by Sarah Fine
“I’ll stay with Leo, Tate,” Christina says quietly. “I won’t let him be alone. You need to go.”
She gives me the gentlest of pushes toward Race, away from Leo, away from everything that’s happened. I climb into the backseat of the SUV. Ellie is cuffed and trussed in the middle, with a guard on either side of her and thick plastic bags encasing her hands. She turns in her seat and looks back at me. Her eyes shine with cold curiosity.
I stare back. It occurs to me that I could reach her from here, strangle the life out of her, crush her windpipe and stop her heart, and my hands are rising from my lap when Race taps my shoulder. I pull my gaze from Ellie’s. “They’ve radioed back to the main building,” he says. “They’ll send another car to pick up the boy.” He nods in the direction of everything I’m leaving behind. “And I’m sorry,” he adds quietly.
By staying with Leo, Christina’s done me a favor. I’ve left all my heart at the crater wall, so now I’ll just be a collection of logical, emotionless thoughts, which is exactly what I need. I don’t care about the people in this vehicle. They’re moving parts in a machine, nothing soft, no nerves. Or, at least, that’s what I’ll tell myself. I breathe in and out. “Okay. And thanks.”
As we drive back to the front entrance of the main building, Race radios Angus. He says that I’m safe and breaks the news that Leo is dead. There is complete silence on the other end of the line as Race ends the call.
When we arrive, Race and I disembark and walk into the atrium ahead of the guards and the Ellie-Sicarii. Congers emerges from the administrative wing with Angus, whose normally ruddy complexion is gray. Next to him are Graham and Rufus, who have apparently been relieved of the suspicion and the handcuffs.
Angus has the scanner, and he holds it up as we approach. “It was in Ellie’s quarters, as was Ellie,” says Angus. He scrapes his knuckles along his bearded jaw. “Looks like it strangled her after it . . . did whatever it does. Her body had aged dramatically. But Brayton is still alive, though gravely ill—Dr. Ackerman is with him.”
“He won’t live much longer,” the Ellie-Sicarii comments in a quiet, calm voice.
Congers’s eyes blaze as he stares at the alien, the creature who has stolen so much from us. “Neither will you.”
It doesn’t even flinch.
“Where’s my mom?” I ask Angus. I’d expected her to be part of this.
Angus steps aside as the Sicarii is led down the hall. “She’s still in the morgue. I’ve called to tell her you’re all right. She said she needed to look at some spaceship components you dropped off?”
The Sicarii lets out a low laugh, and Race and Congers stiffen like it’s a personal insult. Graham takes in the look on his father’s face and jogs ahead to assist the guards. We follow them down the hall and into Angus’s office, where they shove the Ellie-Sicarii into a chair and cuff its wrists to the armrests. Rufus lowers himself to a chair in the corner and simply watches.
Graham helps fasten its ankles to the legs of the chair and moves back to make room for his father, who stands in front of the Sicarii. “Sorry we couldn’t let you leave just yet.”
The Sicarii arches an eyebrow. “Your posturing is amusing. By all means, continue.”
Congers’s nostrils flare, and Race steps forward. “Have you been communicating with your colleagues outside this compound?” he asks. “How much do they know about our defenses?”
“And your lack of intelligence is encouraging,” the Sicarii says.
“Why do you want the scanner?” I blurt out.
“Now that is a more interesting question.” It tilts its head, looking eerily like Brayton did this morning at breakfast—except it wasn’t Brayton; it was the creature in front of me. “I was present at the gathering when that weapon was first deployed. It was . . . impressive in both its intensity and specificity. I was the only one who escaped. I injured the one who wielded it, but he destroyed himself and the device before I could acquire either.”
Angus looks at Congers and Race. “You told us that happened hundreds of years ago.”
The Sicarii turns its smile on him. “It did.” It gives us all a speculative sort of look. “You are so lost. All of you.”
