All genetic treatments were extensively tested. That was why when a Korvali scientist finalized a new genetic therapy, it worked and it worked well, every time.
But there had been no time. When Eshel found out the escape party’s departure date, he’d barely had enough time to finish the therapy, much less test it.
He could not pass up the opportunity. A chance like this came only rarely, and if he didn’t take it, by the time another chance presented itself, it would be too late. Korvalis would be lost.
No matter, Eshel told himself. The therapy, even untested, was still useful currency with the Sunai. They would leap at the chance to work with him, particularly if it meant them getting the opportunity before the humans did. If the Sunai granted him lab space, he could test the therapy and continue his work.
Eshel crossed a small stone bridge that spanned a burbling creek. Soon, he reached his home and passed the trees and flowers he had tended to himself. He entered a code into the console and opened the door.
It was dark inside. He approached the atrium in the center of the home, faint moonlight illuminating the small pond and the vines that crept up the glass.
When he reached another room, there, at her desk, sat his mother, Fashal. Waiting for him.
Her eyes had narrowed, and in her expression was a tumult of feelings she would say little of. She didn’t need to. Eshel knew exactly what she thought of his plans.
“How much time?” she said quietly.
“Only minutes.”
Fashal sat there, perfectly still, in the way that Othniel said Eshel had also perfected. If his father’s words had power, his mother’s silences had equal potency.
“I do not like this,” Fashal finally said.
“I know.”
“Is it necessary?”
Eshel hesitated. “Yes.”
She stood up, almost as tall as Eshel, and stared him down in the way only she was capable. “Why must it be you?”
“You know why. And if not me, then who?”
“I do not like risking my only son so that he may have some small chance to fulfill his father’s ideals.”
“I share his ideals, Mother.”
Fashal said nothing. She’d known this to be true for some time, but perhaps had hoped Eshel would let go of his attachment to such radical ideas now that Othniel no longer wielded such influence. But for Eshel, the opposite had occurred.
They sat.
Eshel remained with her for a time, then got up to gather the rest of his things. He would bring little: only an extra robe, his belongings from the lab, and a couple extra items, which he tucked into a metal box. Anything else he needed was stored in his considerable memory, to be wielded when the time came.
When it was time for Eshel to go, he stood face to face with his mother once more. He raised a long-fingered hand to her head, and she did the same to him, and they briefly touched cheeks. Eshel hesitated one more moment, ensuring this image of his mother was imprinted onto his memory.
Then he turned and left.
* * *
It was still dark out. The thick mist remained, making it difficult to see more than a few meters ahead. It reminded Eshel of what was to come. Unseen territory, with many unknowns.
In the cover of the dark fog, Eshel silently walked to the rendezvous point. He wore the black robe of the Korvali Guard, issued to him and the others by Mosel the previous day.
Unease spread through him again, but worse this time. Now, Eshel questioned whether this was a brilliant idea… or a foolish one. His father believed the former, his mother the latter. He respected them equally.
He was about to embark on a journey that would, at best, force him to live among people he had no desire to live with, eat food he didn’t want to eat, leave all that mattered to him. And at worst, he would be caught and imprisoned, killed, or, more likely, once discovered he was Shereb, the Shereb leadership would take him to the remote territories and leave him to die.
At that moment, Eshel couldn’t decide which was the most likely outcome.
He could forgo the mission. He could stop right now, return home, then go to his laboratory to do what mattered most to him: conduct science.
Eshel felt himself slow down, imagining the outcome of that particular choice. He could sleep, then return to his lab. He could continue developing a body of scientific work, including genetic therapies that would combat disease. That would help his people, certainly. And wasn’t that what he wanted?
Yes. It was.
But then what? The therapies wouldn’t be shared with enemy clans unless the leadership felt generous toward them, or the clans acknowledged the leadership’s continued sovereignty. The leadership would never allow Eshel to visit the outerworlds and would certainly never permit sharing what he’d discovered with outsiders. With time, if he expressed any sort of argument or criticism of these policies—a certainty, given Eshel’s nature—they would cease funding his work or just have him killed.
Nothing would change.
Korvalis would deteriorate.
At that moment, any division of mind Eshel had fought with vanished. There was but one solution to this problem, and he’d known it for a long time.
He must go. He must endure the risks and the sacrifice. Any other option was nothing but cowardice.
Eshel sped up his pace again.
Soon, he arrived at the train. It would take him out of Shereb territory and into that of the Osecal.
And then, into the unknown.
7
When Eshel arrived at the rendezvous point, he spotted several people in black Guard robes. Five of the others, waiting for Mosel and the shuttle that would take them to Station 12.
They stood within a small but dense forest that would obscure their view from anyone awake at that hour. When Eshel peered in the distance, he saw a shuttlecraft hidden under the crown of a large seshac tree, where Mosel probably waited.
Eshel greeted the others, two Moshal and three Osecal. They looked at him but said nothing, as if still unsure whether including him was a wise choice. Soon, three more Osecal arrived, and they entered the shuttle.
