Onliest

by J Daniel Batt

  Above them, the light bay flickered on. It strobed a few times and then gave a short pop before dimming off. Syn froze. Had her presence turned it on? No, it had to be a short in the wiring. Just bad timing. Had to be.

  Syn was still staring up, fearful another would turn on, when they reached the edge of the first greenhouse, the light from inside spilling out onto the ground. Kerwen pulled a knife from her belt and said, “Be ready.”

  Syn brought the point of her spear low, aiming it forward.

  Kerwen pushed lightly at the door, and it creaked as it pivoted open. “Shhh!” Kerwen said, although Syn knew she had not made a noise and the door was not going to obey a command to be silent.

  Softly, hunched low, the girl stepped inside. Syn could see how she had snuck up on them in the desert. Kerwen was as stealth as a cat. She wasn’t sure which one was stealthier: Pigeon or Kerwen. No, Pigeon was a ghost—the girl moved around as if the world held no pull upon her.

  Kerwen’s light moved in a slow arc across the room revealing a bank of tables that short stalks grew upon. Beyond those, in another series of rows, stood circular metal wire frames around lush, leafy growth. Bright red tomatoes hung from the vines. Beyond those, several trees craned up, their red fruit as bright as the tomatoes. They stepped closer and Syn counted nine trees. Nine apple trees heavy with fruit.

  “Keep an eye out.”

  “For what?” Syn said.

  Kerwen started to answer but was interrupted as Syn entered the greenhouse and stepped over the threshold. The track lighting across the ground turned on, bathing everything in an iridescent green light. The bulbs flickered first across the floor, then the ones up each metallic strut, and then finally the remainder of lights overhead—every light except the already lit sunstrips turned on. Between the two sources, the room glowed like a sunny day on Syn’s Disc—she hadn’t seen so much light since she first crossed over.

  Kerwen gasped, “What the—?”

  Syn made a critical error—in her surprise, she failed to act shocked. She was startled but not afraid. The lights, while unexpected, were not alarming.

  And Kerwen noticed. “What just happened?” Her eyes were narrow, and she expected an answer.

  Syn stuttered, stepping back, feigning a glance around. “I—I don’t know.” Yet, as she falsely examined her surroundings, the red apples caught her eye. The condensation upon their surface in the late morning reflected the multitude of lights. Syn let go a quiet, “Woah,” briefly ignoring Kerwen.

  “What?” Kerwen turned and saw what Syn saw. The sight ahead was beautiful. Each apple looked as if dipped in diamonds, glistening in the light. Those tucked into the tree appeared as galaxies, a thousand points of light, spinning around an ancient core. Kerwen’s mouth hung open, and she stepped forward under the closest tree, picking an apple from a branch and holding it up. “How did all these lights turn on?” She turned to Syn. “Did you do this?”

  Syn’s mind raced, but she couldn’t think of an answer. “I—” As she spoke, a second series of lights snapped on—hundreds of white and violet lights floated out of the upper rafters and swarmed through the tops of the trees. Small drones spun around and about the upper limbs, clearing them of various debris. Their light added to the spectacle, and Syn felt as if she was surrounded by a thousand fireflies, all swimming in a coordinated ballet.

  Syn started again, the truth spilling out of her. “Yes.” It felt wrong to lie in the midst of the silent, brilliant display.

  Several of the drone lights dropped down and circled around the two girls. Kerwen giggled. “Wow. This is amazing.” She held the apple out to Syn as the firefly bots danced around. “How?”

  Syn took the apple and held it out from her, fearful as if some snake might pop out from it. “You’re not mad?”

  Kerwen raced off into the grove. “Look, oranges.”

  Syn slid the apple into her pack and followed. “But—”

  They raced through a pack of the firefly bots tending to an older tree and scattered the lights about them. One snagged in Kerwen’s hair and was pulled along with her, struggling to break free.

  Kerwen picked an orange and ripped into the peel, tearing it off in huge chunks as the juice dripped onto her fingers. She took a huge bite and gave an audible, “Yum!” She held it out to Syn. “Try it.” Her mouth was full of pulp, and the words came out garbled. “We didn’t think these ones would ever make oranges. I kept watering ‘em but Neci always said it wasn’t warm enough. But look.” She held her hands out wide and spun around.

