by Tarah Benner
Cradling his head in both my hands, I stare down into his face. I can see the tiny pinpricks of hair where his beard is coming through. The contrast of the dark stubble shows just how pale he is.
A moment later Jonah’s eyelids flicker, and I feel a surge of hope. Two deep-blue pools blink up at me, and I’m staring into his eyes.
“Maggie?”
I let out a noise between a laugh and a cry. I’m overcome with relief.
“What’s . . .”
“Jonah, listen,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m going to take you to Dr. Kline.”
Jonah looks annoyed and then confused, and his eyelids droop shut.
“No! Jonah . . . Look at me!”
I’m still holding his head in my hands, silently begging him to put a stop to my fears.
“What . . . happened?” His words come out like a stilted exhale. It takes all the energy he has.
I don’t want to tell him that he was poisoned. I don’t want to worry him.
“Nothing,” I breathe, trying to smile. But Jonah can’t even see me.
“Maggie . . .”
“Shh.” I don’t want him to speak. Each word seems to cost him great effort, and he doesn’t have the energy to waste.
“’M sorry.”
“What?” I can’t help myself for asking. Jonah never apologizes.
“Sorry I said . . .”
There’s a long pause as he tries to finish. I’m hanging on his every word.
“You weren’t . . . Space Force.”
At first, I’m not sure that I heard him correctly. I’m sorry I said you weren’t Space Force? I have to be imagining this.
But even in his semiconscious state, Jonah is clear and straightforward.
I feel myself grinning despite my despair, and then I want to cry. “Don’t be sorry,” I whisper.
Jonah’s chest shakes. I panic and then realize he’s laughing. Jonah, half-unconscious, is actually laughing.
I need to move. I can feel him slipping. But I bend forward and crush his lips with mine.
Another wave of tears threatens to take me. Jonah doesn’t kiss back. I pull away, wiping my eyes, trying to draw strength from his lips.
Get up! says a voice from the back of my head. Get up and move, you idiot!
Pulling myself together, I tug my legs out from under me and try to roll Jonah upright. My shoulders shake in protest.
Jonah’s too heavy. I can’t lift him. I can’t get him off the ground.
But then I hear someone coming up behind me. I look over my shoulder, filled with dread, and see Tripp rushing toward me.
I let out a gasp, speechless with relief. With Tripp’s help I can do this.
“Maggie,” he says, his voice strained with worry. He stares at Jonah with a furrowed brow before glancing at my tear-stained face.
“Help me,” I gurgle. My body is spent. I have nothing left to give.
“Maggie . . .”
“I can’t lift him,” I gasp. “I need your help. You get that side, and I’ll get the other. If we hurry, we can get to Dr. Kline and —”
“Maggie!”
I stop babbling and look up, annoyed. Tripp suddenly looks ten years older. I can see every line in his face. His eyes are screwed up in sadness and dread, and I feel a rush of roiling fury.
“Let’s go,” I say. “Before he has another convulsion. I just got him breathing.”
Tripp opens his mouth, lost for words, and I realize he has tears in his throat.
“Maggie,” he croaks.
“Come on.”
“You have to go.”
“What?”
He’s making no sense. He’s wasting time. I’m not going to leave.
“We have to hurry,” I growl. “Help me get him to Dr. Kline.”
“Dr. Kline can’t help him,” says Tripp with a sigh.
But I’m not hearing any of it. I have to stick with the plan.
“You need to go,” says Tripp, more urgently. “Mordecai’s alive. More bots will come.”
I shake my head. Mordecai survived? Where are Jared and Jade? But right now I’m stuck on one detail: Dr. Kline can’t help.
“What do you mean he can’t —”
“He’s a chiropractor,” says Tripp helplessly. “He doesn’t have an antidote. We don’t even know what poison Jade used.”
“Well, ask her!” I yell.
But something in Tripp’s expression says that isn’t possible.
