by Scott Sigler
If I want Bishop on my side, I must be merciless. I must use every weapon I have. I hate myself for this, but lives depend on it.
“A new culture,” I say. “Not just for you and me…for our children as well.”
He lets out a half breath. He’s stunned. He stares at me with his yellowish eyes…those big, soulful eyes.
“Children,” he says. “Do you mean it?”
I reach out, slowly, and take his hand, expecting him to pull away again. He does not. He’s the most powerful man I know, yet now his hands are limp, almost lifeless. When I slide my fingers between his, they barely flex at all.
“Do this for me,” I say softly. “Our people need to see that you and I are unified.”
His fingers curl around mine. His eyes narrow, his jaw clenches. He nods.
“I support you, Em. Now and forever. When you announce your plan, I’ll be at your side.”
I have him. This is the right thing to do, and yet inside I feel so utterly wrong. I don’t know if I want children. If we make it out of this alive and I choose against having kids with Bishop, will he ever forgive me?
I don’t know.
What I do know is that the dead can’t forgive anyone.
I will keep Bishop alive.
Him, and as many of my people as I can.
“We have to go,” I say. “As soon as we’re back, call a general meeting. I want everyone in the Grand Hall, even the tower crews. Man the cannons with Springers until the meeting is done.”
Bishop nods. He guides the spider toward the Observatory.
I look back at the waterfall. I watch our special place fade into the distance, knowing that I will never see it again.
My people are gathering in the Grand Hall. I stand alone in my sparse room, practicing spear forms. Before I tell the Birthday Children what comes next, there is someone I must speak to first.
“Hem?”
Barkah stands in my open door.
“Come in, please.”
I realize I don’t have any chairs. There is nowhere for us to sit.
Tension between our peoples is growing again, yet he came alone, as I asked. No bodyguards. This is a sign of Barkah’s trust in me.
Trust that I am about to betray.
Not that long ago, he and I stopped a war. We saved lives. Now I will ask him to put those lives at risk, and to make an impossible decision—a decision I would not know how to make myself.
He wears new clothes. Long purple robes that fall just short of the floor, trimmed in yellow and green patterns. His copper necklace gleams. There are smears of red and gold above and below his eyes. His eye patch matches that color combination. He and I are both leaders, yes, but we’re very different—the worse things get on our planet, the more time he spends on his appearance.
He already knows much. The Grub. The rising that could be just days away. The two additional eggs. The new ship that is a little over a year out. The fact that more ships will probably come after that. Lahfah will have informed him about the marching Wasp army.
Now I add to that list of bad news.
“Barkah, we’re leaving the planet. All of my people will fit in our shuttle. We are returning to the ship that brought us here. We have enemies there, enemies that will fight us. And someday we’ll need to colonize a new planet. That means we need to take our weapons with us, our bracelets, our rifles, even the spiders. We will leave tomorrow, before the Wasps arrive, so they can’t damage our shuttle. Do you understand?”
His two good eyes lock on mine. I’m again surprised at how much they look like ours. Similar shape, yes, but it’s not that—there is an intelligence that bubbles within. It isn’t like looking into the eyes of an animal. With any Springer, there is a connection, an understanding that we are more than our urges and instincts. I think of my false father, what he said about intelligent beings having similar patterns of thought. I think of the Wasp I killed—if I had managed to capture it, would looking into its eyes have given me the same feeling of connection I get from looking into Barkah’s?
The Springer king takes a long time to respond. I wait.
When he speaks, I hear anguish in his voice.
“We fight, together,” he says. “We win, together.”
He thought we were unified, our peoples fighting for the same thing. We were. Things change.
“There is no way to win. If we stay, my people will die.”
I don’t know if he understands all of my words. From the look in his eyes, though, he gets my meaning.
Barkah nods.
That is not something the Springers do. He learned that gesture from us. He does understand, and also accepts his new reality—his strongest ally will not be here to help him anymore.
Telling him that was hard, but it’s nothing compared to the news I give him next.
“The ship we’re traveling to was made to hold forty thousand of us. There are only five thousand people on it now. We captured two Wasp troopships. Each one carried six hundred and sixty-six armored troops, but if we pack tight, each could carry a thousand Albonden. If you want, we can take two thousand of your people with us. We can take you with us.”
I don’t speak much Springer, but I know what they call themselves: Albonden.
Two centuries ago, the Albonden ruled this planet. They lived in a city so large it dwarfed Uchmal. Springers numbered in the millions, at least, perhaps tens of millions. Matilda shattered that civilization, slaughtered the Springers, drove the survivors underground to live like insects in the dirt. Perhaps the Springers will go underground again and survive, just as they did with us, but I doubt it.
If the Wasps don’t wipe the Springers out for good, the next race to arrive will. Or the race after that. Taking two thousand of his people with me is the least I can do to make good on a debt inflicted by my progenitor, a debt I could never begin to fully repay.
Barkah takes only a few moments to make his decision.
“Will send two thousand with you,” he says. “Lahfah say enemy arrive sundown tomorrow. You leave sooner?”
Now for the final piece of my request.
