The Ark

by Laura Liddell Nolen

  That was interesting.

  I lifted my hand a second time, but instead of thrusting it into the dancing lights, I slid my palm along the edge of the projection.

  The lights in the giant holo shifted in the opposite direction.

  I reached out with both hands, as though grabbing the smaller holo, and turned it on its head. The big holo flipped upside down. Dots that were bright had gotten dimmer, and dots that weren’t visible twinkled into view. I spun the tiny lights a few times, watching the bigger holo react and enjoying the feeling of control, before reminding myself that I had a mission to accomplish. I was in the communications room. If Ark Five had really gone down because of foul play, then someone involved had to have communicated about it. If so, there was probably evidence somewhere in this room. Think, Char. Think.

  But something about the lights continued to hold my attention. It’s not that they were dancing, exactly. More like, they were flying. In a formation. I twisted them again and kept watching.

  Frustrated, I grabbed an errant dot of light between my thumb and forefinger. The lights of the holo blinked away, replaced by a single straight line of dots and dashes. I had seen a pattern like that before. It wasn’t Braille, exactly, but something even older.

  Morse code.

  The lights weren’t meteors, or even stars; they were communications. There were limited points of origin for the dots, and only a few destinations. They were flying from ship to ship, in real time, right before my eyes, like moving dewdrops on a giant spiderweb.

  Something was still off, though. Countless smaller lights went from one invisible point to another, but the biggest and most frequent lights seemed to fly from one of four places, which were flung farther apart than the smaller ones. The smaller lights only flew back and forth from these larger destinations. If I didn’t angle the image just right, I couldn’t see the direction of the lights that were headed straight for my face. They would just appear to be a pinprick that disappeared an instant later. From the side, though, they had a clear starting point and a destination.

  I figured that the big lights were communications coming from Arks, and the smaller lights came from Arkhoppers, the smaller ships that transported high-level citizens between the Arks. They probably only sent flight-related communications with whichever Ark they were about to dock with. I watched a moment longer, until I had identified the locations of the four remaining Arks based on the origins of the biggest dots of light.

  Just as I was about to turn away, a large dot of light glinted near my cheek, then faded. It was too big a dot to have come from an Arkhopper, but it wasn’t coming from one of the four Arks, either. I pulled the image around, hoping to get a better glimpse of the next light from that source, but none appeared.

  A small, still hope rustled in my stomach.

  But it wasn’t possible, was it?

  Surely I had imagined the size of the dot. After all, it had appeared close to my eye. Maybe it was just a minor com from an Arkhopper.

  Or maybe it wasn’t.

  I settled myself back into the chair and waited, motionless. If another light left my mystery point, I would be ready. When I was eleven, and just beginning to lash out against everyone but West, my mother had tried to teach me about meditation, in the hopes that I would learn control over my reactions. I hadn’t listened to much of what she’d said, but a little of it had sunk in. I focused on the blank space in front of my nose and made myself completely calm.

  Not a minute later, another light caught my eye. This one wasn’t coming from my mystery point, but headed toward it. When it came within four inches of the space near my face, I grabbed it.

  As the holo shifted into Morse code, the door panel slid open to my right. I threw myself from the chair but kept my grip on the pinpoint between my fingers.

  This was idiotic. I had to let go and find a way to hide. Using every ounce of my non-existent meditation skills, I homed in on the dots and dashes with laser focus, searing them into my memory, and released the light. At the same time, I launched myself past the gap in the row, landing behind one of the minor workstations nearby.

  The code disappeared, ceding the screen to the dancing lights once again.

  My best bet was to get the intruder away from the door panel, then make a blatant run for it once I had a clear shot at leaving the room. In order to do that, I’d need to make some kind of noise happen on the other side of the room.

  In normal lighting, my plan would seem absurd. But in the half-light of the comm room, I figured I had a fair chance. I lifted an object from the desk nearest me—a small, portable screen—and chucked it toward the far side of the room, carefully avoiding the rows of desk-sized screens along the way.

  There was no way the screen survived the crash that followed. The intruder, no more visible than a shadow, turned toward the noise, giving me a chance to make my big escape.

  My palm was inches from the “open” button when I heard a quiet voice several feet away. “Mag? Magda?”

  “Eren?” I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. “Seriously? What are you doing here? Something better be on fire.”

  “It’s not. I mean—” he paused, cutting himself off. “I just couldn’t do it.”

  “Do what? Sleep?”

  “You know what I mean. I woke up; you were gone; I kept thinking you’d get caught, and you’d need me.”

  “So you thought I’d be better off with a heart attack?”

  He moved toward me in the darkness. “No, I just thought—”

  “You thought wrong. And I don’t need you.”

  He was silent for a moment, and I grimaced in the darkness. That had come out harsher than I’d meant it.

  “Okay. I’m leaving,” he said.

  “No, Eren. Wait. Let me show you what I found.”

  His frame straightened a bit, and I thought I saw him nod. An inexplicable relief flooded through me, and I was glad he couldn’t see my smile.

  “So, this is a three-dimensional map of all the interArk communications.”