“Then we have to get him to Earth,” I say. “Help me get him to the shuttle, and then —”
“And then what?” snaps Tripp. “Look at him, Mags.”
Reluctantly, I glance down at Jonah’s face. His eyes are now completely closed, and it’s a long while before he breathes. When it finally comes, I feel relief, but then it doesn’t come again.
“Jonah . . .”
I’m starting to panic. He looks worse than before. His face has taken on the chilly pallor of death, and his eyes are like two dark pits.
I fall to my knees, heedless of the pain, and wish I could go back an hour. “Jonah!”
I shake his shoulder harder than I should, but his head just flops to the side.
“Maggie,” says Tripp, his voice low and urgent. “You have to get to the shuttle.”
“No.”
“You have to.”
“Not without Jonah.”
“He doesn’t have three hours.”
“We have to try . . .”
“Maggie,” Tripp snaps, his face right in front of me. “He isn’t — going — to make it.”
But I am seething with anger. Why won’t Tripp just help me? He’s always helped me when I’ve asked. It makes no sense that he won’t help me now.
“Maggie, look at me.”
But I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes. I refuse to see what’s in front of me.
That’s when I realize I’m not angry with Tripp. I’m angry with myself and with Jonah. I’d do anything to help Jonah survive, but he’s slipping away with each passing second.
Suddenly I’m numb, and I grip Jonah’s face — trying to hold on to what’s real. His skin is warm. His jaw is scratchy. I tilt his head, but his eyes don’t open.
I can’t breathe. I can’t move. There’s a black hole of emptiness opening inside me, threatening to swallow me whole.
“Maggie! Look at me!” yells Tripp, grabbing me by the chin. I fight against him as he pulls my head toward him, and I see his expression through a fog of tears. He can feel everything that I’ve gone numb to, and it’s tearing him up inside.
“Maggie,” says Tripp, “get on the shuttle. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry . . . Jonah is gone.”
25
Maggie
Gone. He’s gone. He’s gone?
Tripp’s words have a nonsensical ring. What does he mean that Jonah is gone? Gone to where? He’s here. He’s right in front of me.
But I can already feel myself shutting down. I cling to Jonah senselessly, trying to make him respond. But his eyes remain stubbornly closed. I don’t think he’s breathing, and there’s a dried bit of something beside his mouth.
I feel Tripp’s hands pulling me away. I try to hold on to Jonah, but I’m not strong enough. I flail and fight him, but Tripp is determined. I can hear footsteps pounding toward us, but I don’t know where they’re coming from.
Tripp glances back, gripping my arm. I think I cry out — I scream for help — but Tripp just heaves me over his shoulder. I beat my fists against his back, but Tripp is strong and I am weak. Every inch of my body hurts, and I can feel the fight draining out of me.
A strange lightness takes over my body, as though it’s stopped doing anything except its vital functions. I’m aware of going down the escalator before Tripp carries me through the docking zone and heaves me into a padded chair.
I smell burnt plastic, smoke, and death. I am in an abandoned war zone.
I don’t fight it as Tripp helps me into my flight
suit. He works it gently up my legs and pulls it over the ruined dress. Tripp folds my arms into the sleeves and zips the suit up to my neck. The room seems to lurch before me — all different shades of gray and white. I’m distracted by a spot of dried blood on the floor — a brownish pool staining the carpet.
Elderon is not at all as it was. The colony is no longer safe.
Tripp’s emerald-green eyes appear before me. He’s holding my shoulders and trying to speak. His words seem to be working fine. They’re just too far away.
His eyes crinkle into a question — a question to which I’m supposed to agree.
Understood? Do you get it? If you stay here, you will die.
Something like that.
Sitting in the docking zone staring at a bloodstain, I feel myself unable to resist. I bob my head up and down, and Tripp’s worried eyes seem to sag in relief.
“Jared,” I croak.
“Jared’s alive.”
I’m somewhat disturbed by Tripp’s choice of words. It wasn’t the reassurance I wanted.
“Where is he?”
