by Jaclyn Lewis
I know it will be hard, but we have to find a way to cope and make a plan for moving ahead. We’ll be on this vessel for a week before we dock and probably a few seconds after we do, that caravan of specters will arrive on our heels. We do not expect a warm welcome. We can fight him and maybe we can win if we all pull together.
Camp captured my sister. She was wounded and while we believe they would have kept her alive, we have no idea. And I miss her. I don’t feel the pain of loss the same way that the rest of you do, but I’ve had a taste and it is bitter.
Even so, we have to be prepared for what lies ahead. Use this week of travel to mourn your dead and as soon as you are able I would like for everyone to find a room on the craft. I know you have few belongings so it should not take much time for you to settle in. We have enough food for everyone, but we will need to set up a system for meals as soon as we can. Thank you.”
At first I’m angry at him for trying to manage us at a time like this, but Silas is right. We do need a plan--even though I can barely come up with coherent thoughts at the moment.
I had left a message for Gavin before I left. I know he was sympathetic to my suspicions, but he never new the depth of what Titus was planning. He may have no idea what to do if and when Titus gets to Erimos. The truth is, I have no idea what waits for us there.
As evening falls, I find Genna, eyes puffy from crying, asleep on her bunk with a book reader lying on the bed next to her.
It was Ember’s. The light comes on when I touch it, and the screen shows me a highlighted quote from an old classic book:
“Crush humanity out of shape once more, under similar hammers, and it will twist itself into the same tortured forms. Sow the same seed of rapacious license and oppression over again, and it will surely yield the same fruit according to its kind.”[3]
I ponder these words for a moment—let them sink in. As much as I feared Titus and the destruction of Earth, I fear what’s coming even more--what his “better worlds” will look like. This cycle of injustice and pain will be relived, no doubt. It is always is. And I’m afraid of what it will make of us.
Chapter 27
*
Genesis
“You’ve done it then?” Andre inquires as he stands before me shaking and panicked.
“Yes. It’s done. It’s safe. No matter what happens, the most important part is over. Is it true that there was no other way?” I ask him even though I know the answer as well as he does.
“Based on all my research, Elise, the process wouldn’t work on a live subject. We were shielding too much of our memories even if it wasn’t done on purpose. When I went to Anutosa with my findings he said he had already told your father that. There’s no way he didn’t know that it…that it would kill us. I’m just glad the doctor agreed to help us.”
His voice fades to a whisper as a couple walks behind us on the sidewalk. The sun is shining today and as I flip the diamond over and over in my hand, it glistens and sparkles dazzlingly.
“We have to get to a police station.” I tell him. “We’ll show them what’s on the diamond. But what if they don’t believe us?”
“That’s a chance we’ll have to take. At least now, we can feel better about taking those chances. Someone has to bring him down. He can’t keep playing with people’s lives this way.”
“I know…but he’s my father. Still. After all he’s done—tried to do. I can hope that at the moment he’s faced with the choice, maybe he would make the right one. Like a fork in a river—you may have every intention of going one way and be persuaded at the last to go another.”
The windows of the train station reflect the fountain behind us. Andre and I walk hand in hand—headed toward an unknown future with the weight of destiny resting on us. I feel empty inside, but also like this was the moment I was born for. The moment so many will be born for. And with that I wake.
* * *
It’s evening and I head to the kitchen deck where the passengers from this section of the specter are eating. I can’t find Silas or Pax so I head up to the cockpit. There they are. Plotting and planning. I missed them even in my sleep.
I float toward them like a different person because I’m forever changed after the events today. How could I not be? I’ve lost my sister. Earth is no more. Whether we even realize it or not we’re in the beginnings of a war with the most powerful man in existence.
But they hug me—each one of them. And when Pax pulls me into a firm embrace I almost cry again before I remember that I haven’t got any tears left.
“I had another dream.” I tell them. “Titus had planned to let Elise die all along. Andre said the research showed that they would never have a solid transfer from a live subject—their brains were, I don’t know…protecting them somehow. They had to be dead and Titus knew. Which means he may not keep Ember safe after all. Even though he knows she’s his daughter, he might kill her too if we don’t find her first.”
Nathaniel, one of the guards from CGC asks if he can speak to us.
“I don’t mean to interrupt. It’s just I’ve been listening a little and I wondered if I could ask you something. Do you know how Esther is doing?”
Pax perks up with suspicion. “How do you know Esther?”
“I was just a guard, but I did know some things that happened—before Titus tightened up about what we were allowed to be a part of and not. Esther was one of the first.”
“Of the Snowflakes?” Pax clarifies.
Nathaniel nods and goes on, “Well, yes, but she was one of the first to rebel.”
“What do you mean, ‘rebel’?”
“You mean? I’m sorry…you’re a doctor so I thought you would have known about the rebellion years ago.”
