My next decision doesn’t really make sense to me. I don’t have a logical reason to make it. But right now, in this moment, knowing that someone is watching over me, that they’re staying awake to be sure that I’m safe, sounds like something I need. So I shake my head.
“No thanks,” I tell Romie. “Noah and I have… gotten used to me sleeping there.”
This announcement does little for Romie, but for Noah the change is immediate. His whole face brightens. As if his eyes are shining.
“Really?”
“Sure,” I say awkwardly.
As he opens the door, I see Chloe only a few steps down the hall and hurrying swiftly away. Like she’s trying to run away from something.
My heart turns to ice.
I’m no moron. She heard us, I know it. Through the crack in the door, while she waited to walk back with Noah and steal a precious few moments with him, moments she surely imagined when she put on her stolen makeup, hoping to catch his attention…
I take it back. I am a moron. The worst kind of moron and the worst kind of friend. For every kindness Chloe has done me, I’ve only thought of myself. Terra was right about that as well: I don’t know anything about trust. And certainly, no one should trust me.
“Never mind,” I say as Chloe disappears down the stairs, out of sight. “I’ll stay here.”
Confusion registers in Noah’s features, making me feel even worse. But I’m past the point of protecting anyone’s feelings now.
I turn away, allowing Romie to step into the hall and follow the others to Briefing. Then I close the door and turn out the light, casting myself into darkness. Kicking off my boots, I climb into the hammock and curl into a ball. With nothing to weigh me down, it feels like I’m floating. Like I’m drifting away.
This is why I don’t let people in, I remind myself. This is why I’m not vulnerable. Because then people can hurt you.
Hanging in my little web, I try my best to get some sleep. But instead, I stare out into the unfeeling void, searching for the eyes that are no longer staring back.
Chapter Ten
No rest comes to me, though the hammock turns out to be pretty comfortable. Instead, I lie awake, contemplating a serious problem.
Her name is Elizabeth.
Just how long have I gone through life like this, not thinking about other people? Even the ones who claim to be my friends?
I guess before the Memory Bank was dumped on my unwitting shoulders, I didn’t give much thought to what others might be feeling. Not really. I mean, sure, if someone was clearly hurt, I wouldn’t ignore them. But these kinds of things, like with Chloe and Noah… I just looked past them, I guess. Didn’t think too hard about how they might be affected by my actions.
It’s a little hard to ignore now that I can simply walk through Chloe’s memories and see exactly how I’ve hurt her.
But there’s a twist. I’ve got Noah’s memories too. So I know what he doesn’t feel for her and what he does feel for me. That puts me in kind of a lose-lose situation. I can’t make her happy without crushing his hopes. And I can’t make him happy without breaking her heart.
These are not the thoughts I want filling my head before I sneak into the Helix and risk everything. So while I wait, after Romie wakes and heads down to fitness hour, I allow my mind to wander. It takes me home. To Earth.
My mother and father.
Bubbling in my head, the memories take over, tugging me down, down, out of the room, into another time. I can feel the heat of the deck burning my bare feet when I climb out of the pool. Glimpse the badminton net, and the bats flying out to savage the birdie whenever we play after dusk. Smell the woods behind the house, dense, dark, and mysterious, and treacherous in the winter months when it rains without end.
In the glimmering years that filled my young life, we explored it all together. Shared each joy, every new discovery. It seems wrong that they’re not here with me now. As if in some way they abandoned me.
And that’s the question that suddenly invades my mind: Did they abandon me?
Or did I abandon them?
I feel I must have the answer locked in a tangle of memories at the back of my head. But there is something keeping me from it. Maybe guilt… or fear.
Footsteps outside the pod, and a tap on the door. Hunger, which has been my constant companion, deserts me as I’m drawn back into the present, into the problems that require my attention. I put on Noah’s hat and oversized jumpsuit. My hands are slick with nervous sweat.
Opening the door, I find Terra in the hallway, alone.
“Where’s Chloe?”
