by Kate Blair
I can’t even cry. My brain is stuck on the image of Jovan in the mud.
“The creature must be close,” Sabik says. “I’m sorry, Ursa. But we have to go.”
I don’t move. Jovan and I are going back to the ship, together. That was the plan. I need to fix this, somehow. Fix Jovan. Put things back the way they are meant to be.
I know how stupid that is. But it’s all I can think.
Sabik grabs my hand, pulls hard.
Then we’re running. Twigs scrape across my face, and blood joins the rain and tears on my cheeks. Roots catch at my feet, but Sabik drags me along. I feel blind. Stripped of sense and meaning. All I know is we’re fleeing toward the shuttle camp.
Sabik halts, and I keep stumbling on until he yanks on my arm, hard. Stopping me, nearly pulling me over. Then I hear it too. Breathing. Not mine. Not Sabik’s. Loud enough to hear over the rain. Even over my desperate breath.
It pulls me back into my body. My muscles lock me in place. Mind whirrs into action.
There it is. The shadow between the trees. Mottled black and brown fur. Teeth bared in a growl that exposes the bright pink of its mouth. The sound reaches into my spine. Primal fear freezes me where I stand.
It’s huge. The size of a tiger. The shape of a wolf.
Beautiful, too. Muscles moving under wet fur, fluid as water. It paces in front of us. Ears pointed, listening. Yellow eyes fixed on me.
Breathing hard. Too hard. No wonder I could hear it that night in the forest, even over the rustle of the trees. Lung problems, because it’s genelab made, accelerated growth. I should have realized.
I hold up my blowtorch. I don’t stand a chance. I need a real weapon.
I see it then, on the creature’s right foot. A red-raw patch of exposed skin. Fur gone, flesh blistered beneath. It’s limping, favoring its left paw. I know what it is. I’ve seen electrical burns before.
Jovan. Oh, Jovan. You might still save us.
I swallow. We only have one chance. I have to be brave. We have to go back to his body.
“Come on,” I say, my voice too quiet. I pull Sabik backward.
He resists for a second. But then he sees my expression, and he lets me lead him. I take one careful step at a time, watching the creature, backing through the trees, glancing over my shoulder when I dare. We don’t run. I can’t risk falling.
The creature follows. Stalking us. Long muzzle, teeth bared, exposing huge incisors. The teeth I saw the night Orion was killed. I hold the blowtorch tightly as we back up. My mind is racing now, putting things together. Making a shape out of the pattern.
Jovan knew the animal was here. Why else would he be deep in the forest, away from the route to Maia’s grave? I want to believe he was running from the creature. That he stumbled here. But it’s too far, too deep in the woods.
He was a geneticist. He made the monster. I want to be sick again.
Why did he come back? To kill the creature? To feed it? To hide evidence? Whatever the reason, he wasn’t stupid. He didn’t come unarmed. And he shot the creature, but only hit its paw.
Jovan’s pulse gun must be here. Near where he fell.
We’ve backed up far enough. Out of the corner of my eye I see the body.
I can’t think of it as Jovan. Can’t turn to see the staring eyes and blood.
His hands are empty. I drop to my knees and fumble in the mud around him with my free hand, still watching the creature.
The gun must be here. He must have dropped it when the animal attacked.
A roar. The creature’s back is arched, head low. Yellow eyes on Sabik, black pupils small. Muscles bunching up under skin.
It leaps. Sabik screams.
The creature is on him. White claws flashing. Teeth on Sabik’s hand. Red blood. Sabik’s flailing, screaming, falling back into the mud beside Jovan’s body.
No. Not Sabik, too.
I’m on my feet, lighting the blowtorch. I run over and point the flame at the creature’s flank.
It’s a second before it reacts. Then it jumps back with a growl that sounds more angry than hurt. It releases Sabik, but he keeps screaming. He’s on the ground, holding his hand. It’s dangling from his wrist, barely connected.
The creature roars again, the fur singed on its shoulder.
