Twenty-Two
I feel like the sun is trapped under my skin.
I tried to follow Grandpa down, but his climbing anchor wouldn’t let me connect. He must have locked me out. All I could do was watch and hope Leela and the others would get to him in time.
They didn’t.
Grandpa had the Vulcan’s hatch sealed by the time Leela got beta flyer down to the desert floor. She jumped out of the flyer and ran at the scout ship anyway. Jay had to drag her away before Grandpa fried her with backwash from the Vulcan’s engines. I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t stop him. All I could do was stand up here and bake. My exposed skin feels hot to the touch, even though I’m shivering.
The wind from beta flyer’s rotors whips around me, spinning my hair into a blinding confection of tangles. The arch is too narrow for Leela to land on, so she hovers beside it and Beth and Jay open the rear doors. I tether into the flyer and leap across.
Beth throws her arms around me the second I’m safely inside.
“You would have died,” she snarls, furious, even though she’s clinging to me like she’ll never let go. “If he hadn’t stopped you from pushing him off, you’d have fallen with him.”
“I had to, Beth,” I whisper into hair. “I had to try to stop him before it was too late.”
“How much time will it take him to activate the scrubbers?” Jay asks.
“He probably already has,” I say. “It’ll take a few hours for the nanobots to saturate the atmosphere, but once they do . . .”
“That’s not going to happen,” Leela says firmly. “Because we’re going to use every second we have to stop him.”
“How?” I ask, truly hoping she’s got an answer. “You know he’s headed straight back into orbit. They have 3212, and the Trailblazer is still out of commission. We can’t follow him. We can’t even evacuate the Landing.”
“So we’ll think of something else,” Leela says, her voice cracking with tears.
“Leela,” I whisper. She shakes her head, biting her lip in a vain attempt not to cry.
“Damn it!” Chris shouts, crumpling his flex up and hurling it across the flyer. “Goddamn it! I’m so close.” It’s almost a sob.
“So close to what?” I ask.
“Saving everyone!” he cries. “But I can’t get into the Vulcan’s computer. He has us completely locked out of the network. I tried everything, including Mom’s old codes for the Pioneer. But I can’t even get access to one of the satellites to call the Landing, much less hack the Vulcan from here.”
“Even if you could, you’d need Grandpa’s command codes to shut down the planet scrubbers,” Beth points out.
“I don’t need to shut down the scrubbers!” Chris says. “All I have to do is run simulation twelve.”
“Oh shit,” Leela breathes. “You’re right.”
“What’s simulation twelve?” Jay demands.
“Leela and I installed a new backup power system on the Vulcan,” Chris says. “To keep her going even if there was a computer failure. To test it, we had to kill the power to the computers, which is a pain. I was sick of having to run a bunch of overrides every time, so I wrote a program to do it all at once. Simulation twelve. I never had the chance to strip it out. It’s still there.”
“And if we can just run it, then Vulcan’s computers will lose power,” Leela says. “The planet scrubbers would do a hard restart along with everything else, which would set them back to default. Harmless.”
“But I can’t access the Vulcan from here,” Chris says. “And we can’t get to her in orbit. So it’s all useless. We’re dead.”
Grandpa has turned Tau into our tomb.
For a moment, I can almost feel his hand on my back. Comforting me in our first moments together on the Prairie.
Hello, Little Moth. How are your wings? I see them there. Still beating.
The memory rakes through me like a sob. The man who taught me to fly has stripped my wings away and left me stranded. Helpless. Hopeless.
Then another voice slips through my head, carrying with it a single image painted in deep shades of gray and darkness.
I want to make her fly.
Tarn’s beautiful, half-built ship gleams in my memory. It’s such a shame Chris won’t have time to help the Sorrow finish it.
And then, without warning, a spark of hope floats up my spine.
“Chris,” I say, “when you told me about the scrubbers, you said there was a fail-safe, right?”
“Huh?” he says. “Yeah. Attached to the Rangers’ ID implants. The system won’t activate if one of the crew is still on the surface. But the Rangers are all dead now. Why does that matter?”