“Don’t worry.”
I open my mouth to ask about Jade, but I don’t have the guts. I’m worried what Tripp might tell me. I don’t think I can take it. Then Tripp disappears, and I watch the escalator for Jared. I keep waiting for him to come huffing into view, bloodied but unharmed.
Tripp reappears carrying my helmet and lowers it over my head. I want to fight it, but I’m too tired. I can’t form the words. The real Maggie is locked away in a soundproof glass room where no one can hear her scream.
The heat of my breath fogs up the helmet as Tripp pulls me upright. My feet feel like two sandbags as I trudge down the tunnel. It’s as if I’m floating above my body, watching myself down below.
Tripp guides me through the open door, and I get a surge of dizziness as I tumble inside. It’s all happening way too fast, and I am powerless to stop it.
Ping and Ziva are staring at me, and there’s another woman in the shuttle. Her presence causes a great deal of confusion, but I can’t put voice to my question. Alex is staring at me from the corner, and I realize I must look like hell.
“I’m getting the fuck out of here,” she says, though I didn’t ask the question. I don’t ask about our colleagues. It’s not a good sign that Alex is here.
“Go,” says Tripp from somewhere behind me.
He’s speaking to Carl in the cockpit, and my tongue struggles to find the words. We can’t go — at least not yet. We have to wait for Jared.
“Jared,” I choke.
But Tripp doesn’t hear me. He isn’t wearing a helmet. He turns around when I tug on his sleeve, touching his Optix to speak.
“What about Jared?”
“He’s not coming.” Something in his voice gives it a note of finality — as if there’s something he isn’t saying.
“But —”
“It’s all right,” says Tripp. “Jared’s fine. I’ll make sure he’s . . .”
I frown. Tripp doesn’t finish. He isn’t making sense. If Jared’s all right, then why isn’t he coming?
“Jared shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have let him —”
“Jared made his choice,” says Tripp harshly. “This isn’t your fault.”
“Will you come?”
He shakes his head. “I have to stay here — finish what I started.”
Why does it sound as though he’s shutting me out? This is my fight, too.
“I want to stay,” I choke, my voice coming out desperate.
“I need you to go and keep Ziva safe.” Tripp squeezes my shoulder and lowers his voice. “You’re one of the few people I trust, Maggie. We can’t afford to lose her.”
He glances at Ziva and back to me. I want to say something — make one last plea — but Tripp doesn’t give me the chance. He climbs out of the shuttle and slams the door, closing it on all my protests. I’m left staring at the piece of brushed metal, and suddenly reality hits me.
What the hell was I thinking? I can’t leave now. Jared and Jade need my help. They’re still in BlumBot fighting the humanoids. I cannot leave them behind.
But a second later, I hear a garbled voice coming through my Optix, and I feel a shudder beneath my feet. Swift 9 lifts away from Elderon, and I’m filled with a rush of panic.
I launch myself at the shuttle door, banging my hands against it. “Let me off!” I shout, knowing it’s futile. We have already left the space station.
“Maggie!” says Ping, trying to stand.
“Let me out! God damn it, Tripp!” I’m possessed by grief and desperation. My own voice sounds strange to my ears.
It’s Alex who finally pulls me back, telling me I’m acting crazy.
I don’t respond. I’m still staring at the door where Tripp disappeared, wondering what the hell just happened.
I shake my head. I am numb all over. I can’t leave now — not without Jonah. I can’t let Tripp run to his death. I can’t leave with Jared still trapped in BlumBot — without knowing if Jade is alive.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ping scooting closer. Alex is staring in a way that says I’ve lost my mind. Ziva is still slumped in a corner, looking as though someone just died.
Someone did die, I think. Jonah is dead.
But the second my brain starts to circle the truth, I shut it out like a trap snapping closed. I can’t hold that cruel reality. I can’t accept what that would mean.
“Maggie?”
I look over. Ping is sitting beside me with his broken leg outstretched, watching me with worried eyes.