Mosel appeared from the pilot’s seat, took a quick head count, then told everyone to get seated and secure their seat restraints. Eshel waited for the others to select a seat before he took the last one and engaged his restraint.
“When we arrive,” Mosel said, “wait in the shuttle until I can escort each of you to the ship’s bay. When your turn comes, I will give you a device on which to read. Do not make eye contact with others and do not reveal your clan crest.” She glanced at Eshel. “This is most important for you, Shereb. Any suspicion that you are Shereb, and our attempt fails.”
Eshel offered no argument.
Mosel took her seat, and soon the shuttle’s engine engaged and they began to take flight. Eshel stared out the window, seeing only dark mist and leaves until they rose above the treetops. In the distance, the moonlight, dimmed by clouds, shined upon the ocean.
Eshel took it all in. The noise of the craft’s engine. The sensation of moving in the air. The sweeping view that only Air Guardsmen and birds saw. It was the first time he’d ever been in a ship.
Then the vista was gone, replaced by darkness. They’d entered the cloud cover. Before long, the shuttle broke through, and Eshel saw an even more astonishing sight.
The sky above, growing lighter with the impending dawn, completely unobscured by clouds. The moon and stars, bright and clear. And Korvalis below, holes in the cloud cover revealing sparkling lights on land and the shimmer of the dark oceans.
Then noise, clamor, and shaking. They were exiting their atmosphere. And soon they reached space, the sky no longer a sky but something else entirely, something vast or even endless, beckoning him with the promise of worlds beyond and all the possibility that came with them. At that moment, something in Eshel awakened, and for the first time he felt a strange sensation.
Excitement. Fear too, yes. But exciteme
nt, something he had not expected.
He turned to observe his fellow absconders, to share in what they too would be feeling, given that most of them had never left their planet’s surface.
But instead of wonder in their expressions, most sat still—too still—their faces paled. Several had closed their eyes, while others stared straight ahead, appearing to avoid the spectacular view other than the occasional sidelong glance, after which they quickly averted their eyes.
Perplexed, Eshel stared at them a moment longer, until he turned away, the lure of the window and its sights too powerful to ignore. And that’s when he spotted it. The structure in the distance, appearing to float in space.
Station 12.
One of the twenty-one stations that resided outside the planet’s atmosphere, surrounding Korvalis and providing the invisible but very real net that no outsider dared breach without serious consequences.
And that no Korvali citizen dared to cross.
Mosel’s voice interrupted his gazing. They would arrive in five minutes.
* * *
Eshel sat in the shuttle, eyeing his small bag filled with his few necessities. It was all he had now. His sense of excitement had faded, replaced by a watchful eye, a mind rehearsing what needed doing, and a discomfort he wasn’t sure how to describe.
Fear of some kind. But one he didn’t understand, hadn’t felt before. Perhaps the fear the others had displayed in the shuttle had finally settled upon him.
Only one of his fellow escapees—the older Moshal man—remained in the shuttle, the rest having been escorted to the bay from which they would escape. Eshel felt the older man’s occasional stare, and wanted to know what had possessed him to take such a risk. But he said nothing. They would have plenty of time for such talk on the long journey to Suna. Soon, Mosel came for the older man, leaving Eshel alone.
When she returned, Eshel stood, his belongings tucked underneath his robe.
“It is time,” Mosel said. “Where is it?”
Eshel patted his pocket, where he’d stowed the newly-made bioweapon.
“Once we deploy it, how long will we have?”
“Less than a minute.”
Mosel hesitated. “It will not harm them permanently, correct?”
“It will not. It will merely disable them for an hour or so before the effect wears off.”
Mosel eyed him for a moment, as if part of her didn’t want to believe him. He understood. Nobody trusted a Shereb. Not after the reputation they had earned.
“If it does otherwise, you will share their fate,” she said coldly.
“It won’t,” Eshel said, hiding his irritation. To not trust him was one thing; to doubt his abilities, quite another.
He followed Mosel out of the shuttle bay and into a hallway. He held the tablet she’d given him, pretending to read as he kept his head down, all the while hyperaware of every detail.
The white hallway. The black-robed Guardsman passing. The feel of his belongings strapped to his body under his robe. And the weird mix of feelings that gripped him, fear and determination, the latter taking precedence.
When they drew closer to a door, Mosel glanced at it, indicating it was the door, behind which the others waited. They passed it by, and as they neared the room where they could gain access to the station’s ventilation system, a Guardsman approached.
Eshel continued “reading,” but sensed the Guardsman slow. Then stop.
He didn’t want to look up. But he knew if he didn’t, it would look suspicious. He glanced up briefly before returning to his tablet.
“What is it?” Mosel said to the Guardsman.
“Who are you?”
Eshel looked up again, knowing the question was aimed at him. “I am Rasar. From Station Twenty.” The lie was out his mouth before he could doubt himself.
“I did not authorize any visit from Station Twenty,” she said.
“I did,” Mosel said. “We’ve had problems with our communicators and this is Rasar’s specialty.”