“Couldn’t make it,” she replies flatly. “You ready?”
Guilt creeps over me afresh. Maybe she’s lying. Maybe she bullied Chloe into staying behind. More likely, Chloe cried herself to sleep and didn’t want to face me. I don’t blame her.
At the moment, I don’t feel like facing myself.
“Ready,” I mutter.
The transport cart is waiting at the bottom of the spiral staircase, lid propped open. Terra checks to be sure that nobody is around. Right now it’s time for Group. The colony should be all but empty.
“In you go,” she says with mock enthusiasm.
For a second I’m struck by the irony of the cart’s coffin-like shape and what it very well might signify for me. I realize in a way I never have before just how much I hate being confined. To be able to keep moving, to distract myself, to have an escape from my thoughts—that’s how I stay balanced. As I climb into the padded box, my whole body goes cold.
I manage to give Terra a thumbs-up before she slams the lid, roughly shoving the cart down the hallway.
It comes as a surprise that the box is so cushioned. And the perfect size to fit a cadet—almost as if it were designed for the task.
Maybe it was. I wonder if this is how they haul us around after a Revision. The thought strokes a shiver up my spine as I imagine the doctors shuffling about the halls in white coats, pulling lifeless bodies from plastic caskets, and tucking them into beds. I try to distract myself by going over the plan again in my head, the one Romie worked out before he fell asleep and relayed to me just after dawn.
While the cadets are going about their morning duties, Terra will wheel me over to the Helix and have the cart sent to cryonics. Once I find Atkinson, I’ll use that same cart to transport him back to the Xeri domes.
Meanwhile, Noah will gather medicine to neutralize the drugs that kept him in cryosleep. Chloe and Romie will gather supplies for his period in hiding, such as food and water. Once I’m finished, Terra will be waiting outside the Helix at the juncture to the Xeri domes.
If I’m followed, she’ll take the cart. That’ll leave me free to focus on my escape.
While Atkinson stabilizes, the rest of us will regroup in the Bolo Biome, by the tool shed that borders the avocado trees. There will be no risk of cameras. And there are plenty of tangled nooks in case we need to lose pursuers.
“One other thing,” Romie had told me, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “To be sure you get away, we need to do something about the surveillance cameras.”
“You said the EMP isn’t ready.”
“It isn’t. But even if we can’t turn the cameras off, we might be able to get around them. I need you to locate a port, to access their system.”
“A port,” I said, still fighting my own groggy senses.
“Yes. You’ll take my splicer, here, to do a TCP/IP scan—”
“—and get a signal upload for the password,” I finished, following his train of thought. “I can remove myself from the database then leave a backdoor for you to access their feed.” He stared at me as I reached up to adjust my glasses, then realized I was mimicking his own quirk. With a blush, I dropped my hand. “Um, is that… is that what you were thinking?”
“Yes, exactly,” was his reply. “Exactly what I was thinking.”
I waited until he left to collapse into the chair, trying to stop my
hands from trembling.
Another rattle shakes me from the memory as the cart goes over a seam. Even with the padding, it feels like I’m getting bruises. I wonder if Terra is doing it on purpose. I can hear her humming through the plastic. Then, abruptly, we stop.
Moments pass, and dread begins to pool in my stomach. What am I doing? Why did I agree to this? I was a fool to think I could trust her. Ever since I abducted her, she’s probably been waiting for just the right moment to turn me in. Probably she wanted to be there when it happened. It burns me to think how easy I’ve made it for her.
Breathe slowly, I tell myself. I know I don’t have much air in here. But the claustrophobia is like an itch, growing worse with every second in captivity.
We begin moving again, another jarring bump. To my bewilderment, the cart begins to slant as if we’re going up a ramp, my body sliding down until blood rushes to my head. I clench my teeth, straining to ease the pressure, but my arms are pinned at my sides. What is going on out there?
Abruptly we level off, and then we come to a halt.