“No,” I say. “I don’t think we are. You somehow drain the telomerase from your victims—”
“We refer to them as donors,” it says.
“Donors? They let you shorten their lives willingly?”
It shrugs.
I can’t tell if the Sicarii’s nonchalance is bravado, or if it’s so old that it really doesn’t care. I think it might be the latter, because it’s clear that threats don’t impress it much. So I decide to take a different tack. “Tell us how it works.”
It seems intrigued by my curiosity. “We were driven to this out of necessity. Five hundred years ago, we were a thriving species. Much more advanced than the creatures on this planet. But our advancement came with consequences, and our world grew sick. The weather, the soil, the water. There was a worldwide famine that threatened our extinction, but we had the technology to artificially stimulate the environment into producing food once again.” Its pale blue eyes meet mine, and there is something ancient and cold behind them. “But the consequence of this irradiation was more complex than my ancestors initially realized. Infertility rates rose exponentially, and we began to age twice as quickly. We discovered that our bodies’ ability to create telomerase had been decimated. I was born among the last generation of our species, but we were all genetically damaged, destined to age quickly and die young and childless. We were a species rapidly going extinct. We tried so many things, synthesizing telomerase, injecting it, rubbing it on our skin, drinking it . . .” It sighs. “None of it worked. Until, one day, our planet was visited by an alien species from a nearby galaxy.”
Congers and Race go very still. “H2,” Race says quietly.
“You didn’t call yourselves that at the time,” it replies with a condescending smile. “But yes, they were on an exploratory mission, and they found us. We were happy to welcome them. A few weeks of experimentation was all it required for us to realize the potential of a donor species.”
“Experimentation,” Congers says in a flat voice.
Its brow furrows. “Our entire race was dying out,” it says to him. “By that time, our population was only a fraction of what it had been. What we did, we did out of necessity.”
“What you did was torture explorers who were there to make friendly contact!” Congers snaps.
The Sicarii ignores him, returning its attention to me. “I was part of the initial test group to take telomerase from the H2 donors. A few genetic and physical modifications were all that was required.”
It’s probably talking about those anomalous secretory glands, like the ones Mom found in the skin of George’s and Willetts’s corpses. “You somehow pull telomerase from the other body through the skin, right?”
“The process requires time and extensive physical contact, but yes. It would have been our preference to artificially siphon the required enzyme; it’s really a simple sort of chemical. But the way it works in a humanoid body is much more complicated, and our bodies could no longer create or use telomerase at all. Hence the need for a complete DNA transfer.” Which also makes them look like the person they’re leeching the telomerase from. “Unpleasant, but it allows us to prolong our own lives, though not to procreate.” For the first time, a shadow of sadness passes across the Ellie-Sicarii’s face.
“It allows you to lengthen your life—for how long?” Race asks.
It shrugs again. “I witnessed the miracle of this discovery myself, and I’m still here.”
“Are you saying you could live forever?” Angus asks, incredulous. “How long does the effect last?”
“As long as we have donors, our life spans are unlimited,” it says. “But our need for new telomerase donors has accelerated over the centur
ies. At first, the effects lasted for several months. Not long enough to reproduce, but long enough to thrive for a while at least. Now the telomerase from a single donor only keeps us whole for a few weeks at most. Which brings us to Earth.”
“What happened to our planet?” Graham asks suddenly, like he couldn’t hold back another second.
It stares at him, and though he’s a tall guy and the Sicarii is wearing the body of a petite young woman, it looks like it believes it could snap him in half. “Despite careful and systematic breeding, your species did not reproduce quickly enough to be a sustainable source of telomerase.”
In other words, over the last few hundred years, the Sicarii have been slowly using up the H2 population, breeding them in captivity generation by generation, and now they’re pretty much extinct. Graham’s jaw goes rigid with hatred. Congers’s hand drifts to the weapon at his belt. He draws it slowly, like he’s not fully aware he’s doing it.
