“Lizzy! How did you—”
“Shh, not so loud.”
I lead her away from the door, toward the mound of corn she must have just unloaded from the transport. In case someone steps in on us, I keep the mask pulled just below my chin.
“Are you all right?” she asks urgently. “When Shiffrin followed you out of the cafeteria—”
“I’m fine,” I reply, probably less than convincingly. My voice sounds like gravel over my dry throat. “Could use some water, though.”
“Of course!”
She hastily fills a plastic water bottle. Then, as if reading my mind, she retrieves a sealed packet of almonds and a banana from the pantry. I take the water sip by sip, feeling I might be ill if I drink too quickly. Between mouthfuls, I ask, “What happened, Chloe? I overheard Dosset say they were going to talk to you. They didn’t alter your memory, did they?”
Chloe shakes her head.
“No. I don’t think so. But you were right, Lizzy. It’s like they think of you as a terrorist or something. They asked some really weird questions.”
I peel the banana and take a bite.
“What kinds of questions?”
“About Doctor Atkinson mostly. Whether or not I’d seen him around you. They wanted to know if you’d been acting weird. Or if you had given me anything recently. I thought that was strange. And then they asked me if you’d made any predictions.”
“Predictions?” I repeat, mystified.
“Weird, right? Then they searched my sleeping pod and told me not to repeat anything they’d said. They told me to keep an eye out for you.”
An eye. My chewing slows as I realize I haven’t checked the room for cameras. But my fear is needless—a quick glance proves we’re safe.
Still, I pull the hat lower.
“What’d you tell them?” I ask quietly.
“That you’d seemed kind of delirious yesterday, like you had a fever. And that you kept talking about your mom and dad, and how you missed Earth.”
I nod.
“Do you think they believed you?”
“I guess. They didn’t fry my brain, so that seems like a good sign.” This makes me smile again, but her expression is tense. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” she says.
I realize she isn’t joking. No doubt she’s been worried sick about me this entire time. As footsteps shuffle past the door, she grabs an ear of corn and begins nervously tearing off strips of the husk.
“Thanks for covering for me,” I say, sipping water again. My stomach is beginning to settle, and my headache has finally eased a bit. “You did great.”
“What are you going to do now?” she asks.
“I’m still figuring that out. Noah thinks we should rescue Atkinson.”
At this, she drops the ear of corn, which bounces off the counter and thuds on the floor. Her eyes are wide.
“Noah Hartmann?”
I’m instantly reminded of Chloe’s feelings about Noah. Which reminds me of his feelings about me. Two things I hadn’t even considered when I decided to stay the night in his pod.
The decision suddenly seems selfish. How could I have forgotten so quickly? I know the answer. Because I was only thinking of myself. Certainly not of the danger it might put Noah in. Or how Chloe’s feelings might be hurt. But what was I supposed to do? I had nowhere else to go. And it’s not as if anything happened between us.
The opposite, really.
“I ran into him last night,” I reply lamely, grabbing my own ear of corn to distract myself from her penetrating gaze. “We talked. I told him what was going on.”
“And he… he believed you?”
“I used some of his memories to convince him, like I did with you,” I say. I need to tread carefully if I don’t want this whole thing blowing up in my face, and I know it. “Before I bumped into him, I overheard Shiffrin and Dosset talking. It turns out Atkinson was the one who gave me the Memory Bank. They think he had a plan to overthrow the whole system or something.”
“Oh, uh… that’s incredible.” She stoops to pick up the fallen corn. “Do you have any idea where they might be keeping him?”
“Somewhere in the Helix, I think.” I focus on stripping the corn husk, but I can’t shake the hollow feeling that’s growing in my chest. Chloe is my best friend—my only friend—and I’m lying to her. What is wrong with me? Telling her that I spent the night in Noah’s pod might be hurtful, but it’ll be far worse if I wait and let her find out from him. I can’t bear to take that risk.
I set down the half-peeled ear of corn and face her.