  Syn took a bite of the orange, and the taste was better than Kerwen’s reaction had led her to hope. Sharp, sweet, and full of juice—the orange flooded her taste buds.

  Kerwen stopped spinning and grabbed both of Syn’s shoulders. “How?”

  Syn reached up and freed the firefly bot stuck in Kerwen’s halo of hair, letting it fly back to its friends. “I don’t know. But I know it’s me. Wherever I go, the ship turns on.”

  “Woah!” Kerwen said, “Really? Not just the lights?”

  Syn shook her head. “No. Everything. The doors. The consoles.”

  “Why you? You’re one of us. We can’t get anything to turn on. Except the Jacobs. We can hotwire door panels. But nothing else. Our companions could but we took it for granted, and once we killed them—”

  “What?” Syn stammered, “You killed them?”

  Kerwen stepped back. “Neci hated them. She hates every machine. She kept telling us that Olorun was spying on us through them. That’s why no bots came in Zondon. She figured out that her companion was talking to Olorun and that was why her plans kept failing. So, she made us kill them.”

  “You did it…willingly?”

  “Stop! That’s not the point! You can make the ship work! That’s important. How? What do you do?”

  “No. I’m not telling you until you tell me about your companions. What happened? How could you kill them?”

  Kerwen sighed. “Fine.”

  Neci had found a way to get us all together. Back then, we were in the upper settlements, hiding out from the humans still alive. They were insane. The world hadn’t been burned yet. The Madness had gripped everything though, and our Sisters kept dying.

  Two different times we had tried to get rid of the remaining humans, but something had gone wrong. That’s when Neci had the idea.

  She rounded us up and laid out her plan. “One by one, I’m going to send you each off on missions. When your companion isn’t paying attention, shut it off. They’re spying on us. They’re not helping us out. They’re keeping a watch on us for her.” She sneered every time she mentioned her. Olorun.

  There were several that protested, but Neci pushed. “We’re Sisters. We’re flesh and blood. They’re bots. They’re machines. They’re more her than us. They’re always watching us, filming us, and talking to God above.”

  Soon, she won everyone over. Some she had to go to privately and talk them into it, but ultimately, everyone gave in. Well, at least we thought. Everyone went out in one day with their companions and each Sister came back without. Some bragged about how they did it. Others wept. I knew then that some were lying. Some had told the plan to their companions and allowed the bots to flee and hide. Some found ways to stay in contact with theirs. None of those are still with us.

  That night, Neci waited to kill hers when everyone was back. As it began to panic as the lack of companions mounted, Neci cornered him. His name was Puck. He pleaded with her, but instead of just hitting the off switch, she took a metal crowbar to him, bashing him over and over. I can remember her standing over Puck’s shattered corpse, wires and fluids spilling out, shouting, “I blinded God. I blinded her. She can’t see us. She can’t hear us. We’re free!”

  Neci moved a lot faster with her plans after that.

  “How did you do it?” Syn asked, orange juice still dripping from her chin.

  Kerwen lowered her head. “I couldn’t do it the way Neci wanted. I just moved behi
nd Squirrel—”

  “Your companion was named Squirrel?”

  Kerwen nodded, and the dazzling lights from the greenhouse and the firefly bots glinted off of the juice around her lips and the tear rolling down her cheek. “I just reached up and slid my finger across the off switch. He dropped to the ground, and I couldn’t move him. I wasn’t thinking about that part. We were in the middle of a courtyard, and he just slammed into the ground, and I think he’s still there. He hasn’t moved since.”

  Syn gushed out, “The ship just turns on wherever I go. I can’t control it. At least, I can’t prevent it. I can tell it to turn off, and it usually does. Most of the time.”

  Kerwen looked up. “Can you turn the machines off just by talking? Or back on?”

  Syn tilted her head, unsure what Kerwen meant.

  Kerwen said, “Can you turn the companions on? If we went to where Squirrel was, could you turn him back on? I’ve tried. It won’t work. Once I turned him off, that’s the last he responded to me.”