Graham and Congers are direct descendants of the man who tried and failed to save their planet all those years ago. Their family has carried their history through generations, just like mine did, and to them, this fight with the Sicarii is deeply personal.
Race puts his hand on his colleague’s wrist to stop him from doing anything rash. “Your ability to take on your victims’ appearances allowed you to subdue the H2 population with few casualties,” he says to the Sicarii. “And that’s what you planned to do here.”
The Sicarii nods. “Armies are full of young, healthy donors. We have absolutely no desire to destroy them. It’s so easy for you to brand us as evil. As monsters. But we are only trying to preserve our race. We kill out of need, not malice. Strategically, not indiscriminately.” Its eyes light on the scanner.
“How did the H2 not notice that there were two versions of someone walking around?” I ask. “It took us a while to figure it out because it was only Brayton, but a complete government takeover has to involve dozens, if not hundreds of Sicarii doppelgängers.”
The cuffs clank as the Sicarii moves its legs. “Unless we have good reason, the donor does not survive the initial exchange. We sap the creature of all its telomerase and then euthanize it.”
“You mean you murder the person,” Race says, his voice deadly calm.
Angus’s huge fists are clenched. “Like you murdered Ellie.”
“Call it what you will, if it makes you feel righteous,” the Sicarii says. “But if the donor can serve some purpose, we can drain its body of telomerase more gradually, which enables it to remain alive until it is no longer useful to us. Brayton Alexander led me to believe he had more access and credibility than he actually did. Still, he was helpful.”
“You mean he was a traitor,” Congers snarls, his finger twitching toward the trigger of his weapon. “But if there was complete genetic transfer, why do you still think like a parasitic alien instead of like your victim?”
The Sicarii only seems amused by his fury. “We have been genetically and biochemically modified so that our minds are preserved even as our bodies undergo the dramatic changes that come with the DNA transfer.”
“But you needed Brayton as cover, and to provide information,” I add. “You left him alive. Charles Willetts, too.” I almost ask about George, but I don’t want to think about it.
The Sicarii nods, blond hair falling across its forehead. “Like we did on the H2 planet, scouts were sent ahead to identify and neutralize potential threats. Our squad has been on Earth and investigating for several weeks, and were already aware of the Core and The Fifty. We had begun to infiltrate and gather the information required to quietly dispose of you, but when we saw the report of the scanning device on television, we knew we needed to move quickly to acquire it.”
“Why?” It’s all I can do not to shout that word. I stride across the room and snatch the scanner from Angus, and he’s too surprised to stop me. I flip it on and wave it in front of the Sicarii’s face. It squints against the orange light until I switch it off and point to the ports on its side. “What are these for?”
It seems baffled. “How did you create the defense system, if you are so ignorant?”
Because my dad held all the knowledge in his head. “We know it differentiates the three species,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady and low. My fingers are running along the ports. “Do these make it some sort of weapon?”
The Sicarii’s eyebrows rise as it watches the scanner shake in my tight grasp. “You really don’t know,” it says, its lips trembling as it tries to hold back a smile. “You’re not a threat at all.”
“You have no idea how much of a threat you’re facing,” growls Congers, wrenching his arm away from Race and raising his weapon.
The Sicarii gazes at him with icy contempt. “You have gathered your most formidable people within this crater, the only ones with any knowledge that could complicate our peaceful invasion. You have also gathered within these walls the only weapons that could interfere with our plans. You have taken so long to figure out that I was among you that I was able to destroy most of the defenses that could stop our scout force from flying in and taking what we want, killing all of you, and proceeding with our mission to clear the way for the rest of our species, which is already crossing the galaxy.” The Sicarii chuckles, part pity, part hatred. “And now you’re so obsessed with forcing me to give you the answers that are right in front of you that you’re virtually guaranteeing your own deaths. We will burn this compound to the ground.”