“Chloe, I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it plainly. Obviously, I know how you feel about Noah. And I think it’s great. But he and I don’t get along very well. He kind of makes me… uncomfortable.”
She arches that single quizzical eyebrow at me, a half-smile on her lips.
“Is this one of those times when you’re being sarcastic and I don’t get it?”
“I wish,” I mutter. “Last night, I needed somewhere to hide. And since Dosset expected me to go to you or to someone else I trusted, I did the opposite. I went to Noah. I told him what was going on and stayed the night in his pod.”
She blushes. Merely the thought of being in a boy’s sleeping pod is enough to make her self-conscious. I guess I might feel that way too, if I liked him. Before she can let her imagination get too far, I hurry on.
“Nothing happened. I only knew I could go to him because, well, I had all your memories. And I knew you couldn’t feel that way about a boy who wasn’t trustworthy.”
It’s a small lie. Much smaller than keeping it from her altogether. And there’s no way she can find out it isn’t true, unless I tell her.
Still, it makes my insides twist. How can I possibly tell her the other half—the way Noah feels about me? That I went to him, put him in danger, without really giving it a second thought? Because some part of me must’ve known, even in the airlock, that he would want to listen. That his feelings would cloud his judgment in my favor, while Terra’s would lead her to betray me.
Again I feel a swell of shame for my actions.
“I just want you to know that I don’t have any feelings for him, and I didn’t want to keep anything from you,” I say quietly, pushing my guilt down into the swirling pool of emotions.
Chloe is still blushing, clutching the ear of corn in her delicate hands.
“Thank you for telling me.”
“Sure.” The voice begins on the overhead, announcing seventeen hundred hours. Time for me to leave. “We’re going to make a plan tonight, to try to pull this thing off before Dosset catches us. Can you meet me in the Xeri domes during free time? In Noah’s pod?”
“Oh, um… which one is his?”
“End of the hall. Just check the nameplates.”
“Okay.”
She hesitates.
“Hey, Lizzy?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful, okay?”
I nod, though I’m not sure exactly what she means. Be careful to not get caught? Or be careful with the power I have, knowing what I know?
As I turn to go, Chloe disappears into the washroom, maybe to rinse her hands or maybe to hide her true reaction to my words. At that same moment, the door to the hall opens and Terra pushes inside, a sweeping grin on her face.
“I’m not sure I got all that,” she says with evident glee. “Exactly what’re you two trying to pull off before Dosset catches you?”
Chapter Seven
Just like in Noah’s panic attack, my mind goes blank.
Not her.
Anyone but her.
Icy dread races from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, gooseflesh turning me to stone. Blame what happens next on lack of sleep. Blame dehydration or emotional trauma. But there’s isn’t any time to think, so I don’t—I just step up next to her, pull out the patches of the defibrillator, and slap them onto her forearms.
Confusion r
egisters in her eyes as I place my fingers on the shock button.
“What are you—?”
A strangled yelp escapes her lungs. Her body spasms, then lurches forward. I barely catch her before she hits the floor.
My heart is racing. I can’t believe I just did that. Rather than feeling proud, I feel horrified.
What have I done? I check her pulse to make sure the alteration worked, and I feel a giddy rush of relief. She’s still alive.
Thinking fast, I hoist her up into a fireman’s carry. Chloe still hasn’t returned from the washroom. Setting my teeth, I poke my head out the door and see that the transport cart is still there, lid hanging open.
Aware that I’m only about a half-meter or so outside of the nearest camera’s view, I stagger forward and dump Terra’s body into the space. It’s a near-perfect fit. Making sure I don’t crush any fingers, I close the lid and snap the surgical mask back over my mouth just as a pair of Clovers round the corner.
So much for being careful.
The whole trip back to the Xeri pods, I’m just waiting for someone to catch me. Cadets shuffle past in droves, headed to dinner. But I make it all the way back. And then I realize that if I hope to get her into Noah’s pod, I’m going to have to carry her up the stairs.