The tiny spark flares brighter, filling in all the empty space despair left behind. I throw myself into the copilot seat and tether in.
“Let me fly,” I say to Leela. “I’m faster.”
“Oh no.” Leela moans, relief making it impossible for her to sell her fake annoyance. “Jo has a plan.”
“About time,” Beth snips, her voice still shaky.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” I say. But the stubborn little spark in my chest flares brighter as I press my hands harder into the nav app, goosing the flyer past full speed. We have a chance.
Thirty-seven minutes later, I’m standing in front of Tarn in the enormous cavern the Sorrow use as a hanger for their aircraft. My friends are gathered behind me on beta flyer’s ramp. Takers drift restlessly through the darkness around us, just visible enough to make the little hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up.
“Please, Tarn,” I say, finishing up my hastily explained request. “We need your help.”
Tarn doesn’t respond. He just stands there, invisible beneath the heavy drape of his glowing robes. The grass-green Sorrow he called Nor hovers beside him. Nor’s biolight is so dimmed by her robes that she looks like a shadow, in comparison to Tarn’s brilliance.
“What makes you think Lucille Brown is alive?” Tarn asks finally.
I swallow hard. Am I wrong? Please, don’t let me be wrong.
“You’re building a spaceship,” I say. “Having a 3D printer and plans doesn’t mean you can build a ship that’ll actually survive in space. Much less fly one. You’d need an experienced engineer and pilot to do that.”
“The only probable candidate to fill that role is Dr. Brown,” Beth says. “Which makes it likely that she is, in fact, still alive.”
“If she is, then we have to keep her safe,” I say. “The planet scrubbers on the Vulcan won’t work as long as she’s on the planet. That means she’s the only thing stopping our grandfather from massacring us all and starting over with a new group of survivors from the Prairie.”
“If she’s alive, the admiral will know it,” Chris says. “The moment he activates the scrubbers, the Vulcan will alert him that she’s still on the surface. And if we’re right, and he’s already tried, then I’m sure he’s using our satellite system to search for her right now.”
“We have to find her before he does,” I say. “And I think you can help us do that.”
“Why should I?” Tarn asks.
It’s a valid question. I knew it was coming. I’ve been trying to think of a good answer since I realized Dr. Brown was probably still alive, but I haven’t found one yet.
Logically, Grandpa is right. Conflict between our species is inevitable. The safest thing for the Sorrow would be to let Grandpa wipe us out and then attack his new team before they have time to get oriented.
But letting us die isn’t the best thing Tarn can do for his people. I’m sure of it.
I just don’t know why.
“You don’t have to help us,” Jay says from behind me. “The admiral will kill her if he finds her. It would be wrong to just let her die.”
Tarn pushes his hood back. As usual, his eyes are unbound. Their black orbs shine in his yellow biolight as he paces to where Jay is leaning against the flyer.
“That might be so,” Tarn says. �
�But wearing this mantle means I must do what is right for my people. That isn’t always the same as what is right.”
Abruptly, I know the answer to Tarn’s question.
“My grandfather agrees with you,” I say. “But you’re not going to help us because it’s right. You’re going to help us because it’s better.”
Tarn turns back to me. “Because you are, to borrow a human phrase, the devil I know?”
“No,” I say. “Because it’s better. We tried fighting each other. We lost six marines, four weeks of work, and a space shuttle we could really use right now. You lost twelve Takers. And how much raw did you actually get from the 3D shop? A few dozen kilos?”
Tarn doesn’t answer.
“It can’t possibly have been enough,” I say. “Which means death and destruction is all any of us got by acting in what’s supposed to be our own self-interest. But when we don’t, it’s—”
I stop myself before I repeat it’s better again.