  His shadowy face turned toward the big screen. “It’s kinda pretty.”

  I considered that for a second. “Yeah. I think so, too.” I cleared my throat. “Anyway. There are four big blank spots, one for each remaining Ark. Their communications are the big dots of light. Then there are smaller spaces, for the Arkhoppers. They make the little dots.”

  “Got it.”

  “That’s not all. A few minutes ago, there was a big light coming from over here.” I waved at my mystery point. “It was too big to be from an Arkhopper, so I waited for another one. It came from that Ark—” I indicated a huge blank spot in the center of the screen—“and headed straight for the mystery spot.”

  “Okay.”

  “I caught it. It was in Morse code.”

  “What did it say?”

  “I have no idea. I don’t know Morse code.”

  The shadow standing next to me perked up visibly, and I caught a glimpse of the white of his teeth reflecting light from the screen. “I do.”

  “Give me your hand. I’ll show you what it said.” I reached for his wrist and spread his palm out over mine. Even allowing for the darkness, I was clumsier than usual once his skin touched mine. “Okay. So this is the first word.” I began tracing the dots and dashes. The skin of his palm was soft and warm against my fingertip, with a neat row of calluses near the knuckles. I was sure he could see my blush in the darkness.

  “Right. That’s ‘reste.’”

  “Um. Great. I’ll just keep going.”

  “Okay,” he said. “That’s ‘froid.’”

  “So ‘rest fwa.’” This was discouraging. “That’s nonsense.”

  “No, it’s French. It means ‘Stay cold.’”

  “‘Stay cold’? Still sounds like nonsense.”

  “Do the rest,” he said. I touched his palm again.

  “That’s ‘l’oiseau.’ Bird. Keep going.”

  “Then this.”
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  “Volera. En. X,” he finished. We stood there, holding hands, for a moment longer. And then his hand was suddenly heavy in mine, and I dropped it abruptly. He took a step back and rubbed his neck.

  I realized all at once that I had stepped away from him, too, and regretted it. “Uh, translation? This wasn’t my strongest subject in high school.”

  “It means, ‘The bird will fly on X.’”

  “That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Yes it does! If you’d remembered it wrong, the bird wouldn’t be flying. He’d be swimming, or something.”

  I considered that. “It would have been nonsense, like tly-ing. I mean, it’s not like you’d have a totally different word in perfect French.” He nodded, and I realized that we were standing next to each other again. “But anyway, don’t you see what this means?”

  Eren leaned back against a nearby desk. “Not really. What bird are they talking about? I don’t see the point.”

  “The point is that this Ark sent a message to Ark Five! Ark Five isn’t gone after all!”

  There was a long pause. “Mag. You can’t seriously believe—”

  “Of course I do! I’m telling you, it was a big dot, not a little one.”

  “The bird is probably someone’s helicopter or something, and it won’t work in space. It was probably just a random message to an Arkhopper pilot from his commander.”

  “Look, Eren. I don’t know what bird it’s talking about, but that was not a message to an Arkhopper. It was too big.”

  “Even if you’re right, and the big dots are from Arks, then this one would have been big, too, right? If the European Ark, or whichever one it was, was talking to an Arkhopper, then it would have been a big dot.”

  “No, I’m telling you. The first dot, the one I didn’t catch, it was big, too.”

  He sighed. “Whatever.”

  “Eren, you have to believe me. Ark Five is out there.”

  “So now you suddenly care if I believe you?”

  I stared at him. “What does that even mean?”

  “You won’t tell me your name, but somehow it matters whether…”

  Flames rushed up to my face. “Let’s get this straight right now. I owe you nothing. Not my name, and especially not my life story, and every single thing I ever did wrong, and every person I lost, and how it made me feel,” I said in a mocking tone. “You don’t get that from me.”

  Eren didn’t respond. Good. Let that sink in. It would serve him right for thinking he was so superior to me that he didn’t have to believe anything I said.

  But I knew, deep down, that I didn’t deserve his trust. I had lied to everyone I’d ever known, at some point or another. Why would Eren end up being any different? He was smart to be skeptical.

  But then the silence continued, and a twist in my gut pulled my chest tight. He’d been so kind to me, these past few days. Why was I being so mean? Had I gone too far? An overwhelming urge to see his face stopped my breathing, and the twist deepened.

  Had I hurt him?

  I turned toward him, wishing I could see his expression, and his frame loomed closer. I took a step back involuntarily. In the shadows, he seemed twice my size. Was he angry? Without thinking, I lifted a hand toward him.

  He did the same, and I flinched. But instead of hitting me, his hand moved lightly behind my head, barely touching my hair. Its warmth in the cold air was the only way I was completely sure his hand was there at all. “Okay,” he whispered. His voice was deeper than I’d ever heard it, and his mouth was an inch from mine. “I believe you.”

  “Oh.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say, but this silence wasn’t so weird as before. Neither of us moved. His hand rested softly on my neck, and a slow shiver worked its way down my spine.