Race and I lock eyes as a wave of dread rolls through my body. “They’re coming,” I say in a choked voice. “It must have found a way to contact the rest of the scout force. We’ve been wasting time. It’s only talking because it thinks they’ll be able to neutralize all of us.”
“At last, one of you has drawn an intelligent conclusion,” the Sicarii mutters.
The room explodes in shouted commands and deliberate motion. “Radio the defense stations,” snaps Angus to his guards. Congers already has his phone to his ear and is barking instructions. Race orders the guards to take the Sicarii to the storage room and lock it in.
“No,” says Congers. “I’ll take care of it.” And with that, he raises his weapon and shoots the Ellie-Sicarii between the eyes.
“It took out three of the six stations,” I say, lunging for the door and bolting into the hallway, the scanner still clutched in my sweaty fist. “The Archers will be needed to defend the compound.”
Race and Graham catch up with me a second later as I burst into the atrium and head for the back. “Then we’d better pray that Manuel works fast,” Race huffs.
“Tate, hold up!” my mother shouts as she darts from an elevator, waving a plastic bag in front of her. “I figured out what these are!”
I slow down and let the others run ahead. Mom reaches my side as we crash through the doors and head for the Archers. “Can you tell me now?”
She points at the scanner. “These should fit those ports.” She touches the contents of the bag, which turn out to be three of the chips that spilled from the broken compartment of the H2 wreckage this morning.
“I thought they might. What do they do?”
“Each of the three responds to a different species’ DNA, sending off a specific electromagnetic signal when it detects it. I tested them on Charles’s neural tissue, and this one lit up.”
“And the other two?”
“I tested them on two of the bodies in the morgue, one H2 and one human.” She touches one of the chips. “Human.” She touches another. “H2.”
“But what do they do?”
“You’ll have to stick them in the scanner to find out. I was told we have the Sicarii prisoner. We could test it on her and—”
“No time.” I grab the bag from her without even slowing down. “The scout ships are coming. The Sicarii was trying to stall us. I should have figured it out when it was willing to ex
plain so much, but—” I was too desperate for answers.
We come to a stop at the edge of the lot and look out at the bustle of activity around the five remaining Archers, one of which has a dented front end and broken hood cannon. The one the Sicarii hijacked must have been too damaged to repair quickly.
I look up at the sky, wondering from which direction the fight will come. Wondering if we’ll stand a chance.
Wondering if, when we are face-to-face with the enemy, the scanner will be what my dad said it was: the key to our survival.
NINETEEN
PEOPLE ARE SCRAMBLING OVER THE ARCHERS, ALL purposeful movement and teamwork, and my mom rushes over to help, even though she’s clearly favoring her injured arm. Everybody’s loading the custom artillery shells into the cannons, oiling the autocannon rails, fastening the enormous lenses into place. It’s an act of pure faith. We still have no idea what those lenses do, but they’re right above the weapons console. It may help the gunner get a visual if the console screen fails, but it also puts him or her in a very vulnerable position—the lens is like a sign painted on the roof of the vehicle that says “SHOOT HERE.”
I still don’t get it. And right now, I don’t have time to figure it out. While everyone else goes about their work, I sit on the curb with the chips and the scanner. I handle each component gingerly, because if they do actually weaponize the device, I don’t want to end up killing myself with it. I remove each component and lay it on the plastic bag. I match the shape to each port along the side of the scanner. Then I insert the H2 chip into the scanner. It slides in, proving the device was made to accept it. I then slide the Sicarii chip in, but as soon as I do, it ejects the H2 chip. When I push the H2 chip in, it ejects the Sicarii chip.
The scanner is meant to house one chip at a time, which reminds me of what the Ellie-Sicarii said about it—it had been impressive in its intensity and specificity. Since I only have one enemy at the moment, I pull the H2 chip from the scanner and tuck it back into the bag, along with the human chip, and keep the Sicarii chip installed. I turn on the device, aiming it away from me. It glows yellow, then blue as Kellan walks by, his muscular arms straining to heft a large box of ammo.