“What is it?”
“Jonah. He’s . . .” The words feel like a knife in my throat. I can barely say his name.
There’s a long beat of silence as Ping tries to work out what I’m saying. It doesn’t make sense — not even to him. He can’t accept that our sergeant is gone — that we’ve lost a friend, the strongest among us.
My eyes are burning with heavy tears, but I don’t feel a thing.
26
Maggie
The only noise apart from the engines is Carl’s grating voice. He’s grumbling at the CAPCOM from Vandenberg, cursing everyone from the CAPCOM’s mother to the president of the United States.
The CAPCOM doesn’t want us to land, but I suspect we’ll be landing regardless. It’s something to do with national security and the fact that we have Ziva.
Ping hasn’t said a word — not since I told him about Jonah. He’s sitting beside me with his head in his hands. I think he’s still in shock.
Alex is perched in a corner seat, dictating into her Optix. She’s turned her audio stream to private, so I can’t hear it in the group chatter. I can just see her lips moving as she reads from her notes and the text crawling across her feed.
She must be preparing a report on Mordecai’s takeover of Elderon. It won’t go live until we reach Earth, but she’s desperate to get the real news out there. Was there really a time when I was that dedicated? When I was consumed with my work?
I know I spent a lot of time thinking of headlines and whether a story would go viral. I did whatever I could to tip my views into the half-million range.
All of that seems pathetic now — insignificant at least. Why did I care so much about that half day of success? I became a reporter because of my dad, but he never cared how many views I got. He cared about what was real.
Jonah was real.
I imagine him being hauled off somewhere to await incineration. Maybe he’ll get an honorary space burial — one last flight through the cosmos. The Space Force will deliver the ashes to his family — if they’re still alive.
That’s when it hits me: Who is his family? I never knew much about them. I never asked if Jonah had a girlfriend or who his friends were on Earth. I remember a single photograph taped to his bed, but he never spoke about his family.
That thought is the only one that pierces my numbness: What if Jonah has no family? His ashes will be compacted and s
tored in a box. He’ll be filed away with the rest of the dead to wait like an unclaimed package.
Just the thought makes my chest heave with sadness, and a lump forms in the back of my throat. I try to focus on something else. I don’t want to sit here crying. But the pain in my throat is too much to hold. I let out a noise between a gasp and a wheeze, dropping my chin to my chest.
Why did I let Tripp go off alone? Why didn’t I follow him? I don’t even know if Jade and Jared made it out alive. They stayed behind so I could escape, but I never should have left without them.
Ping is still sitting hunchbacked in his seat, staring down at the floor. I’ve never seen him look so sad, and I have to tear my eyes away.
Ziva is sitting as far away from us as possible, staring straight ahead. Despite the bulky suit and bubbly helmet, she looks as elegant as ever. Her jaw is tight with grief — maybe guilt — and her lashes cast a dark shadow.
I should hate her for what she’s done — for letting her brother take control. It’s Ziva’s fault that Jonah is dead. She wouldn’t stand up to Mordecai. Her bots killed hundreds of innocents, and now Tripp expects her to stop them?
I don’t think Ziva has the nerve. I don’t think she has the will to act.
Just then, the shuttle gives a jarring lurch. We’re beginning our descent.
Carl’s voice rumbles in my ear. “CAPCOM, this is Swift 9 coming in for landing. Over.”
“Roger that, Swift 9,” says the CAPCOM with reluctance. “You are clear for landing.”
That statement brings a memory rushing to the surface. The last time I landed at Vandenberg, Jonah was by my side. He was with me through all of this — a steady, unyielding presence.
No matter how terrified I was — or how impossible our situation seemed — Jonah was right there next to me. There was something about his presence that I found reassuring — something about him that always kept me going.
I don’t have Jonah now.
Then, as the shuttle quakes, I get a sudden burst of clarity. It’s almost as if the jolt of the shuttle knocked something loose in my brain. I know what I need to do — who I need to be.