“Our shuttle won’t be ready in time. We need to delay the enemy advance long enough to prep all three ships and to safely load your people. We’ll attack the Wasps at noon, try to slow them down. Will you fight with us?”
This time his decision is instant.
He offers his hand, another behavior he picked up to better communicate with us. Three fingers, not five, but biological differences don’t matter—he knows what the gesture means to me.
I take his offered hand, squeeze it tight. He squeezes mine.
“We fight,” he says. “Together. One last time.”
I pull him close, hug him. I know he should stay with his people, lead them, but I don’t care—I’m selfish and I want my friend to live.
“Come with us, Barkah. This planet is doomed.”
He holds me tight.
“Will think on it,” he says. “Now, we prepare for war.”
With that, he leaves.
I’ve told him what his people face, and what decision I’ve made.
Now it is time to tell mine.
My people have gathered in the Grand Hall.
All 249 of them, all armed and ready for war.
Another forty-seven faces should be here, but their bodies belong to Omeyocan.
Bishop and I pulled Gaston, Smith, Spingate, Borjigin and Maria aside. I told them of my decision. All but Maria instantly agreed. Spingate and Gaston are eager to leave this world behind—they long for somewhere safe to raise their children. I think Kenzie understands Omeyocan is a place of death, and she’s tired of watching people die. As for Borjigin? I can’t say his reasons—maybe he sees his Coyotl everywhere he looks, like I still see my O’Malley.
Maria didn’t agree, but she didn’t object, either. She loves it here. She could survive in the jungle indefinitely. She could live on her own, or with the Springers. I think that she want
s to stay, but she believes in my leadership so strongly she supports my decisions even if it means doing something she doesn’t want to do.
I stand on the dais, next to the throne, flanked by my five closest friends. Our symbols aren’t supposed to matter, but that’s wishful thinking—symbols always matter. The people standing by my side are our most respected gears, circle-star, half and circle-cross.
I have no double-ring up here with me. There are only two of that symbol anyway. Walezak glares at me constantly, blames me for turning people against the gods. Aramovsky is lucky to be out of his cell at all; I’m not about to give him a place of honor.
I face the rest of our people. They are on the floor, gathered in a semicircle. The smaller kids, like Zubiri and Kalle, sit cross-legged; taller kids stand behind them. The tallest of us—Farrar, Bawden, Aramovsky, Victor, Okereke and the other adults—look over their heads.
Everyone waits for me to speak. A year ago, I wondered why they listened to me at all. I don’t wonder anymore. I’m the one who leads by example. I’m the one who fights from the front.
I’m the one willing to make the hard choices.
And no choice is harder than this.
“We are in great danger,” I say. My words echo off the Grand Hall’s stone walls and vaulted ceiling. “Greater than ever before.”
Even though I’m sure the gossip has already spread, I quickly cover our tactical situation with the Wasp army. I remind everyone of the Grub and what it’s doing to us. I remind them that another ship is coming, and that more may follow.
I speak the hard truth: if we stay, we might never be free of violence.
“That is reality,” I say. “I know it’s hard to hear, impossible to hear, but reality is what it is whether we like it or not.”
I see sadness, anguish, fear. More than anything else, I see anger. So much of it that I don’t want to tell them what comes next.
But I must.
I take a deep breath and deliver the hardest news of all.
“Our dream of paradise is dead. That is why we are leaving. Ximbal should be fully fueled by sunset tomorrow. When it is, we’re abandoning Omeyocan and returning to the Xolotl. We will take control of that ship and leave this world behind.”
Stunned silence. Some people still look angry, but most look confused, as if I’d spoken Springer instead of English.
Farrar raises a hand.
“How long do we stay out in space?” he asks. “When do we come back?”
Heads nod. The question was on everyone’s mind.
I clear my throat. No backing down now.
“I’m afraid I didn’t make myself clear. We’re leaving Omeyocan behind forever. We will travel the stars in search of a new home.”
Confusion fades. On some faces, relief—those people would rather take their chances out among the stars than stay in this terrifying place. On other faces, disbelief…even betrayal.
Plenty of us, perhaps a third of our number, clearly do not approve of my decision. I don’t care. I’m saving their lives.
Victor gently pushes through the kids in front of him, steps over the first row. He thumps his spear butt against the stone floor. Its sharp blade points up to the vaulted ceiling.
“My home is here,” he says. “I will not leave.”
Kalle stands up next to him.
“I’m not leaving, either. I can’t even believe you mean what you’re saying, Em. We can beat them.”
More than a few murmurs of agreement.
“It’s not just the Wasps,” I say. “It’s not just our difficulties with the Springers. It’s not just that more races might come here to fight us.” I point down to the ground. “Below us is a creature of pure evil. It’s making us want to fight, to kill each other. We’re leaving as soon as the Ximbal is fueled and Gaston finishes teaching Nevins and Cathcart how to pilot the Wasp troopships.”
Kalle tilts her head. “And why would we need the troopships? If we decide to leave, wouldn’t all of us fit in Ximbal?”
“Because two thousand Springers are coming with us.”
