Finally I find my voice. “I’m right here, you know. And maybe I don’t want to pop out a baby every nine months—”
“This isn’t about you,” Dirk says. “It’s about the human race. We thought the Omega would be the vessel of our salvation, but it’s not. It’s your body, Eva.”
I open my mouth, close it.
“Let’s give it a few days,” Jesse says gently. “We just got here. We’ve all been through something terrible. Let’s make this camp comfortable, use the test kits on the soil and atmosphere, try to find those supply capsules. Then we’ll talk again.”
Dirk frowns. “We can’t put this off for long.”
A shadow blocks the sun, cooling the air on my skin. I look up and find a massive winged creature soaring overhead, long flight feathers trailing like a jet stream. There’s so much about this new world to learn, and what we don’t know might kill us a lot faster than infertility.
Jesse and I push through the alien jungle. Earlier, Dirk climbed what passes for a tree and spotted another ground scar, made by one of the supply capsules. “Follow the moons,” he said. “I’ll do soil testing while you’re gone.”
A break in the canopy of leaves frames them perfectly. The smallest moon hangs heavy and full, the texturing of its surface like the skin of an old man. The larger one sits behind it, dwarfing its smaller sister. It’s only a quarter full, its outline hazed. How big must it be to appear so huge and yet so far away? Monstrous. Planet sized. If there’s an ocean on this world, it might take us generations to understand its tides.
I stare at Jesse’s back as we hike. He is tall and slender but wiry with muscle. Beneath his taut waist, his glutes and hamstrings contract with each graceful step, and I can’t help but wonder if the conspiracy theorists were right, that the New Hope Lottery wasn’t a lottery at all. There were some basic requirements to enter, of course—younger than twenty, certified physically fit, less than 5 percent observable epigenetic degradation, levels of testosterone and dopamine sufficient to produce high libido. But looking at Jesse and Dirk, it’s easy to believe the lottery was rigged to select humanity’s most beautiful specimens.
Jesse stops suddenly, and I almost collide with him.
He turns. “Eva, I need to thank you,” he says.
“Why?”
“For saving my life.” His dark eyes are very close. He’s a whole head taller than I am. My forehead would fit perfectly in the crook of his neck. “I would have died on the starship if you hadn’t yanked me from the pod. You got me moving before I was even aware what was going on.”
If I shifted the smallest bit, I could kiss him. “Oh. Well, you’re welcome.”
He continues through the jungle, and I follow.
“To be honest,” I say to his back, “I was kind of hoping you’d be a girl.”
He spins around. “You like girls?” The disappointment in his face makes me smile.
“I like men.”
“Oh. Okay. Good.”
“Not that it matters. Everyone had to sign the procreation contract, right? It’s just that I was hoping I wouldn’t be the only baby factory left in the galaxy.”
His eyes drift to my breasts, but he snaps them back to my face. “Sure, that makes sense.”
“Hey, I think we’re there,” I say, pointing beyond him. Something metallic glints each time the breeze rustles the trees.
We run toward it, shoving leaves and branches aside, and we break into a field of wrecked vegetation and smoking ground. The capsule is hugged up against a massive boulder, scarred but intact, its hull lights still blinking.
Jesse reaches for the release panel.
“Careful,” I warn. “It might be too hot to touch.”
He tests the air temperature with his palm. “I think it’s okay.” He enters the key code, and a small panel swings open. Jesse clasps the latch inside and gives a great tug and twist. Air hisses as the door lifts and slides sideways.
“Eureka,” Jesse says.
It’s jammed with stuff. Food rations, water purification pumps, solar energy packs, and four white chests, each emblazoned with a bright red cross.
“Medical supplies,” I say.
Jesse brightens. “Check this out.” He grabs an orange plastic case. He opens it to reveal a shiny silver handgun, an anti-projectile vest, a set of handcuffs, and multiple syringes, all set in cushiony Styrofoam-like material. “Sheriff’s kit.”
But as he stares at the kit, his face becomes morose and his chest and shoulders deflate like a dying balloon.
