by T. M. Catron
Another leaned over the dead Condarri and drew its claws over its chest. Almost reverently. Then, it looked straight into the trees where Calla and Cummings hid.
It sees us, Cummings said, his voice in her mind sounding panicked.
No, we are hidden from it, just like we are hidden from the adarria. Stay low.
But it can sense us. He shifted as if he meant to run away.
Concentrate! Calla said. Or you’ll give away our position with your foolishness.
More than anything, Calla wanted to be able to feel the aether wrapping around her. She closed her eyes, imagining it swooping down and crushing the squadron below. But when she opened her eyes, they were still moving about, following the various trails the surviving hybrids had left behind.
She burned to know how Doyle was able to control the aether. Maybe Cummings had been incorrect. Maybe it had nothing to do with killing the Condarri.
But Calla felt he was right about that, even if she had no proof.
They slipped back through the trees, watching their backs, watching for an ambush in front. When they reached a good hiding place, they paused to catch their breaths.
Calla’s heart pounded wildly in her chest. “Why are they just now defending themselves?” she whispered.
“Don’t know. But if they all travel armed now, we won’t be able to kill them so quickly.”
Calla cracked her knuckles and then twisted her neck until her spine made a satisfying popping sound. “Why can Doyle control the aether? What’s different?”
She didn’t expect Cummings to respond, and he didn’t. A few days ago, Calla would not have confided in him. She didn’t trust him, not any more or less than she trusted anyone else. But he had proven to be helpful. And had relinquished his command after she killed her first Condarri.
Cummings knew much about the invasion and had done some research before heading to West Virginia.
“Forget Doyle,” he said, “I want to know what the connection is between that mine and Condar.”
“I thought we agreed it was a portal for transporting more Condarri to Earth?”
“Yes, but why does the Factory have an almost identical room inside it?”
Calla nodded, remembering her battle with the inferno inside the Factory Core. The one that had burned her and allowed her to exit unscathed. Doyle had also fought the fire but hadn’t been able to complete the job. At the time, they were setting the aether free.
The aether. It had something to do with the aether, but Calla just couldn’t figure out what.
“Are you saying,” she said thoughtfully, “that there is another connection on Condar? And how does the aether factor into all of this?”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Cummings whispered.
Calla paused. The birds had gone quiet. But another sound replaced them, that of trees rustling and small tremors in the ground.
She peeked out from their hiding place. The squadron was systematically searching the undergrowth, blasting away anything that was too thick to stomp through. Since their weapons were quiet, all she heard was the undergrowth as it exploded into leaves and splinters.
They moved, crawling out of the undergrowth and around a bend in the mountain.
They will hunt us all day, she said.
He nodded. Until they find us.
Why couldn’t she use the aether against them? The more Calla thought about it, the more curious she became about the Core on Condar. As far as she knew, no hybrid had ever seen it. Maybe her answers were there. But how to get there? She no longer had the Nomad. And even if she did, flying the hybrid-built ship to Condar’s mothership would be suicide.
No, she would need to find another way to get there.
A shadow passed over the woods. Calla and Cummings looked up at the same time. A Condarri attack ship glided over the forest.
The foliage rustled, and the short hair on Calla’s scalp prickled. Only one thing ever made her feel that way.
The Condarri were using the aether to hunt her.
With a chill, she turned and watched the forest move on its own, a black shadow twisting through the trees, swooping under stone, around trees. She shuddered and turned to Cummings.
I have a plan, she said. We need to get aboard that ship.
He raised an eyebrow, his look almost pitying. How do we do that? They don’t land.
“Follow my lead,” she whispered.
And she set off away from the aether as fast as she could go. The side of the mountain was treacherous for anyone not watching their step. But Calla slid over it with ease. Cummings followed. With each step, her plan sounded more radical. But sometimes the radical ideas worked the best.
She led him until they stood beneath the attack ship. Its stone-like hull gleamed in the weak afternoon light.
A quick glance behind told her the squadron was closing in on them. Soon it would close the gap enough to carry on conversations with the two hybrids.
Not that Calla wanted to try.
Cummings watched them approach. Sweat broke out on his brow, dripping down into his eyes. He wiped it away with his shirt sleeve and glanced at Calla, his jaw set determinedly as if to tell her he was with her. With a curt nod, she sank back into the foliage and led the way through tall, woody undergrowth.
Throughout the afternoon, they concentrated on evading the squadron while keeping the ship in sight. It skimmed the tops of trees, possibly aiding in the search. Calla’s dance was a fine one. Get too close, and they would be caught. Go too far away, and lose any opportunity they might have. When the opportunity arose, they covered themselves in more dark mud.
When darkness was bleeding into the sky from the East, Calla sprinted to get ahead of the ship, which was mere feet above the treetops. She hoisted herself into a tree and began to climb. Cummings followed.
They climbed all the way to the top. The warship was almost upon them. Calla eyeballed the distance, calculating how far she would need to jump to catch it as it flew by. She would only get one chance.