“Enlighten me.” Pax replies impatiently.
“Sure. The first time around they told the snowflakes exactly what their plan was. They promised them wealth and a happy life if they would just work to help bring Earth to an end. They stressed how much ‘better’ it was to be a snowflake—how most humans weren’t as well developed and how flawed everyone on Earth was.
But instead of joining him, they rioted against CGC. The rebellion was squashed immediately, of course and everyone was reset with new information. The flaw seemed to be that even though Camp couldn’t see it, people—natural born or snowflakes seemed to have an inborn capacity for compassion of life. They didn’t care what the Earth humans were like—they didn’t want to annihilate an entire group of people. It couldn’t be programmed out either.”
He pauses for a second to sip his glass of water and continues, “Esther had joined the rebellion and was also reset, but the process messed up on her and she came out of it having aged some and her hand shakes uncontrollably now.”
“That’s definitely the same Esther…spills my coffee every morning.” Paxton mumbles.
I remember how she always introduced herself to me like she didn’t know me. How she couldn’t hold a pen steady. Poor woman! I wish I had known what she’d been through.
“It was decided that the snowflakes would work harder if they were convinced that they were actually saving a dying Earth rather than trying to destroy it. It worked…for a while apparently.” Nathaniel finishes.
Paxton slams him up against a cockpit window and for a moment I’m afraid he’ll strangle him.
“How could you know and not stop it? Huh? What kind of loser do you have to be? They didn’t even tell me the truth and I’m not a snowflake. They let me think everyone I loved was dead—and now they are.”
Paxton lets go and buries his face in his hands.
Nathaniel doesn’t seem the least bit shocked at Paxton’s outburst. Perhaps his anger even helps to satisfy some justice in Nathaniel’s own heart. “I honestly didn’t think he could pull it off. I thought he was just crazy. I just never dreamed he’d get that close and I guess I always thought someone else would stop him. After all, I was just a guard. What could I have done?”
He could have done a lo
t more than he did…that’s what. He could have warned someone. Sure, he would have lost a job, but he could have been a hero too.
“What you did—or didn’t do rather was shameful. You ought to be absolutely humiliated by your selfishness.” Pax tells him. “But Erimos offers a new beginning for everyone. You can’t undo the past, but you better be on board with our future. Or you can get off this specter right now.”
I think Nathaniel gets the message and he shuffles off toward the kitchen.
“What happens if you get off the specter in dimension travel?” I lean over to ask Kylee—I’ve never really thought about it before.
“He’ll be the first to find out.” She responds stoically.
* * *
I’m headed to the kitchen at night for a drink of water when I see the fourteen-year-old girl from Las Vegas sitting in a chair with her head on the table. She is obviously crying and I run to comfort her—an instinct of nurturing taking over. I feel bad for not getting to know her sooner, but I forgot she was here. She sniffs as I walk up.
“What’s your name?” I ask her in the nicest motherly tone I can muster.
“Hannah Edwards.”
“How old are you Hannah?” I ask.
“I’ll be fifteen next month.”
She doesn’t look at me as she answers my questions and I can’t tell if she wants to talk or if she would prefer that I go away. She looks like the kind of girl who would just tell me if she wanted me to leave so I keep going.
“Who do you miss the most from Earth? Your parents?”
She scoffs. “No. My father was an abusive alcoholic and my mother wouldn’t do anything about it. I started making trouble because I wanted her to feel something enough to make a change. I ran away and told the police what was happening. They put me in foster care, but said that I could live with my mother if she would leave my dad. She chose him over me.”
Sobbing now, her shoulders shake, and it takes a few moments for her to compose herself enough to speak again.
“For the last couple of years I’ve been running from city to city, home to home, and causing my foster families a world of pain. I cut my wrists. I did drugs. I wanted to feel something—anything even if it was only pain. But now everyone I was angry with is gone. I don’t know what to do. Now my problems seem so trivial and I don’t know who I am.”
She’s trying not to cry—trying to be brave and hard as steel—all the things she’s always told herself were a requirement for her own self-worth. And she is so young. I feel an ache for her—having to sort out so much pain on her own. Nothing I say can fix this girl but I decide to give her the truth, tell her exactly what I’m thinking.
“I don’t know what it’s like to go through what you have, but I do know what it feels like to be lost and not know who you are. I’m sorry for the pain you lived in before. There’s no one on this specter who’s not in pain right now and I know that doesn’t lessen yours, but at least you have people who can sympathize on some scale. And I’m convinced that we are exactly who we want to be, Hannah. We are all starting new lives. Decide what you want it to look like.”
I grab my water and leave her to ponder my words.
* * *
The next morning, I wake to the sound of African children–full of giggles and laughter—an ironic alternative to our melancholy spirits. It feels out of place, but it also reminds me that we will be resilient. We will survive. At least for now.