“What’s wrong?”
“I was law enforcement track. I loved it. The physical training, even the psych classes . . . I mean, I really loved it.”
“Then you should be the one to carry that gun.”
“Yeah. I guess.” He closes the kit and latches it.
“What were those syringes?”
“Adrenaline, painkiller, sterilization, tranquilizer.”
I stare at the case. “Sterilization?”
“In case the sociopath gene cropped up.”
“Oh.”
“What about you?” he asks. “Which track?”
It’s my turn to be morose. “Arts and culture. I played cello.” Just saying the words puts a pang in my chest. “Something I’ll never do again.”
“But you really loved it.”
“I did.” I had a full scholarship to the New York School of Music. Two weeks before launch, I was one of seventy recent preparatoria graduates selected to perform “Adagio for the Holocaust” at Carnegie Hall.
He studies me a long moment. “I bet there’s a supply capsule somewhere on this world that contains a cello. The Omega had everything, right? I mean, we sacrificed our clothes so we could have music.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
His gaze is so warm, so full of understanding, that my eyes start to sting. He adds, “Holly-Krause killed our planet, not our humanity. If there’s a cello anywhere on this new world, we will find it.”
Who has time for music when you live to raise an army of children? I appreciate his effort, though, so I force a smile and say, “Let’s gather what we can carry and get back to Dirk.”
The day will not end. Even after establishing camp, hiking miles to the supply capsule and back, and eating a meal of reconstituted split pea soup, the sun sits angled in the sky, indicating early afternoon.
“So, what next?” Jesse says, scraping at his soup cup for every last calorie.
“We need a water source,” I say. “And better food. This soup is gross.”
“It looks like an avocado mated with a mudslide,” Jesse agrees, peering into his empty cup.
Dirk grins. “Never look at what you eat. That’s the rule for interstellar travel. We should be okay for water, though, as long as we get to work on it.”
“The soil is moist,” I say. “So either it rains a lot, or the water table is high.”
“If you two don’t mind,” Jesse says, “I’d like to explore the area a little. Try to find a creek or something.”
“I’m not sure you should go anywhere alone,” I say.
“There’s been no sign of animal life,” Dirk says. “Except butterfly things and those giant birds. This planet is in a very primitive evolutionary stage.”
“I’ll take the gun,” Jesse says. “Just in case.”
My vision is bleary with exhaustion, and sweat and mud coat my naked skin, making me itch. The medical supply chests contain a few sanitary wipes, but if Jesse found a creek, I could wash up for real. “Be careful,” I tell him. “We’ll dig a latrine while you’re gone.”
“Unless we hit groundwater,” Dirk amends.
Jesse grabs the gun from the bright orange case and, after a quick smile in my direction, disappears into the trees.
“How long are the days on this planet, do you think?” Dirk asks, his eyes on the space Jesse just vacated.
“Longer than Earth days, that’s for sure,” I tell him. “I’m so tired I could die.�
��
“Please don’t,” he says, with a slight smile. “Eva, I have to tell you . . .” He grabs a stick and pokes at the mud with it. “I know I behaved . . . badly. While the Omega was going down. You were right to look for survivors. I was wrong, and if I’d had my way, we wouldn’t have found Jesse.”
I’m not sure he deserves a concession, but I give him one anyway. “It was a terrifying moment.”
His full lips are turned down, and he stares at the mud he’s poking at like it holds all the mysteries of the universe. “I had just found my sister’s body, and . . . I know that’s no excuse. I was a coward. And I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted.”
Relief floods his features. “Thank you.” He lumbers to his feet. “Let’s start digging. If I don’t work on something, I’ll get all mopey again.” Dirk is not as tall as Jesse, and we are exactly eye to eye. His jaw is perfect, his lips curved and sensual, his neck and shoulders corded and thick. Where Jesse is fire and grace, Dirk is mass and power.
His thumb comes up toward my cheek, and I almost flinch away, but then I don’t. I want him to touch me.
