Maximillian Fly

by Angie Sage

I want to sink to the floor in relief—I’m not going to be Astroed. Okay, so I’m going off into the unknown and I’ll never come back, but at least I will be with friends. And who knows, Mom might be wrong. The Island might really exist and all will be lovely. After all, no one has proved it doesn’t exist, have they? I head over to the table where my tribe—the Lions—is sitting. I join Mattie and three others: twin girls, Pia and Mia, and a lanky boy, Marlon, who never speaks. We’re a small tribe, us older ones. We exchange nervous smiles and I sit next to Mattie, who is watching the moving numbers counting down: 00:33:05 . . . 00:33:04 . . . 00:33:03 . . .

  At 00:33:02, with my terror gone, I begin to think straight. Unfortunately. I realize that if we are on Countdown to Exit, then they must have taken the DisK from Maximillian by force—he would never have freely handed it over. I feel Mattie’s arm around my shoulders. “Hey,” she says, “we’ll be fine.” I look up and see she is smiling and there’s a new light in her eyes. “And Tomas will be fine too,” she whispers.

  I shake my head. “No, Mattie. He’s . . . ,” I begin.

  Mattie puts her finger to her lips. “Don’t tell me,” she says. “Whatever happened to him yesterday is all right now. This morning, just before Birdsong, I suddenly knew he wasn’t scared anymore. He’s all right, Kait. I know he is.”

  I look at Mattie, doubtfully. “Really?”

  “Yes,” she says very decidedly. “So don’t tell me what happened. I don’t want to have it in my head. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I agree. Truthfully I feel anything but okay. Because I am sure that the reason Mattie feels that Tomas is no longer scared is because he can’t feel fear anymore. In fact, he can’t feel anything. Because he is dead.

  J

  Leon and me are with the Bears in the refectory. There isn’t any breakfast. I look over at Katie and she has her serious face on. There are lots of guards all around the wall and everyone is very quiet. I think we must have done something really bad.

  K

  The guards are standing elbow to elbow, arms folded, feet planted firmly apart. They remind me of the strings of concertina cutout figures Mom used make for us. On 00:30:00 one of them steps forward and announces the names of the Leavers—the ones who get to leave before Exit. This is where we hear our fate.

  The Leavers are either kids who were taken as hostages to encourage their parents’ good behavior, or whose family have paid a ransom to set them free. On the last Exit—a lifetime ago when we were still living in our house by the fields—the farming family on the other side of the Wings gave the Bartizan their entire farm in order to get their son back.

  The list of Leavers is read out to hushed attention, and at our table the twins and Marlon stand up. The twins cannot stop smiling, but Marlon is glum. He once told Mattie that he was looking forward to his new life on the Island. He planned to spend his time hunting bears and living in a cave. Mattie said she was unsure whether he meant the Bear tribe or the actual animals. But now, along with the other Leavers, he files quietly out and is gone, back to his old life. The canteen is half-empty now; those of us left are what they call the core group—the bit with pips that no one wants. Mattie takes my hand and squeezes it. I give her a nervous smile.

  There is an uncomfortable silence in the refectory as the reality of Exit begins to sink in. The Wolves and the Bears huddle into their depleted tribe groups and, along with Mattie and I, the last two Lions, we watch the relentlessly diminishing numbers on the wall suddenly vanish. We steal glances at one another, wondering if Countdown is canceled, but then these words appear: A Message from Madam Guardian to her SilverSeeds. They fade away to be replaced by an image of the woman I remember all too well. Her hair shimmers like a pewter helmet, below which a pair of intense eyes set deep in her shield-shaped face stare at us like two dagger points. One of the Bears begins to cry.

  Madam Guardian’s mouth is moving but no sound comes out. We watch the thin lips opening and closing, showing perfect little rat teeth, and suddenly one of the ground crew, looking terrified, races across the room and throws a switch in the sound system.

  Madam Guardian’s voice kicks in: “. . . ulations to you all. Today, at long last, you are leaving behind your cares and woes in our besieged city and embarking upon your journey to our Island of Hope. In the magnificent SilverShip you will soon be flying across the beautiful blue skies of our planet, passing over ruined cities, great oceans and vast deserts. On the threshold of your brilliant future you SilverSeeds are ambassadors of Hope, you are our . . .”