Nothing. No movement, no sounds. I can tell my air is getting low because my lungs have started that trickly burning sensation again, just as in the airlock.
I try to lie still, running my fingers over a hard plastic tube in my jumpsuit pocket, along the back, the smooth wings, the cap… It’s the Verced inoculator that Romie found in Conrad’s coat. I’d forgotten about it. Has it been used, I wonder?
In my other pocket, the cumbersome stun gun is all charged up and ready to go. Still, even with both weapons, I feel drastically underprepared for what comes next.
Will someone open the lid? Will they leave the cart for later? If I’m found, my best chance will be to catch them off their guard.
Hopefully, it won’t be Sarlow or McCallum.
I hear feet shuffling. Then the latch pops and my whole body goes rigid. The lid is thrown back, but it’s not one of the maintenance directors staring down at me. It’s an angular face, stubbly and aged. The doctor’s eyes go wide as they meet mine.
“How—?”
Without thinking, I lurch up like a cobra from under a bowl and jab the inoculator into his neck. He cries out and recoils.
My feet slap on the tile floor as I swiftly uncoil my stun gun. But I can already tell it isn’t needed, because his knees have begun to buckle, and the next thing I know he’s falling into my arms, dead weight.
I ease him down as gently as I can, but he’s much heavier than Terra. It’s like wrestling a sack of mulch. He slips, and his head thuds on the tile as I grapple with his arms. After several pathetic attempts to pick him back up, I end up dragging him into a corner and leaving him in a heap.
It takes me a few seconds to catch my breath.
That’s when I take in my surroundings. I made it to cryonics. Along the walls, stacked like angled bunks, are giant capsules. Small, darkened windows show that most are empty. Except a few.
My heart begins to thump harder and harder, until I can feel it pounding against my ribcage. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. This is why I’m here, to bring Atkinson back with me. But for some reason I find myself terrified of what else I might find. I look around once more to be sure I’m alone.
No cameras in here.
Sensing that time is short, I approach the first bed. Through tempered glass, I see a girl about my age. Sealed tightly in a clear bag, blue liquid fringing her face.
My first thought is that she’s dead. But no, panels beside her give some sort of readout, and a pulse is one of them. Instead, I choose to think of her as looking peaceful. The idea of a still lake comes to mind, no ripples to disturb it. It’s less creepy, anyway. Her features are bony, her hair pulled into a dark ponytail. I realize I know her face.
She was one of the cadets who disappeared, who came to mind back in Noah’s pod.
How long has she been sleeping here? And what could she possibly have done to deserve such a prison?
Maybe she found out what they were up to, like me. Maybe it was too great a risk to erase all her memories, and this was the best way to keep her quiet.
Didn’t the doctors say Atkinson could have killed me by uploading so many memories at once? The same could be true of erasing them.
In the next bed, I find the Bolo boy with freckles on his nose. There are five more that I hadn’t remembered, but upon seeing their faces I know exactly who they are.
One, a girl with pale skin and coppery hair like Noah’s, used to sleep in the pod at the end of my hall. Her name is Hannah.
Soon I’ve checked the whole lab, but there’s no sign of Atkinson. I don’t know how long the Verced will last, but I want to put a lot of distance between me and that doctor before he wakes up. Slinking to the door, I crack it open.
Now I understand why it felt like a ramp from inside the cart. To my left, the floor of the Helix rises gradually, while to my right it slopes back downward, curving around an enormous cylindrical terrarium to suggest the spiral shape for which the ship was named. Inside the glass, vines and ivy hang in a loose knot of vegetation.
And again, no security cameras. I guess they don’t want a recording of what happens behind these walls.
I return to the cart for my hat, which fell off when I sprang upward. Do I take the cart with me? I’d expected Atkinson to be groggy from the sleeping drugs. Now I feel like it’ll just slow me down. I resolve to leave it.
Before I go, I decide to take the unconscious doctor’s lab coat as an extra precaution. The fit is closer to my size than Noah’s jumpsuit. Maybe, if the doctors don’t look too hard, I’ll have a better shot at blending in.