His caress is as gentle as butterflies’ wings. “I’m glad it was you,” he says softly.
“Huh?”
“Who I found in the pod, I mean. You’re smart, you’re kinder than I deserve, and . . .” A smile quirks his lips. “And the most beautiful girl in all the world.”
It’s not that funny, but a giggle bubbles from my chest anyway, and his answering snicker sets me over the edge and suddenly we’re both laughing so hard we can hardly breathe.
Night has finally fallen, and I’m curled up alone in the escape capsule, wrapped in a Mylar blanket. The blanket is probably overkill in this planet’s warm climate, but I like the comfort of being wrapped in something.
Jesse did not find water, but he plans to try again when the sun rises. He and Dirk share the tent tonight. Soon enough, it will be me in that tent, sharing it with whichever one I choose. I don’t think I can go wrong. They both seem decent enough. Willing to work hard. Gorgeous.
Dirk was right. If we’re going to save humanity, I need to get pregnant right away and have as many babies as possible while I’m young and healthy and strong. I don’t know how many pregnancies a woman’s body can take, but if I start now, and my body holds up, I could potentially bear twenty or more children before menopause.
Twenty children. My heart speeds up, and my skin is suddenly slick against the Mylar.
Twenty times, my body’s organs will rearrange to make room for life growing inside me. Twenty times, carrying a weight against my pelvis and spine. Twenty times, stretching out the skin of my belly, my breasts, my thighs, until it hangs on me like dirty laundry. Twenty agonizingly painful labors. Twenty chances to die.
I owe it to humanity. As Dirk pointed out, my body is not my own.
I hardly know what I’m doing as I thrust the space blanket aside and clamber from the capsule. Our camp is swathed in silence. The smaller moon has set, but the larger one is high in the sky, casting plenty of light to see by.
I tiptoe through our unorganized supplies, past the tent. One of the boys breathes loudly with something that is not quite snoring.
The orange case sits beside the space heater. I open it slowly, and the hinges do not squeak. Jesse returned the gun to the case; it glints up at me, bluish in the moonlight. Beside it are the syringes.
They’re all carefully labeled, leaving no doubt which is which. I uncap the one I want and hold it up to the moon, studying it for a moment, hesitating, thinking about the future.
With one swift motion, I jam the needle into my right thigh and hit the plunger. The liquid is ice cold and stinging, and my fingers tremble so badly that I drop the empty syringe into the mud.
I grab it back, wary of the needle, wipe it up as best I can with leaves, replace it in the case, and close everything up. A laugh starts to squirm out of my chest and I have to cover my mouth with both hands. Why did I bother putting the syringe back? Jesse will realize exactly what I’ve done as soon as he opens the case.
What have I done?
Slowly I make my way back to the capsule. Maybe it’s the irrevocableness of it all, but my heart slows to normal, and it feels as though a weight lifts from my shoulder. I belong to me again.
I curl up in my Mylar nest and sleep like a baby.
All three of us are awake well before the dawn. Maybe, years from now, we’ll adjust to the new planet’s rotation and learn how to sleep fourteen hours straight. But not today.
After a quick breakfast of freeze-dried beef Stroganoff, Jesse says, “Going to look for water again. I’ll head east this time.”
“I’ll go with you,” I say, popping to my feet. I woke this morning overcome with the desire to explore. Does this world have oceans? Mountains? It can’t all be dense and tropical like this Eden. I want waterfalls and flowers. Deserts and ice caps. I want a closer look at those glorious flying creatures. I want to see everything.
“Okay by me,” Jesse says. “Dirk, if you’re going to be here alone, you should keep the gun.”
“Agreed,” Dirk says. “That should be a rule. Whoever is alone gets the gun.”
I glance at the orange case. The empty syringe inside seems to scream at me.
The boys will figure out what I’ve done soon enough. No doubt they’ll hate me for it. I just hope they come around over time, once they realize we’re all we’ll ever have.
“Be careful,” Dirk says.
“We will,” I say. “Back soon.” And I give Dirk a slow, deliberate smile that is full of promise. He catches his breath.