  The spiel continues, and I disconnect myself from the words and look around the room. The kids are staring up at the screen with a dawning look of apprehension: this is for real.

  And then it is over. The image of Madam Guardian dissolves into moving shapes of what we’ve been told are ocean waves breaking on sand. The SilverShip anthem, “This World Is Our World,” begins to play and we all stand and cross our arms over our chests and watch the waves. They do look amazing, although I have trouble believing they are real. I mean, what are they for exactly? The anthem finishes with its rousing clash of cymbals and then all is quiet. As the waves wash silently onto a distant shore we file out of the refectory and walk into the wild roar, which is, we now understand, the noise of the SilverShip balloon being inflated.

  At once we kick into Exit drill. We’ve done it so often that it is automatic. First we put all objects containing metal, including pens, belts and even glasses into the store capsule, which will, we are told, be attached to the ship separately, for safety reasons. But I remember Mom telling me about a friend who saw her son’s glasses in a shopwindow six months after his Exit. He’d scratched his name into the bridge and when she went into the shop and asked to see them, there it was: Derek. She was distraught. How, she’d asked Mom, could he manage on the Island without his glasses? I said that I supposed Derek got new glasses on the Island and Mom just ruffled my hair and said, “Oh, Katie, that poor, poor boy.”

  As I hold my precious combi-tool, which was a present from Dad, I know it will not be coming with me, despite what they say. I am expendable—my combi is not.

  J

  I don’t want to leave my fishing rod in the store. And I don’t want to leave Nettie either. She will be scared on her own.

  K

  On my way to the store I see Jonno in a small group of Bears solemnly walking ahead and he glances behind him. Our eyes meet and he hangs back and waits for me. I’m unreasonably happy about this, because I’ve hated things being bad between us. Jonno is carrying his fishing rod and a small brown bundle with a piece of fishing twine tied around it. It looks a little like Tedward minus his arms and legs. “Hey, Jonno, what have you got there?” I ask.

  Jonno smiles sheepishly. “She’s Nettie,” he says. “I hope Tedward won’t be jealous.”

  “I’m sure Tedward won’t mind at all,” I tell him.

  Jonno looks at me, anxiously. “I know Nettie is really a net, but I don’t want to put her in the store. She’ll be frightened. Do you think I can take her with me?”

  This tears me apart. “Well, let’s see, shall we?” I say and then change the subject. “Looking forward to all that fishing?” I ask, way too jovially.

  Jonno grins. “When we get to the Island I’m going straight out to catch enough fish for everyone, because we’ll be hungry after the flight,” he says.

  “Good idea,” I tell him.

  He looks surprised. “You don’t usually say stuff like that,” he says.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re going to catch lots of fish. It will be really great.” I don’t think I sound very convincing but Jonno doesn’t seem to notice.

  “So you do believe that we’re really going to be hunting and making dens and fires and catching fish and keeping pets and . . . and everything?” he says all in a rush.

  What can I say? “Yes,” I tell him. “Of course I do.”

  Jonno reverts to his old irritable self. “Well, you might have said so
before,” he grumbles. He looks down at his fishing rod, a telescopic one with a fancy reel. I don’t know how he got hold of it but it’s a good one, even I can see that. “I wish I didn’t have to put this in store,” he says, regretfully.

  “I wish I didn’t have to put my combi in store either,” I say. “But I guess we have to.”

  J

  Katie is being nice again, but when she smiles her eyes looks sad. I thought going on Exit would be exciting but it’s not. It feels nasty and I don’t like it. Everyone is rushing and the roaring noise sounds like an angry monster.

  I don’t want to be a Bear anymore. I want to go home.

  Chapter 30

  Exit

  M

  The Vermin’s Astro is in chopped-up pieces upon the ground and its ankle cuffs lie snapped in half. The Vermin can’t manage to get the wrist cuffs off—he doesn’t have enough arms—but he seems happy with that. “They’re a badge of honor,” he croaks. “Like yours, Parminter.”