  “You want to do that?”

  Kerwen shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe. No. Maybe. I just hate not having that choice. Neci made that choice for us, and I’ve had to live with it. She’d kill me if she knew I even thought about it.” Kerwen took a step back, taking in the spectacle of lights. “It’s like a Christmas tree.”

  Syn smiled, doing the same. “Ya. It is.”

  “Wow, you’re just full of secrets. I think we’re quite similar.”

  Syn shook her head, “We’re all similar.”

  “No,” Kerwen looked at the oranges on the ground, picking up and tossing aside a rotten one. “Maybe at one time. Maybe when we all left the white room. But not now. They’re not like us.”

  “Like us?”

  Kerwen smiled and pulled a ripe orange from a branch, holding it up and examining it. “We’re still good. For the most part.” She dropped it in the bag looped across her back. “Let’s fill this up and get back. We don’t want Taji coming looking for us.”

  Syn went back to the apple tree, filling her arms with fresh fruit. The two loaded up several bags until they were quite heavy, but not impossible to tote.

  Kerwen walked backwards to the door. “We still have a long walk and a long climb. Let’s not overdo it.” She popped out her flashlight and flicked it on, although its light was lost in the array around them. “Can you turn them off?”

  Syn nodded. “Lights off,” she commanded. The greenhouse obeyed. All faded out except the persistent miniature sunstrips, and the room was left in the eerie incandescent glow of false UV light.

  Kerwen exited, shining the light ahead of her. “Wow! Just wow. Neci is going to be so happy!”

  Syn shouted, “Wait! No!” racing up to catch her. Syn grabbed Kerwen’s elbow. “No. You can’t.”

  “You don’t understand—this changes everything! We won’t be stuck in Zondon. We won’t be stuck on this side.”

  “Please! Promise me! You can’t tell her.”

  Kerwen stopped, shining the flashlight in Syn’s face. “Why not?”

  Syn’s mind raced. She couldn’t let Neci know that she was different. Neci would figure out that she came from the other Disc. She wasn’t sure she was ready to give up that secret. At least not yet. “She doesn’t trust me already. Let me tell her. Please. On my own.” And, like most of what Syn had said, it was some of the truth. She had known everything about who she was would come out, but she didn’t want to give up her secret world, not until she was sure she could trust them. They were savage, but she was beginning to understand why. Each step they took today brought her closer to deciding to reveal it all. But it had to be her that told. If Neci discovered it otherwise, she wouldn’t trust Syn at all. And then the secret would be out, and without Neci’s trust, Syn would have no say in what happened after.

  Kerwen met her eyes. “You’re going to tell her?”

  Syn nodded. “Yes.” Just maybe not right away. “Soon.”

  “Promise? Cause if she finds out I knew and didn’t tell her, she’ll have my hide.”

  Syn smiled. “I promise. Promise to let me tell her?”

  Kerwen nodded in kind, mirroring Syn’s actions. “I promise.”

  32

  Collecting the Dead

  “The best way to make dreams come true is to wake up.”

  —Muhammed Ali

  The march back through the wild landscape of overgrowth and burned crops took less time than Syn imagined. As they passed the tomatoes, Syn shone her light across them. “Should we get those?”

  Kerwen shook her head. “Tried before. They smash too easy, and you’re left with mush. The climb up is too tough.”

  “Could I try?”

  “Fine by me. You’re going to have a mess.”

  Syn walked through the tangled vines roughly growing until she reached the tomato plants. Tucking her spear into the crook of her arm, she popped one of the tomatoes off and held it up. It did feel mushy. Soft as she touched it. Ugh—Kerwen was right. This would break everywhere. They can’t all be this soft? She swept her lights across the plants, searching for one that looked more solid.

  In the light, nestled between a few plants two rows back, something reflected the light back to her with an orange brilliance. Syn jumped back in surprise and swept the light back. Eyes. Two bright orange eyes with slitted pupils stared back at her—whatever those eyes belonged to, it was huge.

  Syn muttered, “Hello?” She knew those eyes. She had seen those eyes before.

  “What?” Kerwen shouted, far behind her.