The giant quarter moon guides us as Jesse and I hike through the jungle. The ground here is rockier, less muddy, and my feet become scraped and sore. They’ll toughen soon enough. Like fingertips against cello strings. Human skin is remarkable that way.
Dirk’s and my latrine yielded no groundwater, which is fine. It means we’re not likely to contaminate a water source with our waste. It also means we need to find a creek. Or better yet, a nice, clear pond perfect for bathing.
And it’s like I’ve summoned it with a thought, because we push through a giant fernlike plant and nearly trip over a perfect pool of rippling, moonlit water.
Jesse draws in a breath. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” He crouches toward it.
“We don’t know what’s living in there,” I warn.
“Just testing the water.” He pulls something from his carry pack. Dips it into the water. Holds it up to the moon.
“And?” I prompt.
“Perfect pH,” he says, grinning. “Nothing toxic. A few organic compounds from the surrounding vegetation, some microbial life.”
“Then we should purify it before drinking,” I say.
“Yes, but . . .” His grin becomes as bright as a sun. “We can still go swimming.” With that, he drops his pack to the ground and plunges into the water.
He’s under for several seconds. My heart is in my throat by the time he breaks the surface, black hair streaming against his temples, skin glossy with water. He stands waist-deep. “It’s cool and shallow,” he says. “Come on in!”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I shuck my pack and step in after him, mud squishing pleasantly between my toes. I dunk once to rinse off yesterday’s grime. For a split second, it feels like I’m back in my stasis pod, floating in beautiful nothingness.
I surface and slick back my hair, then I open my eyes to find Jesse watching me, lips slightly parted. His gaze roves down to my belly and up again, comes to rest on my breasts.
“Jesse,” I whisper.
“Eva,” he says. He doesn’t bother to hide what he’s staring at. I stare right back, admiring his lean muscle, his trim waist. But I hesitate to close the distance between us because I’m not sure it’s me he wants. Maybe he wants the utility of me. Maybe he wants to be the father of the new humanity. Maybe he’ll hate the real Eva.
I breath
e deep and stand tall, enjoying the feel of his gaze on my skin. My life—humanity’s life—is going to be short, a blip on the universe’s timeline, and I want it to be filled with moments to savor. There’s no time to waste.
So I just come out and say it: “I want you.” For now. For tonight.
One swift movement brings him into my space. His hands slip around my waist, glide down to my rear, where he cups me tight, hitching me against him. Water sloshes around us.
My arms go around his neck, and I lift my face to take in his gaze; it’s hungry and filled with wonder. The skin of his chest is warm against mine. “Thank you,” he says, “for choosing me.”
A laugh bubbles from my throat before I can stop it, because if Dirk were here instead, it would make no difference. “I’m not choosing you,” I say. “I’m choosing me.” And I press my lips to his.
La Revancha del Tango
RENÉE AHDIEH
The gray cab lurches to the side of the empty street. It hits the curb with a whimper and a bang, blasting a cloud of dark exhaust into my open window. Through the smoke, I catch a glimpse of my eyes in the sideview, watering, real classylike. Think Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca, but not as picturesque. Or as blonde.
“Uh . . . ¿Cuánto cuesta?” I fumble through the wad of sticky bills in my palm, pausing to mop the sweat from my brow.
Without a glance in my direction, the cabbie flicks the meter screen toward me so I can see the amount, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
Good one, Maya. Numbers are universal. I count out the pesos with care, a grin plastered across my face. If I were in a more cooperative mood, I’d probably take the time to arrange the bills sunny-side up, for my cabbie’s singular enjoyment.
But I’m not exactly in a cooperative mood. I can’t wait to find a shower and a bed.
I shove some money at him and mutter “Thanks,” like a well-bred American girl. He snorts and says something under his breath, cigarette ash crumbling all over his jacket. As soon as I lug my rolling suitcase from the cab’s rusty trunk, he hauls ass off the sidewalk, popping a wheelie in the process.
Three Sides of a Heart Page 7
