Hope in Paradise

by Elizabeth Kirby

  “Arrow. The rest is on a need-to-know basis, pal.”

  Pal? Who did she think she was?

  “Listen, I—”

  “No, you listen, Mister Engineer.” Arrow surveyed the room. Once she finished, she leaned in towards Simon. “We need you.”

  “For what, exactly? Because if it’s some cult, I’m not interested,” he stated, holding his ground.

  “A cult? That’s what you think of us?” She wagged her finger in front of him. “No, no, no, little lamb. We’re not that crazy.” Arrow pulled a sheet of paper from somewhere. “In fact, here’s our card.” She slid it to him.

  Lamb? Card? What have I done now?

  Simon grabbed the paper and glanced over it.

  A picture. A smiley face. He set the paper down and said, “Seriously? This is your card?”

  Arrow smiled. “Yep, and you’d better join, or else.”

  “Or else what? I’ve got nothing left to offer. I’m essentially out of business, so please, go find another sucker for your…”

  “Rebellion.”

  Simon sat still. Rebellion.

  Arrow studied him. “Somehow, I don’t think you’re too surprised.”

  “Why, though? The Alliance—”

  “Has invaded countless planets, and it’s continuing to grow.”

  “Such as?”

  “Aesir, Astral, Ciel, Govad, Arcadia—”

  Arcadia? So, it was the Alliance?

  “Arcadia?” His voice was steady, it had to be. Quivering would arouse suspicion. And that suspicion would take him nowhere.

  “So, you know of it?” she inquired.

  “Not particularly, but… wasn’t it neutral?” He thought back to Arcadia’s history.

  “Not for long, apparently. The Alliance launched an offensive, invading it. The population was decimated from what I’ve heard. Just like all of the other planets the Alliance had struck an agreement with.”

  Simon froze. Emotions rose from the bottom of his heart, emotions which he had hidden away for the past four years… He couldn’t help it, hearing about Arcadia’s destruction… his memories resurfaced.

  “Then why should I join you?” he demanded. “I don’t have any skills; my only treasure was stolen. I don’t know your organization’s name, and yet—”

  “And yet, what?” Arrow countered. “Do you really need to know all of that? Why not just join us for the chance of redeeming yourself, why not—”

  “Because I need to know what I’m getting myself mixed up in!” Simon yelled.

  Arrow stood up. “Since we can’t reach any sort of agreement, then, I guess I’ll see you around.”

  What? His feelings were intermixed with his judgments. If he could just tell Cynthia, then…

  Then what?

  He had told himself countless times that they had gone their separate ways. That he shouldn’t interfere. He hadn’t questioned that, not once. But now… but now…!

  After all that had happened, he just….

  Simon rose from his chair, expecting Arrow to still be by the door.

  She was gone.

  He chased after her. When he caught sight of her, he skidded to a stop and called, “Wait!’

  No reply, but she stopped. He was glad.

  “Wait! Please! Stop!”

  She turned to him, waiting, but annoyed.

  “I’ll take part in this… rebellion! What do you need? Where… where do you need me to go?”

  She smiled, waving him over. “Come along, then!”

  He hastened down the hill to her. Careful now, careful. We don’t want to die now, do we?

  He laughed, a joyful, blissful laugh. For once, he would be involved. For once…

  Simon stopped by her side.

  He would be free.

  Chapter XV

  Sortie

  Everything was normal. The schedule, exercises, all of it. In fact, a mundane quality had settled over the base. Do this, do that. All according to plan. Nothing amiss. Not one catastrophe since she had arrived.

  Not that she should question that, of course. Why should there be an event? Wasn’t everything fine as it was now? A pattern to follow? Or was she just that bored?

  She threw the ball in the air. It hit the backboard once, twice. It made a thump against the board.

  No. It wasn’t that. She just missed the excitement, the adventure. But was that the only thing she missed? Or…

  Or what?

  The ball hit the board for a fourth time. She missed catching it when it fell, and it plopped softly onto the bed before rolling onto the floor. Lazily, she watched its descent.