It’s just too bad there isn’t more Verced in the pockets.
Feeling a bit better disguised, I cast one final glance at the imprisoned cadets then slip into the hall and get moving.
It’s amazing how vulnerable you can feel, walking along a brightly lit corridor. Every little sound, a hint of pursuit. Every alcove, a place for an attacker to hide. Except no one is hiding or pursuing. Only the thriving plants inside the glass show signs of life. Beyond that, the Helix is as barren as a morgue.
I pass several doors on the outer edge of the spiral: Telemetry, Astrometrics, Operations. Then I see a label that catches my attention.
Comm Room.
Quick thinking says that if the doctors were going to set up a surveillance center, it’d be in here. I test the handle. Incredibly, it’s unlocked.
As I step into the darkened room I hear the dull murmur of voices. I freeze—but only for a second. Instinct kicks in, and I dive for cover under the nearest desk, curling into a ball. Behind me, the door clicks shut.
I cower in absolute stillness, waiting for a sign that my entrance was noticed. But the voices continue in undertones, their owners apparently too distracted to notice me or the door. Rallying my courage, I sneak a glance and count five doctors at the end of the room, their bodies silhouetted by glowing screens.
Just as I’d predicted, the displays show the security feeds from various domes and corridors around the colony. And I see the thick, blinking towers of the surveillance network forming a few short aisles along a wall.
At my back the door opens again, and for a second I think I’ve been followed. But no, the figure walks past me toward the others, pulling something on wheels. I hear the click and drag of a respirator.
“Good morning, doctors.” That voice is unmistakable.
Dosset.
Icy sweat breaks over my body, driving the breath from my lungs. Other than his first meeting with each cadet, I have no memory of being near Dosset in person. Never, not once have I seen him roaming the halls.
Being in the same room with him now, I’m petrified. Like having one of Noah’s panic attacks all over again.
The others have given some kind of response. To my mingled horror and surprise, they’re beginning to leave. One by one, they pass in silence. The door has hardly shut before Dosset himself starts to move. From under the de
sk, I can see his spotless white shoes headed directly toward my hiding spot.
Does he know I’m here? How could he? There were no security cameras in the hall—I would have seen them!
I make myself smaller, as small as I can, huddling in fear as he draws nearer. Then he stops right above me. So close, I could reach out and touch the wheel of his oxygen tank.
An endless moment passes. I hear a soft drumming. It takes a second to realize he’s typing on a projected keyboard. Abruptly he steps past me, clicks the deadbolt on the door, then heads back over to the displays.
Though I can hardly stop myself from shaking, I slip from under the desk and peek over. Unexpectedly, the screens have gone blank.
“Flag Mercer,” he says.
“Calling Doctor Mercer,” replies the same female voice that announces the time stamp. “One moment, please.”
A short period of silence passes, then a pop and a crackle. In the middle of the room, a glowing blue hologram takes shape, projected from a hidden lens in the ceiling.
The man is wearing a lab coat, just like every other doctor. His face looks pocked, as if riddled by tiny craters.
“Hello, Adam. Checking in?” asks the projection.
“Just wondering about the readouts,” Dosset says. “Do you have an update?”
“I do,” Mercer replies. He sounds out of breath. “Naturally, things are pretty much exactly as you predicted.”
“Of course they are,” Dosset says dryly. “Have you shut down Aster, then?”
“Not… quite. You’re sure you want to go ahead with this? We could wait and see if—”
“There is no reason to wait.”
“But the plant life—”
“Trust me, Andrew. Wrong as it may feel, there is little use in keeping her online any longer. I take personal responsibility.”
“Understood.”
In the following silence, I feel their words like an anchor catching in the base of my stomach. Is this it? Could this be their terrible secret? That they’ve halted the terraforming, allowing Mars to return to dust?
“About that missing cadet… Engram, I believe?” Mercer ventures.
Biome Page 12