  And then we were kissing. His mouth met mine, impossibly gently, and I kissed him back. His lips were much softer than I expected, and fuller. I smiled against his mouth, and he smiled back. I laughed under my breath, slightly. That was one way to read his expression.

  I think I would have stayed there forever. I think I could have told him everything he ever wanted to know about me, and then I would have asked him everything I could think of about him. Everything.

  But I never got the chance, because at that moment, there was a soft click behind us, and the room was flooded with light.

  Every alarm in my head started screaming, like a full-on symphony. Eren was caught. He’d be taken in for harboring a fugitive. He would lose his job, and probably his freedom. And that was the best-case scenario, at this point. My life was over, too, of course. But I couldn’t handle the thought that Eren had sacrificed everything.

  Without thinking, I twisted around in his arms, so that we were both facing the door, and yanked his hands down around my shoulders. I crossed his forearms over my chest and pretended to struggle against him.

  “You have to arrest me. Now,” I said, my jaw clenched. I threw a glance over my shoulder. Eren’s brow pulled down above his eyes, which were wider than usual. When he didn’t respond, I opened my mouth to speak again, but couldn’t find the words.

  Blue-clad figures armed with shields and stunners raced through the open door and spread out among the rows of desks. I allowed myself one more second of alarm-ringing panic before fully committing to the charade.

  “Ugh! Let me go!” I pitched forward but kept my grip on Eren’s arms, so that he came with me. He struggled to regain his balance against my back. The effect was perfect: anyone would think he was trying to control a difficult prisoner, instead of the other way around.

  We continued like that for a second longer, until the same thought occurred to us both: The guardians weren’t doing anything. They had surrounded us, stunners raised, but they had not attacked.

  They were waiting.

  Unnerved, I stopped wrestling with Eren. He tightened his grip around me, and for one fleeting second, it felt safe, like I was protected. But I knew that feeling never lasted.

  “Well done, Ambassador! I see you’ve apprehended our little space rat.” A vaguely familiar voice boomed into the comm room, followed by a black uniform with a chest full of medals. I tilted my chin further up to take in the smooth face and gray hair of Commander Everest.

  Eren straightened. “Father. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

  Seventeen

  Commander Everest strode toward us. Eren was like a statue, and I had long since dropped the fake-struggle routine. The Commander took in the scene with a calculating nod, pausing only on Eren’s face before turning on his heel to leave. “I’ll take your statement in the office, Ambassador. Bring the girl.”

  Eren’s arms left my shoulders, and I suppressed a shiver. His hand shifted to my elbow, and we followed the Commander out into the hallway. The guardians filed in behind us, like some kind of parade.

  That was when I noticed the cameras.

  Three women at the end of the line of guardians sported video equipment aimed squarely at Eren and me. I glanced at his face; it was like stone. That was unsettling, and the fact that I couldn’t control my own expression made it worse. I was mad enough to spit feathers, and I hadn’t recovered from my shock enough to hide it. Eren was the Commander’s son?! I had gotten into some bad situations in my day, but this was by far the stickiest.

  At least it explained his relentless questions about me. I should have known there was a darker reason for his curiosity.

  On our trip down the hallway, I mentally catalogued every bit of information I had given Eren about myself. He knew I grew up in Manhattan, and that I liked grilled cheese. From my starpass, he knew I had lied to him. Not that he had fallen for it, which was more than I could say for myself.

  And that was about it. Eren’s report to the Commander should be fairly thin. At least if I died, no one would know my real name. It was sort of a final consolation prize for my family.

  I allowed myself a small moment of pride for having kept him at a distance, but it tast
ed sour. About five seconds longer, and I’d have given him anything. I had thought I was so smart, that I was the one person in the room who always knew the score. What had happened?

  Whatever it was, it would never happen again. That much was certain. I pulled my shoulders back and tilted my chin up and away from the camera. I’d had enough of screwing up. I would be a stone vault from now on.

  The plush rugs of the hallway gave way to dark wood, and I focused on the steady tap of the Commander’s leather soles against the floor in an effort to prepare for the scene ahead. It hit me that the soldiers and camera crews around us were doing the same thing: matching their pace to the Commander’s. Even Eren deferred implicitly to his father, pausing as we turned corners, so that the Commander entered each hallway first, perfectly flanked by the rest of the entourage. If the Commander could influence the way people walked, what else was he capable of?

  By the time Eren ducked his way around a particularly ornate and low-hanging chandelier, I had more or less gained control of myself. My anger was a hot, bright secret buried under my skin, and it would be strong enough to keep me afloat for several hours, at least.

  When we neared the end of the corridor, Eren squeezed my elbow, and the procession halted. The Commander turned to face the guardians behind us, carefully positioning himself so that the camera could catch every inch of his face.

  “I’d like to thank the brave men and women who made this apprehension possible. Your time and effort over the last several days have made our ship a safer place.” He laid a hand on the exposed wood of the door before him, which was reinforced around the frame with thick iron paneling. “Rest assured that the suspect will be brought to justice, and we’ll be providing updates at regular intervals from now on.” The door swung back, like a door on Earth, and we stepped into the Commander’s office.