The last ray of light disappeared behind the ridge, plunging the hybrids into cool darkness. The ship swept low, passing just to the right of their tree.
Calla jumped, jamming her fingers into the grooves of the adarria adorning the hull. The ship pulled her away from the tree, and her feet dangled toward the ground far below. With a great heave, she pulled her body up until her feet could wedge into the grooves as well. She hung there, her back to the ground, her cheek pressed to the ship.
Cummings followed. She heard him land a few feet down from her.
And now for the hard part. Slowly, agonizingly, Calla climbed hand over hand like she was ascending a rock face without equipment. As the ship moved on, the ground grew further away. If she fell, she didn’t know if she would survive the landing. Cummings grunted, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him lose his grip. His hand slung out from the side, and he almost lost his footing. He paused, breathing heavily, and found his grip again.
On the attack ships, the doors were in the side of the hull for easy deployment. Calla climbed above the first one, bringing her to a more upright position where gravity wasn’t pulling at her backside. She paused to catch her breath.
They would have to remain there until the doors opened. Calla climbed up further, wishing to escape detection. In the dark, one of the Condarri would need to crane its neck and look up to see them.
If it goes into space, we won’t survive long, Cummings reminded her helpfully.
We’re not going to wait for that to happen.
We might not have a choice.
An hour passed, and Calla’s muscles burned with the effort of holding onto the ship. Her hands were locked in their grip, her arms spasming. The ship, moving over a new valley, finally swung down. The squadron, or another like it, waited below. Calla hoped the mud camouflage on their bodies would hide them.
Just as she had anticipated, the Condarri were boarding the ship for the evening. Now w
as their chance. If she and Cummings didn’t get into the ship now, they might have to hang on until the ship opened again, which might not be until after it had taken a trip out of the atmosphere.
Hybrids could stand extreme temperatures, and even a lack of oxygen for a short time. But depending on how long the ship stayed in space, they would freeze long before it decided to land again.
As the doors opened and the squadron passed by beneath, Calla prepared herself to swing down through the open doors. She eased herself down the side of the hull. If she made noise, they would look up and see her. If Calla missed, she would have to land on the ground and hope they hadn’t left a scout below.
The last Condarri passed. Calla took her feet out of their footholds and let herself drop. As the top of the door passed, she grabbed hold. For a heart-stopping second, she dangled from the door, watching the Condarri pass through into the main part of the ship. She swung once, twice, and let go.
Upon landing, she moved out of the way to wait for Cummings. Pressing herself up against the wall, she watched as the door began to close.
Just before it snapped shut, Cummings repeated her moves and landed in the middle of the small hangar.
They were inside. Now all they had to do was wait for the ship to go back to Condar.
Doyle sat in the captain’s chair, looking out at the aether surrounding the Nomad. Although he was almost at his destination, all he could think about was how he had left Mina. She infuriated him. He’d been as open as he could possibly be. He truly might not see her again. But she hadn’t said goodbye. He hadn’t thought it would sting as much as it did.
Instead of fighting his anger, Doyle let it consume him. If he were going to succeed in this mission at all, he needed to keep a clear head. And for him, anger had always brought danger into sharp focus. Like when he’d killed the Glyph. Somehow thinking of them as Glyphs instead of Condarri separated them from the creatures he had grown up to revere.
As he peeled back the aether surrounding the flight deck, the first glimpse of Condar he’d had in over a year brought his memories back into sharp relief.
The ship did—and didn’t—look like the attack ships on Earth. It resembled a jagged stone rock, made of the same material as the assault ships, but much more immense. The smaller ships looked like they had been chipped off the hull of Condar.
And there were over a hundred docked. With a chill, Doyle realized how much more challenging this mission had become. Why were they all there? Why not on Earth?
Last time Doyle had been here, he’d been named Dar Ceylin. Funny how now he was sneaking back in disguise instead of leaving triumphantly on a Condarri battleship. He closed the curtain of aether around him once again and directed the Nomad to a smaller, out-of-the-way hangar. He’d have to be extra careful, but he was confident he could move about the ship undetected as long as the adarria didn’t give him away. It was what was awaiting him at his destination that concerned him.
Time to suit up.
Condar wouldn’t have oxygen, not with any hybrids on board. Not that they’d bothered with much oxygen even when the hybrids were here. He’d need one of the space suits stored in the hold. Doyle took one last glance around the cockpit before leaving it. After today, he might never see it again.
He smiled at the warm feelings he’d developed for the Nomad. Despite who its original owner had been, Doyle had always felt it responded to him best. The only other hybrids who’d been this attached to it had been Morse and Calla. Morse had designed and built it. Calla had claimed it. But Doyle loved it.
Stupid, sentimental emotion. No time for that.
He bounded down the stairs two at a time. The first thing he did was discard his human clothing and reach for one of the black space suits. As he took it off the rack, something caught his eye.
A gray t-shirt. And it wasn’t his.