In my current exhausted state, carrying is optimistic. The adrenaline that aided me in tossing her into the cart is long gone, leaving an empty fatigue in my limbs. So instead, I do my best to ease her onto the floor, then seize her by the wrists.
For the record, to say dragging a limp body up a staircase is difficult is a bit like saying a marathon is kind of long. Lucky for me, the entire population is feasting on corn on the cob right now, or someone would surely see me panting, sweating, and wrestling with the lifeless body.
I’m just glad there aren’t any cameras on the stairs. And that she isn’t awake. When Terra comes to, she’ll have more dents than the surface of the moon.
Now we’re here, sitting across from one another on the floor of the pod. I’ve used rope to tie her to the chair, and tape to cover her mouth. So what next?
Of course, it would be her. Of course, of any cadet on the planet, Terra would be the one to overhear our conversation.
It’s over. Once she’s missing for longer than a meal or two, the doctors will come looking. The plan is already ruined. There’ll be no convincing her to stay quiet. Terra hates me.
I pause.
Terra hates me. But why?
I’ve never given it much thought. To be honest, I’ve never really cared. But there has to be a reason for her to be like this. And if there is, I should know what it is, shouldn’t I? Even if she doesn’t remember.
By now I’ve realized that a memory is usually triggered by something—the sight of a defibrillator, the sound of Noah’s voice, the smell of Italian pine. I haven’t pulled up any of Terra’s memories yet, so I’m not really sure where to start. In fact, I’m not sure I know anything about Terra other than that she detests me.
So far, deep breaths seem to help me focus. And closing my eyes. So I shut out the pod, the voices, the rest of the world. Then I fold my legs beneath me and try to relax. Bit by bit, little by little, I remember…
Nothing.
I ball my fists and scrunch up my face, but all I feel is blood swelling in my curled fingers. The problem is, it’s not just that Terra doesn’t like me. It’s that I don’t like her either.
In every interaction I can recall, Terra has been unkind to me. So at some point, I decided I didn’t care. I pushed her side of the story, her thoughts and feelings, entirely out of my head. To go against that now, to tolerate her perspective when I’ve rejected it for so long, is like trying to tear down an invisible wall. I’m not sure I could break it if I tried.
And really, I’m not sure I want to.
But I don’t have much of an option. There’s a lot more at stake here than me and Terra. If I can’t find a way to keep her quiet, the memories of the entire colony will disappear overnight—and I’ll likely vanish with them, like the other missing cadets.
Just relax, I tell myself. Then I try to imagine our first meeting. Was it at Mars Academy before the spacecraft even launched? Did I somehow insult her by mistake?
It was a joke.
The memory grabs me, and I catch my breath at how vivid it is. I’m not at Mars Academy. I’m on Mars, our third day here. Terra and I haven’t spoken yet, because the Polar domes are so far from the Scrubs. But Terra has seen me running during fitness hour and wanted to meet me. Chloe is introducing us, and I’m watching Lizzy—watching myself—from Terra’s eyes, just like I did in Noah’s memory. However, the way she sees me is totally different.
To her, I’m not pretty. At least, not as pretty as she is. Her gaze skims me over, evaluating the way my jumpsuit hangs on my body, gauging how fit I look compared to her. It’s weird, but I’ve never noticed how alike we look. Not the way she does. To her, we could be sisters. Ivory skin, thin lips—even our eyes are a similar shade of blue.
But she doesn’t simply notice our similarities. She also makes note of the scar on my chin, the dotted pimples at my hairline. Every little imperfection.
She rolls back her shoulders, aware of how this highlights her figure. Smiles, knowing how it brings out her dimples.
“This is Lizzy,” Chloe says. “Lizzy, this is Terry.”
“Terra,” she says immediately. I can tell the mistake irritates her. For some reason it makes her feel embarrassed. I absently recall how her brother would call her Terry when he wanted to make her angry.
“Je m’excuse,” Chloe murmurs with a blush. “I’ve been meeting so many new people.” She turns to other-Lizzy and says, “Terra is a Clover.”
