Thetis--The Deep Sky Saga--Book Two

by Greg Boose

  Mirker laughs and immediately reaches out to shove Jonah aside, but the boy catches the man’s wrist with both hands and flings him into the wall. Mirker bounces off the concrete and falls to his knees. Slowly, the man puts his hands on his waist and lowers his head. Everyone is surprised, including Jonah. The cadet then drops down into a fighting stance, ready for round two. Mirker stays on his knees facing the opposite direction for a moment, though, and then his shoulders start to bounce with laughter.

  One of the men rushes over to pull Mirker up to his feet, but the commander shoves him away and keeps laughing.

  “Come on, get up,” Jonah begs as he pulls on Paul’s arm. “We got to go.”

  Just as Paul staggers to his feet, releasing Vespa to do the same, Mirker jumps up and turns around. A thin line of blood runs down his chin. He points his handgun at Jonah’s chest. In what feels like slow motion, the man sneers before pulling the trigger. Vespa leaps, pushing Jonah out of the line of fire, and the blue laser misses Jonah’s shoulder by an inch. It hits the curved wall of the sphere behind him and ricochets into the floor, and from there the laser bounces around the room until hitting the thigh of one of the men standing in the doorway. The man screams as he backpedals out of sight.

  “Now!” Jonah yells. He lowers his shoulder and rams through the two other men with Vespa and Paul right on his heels.

  “Shoot them!” Mirker’s voice echoes inside the sphere.

  Jonah looks over his shoulder to see which way to zig and which way to zag from the incoming fire, but to his surprise, no one raises their rifles. One of the men runs over to the man just shot to see if he’s okay, and the other one, a stout man with a black beard, points to Jonah’s right and mouths: “That way.”

  Mirker shouts, “I said, shoot them!”

  On his right, Jonah spots a narrow crack in a rock wall, and without saying a word to the cadets huffing behind him, he takes a sharp turn and squeezes into the crack. He hears Vespa do the same, and then Paul’s heavy breathing enters the small space. The path keeps narrowing, and the only way Jonah can get farther inside is to turn his shoulders and shuffle sideways.

  “Where are we going?” Vespa asks.

  “Just go faster, Firstie!” Paul begs. “I’m a sitting duck back here!”

  A gunshot rings out and the three cadets cover their heads. They don’t see a laser, but black rocks and dust begin to rain down on them.

  Paul shouts, “Go!”

  The space veers to the left and gets even tighter, the mossy rock walls practically touching each other. Jonah tries to squeeze through, but it’s impossible; he can’t go any farther. Vespa rams into him and whispers, “Come on, come on. What are you doing?”

  “It’s a dead end,” Jonah wheezes. “We’re trapped.”

  Paul shoves his head over Vespa’s shoulder with fire in his eyes. He rubs the plastic cord tied around his wrists frantically against the rock wall, sawing right through it. “Crawl, you idiot!”

  Jonah looks down to see that there’s space at their feet. Maybe just enough space to squeeze through. He struggles to his knees, the rock wall hugging him tightly as he tries to lower himself to the ground. Paul and Vespa do the same thing, but Vespa loses her balance and falls into Jonah, sending him onto his back. He’s stuck like that, on his back like an overturned turtle.

  Another gunshot rings out and more black rock and dust blow through the narrow space like a wave of water barreling into a cave at high tide.

  “Fucking go!” Paul yells.

  Jonah reels his heels into his body and then pushes off. He blindly scrapes his way a few feet down the space and tries to push off again when Vespa suddenly crawls over him, her head moving up his body until their eyes meet. She gives him a quick wink and says, “I’m taking over, kid,” before clenching her jaw and pulling herself completely past him. He feels her heels push off his shoulders just as Paul begins to scramble up his legs. When his eyes meet Jonah’s, he shakes his head and growls, “Faster, Firstie. You’re going to get us killed.”

  “I’m trying,” Jonah snaps back, and as soon as Paul passes over him, Jonah rolls back and forth until he finally turns onto his stomach. He army crawls as fast as can, and within a few seconds he catches up to Paul’s boots. He considers grabbing the cadet’s ankles and pulling himself past, but then the space begins to widen and widen until the three of them spill out into a clearing circled by trees.