  Parminter looks at her own cuff in disgust. “Not honor,” she says. “Not this.”

  “Why, Parminter? What happened?” I ask.

  Parminter sighs. “I have been such an idiot,” she says. “I’ve ruined everything.”

  “Don’t be silly, of course you haven’t,” I tell her, thinking that I am sounding a lot like Parminter myself.

  But Parminter is not listening to me. Her hands fly up to her face and she gasps. “Oh no!”

  “Parminter, what is it?” I ask.

  Parminter looks devastated. “Listen.”

  I hear it now: the distant sound of wailing sirens from the city. This is most odd. They sound like the Exit sirens warning everyone to go indoors and close their shutters and curtains to stop any Contagion seeping in.

  “They are preparing to stand down the Orb,” Parminter says.

  I laugh. “But they can’t. They haven’t got the DisK.” And then I see Parminter’s expression and I say no more.

  “They have,” she says. “They took it. And now they are using it.”

  K

  The roar of the gas has stopped. All is horribly silent for a moment, and then the guards start yelling, “Sixty seconds! Sixty seconds! Boarding, boarding! Now, now, now!” The store is slammed shut before Jonno and I get there and we are shoved down the metal steps to the recreation area, where the double doors, each with their shining silver S, are wide open and gaping like the mouth of a monster about to swallow us up. Some of the younger kids hang back and the guards push them forward none too gently. I see Jonno ahead of me, clutching Nettie and his fishing rod. As he walks through the doors I think how vulnerable he looks with his thin little neck and his spiky hair. And then I think how fragile we all are, and how it is such an easy thing to destroy a human being.

  J

  It’s not a real ship. It’s not at all like they said it would be. There are no seats and no windows. The walls are all wobbly. It’s horrible in here. Nettie doesn’t like it and Leon is crying.

  K

  The capsule is unsettlingly bare. I think we’d all expected at the very least some basic seats, but it is completely empty. Mattie and I sit on the deck and when I lean back I’m shocked to feel the walls give against my weight—they appear to be made of nothing more than thick hemp cloth. Our capsule is no more substantial than the tent Dad used to take us camping on the Wings’ long field. “Mattie,” I whisper. “This feels bad.”

  Mattie nods. “Yeah,” she says.

  We’re in now, all fourteen of us. Some of the Bears are crying and a few of the younger Wolves look close to tears. Jonno looks very serious; he is holding Nettie tight and whispering to her. I’m so pleased he didn’t have to give her up.

  Mattie and I, along with one of the older Wolves, Ethan, move around the capsule comforting the little ones while the canvas door flap is closed and the acrid smell of it being sealed fills our noses. We hear the clang of the doors to our old crew quarters being shut and as we are cut off from everything we have ever known, one of the Bears pipes up, “There’s no toilets!” The others giggle but look concerned too.

  “No need,” Mattie says briskly. “We’ll be there before you know it.”

  We listen to a series of muffled clangs and then a long rattle as though chains are being reeled in. The cabin shifts and I get the unnerving feeling that the ground is no longer beneath us.

  M

  A crack, loud like a pistol shot, rips out from the top of the skylon, sending out a long line of light so bright that it hurts to look at it. I peer out between my fingers and see the Vermin leaning back against a bale, looking up at the Orb, shielding his eyes with his hands. He has to press them hard against his forehead to stop them shaking. Another burst of light shoots out. It is magnificent, terrifying and fascinating all at once.

  “The SilverShip!” The Vermin give a hoarse, scraping shout. “Look! There it is!”

  I scramble to my feet and see in the distance a giant silver fish rising up above the rooftops.

  “They’re lucky,” the Vermin croaks. “They can start a new life.”

  “They are not lucky,” Parminter tells him angrily. “They will have no life at all.”

  My eyes fill with water. “Because they will die of the Contagion,” I say.

  But the Vermin disagrees. “No they won’t. They’ll be fine. The Island is free of Contagion.”

  “It’s free of Contagion everywhere, dumbo,” Parminter tells him. “The Contagion is long gone. It’s just a story to keep us all prisoners in this nasty little city.”