“You can’t get anything right, can you?” Terra says, and I can feel her annoyance spike. But she quickly smiles again because she knows her tone is cutting. “I’m a Polar, silly.”
Chloe’s face turns a deeper shade of red. The comment landed.
Good, Terra thinks. She hates being embarrassed. She hates when people make her look stupid. And of course, the blunders of others are an opportunity to shine by comparison. Gracefully she turns to other-Lizzy. “Does she always give you this much trouble?”
But other-Lizzy’s face has become closed off. I can see a muscle tighten in her jaw as she returns a cold smile.
“No.”
That’s the only word she says. Just “No,” and then she takes Chloe by the arm and heads off down the hallway toward the cafeteria.
Being inside Terra’s thoughts, I’m instantly reminded of her mother. A one-word answer dripping with intent, just because Terra said something she didn’t like. Is that why Terra hates me? Because I remind her of her mother?
Terra turns away, grinding her teeth.
Immediately a new memory blooms. I’m in a house. It’s Terra’s house, the one she grew up in. The ceilings are so high they almost remind me of the domes—all white, shining, and new. We’ve just gotten home from recital. Mother drops the keys in a ceramic bowl and opens the refrigerator. A bottle of chardonnay is placed on the counter with a clink as she retrieves a glass from the rack. Whenever Terra makes a mistake, Mother starts drinking early.
“It was almost perfect,” Terra is saying. The kitchen is big too—granite countertops and silver everything. Mother finishes pouring the rest of the bottle into her glass. Picks up the stem and swirls the liquid impatiently, whipping it around the glass in a practiced arc.
“Almost,” she says. One word. It’s more a challenge than an agreement. She promised that if Terra did well, they’d go shopping. But there’s no thought of that now. Terra was outscored by the girl from Springfield, the one whose parents can’t afford private school. How close it was doesn’t really matter.
“Sorry,” Terra mutters. I feel her shame. How wrong she feels, as if she went out there and admitted that she wasn’t really her mother’s daughter. Because she knows—has been told—just how much her parents spent to
make her as smart, beautiful, and healthy as she is. Genetically enhanced, even as an embryo, to be better than everyone else. But instead of perfect, they got almost.
“For?” Mother intones, lifting the glass to her lips. This one is like a threat. That if Terra doesn’t answer the right way, she’ll drink it all in one swallow and then start complaining about how her children ruined her figure.
Her size used to be double zero, she likes to say. Like Terra’s is now.
The memories continue. Overhearing her mother at practice, pointing out her missteps. Comments dropped about her diet, how tight her clothes are looking. And on, and on, and on.
When the mission to Mars is announced, her mother suggests that Terra’s brother apply. And Terra sees a chance to prove herself. To prove her worth—her superiority. She doesn’t tell her parents she submitted the application. Her brother’s rejection and Terra’s acceptance letters come the very same afternoon.
No one knows what to say.
Her father grunts, “Just don’t get pregnant. I hear they plan to deliver babies in the airlock.” He chuckles and heads off to his study. Terra’s brother goes upstairs without a word. For a long period, her mother only stares at her. Then she abruptly smiles with the detached edge of a scalpel.
“So,” she says. “When will you be leaving?”
At last the memories fade and I’m back inside the pod. Terra’s golden hair has fallen around her shoulders in silky waves, concealing her birthmark.
What must it have been like, I wonder, to be measured at every step? To be compared and judged by your own family? There’s some part of me that feels sorry for her. But I can’t excuse her completely. Just because she had a terrible mother doesn’t mean she can abuse others. Like Chloe. Terra would probably treat me just as badly if she weren’t so intimidated.
It’s a little gratifying to know she’s afraid of me.
“Wake up.”
I nudge her with my foot, but she doesn’t respond. Who am I kidding? If dragging her up a dozen stairs didn’t wake her, it’ll take more than that.
Going through a few drawers, I find a water bottle. I bring it over and splash a bit in her face. She inhales sharply through her nose, and suddenly she’s thrashing, slamming the chair up and down.
Biome Page 8