The vowels in Sabik’s scream form my name. He’s trying to point with the blood-covered fingers of his good hand while clutching his semi-severed hand at the wrist. I look away, into the undergrowth where he’s indicating. There are plants. Glowferns and different shades of green and brown. How am I meant to find the pulse gun in this mess?
Wait. There.
Brown mud hiding a brighter shade of green, revealed by the bioluminescence. What did Sabik say when we saw the landclearer? You don’t find neon colors in the forest.
I shove the blowtorch in my back pocket and dive for the half-buried glimpse of bright green. The object is hard in my hands, a red light shining on the tube. Thank Beta.
I’m twisting, rolling over to face the monster. It jumps. Lands on my chest, sideways. A crushing weight on my lungs. Teeth in my thigh. I try to focus through the pain. Push the gun against fur. Find the button. Close my eyes. Squeeze.
There’s a zap.
The weight on me doubles. Stops my breath. Fills my mouth with fur and water. I choke and fight for air.
I kick at the creature. Push, roll, and I’m free. It flops to one side.
I lie on my back, gasping, staring up at the needles on the branches above and the dark clouds beyond. A quiet rumble, now. The rain pours off the tree into my eyes, blinding me, into my open mouth, and I’m coughing again, gagging on the rain. I roll onto my side in the mud, push myself up, blink until I can see again. I check the creature.
There’s a red welt right in the chest. Its mouth is open, drawn back from the teeth. The tongue is loose and the eyes closed. The head is tilted back in the mud.
It’s dead.
“Sabik!” I turn to him.
He’s pale. Lying on the ground. Still clutching his hand. His blood is black in the light from the glowferns. And it’s coming fast.
I swear, then crawl over, ignoring the pain in my thigh.
“Stay with me!” I fumble the pulse gun into my back pocket with the blowtorch and unzip the jacket of my landsuit. The fabric is too thick to use, but my undershirt might work. I lift that over my head, then bite hard into the bottom hem. I yank my head to the side, and the old fabric rips. Good.
I kneel and bind the first piece tightly around his arm below the elbow, a quick tourniquet. The artery in his wrist is severed. I take the next piece of cloth and push it against the wound itself, pressing as hard as I can to stop the blood. He cries out, but holds still.
He doesn’t have long. I close my eyes and pray help will come in time.
Sabik is moaning quietly now. Is it hurting less, or is he too weak to scream? He’s moving, almost convulsing under the pressure of my hands. I can barely make out his features in the soaking dark of the forest. His mouth is contorted with pain. I’m hurting him, pressing on his wound, but I have to keep up the direct pressure. Have to stop his life flowing out. Wet runs over my hands. I can’t tell how much is rain and how much is blood. Is he going into shock?
Don’t let him die. Please.
Noises. Not just the rain. Not just Sabik’s moans. Footsteps. Swearing.
Thank Beta. I shout, voice raw. “We’re here! Help us!”
The sounds speed up. Snapping branches and crunching twigs.
“Ursa!” It’s Mom.
“Hurry!”
Then Mom’s through the trees. She stops when she sees the creature and Jovan, and stares.
“Here!” I say. “Sabik’s injured.”
She snaps out of it and is on her knees at Sabik’s side. I want to hug her, but I do
n’t let go of the wound. Mom moves quickly, checking his breathing and pulse. His eyes are open and wide. For a moment I fear the worst, but he blinks.
“Are you hurt, Ursa?” Mom asks, glancing up at me.
My thigh burns, the slash in the flesh hot and deep. I peer down. I’m bleeding, but it’s not flowing out. Just glistening on the landsuit, invisible against the wet red fabric.
“I’m okay.”
Mom gently pulls Sabik’s hand from my grasp. She puts pressure on his wound, where my hands were. They feel empty. I sit back on my haunches, helpless. Her hands fly over Sabik’s injuries, removing my bandages, peering under them before swiftly replacing them.
Mom finishes checking Sabik over. “Can you hear me?”
There’s a long pause, then a whispered, “Yes.”
More footsteps behind us. Protector Adhara bursts out of the trees, lugging Mom’s medic pack. Taking in the scene in one glance, Adhara steps back and puts a hand over her mouth.