  The alarms blared. The room was stained with reddish light. Was it time? She didn’t know, but by the looks of it….

  “All pilots, prepare for sortie. Report to the hangar immediately. This is not a drill. I repeat—”

  The announcement was cut off, interrupted by a deafening noise. It rang throughout the room, leaking out to the halls. It sounded like… shrieking. Cynthia covered her ears.

  Hello?

  It ended.

  Cynthia uncovered her ears. No sound. The room was still doused in a reddish glow.

  What was happening?

  The halls were teeming with people when she exited her room. Surprisingly, it was a disaster. Chaotic. A sea of people rushing to the hangar. With the alarms going off, it was hard to understand any of them. She could hear cries. They shoved each other, trampling past.

  During those first seconds, she didn’t understand. Why were they frightened? All they had to do was—

  Her eyes traveled towards the back of the dorms. Another wave was pouring out. And another sound came from that direction.

  Gunshots.

  When the last of the stragglers rounded the corner, she saw them. Men garbed in black, firing haphazardly into the fleeing crowd. She saw them, but didn’t run. Why was that? Her feet wouldn’t move. The screams were getting louder. She still didn’t move. They were almost three-quarters of the way up the hall.

  Move. She continued to stare at them. Move!

  Her legs wouldn’t respond.

  The noises closed in. They became earsplitting.

  Hello? A child’s voice.

  Cynthia looked down.

  A girl.

  Small. Blonde hair in a bow. Blue dress. The girl smiled. Time stopped. The halls were clear. Not a soul in sight. Cynthia stared at the newcomer, wide-eyed.

  The girl spoke, but her words lost in the emptiness of the hallway. Cynthia understood. She understood the girl’s words perfectly.

  You’ll be fine.

  The child smiled again.

  Darkness descended on her. She drifted off.

  By the time she woke, the girl had vanished. The alarms blared in her ears. The sea of people was gone. As were the men with guns. Her head throbbed; how long had she been out?

  Cynthia leaned against the wall. She had to find the others, to warn them. Her legs moved.

  It was a maze, this base. The halls never ended. Left, right, left, right, straight. Everywhere was still flushed with red, although the alarms had finally stopped. Had everyone already escaped? It might’ve been possible, if…

  If… what? Her mind was foggy, out of any reasonable ideas. It was like she was sick, even though she wasn’t. Or was she? She couldn’t tell anymore. She walked through the halls, aimlessly wandering, waiting.

  A light. White in a land of red. Freedom. She ran to it. She was blinded by it, stars dancing in her eyes. When they cleared, she grinned.

  The hangar.

  It was hectic, to say the least. Dozens of mechanics were running around, typing madly into panels, which then electromagnetically shot the Rangers upwards to the surface. Others were rushing pilots into cockpits. It was a frenzy of activity.

  “Alex?” A voice. “Alexandria!”

  Cynthia saw someone running toward her. She recognized him instantly. “Daniel?” she asked. “What’s going on? Why—”

 
“We’re shipping the pilots out,” he said when he reached her. He guided her along to Genesis. She could vaguely hear him talking of the situation, of “escape,” and “everything’s fine.” Why was he trying to reassure her? She…was…fine….

  “Alex!”

  She was on the floor, shivering. What was wrong with her now? Was it the piloting? She looked up at the mech in front of her. Simon should’ve piloted this, not me. After all, he was—he was—

  “Alex!” Daniel was standing next to her, trying to pull her back up. She waved him off, standing on her own.

  “I’m fine,” she told him, still gazing up at Genesis. “Just get the cockpit open.” She glanced in his direction, and he flinched, already moving to the panel. Within moments she saw the cockpit’s seal open and retract. Daniel nodded, and began sequencing the automations for liftoff.

  Cynthia walked over to the cockpit, eyeing it. When she stepped into it, she heard him.

  “Good luck.”

  She nodded, hesitating slightly before hopping inside. She gave him a small wave as the cockpit resealed, shrouding her in the semi-darkness she was used to.