  Jonah gets to his feet first and reaches down for Paul’s hand. The Fourth Year refuses it; instead, he presses one hand to his chest wound and pushes himself up with the other. As Jonah pulls Vespa up by her armpit, Mirker’s voice speeds down the narrow crack and assails their ears, loud and as clear as if he’s standing in the clearing with them.

  “You can hide all you want, but I can find you!”

  Paul puts his head into the space and shouts, “Come and get it, old man! The next time you see me, I’m going to kill your ass!”

  Mirker’s laughter echoes back. “Kid, you have no idea what I can do to you and your friends. Jonah, if you don’t come back soon for your medicine, you’re fucked, boy! You are going to go right back to being blind! Think about that!”

  Vespa and Paul turn to Jonah who can only respond with clenched fists. He hadn’t thought of that. He forgot how tied he is to the village. He finds himself taking a small step toward the crack, toward the village, but he stops and takes a deep breath. What is he going to do?

  “Don’t worry about that,” Vespa whispers. “We’ll get your medicine somehow. Screw that guy.”

  “We’re not going back,” Paul says.

  “We have to,” Vespa answers coldly.

  Mirker’s voice comes through again: “And let’s not forget about your little friend, Brooklyn! Here’s a little secret for you: She’s only still sick because I want her to be sick. I’m not giving her the right medicine! You hear me? I’m keeping her sick! And I’m going to let her die unless you come back here right now and tell me what I want to know!”

  Vespa slips her arm under Jonah’s and gives a little tug, but he barely registers she’s next to him. All he can hear are the electronic beeps in Brooklyn’s hospital room.

  “That’s right!” Mirker shouts. “I’m going to let her die! And you’re as good as dead, too, Jonah! Without your medicine, YOU ARE DEAD!”

  Jonah places his forehead against the stone wall and tries to work through his anger. Now what? Mirker has him by the throat, Brooklyn by hers.

  Vespa comes up behind him and sets a hand on his shoulder. “Paul? Where’s the other chip in our bodies? Where did they put the second one?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “I have no idea. But we’re not going back for any of that medicine, I’ll tell you guys right now. They’ll kill us as soon as we get there.”

  “Maybe you’re not going back,” Vespa says. “But we are.”

  “Why? Because of your lover boy, Jonah here, or for that stupid little girl, Brooklyn?”

  Vespa doesn’t take the bait and continues, “I’m going back for both of them. They both helped me get off Achilles and stay alive, and I’m going to help them stay alive. Now, if they put one chip in our hands, then the other one must be…” Vespa rolls up her sleeves and starts looking for marks on her arms. When she finds nothing there, she yanks her pant legs up just past her knees and examines her skin. “Come on, come on…”

  Jonah follows suit, checking his arms and legs for bumps or recent cuts, but to his chagrin there are dozens and dozens of scratches and half-healed wounds from the past week.

  “They wouldn’t put it where you could see it or get to it,” Paul says. “It’s probably on your back or something.”

  “Jonah, take off your shirt,” Vespa orders. “Let me check your back. Hurry up.”

  At her request, he unzips his jumpsuit and starts to shrug off its shoulders when he remembers what the skin on his back looks like, scarred from the Pacsun twins who tort
ured him with scalding hot rocks when he was just eleven, leaving a huge cluster of bubbling scars like a school of fish. There are also several long, thin marks crisscrossing his lower back from Mr. Wexler’s dressiest belt, the one with the silver tip shaped like an arrowhead. Without saying anything, he starts to zip his suit back up. But then Paul gets his hand on the back of his collar and rips it down, leaving Jonah naked from the waist up. The cadet feels his entire body flush with shame.

  “Jesus,” Paul whispers as he backpedals. “I don’t know where to fucking start.”

  Vespa is silent for a few seconds before circling around to face Jonah with her one hand covering her lips. Her eyes brim with tears. “Did Mirker do that to you? Is that from Tunick? What…happened?”

  Jonah shoves his arms back into their sleeves and pulls the suit back over his shoulders, zipping it all the way up to his throat. He takes a hard swallow and whispers, “Foster family stuff.”