I follow some of the children to the common room where a woman named Mwansa is just finishing a story about a spider who lives in the desert. After the story, a little boy begins pounding on a drum and the children dance.
“That was lovely,” I tell her. “My name is Genna. You’re Mwansa, right?”
“That’s right. How did you know of my name?”
“Silas said he spoke with you for a while yesterday, that you were a caretaker for one of the orphanages. Tell me your story.” How I long to learn from someone like Mwansa—so joyful and alive even after such loss.
“Yes, come have a seat with me.” We sit on a bench along the wall and as she speaks the beauty of her words strikes me. Some might call it “broken English.” But then, I guess some of the most beautiful things are broken. I hear only perseverance born of the necessity to break and still be heard.
“My husband—his name is Gift—see there? The one dancing with the children like a wild monkey.” She points at him. “We have five children of our own, and we care for the orphans as well. My mother died from disease and I was raised in the village by my Auntie.”
“Any regrets in your life?” I ask her.
“No regrets. I have lived a very full and happy life. I have been blessed. I don’t question the Lord. I don’t ask to know what the next day holds--just to do the best with today. And I’m glad my children will live—hoping they have a long and happy life.”
Mwansa has such a peace about her when she speaks. It falls on my ears like medicine to a wounded soul and for some reason her voice smooths over some of the rough spots—like a wave passing over a coral reef. I wonder what it is that gives her the stability to live here among us without falling apart.
“How do you think everyone will go on without the people they loved on Earth?” Tears fill my eyes even as I watch the shadows of the children dance across the walls.
She thinks for a few moments. “The Lord knows how. There is not a good answer to your question. But, Gift always tells me that life is like a tree.”
Mwansa tells the story not just with her lips, but also with her eyes, her hands, and her whole self. She is a born storyteller. “Sometimes the people you meet are branches that come together one time and then go away. Sometimes they are branches that twist around each other until their souls become like one and they live together until the end. Sometimes they cross each other and let go for a long time and then come back. But at some point all the branches will have one thing happen that is the same—they will stop. Is it my place to say then, which ones will wrap around each other and which ones will be alone? Can I say where the branches will end? No…death is like that, and so is life.”
Chapter 28
*
Genesis
Today is the day we dock in Erimos. Our journey has been punctuated by overwhelming moments of grief. For most of us, the intense period of suffering we’ve encountered on the ship has served us well. We will exit the specter a determined, coherent people. We will be stronger. We will fight for the memories of our loved ones—memories that for me are significant because they are real.
We’ve decided to land at the Sugar Pit instead of the Core complex in case Camp is right behind us. With the information we have, we can surely convince the miners to join us. Noah—the pit boss probably won’t go for it, but our weapons can be convincing and we’ll need his communicator to get a hold of Gavin and the militia.
Before we land, Silas gets on the intercom again. He mostly addresses the masses of Africans we picked up when he says “All non-essential passengers need to stay on the craft until the area outside is secure. Thanks for your patience. Kylee will be on board to give you updates. We’ll be back soon.”
Pax and I are ready to head out when Nathaniel and Kline stop us. “Hey, when do I get a weapon?” Nathaniel asks.
“You two want to come? I mean I just figured this isn’t really your fight.” Silas is loading a magazine as he speaks and his tone still carries with it some bitterness over Nathaniel’s past choices.
Nathaniel musters the courage to answer, “A week ago, I didn’t think this was my fight, but now I do. If we want to live in a free society, it’s going to take everyone—willing and able to defend himself and his neighbor. I want to help.”
Pax motions for Silas to let him come with us, and we get ready to go. The miners at the Sugar Pit have put down their picks and they are staring at us with looks of confusion. No one ever lands an Earth-bound vessel out here.
Noah is up front with one hand on his h
ip and his hat pushed back. He seems irritated that anything interfered with his precious diamond schedule. It makes me think that these foremen aren’t really in the know either. If they were, they would have been warned by Camp’s craft to look out for us.
Or maybe Camp doesn’t even know. After all, they didn’t notice us when we flashed into their armada in space. Maybe he thinks we’re dead. We’ve reached the Sugar Pit and it has become some kind of informal tradition that Silas always makes the speeches. I don’t know why--he talks entirely too fast and most people have a hard time keeping up with him. His brain works faster than his mouth can even move, and yet, he always has something important to say so people listen. We pull out our pistols and grab everyone’s attention.
“Hello, Noah.” I say with a smirk.
Pax holds Noah’s gaze without blinking. I suppress the hatred I have started to have for Noah, but it still feels good to be pointing a gun at him after listening to him yell at me for so many months watch him lord his position over so many of my friends.
Silas begins with a severely abridged version of the events of the past couple of months focusing on the fact that Earth has been destroyed and everyone was “birthed” from frozen embryos to be used by Camp as mindless servants in his new dictatorship.