  Syn gave a half-hearted “Shh!” hoping to not disturb the creature. She should be frightened, but for some reason she wasn’t. She knew these eyes.

  Syn took a step forward and said, “Eku?”

  With a single step, silent as its paw rested in the soil, a tiger slid out of the shadows. Orange and black, fierce and lean, the tiger strode forward with hungry intent.

  Syn leaned forward, narrowing her eyes, and held out her hand to it. “Eku? It’s me. Syn. How’d you get over here?”

  In reply, the tiger growled and dropped its head lower, never breaking eye contact. Its black teeth glistened with its own saliva.

  “Eku, what’s wrong? It’s me.” As she leaned in, the spear, resting against her arm, fell forward. Syn diverted her gaze to see her weapon drop.

  In the half-second of distraction, the tiger leapt at her, growling, claws extended to swipe at her.

  Seeing the orange and black blur move toward her, Syn jerked back, tripping over a vine. Her flashlight dropped from her hand, and the light spun away. The tiger’s leap was halted, and it fell to the ground, splashing dirt around it—the light of its eyes flashing out at once. Its front paw slammed into Syn’s chest, the weight of it pinning her to the ground. She screamed and struggled to free herself.

  “Eku!” Syn screeched, pushing the huge claw off, and rolling away in the dirt. The tiger did not move. Syn pushed herself up, sweating and panting and crying. Her vision blurred, and she saw dark figures silhouetted by the smaller ceiling sunstrips.

  “Stupid girl,” a gruff voice said. “What were you doing?”

  Syn gave another short mutter, “Eku,” and worked to wipe the tears and sweat from her eyes.

  “What is an eku?” the voice continued, and Syn felt a sharp jab of pain in her leg. “Get up,” the voice continued. Taji—the voice belonged to Taji. Syn glanced up and saw the brute of a girl standing above her. Taji had kicked her and was rearing back to do it again.

  Kerwen interjected, “Stop it! Let her up. She’s new. She didn’t know.”

  Syn came to her feet and took a moment to get her balance. At her feet lay the body of the tiger, a knife hilt protruding from the base of its skull.

  That’s not Eku.

  She moved from staring at the knife to Taji. “You saved me?” Syn stammered.

  Taji yanked the blade out and wiped the blood on her shirt. “You stupid girl. Everything here wants to
kill you.” She leaned forward and tapped Syn on the forehead. “Don’t forget that.”

  Kerwen picked up Syn’s flashlight and spear, handing them to her. “What were you doing?” she whispered.

  “I—I thought…” But how could she explain what she was doing? Eku wasn’t here. Eku was on a world that these girls didn’t know. “I thought it was…” Tigers don’t attack me. They’ve never attacked me. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

  Kerwen sighed. “Hate to say it, but she’s right. You have to remember that everything around us wants to kill us.” She turned around and started walking toward the ladder, still a long way away. “How did you survive as long as you did on your own?” Kerwen asked, shaking her head.

  “But…aren’t they programmed?” She stammered. As the words slipped out, she blushed at her own naivety. Of course these aren’t programmed to not hurt me. This isn’t my Disc.

  If Kerwen and Taji heard that question, they had ignored it. They’d walked on, leaving her there alone.

  Syn turned her flashlight in her hands and brushed the dirt from her back. Several apples had fallen from the other bag she was carrying, and she picked those up one by one. Kerwen was already walking away, putting distance between the two. Syn stood over the huge tiger dead at her feet—one of the apples lay next to its paw, and she slowly, carefully leaned over and picked it up, her eyes wide and waiting for movement. Please be dead. Yet, the thought hurt her. The beast before her resembled Eku. Syn fingered the pendant of the orange tiger at her neck. She couldn’t imagine Eku dead. Syn couldn’t grasp that everything over here was wanting to kill her—she just wasn’t in tune to that level of danger. But could the Sisters lower their guard and not see everything as a threat on her side? Moments before, she had been near telling Kerwen of her side—she had thought she would tell them all. But now? Would they be able to leave their cruelty and suspicion on this side of the gate? Yet, how would Taji react when she saw Eku for the first time?