  “What the hell does that mean, Firstie?” Paul asks.

  “Paul,” Vespa begs. A tear finally runs down her cheek, and she doesn’t bother wiping it away.

  Jonah hates it. He hates his scarred, ruined back. He hates Vespa’s tear running down her face. He hates Paul’s question. He hates this clearing. These trees and this alien sunshine. The air that’s poisoning him. He hates Mirker for making Jonah expose his past. He hates, hates, hates.

  “What?” Paul laughs. “The kid shows us his jigsaw puzzle back that’s all messed up and I’m not supposed to ask what happened? Fine. Here. Look on me.”

  Paul strips to his waist, exposing a mountain range of muscles on his shoulders, chest, and back. Dr. Z’s designs still rise from his skin, a riddle to solve at another time. Below the fresh bandage on his chest, his stomach is a bruised washboard. The huge gash on his side he suffered from the Achilles crash has been healing nicely, leaving a crescent moon–shaped scar that runs from his stomach to the top of his left shoulder blade. His white skin shines in the sun as he raises his huge arms and slowly twirls around. “Tell me if you see anything you like.”

  Vespa walks up to him and slaps a hand on his shoulder to keep him from twirling. “Hold still, asshole.” Jonah watches her scan Paul’s back with envy; she doesn’t recoil or cry like she did when she saw his skin, even if there is a faint map scratched into it. She doesn’t circle around to Paul’s face to look at him with wonder or sympathy. She doesn’t see him as damaged goods.

  “Well,” Paul says, “Hurry up. Anything back there?”

  “Besides Dr. Z’s handiwork? Not yet…” But then Vespa pauses her eyes on the middle of his upper back. She leans in, practically pressing her nose and lips on his skin. “I think I found something. Jonah? Look.”

  He swallows his shame and then takes a close look, and there in the direct middle of Paul’s back, the place where no one can reach themselves and touch, sits an incision no longer than an inch. It looks clean and new.

  “What’d you find? A pimple?” Paul asks.

  Vespa turns to Jonah and clenches her jaw. He knows what she’s going to say before she even says it. “I’m sorry to ask, Jonah, but I need to see your back again. To compare.”

  Jonah takes a deep breath and unzips his suit again.

  “Or, you know you could always take off your top, V,” Paul says over his shoulder.

  This makes Jonah move faster, and soon the top of his suit hangs from his waist. He turns his mangled back toward Vespa and waits.

  “Yup, you have it, too.”

  Paul marches over. “Let me see.”

  Jonah feels Vespa’s finger press into his skin. “Right here. See it?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Paul says. “It’s right in the middle of all the other gross shit on his back, but I definitely see it.” The cadet must notice Jonah’s back stiffen and his shoulders narrow because he follows up with, “No offense, Firstie.”

  “I guess the only way to be for certain…” Vespa’s finger drops from Jonah’s back and he hears the sound of a zipper.

  “Now we’re talking,” Paul whispers.

  “Don’t be a dick,” Vespa responds.

  Jonah pulls his suit back up over his shoulders and turns to see Vespa’s exposed back crisscrossed by black bra straps. He can’t help but clear his throat as he looks over the smooth skin covering her tight muscles. Tiny, almost invisible white hairs stand up in the cool air, shining in the sunlight. Both boys stand dumbfounded, not knowing what to do next.

  “Do I have it, too, or what?” she asks. “Hurry up.”

  Both boys step closer, their shoulders pushing against each other for the best view. Jonah sees the same mark between her shoulder blades.

  “You have it, too,” Jonah says.

  “Yup,” Paul says. “Hold still for a second.” He places two fingers on either end of the incision and pushes on her skin. After a little prodding, Paul pulls back a little and the outline of a small pill or pebble shows up between his fingers. “Got ya.”

  Before Jonah can memorize another inch of the beautiful, smooth skin in front of him, Vespa reaches over her shoulder and hands Paul her knife.

  “Get it. Take it out.”

  The Fourth Year carefully puts the tip of the blade over the mark and cuts. Vespa gasps and her shoulders flex, but in a few seconds, it’s over. Paul holds up a small, blood-covered silver object.