“We have to get Sabik to the ship,” Mom says. “Get the stretcher from my pack. Now.”
Adhara takes a second to register this, then she opens Mom’s pack and unfolds a narrow stretcher. She kneels beside Sabik’s feet, and Mom moves to his shoulders.
“On three,” Mom says. “One, two, three.” Together they shift him. He screams.
The rain on my skin reminds me that my landsuit is unzipped and my undershirt is ripped. I do up the jacket, quickly.
“What’s Mom doing here?” I ask Adhara.
“She heard about Jovan going missing and came to the shuttle. She got there when Sabik’s alarm pinged through. When she realized you were in the forest, she started running, threw her kit at me, and told me to carry it.”
I glance at Mom. She’s not looking at me. “Give me the perfusion kit,” she shouts at Adhara over the rain.
Adhara nods and pulls things from the bag.
“That’s the one,” Mom shouts, pointing. “Fix it on his wrist.”
Adhara moves to Sabik’s wrist with a red box. His injured one.
“Other side,” Mom says. “Oh, I’ll do it.”
Adhara moves back. Mom gets into place and slides a needle into Sabik’s wrist, then hits some buttons on the red pack. It starts pulsing, and she sets it on the stretcher next to his head. She takes off my ripped undershirt, now soaked red, and replaces it with clean bandages.
“Pressure pack,” Mom says. Adhara stares in the bag. “That thing.” Mom points. Adhara pulls out a black sphere with four straps on it. She passes it to Mom, who attaches it to Sabik’s wrist. It shapes itself to fit, putting pressure on his wound. His hand is barely attached to his body. I swallow down the nausea.
“Ready to move,” Mom says. “Here.” She holds Sabik’s machete out to me. I take it automatically in my bloody hands.
“Lead the way,” she says. “As fast as you can.”
I pull out my linkcom, check the display in map mode, and walk. It’s slow going. I have to find wide gaps between the trees, big enough for the stretcher. I hack the branches in the way, or hold them back so Mom and Adhara can maneuver Sabik. They grunt behind me, and Sabik moans as he’s bumped around.
At least that means he’s still conscious.
My hands are slippery with rain and blood. It’s hard to hold on to the machete, hard to hack at the wood. My lungs burn. I keep peering at the linkcom. I walk into branches until there’s more blood on my face from the scratches. The slash on my thigh gapes with each step, but it’s shallow, bearable, and I bite down the pain.
I start to sob when the trees thin ahead and we’re back on the path from the graveyard to the shuttle. We run, my pace an awkward limping lumber. It’s not long before there are bright lights ahead.
“Help!” I shout. “We’re here!”
Then we’re out of the trees, stumbling over the mud toward the runway. Colonists run over, shocked eyes wide. I wonder why they’re looking at me like that, then remember the blood on my face, my lip swollen where a branch hit it.
“I’m fine, I’m fine! It’s Sabik. Please, hurry.”
They push past me, help Mom and Adhara.
Mom shouts above the gathering crowd. “He’s had a thousand-cc perfusion. Get another kit ready on the shuttle and start the engines. We have to get him to the medcarriage now.”
The boarding platform is floodlit, a bright island in the wet of the runway. The shuttle is roaring, engines prepped. Others are here now — agricologists and builders — running along, helping to carry the stretcher. My thigh makes keeping up tough, but I’m not holding up the shuttle. Rain washes the blood from my face and hands.
Many hands lift the stretcher up to the boarding platform, but they back off to give us room to get through the main doors. Mom and Adhara push Sabik onto the ship. I slip in after them, and the doors slam behind me, sealing us into the warm, familiar shuttle.
I stand there, panting. Mom glances up from setting up the second perfusion kit.
“Find a seat,” she says. “Quickly.”
I jump into a chair in the second row, leaving the front row open for Mom, Adhara, and the stretcher. I flinch as the movement stretches my wound and buckle myself in. Once Mom has hooked the safety lines up to Sabik, she dives for a seat herself, in front of me.