Tempers erupt. People are yelling at me, shouting obscenities. Some because they don’t want to leave Omeyocan. Of those that do, many can’t stand the thought of taking another race with us. I underestimated how quickly my people could forget about Barkah’s help after the first meteor attack. It’s the Grub, affecting us all, playing on primitive emotions of self-preservation, of hate.
If only the shuttle was ready right now. The longer we wait, the more likely we are to erupt into violence with each other.
I raise my spear and I shout.
“Be…quiet!”
The grumbling dies down. This scene has played out several times since we arrived—I will talk and they will listen. I only need to stay in charge a little bit longer. Once everyone is on the Xolotl, once we take control, they will see that leaving Omeyocan was the right decision. If they want a new leader after that? So be it. In truth, I’m tired of being in charge—I could use a rest.
“There is more than enough room on the Xolotl for all of us,” I say. “And there are five thousand people like us up there—little kids, teenagers, adults, old men and old women. They have invited us to join them. We will be part of a much larger community, a community that has already survived on that ship for twelve hundred years. That’s longer than Uchmal has existed. Longer than the Springer city that came before it. The people we will be joining, they know how to survive.”
The vassal descendants were an abstract thought before. Now that we might join them, the idea of stability, of being with more people than we knew existed, it has an undeniable appeal. On some faces, I see anger and frustration shift toward hope.
Bawden steps forward.
“What about Matilda and the Grownups that control the ship? And what if my progenitor is alive?”
“We are taking that ship, by force,” I say. “I’m not going to lie to you and tell you I have it all figured out, because I don’t. But know this—the Xolotl will be ours. Anyone who tries to stop us will be dealt with. And I won’t allow any of you to live under constant threat, so if your progenitor is still alive, your progenitor will be dealt with.”
In my head, dealt with means executed. We’re not the ones who created life so that it could be overwritten, so that the creators could live forever no matter what the cost. Any progenitor that would harm us must be killed.
Including Matilda.
Especially Matilda.
“The Wasps might reach Uchmal before Ximbal is ready to leave,” I say. “We’re going to have to slow the Wasps down. Your individual unit leaders will go over your duties soon. For now, take thirty minutes and pack anything you want to take with you on the shuttle. You’re allowed to keep anything that fits in one standard backpack, and that is all you can keep.”
Victor takes two steps closer to the dais.
“I’m not packing anything,” he says. “Because I’m not leaving.”
I’d hoped there wouldn’t be trouble. That was naïve of me.
“You’re going,” I say. “Everyone is. That’s an order.”
He shakes his head. “If you’re leaving, then you are not my leader. I refuse your order.”
Bishop points a finger at him. “Shut your mouth, Muller. The decision has been made. We don’t have time to debate.”
“There is no debate,” Victor says. He does not sound angry—he sounds resolved.
I have to get through to him.
“I can’t let anyone stay behind,” I say. “Anyone who stays will die, don’t you understand that?”
He adjusts his grip on his spear.
“That’s what you think will happen. You are making the decision you think is best, but that decision is not best for me. I will fight for Omeyocan, or I will die here.”
Another murmur rolls through the crowd, a murmur of surprise and support.
For a moment, I think Victor chose those words to mock me, to parrot something I sai
d before we first stepped off Ximbal onto our new world—The Birthday Children will survive on Omeyocan, or the Birthday Children will die here. Then I remember properly; Victor can’t be mocking me, because I never actually said those words out loud.
I only thought them.
He and I are so very much alike.
“No one stays behind,” I say, letting my volume rise. “Everyone is getting on the Ximbal, and that is final.”
Victor nods, as if he expected me to say that.
“You are making the coward’s decision,” he says. “I challenge your leadership.”
Bishop starts forward. I grab at his arm, expecting him to stop, but he shakes me off with barely a shrug. He strides down the dais steps, stands nose-to-nose with Victor.
People near them back away, giving the two circle-stars room.
“We don’t have time for a vote, you idiot,” Bishop says. “The enemy is almost at our gates. Em has made her decision and that decision is final.”
Victor shakes his head. “She doesn’t decide for me. If your girlfriend wants to abandon our home, then she is no leader of mine.”
Bishop snarls and reaches for Victor’s throat.
Victor moves faster than I’ve ever seen a human being move. He steps back, and in a fraction of a second the tip of his spear is at Bishop’s throat.
Bishop freezes, a shocked look on his face.
“Not this time,” Victor says. “This time I don’t have my back turned.”
He’s going to kill my Bishop.
Without thinking, I sharply rotate my hand right, then left, activating my bracelet.
“Don’t,” Victor snaps, his voice still calm but now much louder. “Raise that arm, Em, and I’ll slice his throat before you can fire.”
The Grand Hall is still. No one moves. All Victor needs to do is give his spear one slight push.
The anger that vanished from Bishop’s face seeps back in.
“Put it down,” he says. “Put it down and let’s settle this, one-on-one.”
Victor slowly shakes his head. “Instead of me putting mine down, how about you pick up yours? No practice spears this time—we use the real thing. If you win, I do what Em says. If I win, I decide what’s best for me, and you let everyone else decide what’s best for them.”