  “Here she is,” Paul says, placing it in Vespa’s palm as she pulls her jumpsuit back over her shoulders. She silently looks at it for a moment before placing the tracker against the stone wall and smashing it with a rock.

  “Fuck you,” she whispers to it.

  “Okay, now me,” Paul says. “Then the ugly Firstie.”

  Once Vespa spins away from the wall, her face drops and her jaw stiffens. Jonah looks over his shoulder, and there, standing in a long line along the perimeter of the trees, is a herd of red-feathered mimics.

  A humming noise slowly fills the air.

  “God damn it,” Paul growls.

  • • •

  Jonah counts twenty-three of the apes standing shoulder to shoulder under the black trees, their red feathers blowing back and forth in the wind. The air is suddenly full of red fluff that dances and twirls over their heads. The animals stand motionless, seemingly waiting for one of the cadets to make a move.

  Paul’s exposed torso begins to heave with adrenaline; Jonah can tell the boy is ready for the fight of his life. Again. The cadet tosses Vespa her knife back and then flexes his neck and stretches his fingers, cracking his knuckles, and the apes mimic his movements. When Paul takes a step forward, all twenty-three do the same.

  “No, Paul,” Jonah says. “Try stepping backward a couple times.”

  The Fourth Year grumbles but does what Jonah says; he takes three steps back until he’s right next to Jonah. The red apes follow Paul’s lead and soon they’re a few feet inside the forest, half hidden by aqua plants and black tree trunks. Jonah puts his hand on Paul’s wrist and pulls him back another few steps. Within a few seconds, the mimics are practically invisible, save for a few patches of bright red peeking through the foliage.

  Vespa pulls out a second knife and whispers: “Good job, but they’re still right there. What do we do?”

  “We fight, or we go back whence we came,” Paul says.

  “What about Mirker and the others?” Jonah whispers through stiff lips.

  A large mimic with blue-tipped feathers drops out of the closest tree. It stands stoically between its herd and the cadets, its triangular pink face unmoving as its shoulder and chest feathers wave in front of its eyes.

  “I think I like my chances with Mirker better than these things.” Paul takes another few steps backward with Jonah until they are right in front of the crawl space.

  Vespa sidesteps along the wall with the knives in her hands. “What if they follow us in there? There’s no way we’d make it all the way through.”

  “We crawl backwards,” Paul c
huckles. “The stupid things will do the same thing until they’re so far away they’ll—”

  All twenty-three feathered apes march back into the clearing until they flank the leader. They advance together until they’re just a dozen feet away from the cadets, forming a half circle around them, closing in slowly.

  “Now what?” Vespa whispers.

  Terrified, Jonah rubs the back of his neck. The mimics stop advancing long enough to rub their own necks. Jonah drops his hand and they follow suit. A few seconds later, though, they start to inch closer again. The leader begins a hum, triggering a chorus. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Vespa slowly spin the knives in her hands. There’s no way they’ll be able to take on so many of the beasts; they may be able to take down a half dozen, maybe ten, but there’s simply too many to fight. They need reinforcements, at least ten more cadets fighting on their side. Suddenly, Jonah has an idea.

  “Just trust me here,” Jonah says as he grabs Paul’s bare shoulders with both hands and squares his body with his.

  “I’m not fucking dancing with you right now,” Paul seethes.

  The mimics do the same, pairing off, setting their hands on each other’s feathered shoulders.

  Without warning, Jonah sends an uppercut into Paul’s sternum. The Fourth Year howls and doubles over, the wind knocked out of him, and he falls to his knees.

  “Firstie, you stupid mother…”

  Sure enough, one of the mimics in each pairing strikes the other in the chest. The animals howl and spit in pain.

  “Now, hit me,” Jonah orders. “But just maybe not so hard?”

  A sadistic grin comes over Paul’s face, and in an instant, he tackles Jonah to the ground. He quickly crawls up Jonah’s body and punches him hard in the cheek. Jonah and Paul look over to watch the apes mimic everything they’re doing, tackling each other, striking each other in the faces. The blue-tipped leader takes a pounding. Paul reels his fist high over his head again, but before he can swing down at Jonah again, Vespa dives in and tackles Paul and punches him hard in the throat.