“You could have killed us, after your Takers found us at that burned-out nest,” I say. “You could have killed me before that. At the Landing. But you didn’t. Which meant I was there to see the solace roots dying and warn you. I stopped my people from burning any more trees. I think I could have stopped it altogether, without anyone else dying, but then your Takers showed up. Then we were fighting again and everything got so—” I cut myself off. I don’t want to sound like I’m blaming his Takers for defending their home.
“After everything, you saved my life,” I say, trying a different tack. “Why did you do that?”
Nor hisses something in Sorrow that feels like sticking my hand in boiling water.
“I acted on impulse,” Tarn says. His voice pops with heat. Anger. Or fear, I can’t tell.
“You acted on instinct,” I say. “Because it’s better. Helping each other is better.”
“I almost died helping you,” he points out. “It wasn’t better for me.”
“But it was!” I cry. “While the Givers were healing you, the Sorrow made their first meaningful connection with the phytoraptors.” A strangled laugh squeezes my lungs. “The raptors figured it out before we did. They helped you, even though you’ve been their enemy for as long as anyone can remember. But they promised to protect the solace grove. Your home. A city built of their ancestors’ bones. Because it’s better. Working together is better.”
“Perhaps it was,” Tarn says. “But if your grandfather is truly prepared to destroy his own people, then I don’t need to work with you. All I have to do is wait.”
“Maybe,” I say, hoping I don’t sound as desperate as I’m starting to feel. “But he’ll bring more survivors down from the colony ship. There will still be a war. Sorrow will die, fighting it. And they’ll attack the solace grove again. You know that. How many more trees will you lose?”
“Cooperation does not guarantee peace,” Tarn says.
“You told me once that the Followed decides who your people are. My grandfather thinks we have to destroy you if we want to survive. I came here to help you stop him, because I don’t want that to be who we are. I think there’s a better way. I don’t know what it is, but I came anyway. I placed my bet. Now it’s your turn. You can let us die and then fight Grandpa and Shelby and whoever else they bring down with them from the Prairie. Or you can help us protect Dr. Brown and we can work together to stop Grandpa and Shelby. Which do you choose?”
I hold my breath as Tarn studies me. Impassive. I wish I knew how to read Sorrow facial expressions. I don’t know if he understands what I’m trying to say. I don’t know if he cares.
Tarn turns to Nor and says something in their language. Nor snaps a reply that makes me feel like the floor just got ripped out from under my feet. Then the pale green Sorrow covers her face with her hands, palms out.
Yes.
“Nor will fly,” Tarn says in English. Then he walks up the ramp into our flyer.
Twenty-Three
I sleep.
I don’t mean to, but my body insists. When I wake up, we’re over open water. There’s no land visible in any direction.
Nor is in the pilot seat. Tarn is sitting beside her. Hood up. Staring out at the waves ahead of us. Leela and Chris are sleeping and Beth is working on her flex.
Jay is hunched in his chair, watching Nor fly. He’s digging his fingers into the armrests like he’s afraid he’ll float away. Or lunge across the flyer at Nor.
He’s figured out that she killed Hart.
I catch his eye. He looks away.
That hurts, which is silly. Jay isn’t obligated to share his feelings with me.
Or maybe he is.
I don’t know how this works. I’ve never been in a relationship this serious. I don’t even know how serious this relationship is. I told Jay that I love him and he hasn’t acknowledged it. Of course, we’ve been a little busy since then. But we might not live past tomorrow. If there was ever a moment to talk about our feelings, it’s now.
Maybe he doesn’t love me.
Maybe I need to stop worrying about my love life and focus.
The problem is, with Nor in the pilot’s seat, I have nothing to focus on. She seems to know what she’s doing. And I can’t even back-seat fly, because she’s crouched in her chair, navigating on a flex that’s nearly hidden in the folds of her dark gray robe.
Nor’s eyes jump to Tarn’s brooding form every few minutes. She’s worried about him. I wonder if she loves him. I wonder if he knows.
The water below us looks like shattered green glass scattered over shiny black solar tile. This ocean is deep and rough. And enormous. Crossing it will take six hours at top speed. If Grandpa gets to Dr. Brown before we do, we won’t make it back in time to say goodbye to our families.