The woman hesitated a moment. Eshel stared at her, ignoring his overactive inner alert systems. She suspected him. Partly because she didn’t know his face, but also because he didn’t have the darker hair of the Moshal. Not all Guard were Moshal, but most were.
The woman, not appearing entirely satisfied, continued on her way. Probably to double check Eshel’s story. Eshel wasn’t concerned. In a matter of a minute, she would be unable to function.
Mosel and Eshel waited a moment, then entered the small room that offered access to the ventilation system. Eshel adhered the weapon to the inside of the duct, released the trigger, and sealed it shut. The weapon would spread throughout the station, affecting everyone in it. Everywhere but the ship bays, which had separate ventilation systems.
Eshel followed Mosel quickly. They took one last look around, then entered their bay.
Inside, the others waited in the ship, as Mosel had instructed. Eshel took his seat, put on his restraints, and began watching the time as Mosel took the final step in their plan. She sent a message to the other twenty stations that she was testing one of the ships, so they wouldn’t pursue. Then, after receiving confirmation, she shut communications down for the station.
One minute. Then two.
Three.
Then, the shuttle bay door opened… and out they went.
It was fast. So fast that Eshel felt like the breath had left his body and his lungs could no longer take in oxygen. It wasn’t long before they crossed the invisible net. Eshel could not see or feel this net, but somehow he knew when they crossed it.
That line, that barrier, was everything. It was the thing that had protected them from the “inferiors” for centuries. It was also the thing that had weakened them as a people.
And Eshel knew right then that nothing would ever be the same.
A loud beep sounded. Too loud. Mosel checked her console, staring at something as if she hadn’t expected it.
“What is it?” Eshel asked.
“We are being hailed.”
“By another station?”
“No. By someone at Twelve.”
“That should not be possible,” Eshel said, feeling the others sit up straight and turn their gazes to him.
The weapon should have worked. Had he made a mistake in his haste? Impossible! Yet, they were being hailed.
They continued to soar through the vacuum of space, everyone stiff with tense silence. Finally, Mosel spoke.
“Brace yourselves. We are being pursued.”
8
Eshel waited in the tense silence as the ship took them deeper into the blackness of space. He badly wanted to know what had happened, how anyone on Station 12 could have the wherewithal to even know they’d escaped, much less come after them.
He peered out the window, watching Korvalis shrink as they got farther away, searching for the pursuing ship. Then, there it was.
After running a few mental calculations, Eshel decided, based on Mosel’s information, that they had an adequate lead on the pursuing ship. A distant pursuer wasn’t as good as none at all, but a good lead was all they needed.
However, judging by the strain that showed in Mosel’s jaw and neck, they weren’t out of danger.
A loud crack sounded, jolting the ship and throwing Eshel against his restraints so hard that he wondered if he’d fractured his rib cage. Weapons. The pursuing ship had launched an attack. Eshel knew little of what that meant. Only Guard were taught such things.
Eshel looked out the window again. The ship was still there. He braced himself for another assault. But it never came.
Out the window, the ship seemed to grow smaller, until it finally turned and headed in the opposite direction. Back to Korvalis.
They’d retreated.
But Mosel remained focused on her job. After several endless minutes of silence, where Mosel seemed to be searching for something, she finally unlatched her restraints, stood, and faced them as the young Moshal took over her sea
t.
“What happened?” said one of the Osecal.
“We were fired upon,” she said. “But the ship has reversed course.”
“So the much-anticipated Shereb weapon failed,” sneered one of the Osecal scientists, a male who hadn’t wanted Eshel there in the first place.
“It did not fail,” Mosel said sternly. “There was a Guardsman in one of the other bays. I had ensured there were no scheduled departures or ship’s maintenance today, even manually locked the doors. It was an unauthorized entry. He was unaffected by the weapon.”
Someone had broken the rules. Had gotten lucky.
“So he pursued us,” said the elder Moshal.
“Yes,” Mosel said. “We did not achieve the clean escape we planned for, but the bioweapon still proved useful. It prevented anyone from helping the rogue Guardsman, including getting communications back online to contact the other stations. Now, it is too late.”
Eshel felt a wisp of relief. That was good news.
“What of the hit we took?” the elder Moshal said. “Did we sustain damage?”
“I have yet to do a full search of ship’s systems, but there is no damage to the engine or fuel systems. The hull sustained damage near the stern, but it appears to be minimal and easily repaired.”
“Why did he give up so easily?” an Osecal said, still suspicious.
“He could not catch us. And to strike from that distance, he would have had to use all his weapon power in a single attempt. He did so, and failed.” Mosel paused, her eyes lighting up. “We have succeeded.”
Eshel closed his eyes for a moment, relief now coursing through him. The worst was over. Just as importantly, his weapon had worked. If it had failed, he would’ve had to face knowing he’d sentenced nine others to imprisonment or worse. Instead, he’d ensured they got away.
“What now?” someone said.
“We check the ship,” Mosel said. “Then we settle in for a long journey.”
* * *
The Escape Page 3