“Ready.” Adhara speaks into her linkcom.
Acceleration presses me gently back in my seat as we speed down the runway. I grit my teeth. There’s a scream from Sabik. I try to see how he is, but his face is hidden by the chair back in front of me. I thump it.
“How is he?” I ask, shouting over the roar of the engine.
“Ursa?” Sabik moans. I can see the side of Mom’s face. Her expression is grim.
“Everything’s going to be fine, Sabik,” I say. I hope that’s right.
The flight is agonizingly long. The shuttle launch was late, so the Venture had already passed overhead. I press the heel of my hand down on my wound. The blood flow has slowed, and the pain pulses with my heartbeat. I’ll need it sealed on board. Mom fiddles with the tubes leading into Sabik’s body. She asks how I am again, her voice wavering. I tell her I’m fine. Tell her to focus on Sabik.
I strain to see what’s happening, but the damn chairs are in the way. Mom says they need more blood, and painkillers. Sabik stops his moaning halfway there.
I hope he’s just doped up. I can’t think about the alternative. I’ve already lost Jovan.
Then I remember what Jovan did. Why didn’t I realize sooner? I saw his anger, his rage at the planet over Maia’s death. I shared it. I just didn’t realize how deep it went. Maybe it was visiting the graveyard so often that did it. Weeping at his sister’s grave. Seeing the space around it just waiting to be filled. But in trying to fix things, he started to fill the graveyard himself.
He was the one who suggested using an empty landclearer to smuggle me down. He must have gotten the genelab tech down the same way. Sabik saw him smuggling genelab tech out of the engineering hut. That’s why there was no missing engineering equipment. Why didn’t I realize?
All this death. When will it end? What if Sabik’s right? Will there always be war between those who want to keep the Venture in orbit and those who want to pull her to the ground? Will there be another Jovan, another Vega?
When we finally lock rotation with the Venture and gravity kicks in, I’m out of my chair faster than oxygen from an airlock, in spite of my wound. Sabik’s eyes are closed. What does that mean? They unbuckle him as the airlock hisses open. Medics are waiting for us.
Then they’re off. Out of the loading bay. Down the corridor to the medcarriage. I try to keep up, but they pull ahead of me. The airlock between the carriages is already open, revealing the white walls of the medcarriage.
As soon as we get in I’m pushed away and Sabik is wheeled into an operating bay. Soundproof doors close
between us.
I peer through the small window. They’re scurrying around Sabik, cutting off his landsuit, putting on wires and more tubes. Mom’s shouting at someone, hand outstretched for a tool. But the chaos of the medcarriage is silenced by the thick glass. All I can hear is the breathing of the Venture. The hum of her fans and the purr of the boosters.
We’re home, at least. The Venture is the best place for Sabik. She’ll look after him.
I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I jump.
It’s Astra. Her eyes are shining.
“I heard about Sabik,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”
I turn around and collapse into her arms. I’m shaking, my back heaving with sobs.
“Oh Beta. Let’s get you to the engine room. There’s nothing you can do here.”
I barely notice the elevator ride. She’s right, of course. I need to ground myself. I can get help for my leg later. I don’t want to pull any medics away from Sabik. And I can’t stand to stare in that window at him, helpless on the stretcher as medics buzz around him.
Astra pats my back and holds me as the weight of gravity eases from us. The elevator doors swish open, she pushes away from the wall, and we drift into the engine room, linked together.
“Can you give us some space?” Astra says to Aldrin.
He nods, unstraps from the controller’s chair, and heads for the elevator without another word. No doubt he heard about what happened to Sabik.
As soon as he’s gone, Astra helps me into the center to float in the weightlessness. I curl into the fetal position and hide my face in my hands. I listen to the beeping and soft humming of the monitors. The Venture cradles me in the space at her heart. I breathe deeply, taking in the scent of warm metal, the synthetic smell of our world, our home.
After a while, I open my eyes. I’m glad Astra is here, sitting in the controller’s chair. I wouldn’t be able to get back to the sides without her. I’d be stuck. And I need this weightlessness, this freedom, right now.
