No!” I jerk away, horrified by the thought.
He takes my hands. “It could have been me,” he says in a quiet tone. “But Menz was faster even with a broken arm. Nothing I could do but watch you both die.”
Remembered anguish flares in his eyes. I’m not the only one suffering.
“Were you glad it wasn’t you though?” I ask.
“Yeah, of course. Part of me feels guilty about it, too. But I can’t change anything and I wouldn’t do anything different.”
“Not even locking me in detention?”
“No. That was the right decision,” he says with strong conviction.
Lucky him.
Radcliff returns and orders Niall to get some rest before his shift in detention. There are sixteen looters occupying the ten cells where they will remain until the Protector Class ship arrives. I assume Radcliff interrogated them, but I don’t care. I return to my room for another marathon sleeping session.
Navigating the Stars Page 31