Doyle pulled on his suit slowly, zipping it up halfway before reaching for the clothes stuffed at the bottom of the closet. At first, he thought they were Calla’s. He’d put some of her clothing here after he took it out of the cabin upstairs. Unsure of how Mina would react if she’d known he’d stolen the Nomad from Calla, he had hidden the female hybrid’s clothes. But Calla had found those long ago.
No, this t-shirt was the one Mina had been wearing. He balled it into his fist and looked back at the rack. A suit was missing.
No, she hadn’t. Had she?
“Mina!”
Panic began to set in as Doyle felt the ship approach the dock. If she was here, it was too late to take her back.
“Mina! Tell me you’re not here!”
But he knew she was before he heard something move inside one of the cabinets. He rushed over to it and almost tore the door off its hinges in his haste. Mina was propped against the wall, wearing a black space suit, looking like she’d just woken from a nap.
She smiled nervously… and determinedly.
Doyle was so mad he slammed the door shut again. If he didn’t look at her, maybe he could control his temper. It was something he’d never bothered to do before with his subordinates, but Mina had reminded him over and over she wasn’t one of those.
“Don’t be mad,” she called from inside. He heard her banging around as she tried to get out. “Well, okay, I know you’re mad.”
At that, Doyle jerked the door open again. This time, it did fall off its hinges. He threw it to the side, and it clattered down to the floor.
“Mad?” Doyle swore and grabbed her arms to pull her out. Then, afraid he might be too rough, he let go.
Mina winced but didn’t back down. He seethed a moment as tunnel vision washed over him.
“I couldn’t let you go alone,” she whispered.
“Mina, what have you done?”
“I’m here to be with you. I know it’s crazy and you have every right to hate me for it, but I couldn’t let you go alone.”
Doyle breathed in harsh, ragged gasps. Anger didn’t describe the feeling that washed over him. It was terror. “I’ve done just fine alone all my life! I made it perfectly clear where you were supposed to be, Mina! How have you made it this far in life without following simple instructions? Do you know how dangerous this is? No, of course not. Because I cannot even begin to describe the dangers to you!”
“You say you’ve been alone all your life, but that’s your problem. You don’t accept help from anyone even when they want to give it!” Mina shouted too, matching Doyle’s volume.
“I accepted your help plenty of times! In the woods, in the cabin—”
“And none of those times did you really need my help! But now you do!”
Doyle moved in closer. “And have you thought about the danger you might be putting me in? Because now I have to babysit.”
“Aha! I knew you felt responsible for me. Well, don’t do me any more favors, Doyle, because I’m done being saved by you! I’ve changed. And I won’t get in the way.”
“I can’t help but save you—you always need it!”
“Well, stop doing it!”
Doyle laughed. For a moment, he thought he was coming unhinged. Then he said, “And just what am I supposed to do? Watch the woman I love die?”
Mina drew in a sharp breath.
Doyle paused. He hadn’t meant to say it. He shouldn’t have. It would just complicate the situation even more. But now that he had, he couldn’t take it back. And it was a relief to tell her, finally.
Mina was still looking at him, waiting. She looked like she was holding her breath, like she always did when she was scared. Well, if she felt that way about it—
“I love you too,” she blurted.
Doyle had never felt awkward about anything in his entire life. Unsure, perhaps, ungainly at times, but never truly awkward. He was used to the confidence that came with discipline and power. But this was different. Mina reciprocated feelings he’d only just been able to articulate.
It scared him to death.
He tried to stay on both feet whil
e he worked out what to do. “You can’t keep up with me.”
“We both know that I can.”
“There’s no oxygen on Condar.”
“Good thing we both have these cool suits, then, huh?”
“You don’t love me.”
“That’s not within your power to dictate.”
He stared at her, unable to believe this conversation. Mina reached up and put a hand on his chest, near his heart. The feeling of her hand on his bare skin was calming and terrifying at the same time. Doyle tried to focus on breathing.
"I know it’s dangerous," Mina said. "You made that clear. But I couldn’t stand the thought of waiting for you on the Factory, of wondering if you were coming back. And how long was I to wait before determining if you were dead or not?”
Doyle grasped her hand like it was a lifeline. “What about Lincoln?”
“I know he’s going hate me for it. But Lincoln and I are on different paths now. Deep down, he knows that. Maybe one day he’ll forgive me.”
“I only hope we return so you can give him a chance to properly hate you, because I’m certainly going to.”
“Hate me?”
“Yes.” He moved closer. “You’ve haven’t changed, Mina. Not really.”
He paused, knowing it wasn’t the right time for revelations but fearing he wouldn’t get another chance. He decided to just tell her. “You’re still the woman I grabbed on that plane.”
“What?”
“On the plane in Charlotte. The smoke was so thick you were almost dead. And I pulled you out.”
Mina’s hand jerked in his, but she didn’t pull away. “That was you? All this time, I thought…” she trailed off, her eyes glistening with tears.
“What?”
“I thought you were an angel or something.”
Doyle smiled. “Or something, I suppose. Although we’ve long ago established that I’m no angel.”
The Nomad hummed, docking with Condar with a soft metal clang. They were hooked in. The aether couldn’t hide them anymore, not like this.