  Calm… calm… She breathed slowly. She could feel the electricity building around the machine, prepping it for launch; the humming soothed her. The steering mechanism jutted out, and Cynthia felt her fingers wrap around the tacky substance. The usual pain when the side panels opened, exposing the sensors that stabbed into her skin. When the visor slid down, activating the monitors, she welcomed it.

  Piloting was an escape, a way out of reality. It was her dream. Yes, a dream of what was yet to come.

  “Launch!” The machine shot upwards in a burst of electricity. Sparks shot off the walls, reacting to the mech’s sudden movement. Blurry walls were all she could see. The monitors lit up, alerting her of the damage Genesis was accumulating from the launch. She grimaced; were these not the usual launch pads then?

  The robot pitched, tilting around a corner, lurching to the left. The seat held her in place, although the force of gravity hit harder than expected. Cynthia gritted her teeth and held on.

  When the mech righted itself, the ground was moving. She saw the white of the snow. It had passed the exit and was midair. Time was motionless. For a split second the storm was beautiful, calm. Then reality set in, and the raging blizzard whipped her around like a kite.

  Static came through the comms.

  “401—” She adjusted the wavelength for better communications. “— I repeat, respond!”

  Apollo?

  “Are you there?” the voice continued. Cynthia didn’t respond. How…? “Are—” It was cut off, and then another, more annoying voice. “Wood! Pick up already, or—” Finally, “Wait ten seconds.”

  Two wires dropped from the sky, clipping onto Genesis’s shoulders. After three seconds, it was being lifted, swinging through the falling snow. In nine seconds, she caught a glimpse of the underbelly.

  In ten, she was in the cargo bay of Apollo.

  Inside, she heard, “Nice job out there. We’re heading into hyperspace for a little trip to a base out past Gemini, if you don’t mind. Rayleigh, out.”

  She pondered this, soon frustrated. Nice job? Nice job? Why you…! She stopped, looked around. The sensors hadn’t released her yet. Neither had the steering. Even the monitors were still operational. Why…? She tried again. No luck. Why wasn’t she being relea—

  The gentle lift of the thrusters alerted her that the spacecraft was already in the atmosphere. By the time they were in space, she was still. When the hyperdrive activated and the stars blurred into streaks of light, she was long gone. Cynthia was drifting off once more.

  “Mayday, mayday!” An indistinct voice woke her. They came through the comm clear as day. Repeated, over and over. Then she found herself spinning. Again. And again. And again.

  She looked down at the atmosphere quickly closing in on her. The brilliant pinks and reds of the planet’s sunset were dazzling, to say the least. What she thought was another effect was not what it seemed. Indeed, the billowing gray-blue clouds were, in fact, not clouds, but the pitiful remains of their engine.

  The maydays stopped. A brief popping sound and the mech finally released her. The silence came as a relief. Then fear settled in.

  One cord snapped. Then the other. A grinding sound one might hear when fingernails scratched a chalkboard. Mechanical shrieking. Cutting. Then a gasp of air, and a fall.

  Her last view of the world was the setting sun.

  The plane fell away, engulfed in fiery blue flames. The spacecraft was a blue marble, crashing into the twilight. The land was forest-green; perhaps it was even a forest. By the looks of it, this planet was crisscrossed by pockets of green intermingled with darker etches in the crust. Canyons and valleys, most likely.

  Past the horizon, endless blue. Azure, Columbia, Cornflower. A never-ending supply. An ocean.

  The land was fast approaching. She was right, an undulating sea of green: a forest. What was once a tiny patch was now a gargantuan place. The trees were here, they were—

  “Alex—”

  What?

  Genesis crashed into the forest, throwing her forward. She hit her head on the monitors, cracking one.

  She was out instantly.

  “Cynthia.” A calm voice. “Cynthia, wake up already!”

  She opened her eyes. Dreamily, she sat up. In front of her was Simon. She looked around. She was still on the cliff. To the west, a beautiful sunset. The wind was getting chilly. The leaves swayed in the breeze. How long had she been out?