Of course, getting to Dr. Brown isn’t going to be easy for any of us. The Rangers didn’t do a full survey of the southern continent. They thought it might be uninhabitable, or at least so dangerous that it wasn’t worth going too far inland without an established infrastructure on planet to back them up.
When the Planetary Survey Report first came in, that didn’t seem like a big deal. We didn’t need the whole planet to be safe, after all. Earth isn’t.
Wasn’t.
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.
My eyes drift back to Tarn.
Why is he here?
I had expected Tarn to just tell us where Dr. Brown is. Well, actually, I had expected Dr. Brown to be somewhere in the Solace. But there was no reason for Tarn to come with us. Less than no reason. A sense memory of the unsettling, out-of-tune hum of the city jangles my skin. His people are in turmoil. They need him. He should have just given us coordinates. Or asked Nor to take us to Dr. Brown on her own.
But I guess his motives for coming along don’t matter. All that matters is that we get to Dr. Brown before Grandpa finds her and kills her so that he can trigger the scrubbers and kill us all.
Grandpa is trying to kill us.
The thought is so ridiculous that I want to laugh. Or scream.
Why is he doing this?
I’m just not brave enough, Little Moth.
That’s what he said. But it doesn’t make any sense. None of this makes any sense.
It’s like a whole other person I’ve never met has crawled into my grandfather’s skin. The man who taught me to swim, to hike, to drive, to fly . . . that man couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t. That man would have died on Earth, fighting to save it with his last breath. So how did he become . . . this?
Tears drip down my face. My chest heaves with sobs I refuse to release. I don’t want the comfort they’ll draw from my friends. Or the release they’ll bring.
I don’t want to feel better.
I swipe at my burning eyes and yank the band out of my hair. It’s sticky with dried sweat and ash. I lean forward, letting my hair fall straight down from my head so I can gather it into a knot. When I straighten up again, Tarn is crouched in the empty chair beside mine.
I just barely manage not to shriek in surprise.
“Hello, Joanna,” Tarn half sings, painting the tactile sensations of his own language over the English words. The sonar draws a memory from the depths of my brain—surfing with Miguel in Australia, back on Earth. Paddling hard, my heart racing and Miguel encouraging me to paddle even harder as a wave roars up behind us.
What does that mean? What is Tarn feeling? Exhilaration? No, that doesn’t make any sense. Fear does. Anticipation. But his sonic undertones carry something more than that. Something I don’t really understand.
“Thank you,” I say, finally. “For . . .” I don’t know how to put it. Thank you for not just letting us die seems like a weird thing to say.
“It is I who should thank you,” he says. The same tense terror/joy supercharging the words.
That was not what I was expecting. At all.
“The timing of your request for help was . . . fortuitous,” he adds.
“It was?”
He raises his hands to cover his face, palms out. “Shortly after you left the Solace, one of the Takers came to Nor and asked her to back a challenge against me. It was not a surprising development. When I first became Followed, this Taker argued that we should finish what Ord started and wipe you all out.”
“But you gave us time to rebuild our shuttle and go home instead,” I say, putting it together. “So we were still here when the Prairie arrived.”
“And now we will never be rid of you,” Tarn said. “My people may have followed me to their doom.”
I shake my head. “No, Tarn, you saved your whole planet when you saved us.”
“I do not see how that could be true,” he says.
“But it is,” I insist. “Before we left Earth, Mom spent months doing a test mission on the Prairie. The big ship that followed us here. She’s a prototype. A lot of her systems weren’t really ready for a long space flight, but there was no time to perfect her. When the Prairie got to Tau, her solar power system failed. Her orbit was decaying. She didn’t have enough power to fight the planet’s gravity. Everyone who knew how to fix her was dead, except Mom. If you had let those Takers kill us, kill her, then the Prairie would have fallen out of orbit, crashed into Tau, and caused a catastrophic impact event that could have destroyed the Sorrow.”
The Survivor Page 20