  The Vermin laughs. “Oh, you believe those Rat tales too, do you?” he croaks. “Well, all their stories about people living Outside are total rubbish.” The Vermin is cut short by another electrical surge above our heads that sets our carapaces humming.

  This one lasts much longer and Parminter yells above it, “So how come my grandma has lived Outside, just over the hill there, for the last fifty-five years? How come she is just fine?”

  The Vermin frowns, unsure whether to believe Parminter. But I believe her. Oh, she’s told me stories about the Outside before, but that’s all I thought they were—stories. Wishful thinking. She has never mentioned that her grandmama is actually living there. This is very different. I feel a weight of sadness lifted from me. My Kaitlin Drew, my sister, will live. And even though I won’t see her again, I will know that she is alive on the Island. And that will be enough for me.

  “Well, good for Grandma,” the Vermin says, somewhat bitterly. “So now everyone will be just fine, won’t they?”

  It is quiet now, apart from a low buzzing as the skylon recharges. “They won’t be ‘just fine’ at all,” Parminter tells him angrily. “Because the Bartizan puts the SilverSeeds in nothing more than a giant canvas bag. They hang it under the ship and drop it into the ocean. Grandma has seen it happen over and over again.”

  The Vermin stares at Parminter in shock. He has seen for himself the horrors that the Bartizan is capable of and he believes her at once. I find that I am clutching his hand and he is clutching mine. “Maximillian, we must save them,” my brother Tomas croaks.

  We must. But I do not know how.

  K

  The capsule is filled with whimpering. Most of the Bears and at least two of the Wolves are crying for their mothers, but Jonno is quiet, clutching Nettie and biting his bottom lip. I am so proud of my little brother; I want to tell him that he is a brave and good Bear.

  I have the same sensation in my stomach that I had in the Bartizan elevator—we are going up fast. The walls of the cabin wobble alarmingly and the smallest Bear—a little redheaded boy called Leon—starts up a wild, ululating shriek. Another joins him. And then the oldest Wolf—a large, pimply boy called Dom—lets out a long, low howl of despair and throws himself facedown on the deck.

  “Kait,” whispers Mattie. “We’ve got to keep a lid on this.”

  I take a deep breath and go for it. “Hey, you Wolves and Bears! It’s . . . campfire circle!”
I trill out, mimicking the intonation of the usual odious announcement. I’ve always been scathing about the campfire circle with its repetitious songs and rituals, but now I see it has a use. Immediately the old habits kick in and the wails of terror subside. Jonno pulls Leon into the group and the kids shuffle together to make a circle in the middle away from the worryingly wobbly walls. We all link arms while Ethan, in a soft tenor that holds the tune beautifully, begins the hunting song. He sings it not in the usual jaunty style, but slowly and mournfully and it makes perfect sense that way.

  And so, as we ascend into the unknown in our flimsy bag that feels as if it is being swung by a careless shopper, the kids add their animals to the song and we leave the place where we were born, the place where some of us still have mothers and fathers, families and friends, singing: Turkey, tiger, caterpillar, fish . . . We’ll make a rhino, dodo, dinosaur dish . . . It’s a silly, babyish song but it calms each and every one of us. Including me.

  M

  There is a loud craaaack and once again long, jagged lines of dazzling light snake across the Orb from all directions, blind fingers searching for one another. Tomas’s hair stands up on end and my carapace tingles. We watch the streaks of brilliance almost touch and then fall away. Tomas’s hair collapses and my carapace stops tingling.

  “I think the next one will do it,” Parminter whispers to me.

  Now, young watcher, I have not talked to you for a while, but as you may have noticed, there has been quite a lot happening and I confess that at times I have forgotten to explain things to you. But I have not forgotten the promise I made to you when we first met: that I will give these SilverSeeds all the help they need to escape that vile SilverShip. I intend to keep it. I take Parminter’s little hand and I say, “Parminter, I am going to follow the SilverShip to the Outside.”

  Parminter smiles like she has expected this. “Of course you are. And I am coming with you,” she says.

  Tomas is watching us intently, trying to work out what we are saying. He forces out his hoarse croak: “Take me with you. Please.”