  She was just about to sleep again when he started to drag her up. “Come on,” she heard him say, “you can’t fall asleep again!”

  She waved him off, and stretched.

  Alex!

  Cynthia turned, looking at Simon. He was gazing at the sunset. He looked so… sad. She nudged him, nearly pushing him over the edge. He spun around, glaring at her. She laughed, saying, “All right, all right! We’ll go back down now.”

  She walked to the far side of the cliff, and leaned over the edge.

  Alex!

  She fell.

  “Alex!” A persistent voice. “Alex, wake up! Wake—”

  Her eyes opened and she saw a ceiling. She tried to sit up, but her body protested. She turned her head slowly, and a familiar face filled her view.

  “What’s—” she said, her head an impending explosion.

  “You’re awake!” Maria jumped up from her seat.

  “We’ve been through this before.” Why was she so worried this time?

  Maria replied, “I know, I know, but….” She turned away.

  “But what?”

  Maria smiled. “Nothing, nothing at all.”

  Cynthia glared at her friend, but she didn’t budge. Finally, she sighed and went back to staring at the ceiling.

  Conversation. Snippets. A word here, a word there. Crash, camp, rebellion. Where were the others, how were they? Now—

  Whenever they passed her bunk, they waved at her politely, and continued on their way, whispering. What was wrong with her that was so terrible, so….

  She couldn’t think of the word.

  Maria came by countless times over her stay. They talked about trivial subjects: how was she? Was she comfortable, or did she need anything? When Cynthia tried to broach the topic of her condition, her friend just stood and walked away.

  Staring up at the ceiling was one thing. Thinking was another. Either one or the other would offer a solution. What was the one thing that would bring everyone to speechlessness? What…?

  Cynthia swung her legs over the bed, wincing. She floundered toward the wall and leaned against it, moving down the length of it to the answer: her reflection.

  A glint in the far corner. A mirror. She stumbled to it, and surveyed her damaged state.

  Then she noticed them.

  Her eyes. A swirl of color. Emerald sprinkled with amber. She went cold. How long did she have? A year? Six months? Why didn’
t they tell her? On Chione, it wasn’t unusual to find five, six, or even ten pilots in the infirmary suffering from the effects of piloting a Ranger. How was this any different? It wasn’t like she was an ace or anything, right? Why—

  Something outside blared. Cynthia was pulled from her thoughts, and she went to the slits in the tent as quickly as she was able. A forest, just like she had thought. In between the trees were around a dozen Rangers hidden from view, shrouded by shadows. Firelight illuminated most of the camp, including the tent she was in, from what she could see. Crates surrounded the tents in no particular order, spread about in stacks.

  Outside her tent, chaos was rampant. People rushed past in the firelight. She could hear shouts from the next few tents over. Rangers were powered up, their thrusters charring the flora below. They lit up like fireworks as they launched, racing off towards some unknown destination.

  Cynthia tore her eyes away, hurriedly changed from the cotton clothing to her pilot’s suit, and ran outside.

  By the time she arrived, half of the mechs had already burst into the darkened skies. She approached the makeshift sites, then stopped dead in her tracks. A senior officer was standing in the middle, addressing pilots awaiting their orders.

  “Team Four, launch. Five, stand by. Six—” And so on. She hid behind a stack of steel boxes and waited. As Team Four went to their assigned machines, she stayed low and hurried behind Six’s corner. Three to her left was Genesis, but now Team Six was coming. More shouting. When that subsided, she sprinted behind the mechs again, and waited for the next opportunity. Finally, the remaining mechanics were sent off to repair and inspect the leftover machines for damage. More distant yelling. The mechanics were nearing.

  She made her move. As the mechanics’ steps echoed past, she moved to the cockpit, and found there was no control panel to lift the compartment into its pocket. Instead, a substitute pulley system had been set up beneath the compartment. Cynthia scanned the makeshift system and saw a big red button attached to it.

  A big, red button. What could possibly go wrong? She laughed to herself, sneaking closer. When she was at the button, she pressed it.