The Ark

by Laura Liddell Nolen

  I took a deep breath. “Can you contact Isaiah?”

  “Who?”

  “The King of the Remnant. Can you reach out to him?”

  “King,” he snorted at the wall. “And they said I overreached myself.” He shook his head and turned to me. “Why would I do that?”

  “You need to offer him a trade. To get Eren back.”

  “You are as stupid as you are treacherous. The Tribune has refused to capitulate to their demands. They will not allow the Remnant access to the mainframe. Not even on my command.” His voice lowered. “Not even for Eren.”

  “I figured that. Why would they sacrifice all their control just to save a few soldiers? They assume Isaiah will use it to gain control of everything and kick them out. Possibly try them for treason. But you have something else they want.”

  “And what would that be?”

  I pursed my lips, then swallowed. “Me.”

  The Commander leaned so far back in his chair that he was facing the ceiling. “I have lost my patience with you, Miss Turner.”

  “They want to put me on trial for treason.”

  At this, he gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Don’t tell me I’m going to have to start respecting them.”

  “He’ll take the trade. Trust me.”

  “I will do no such thing.”

  “Commander, he’s going to kill Eren. Unless you think he was bluffing?”

  The Commander’s frame sagged. He’d heard Isaiah’s voice. Perhaps he’d recognized the calm, authoritative tenor of a man who’d made up his mind. We both knew Isaiah was as good as his word. He looked at me but spoke to Jorin. “I have done with this conversation, and with her. Take her away.”

  The holding cell was cold. Not just the air, but the bench and the floor were like ice against my hands and legs. Jorin pulled me off-balance before tossing me in, snorting quietly as I fell. He wore his cruelty as casually as his face, so I doubted he’d even thought about it. My only surprise was that he also tossed an oxygen helmet in after me. That was when I realized I’d won. The Commander didn’t want me to die quite yet. Soon, of course, but not while there was a chance Isaiah would agree to the trade.

  I was tired, more tired than I’d ever been before. My exhaustion seeped out into my blood from deep in my bones, poisoning my neck and arms with a paralyzing ache, clouding my brain, obscuring my vision. I did not attempt to stand, or even to lie on the bench. The whiteness of the walls pressed through my barely open eyes and into my skull for only a moment, then I let my cheek fall to the floor and allowed my lids to fall closed.

  I don’t know whether I slept. Certainly I did not contemplate my fate, which would have been pointless, or even that of West or Eren. My terror at losing either of them did little to slow the dampening of my mind into sleep. My terrible coldness was much more immediate, and even that had begun to recede as I lost consciousness.

  No sooner had I lost sight of my discomfort than my cell door sucked open.

  “Miss Turner.” It was the Commander’s voice.

  I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

  At length, he sighed. “Get her up.”

  Some moments later, I was upright. Not standing, exactly, but braced against Jorin. A small part of my mind was begging me to open my eyes, to see my way through the end of the game, but I couldn’t be bothered.

  “Have her sit on the bench. Wake her up. Gently, Lieutenant.”

  Jorin grunted, but he complied. Some other part of my mind found it strange that he did not otherwise acknowledge the command from his superior, but perhaps things were different in the Commander’s highest ranks.

  “Wake up, Miss Turner. Look alive.”

  A hand patted my cheek roughly. I opened my eyes just enough to give Jorin a withering glare, then turned to the Commander. He was his usual frowny self, and he spoke harshly. “The Remnant have agreed to the trade. We have a deal.”

  I wanted to reply, but his face slid upwards before my eyes as my body collapsed onto the bench.

  The Commander spoke again, somewhat less angrily, but without any warmth. “Leave her. Monitor her. We make the trade in four days’ time. Until then, Miss Turner.”

  I was fully asleep before the door had closed behind them.

  Thirty-one

  On my last day in Central Command, I thought only of West.

  I did not think of Eren. It was unlikely that the Remnant would harm him in advance of the prisoner trade set to take place at high noon. So he was probably fine. But he was gone from me, permanently out of reach. Further thoughts of him were unnecessary and unproductive. And painful and warm. And frustrating.

  And happy.

  So I blocked him from my mind. Or I tried to, at least.

  I had slept, mostly, since getting here, so the time had stretched and contracted in a senseless series of dreams and memories strung together by the rope of wardens and medics who visited my cell to hover over me, their faces a jumble of concern and kindness, and lately, of satisfaction.

  I had dreamed endlessly of fox chases through my mother’s formal dining room, where perhaps I had belonged more than I’d liked to admit, and a long, slow tango with a faceless man in a field of potatoes. I dreamed of birthdays at home, and the mess of blue icing in my mother’s kitchen. I dreamed of her face at different times in my life, laughing, smiling, and straining to smile.

  And of West. Always, always, I dreamed of West.

  There were other dreams, too, of stunners and dead guards with dark holes where their eyes should have been and my father’s disappointment, but these dreams didn’t last. Whenever I cried out, a face appeared at my cell door, accompanied by a pinch in my side, and I swam frantically toward wakefulness even as I drowned quickly in the sweetness of oblivion.

  The door of my cell slid open as soon as I was awake, revealing a pair of female guards who endeavored to brush my hair and clean my hands and face. I let them, model prisoner that I was.

  Since my final conversation with the Commander, my belly had remained full. My wounds, old and new, had been tended by the finest doctors the human race had yet produced, and my back had been draped in a mountain of thick gray blankets. My fingers had lost the bluish tint of cold and hunger I’d grown accustomed to since my final days on Earth.

  Central Command seemed unwilling to send me to the Remnant looking mistreated, on the assumption that it would affect the Remnant’s treatment of its remaining prisoners.

  They missed their mark, not that I planned on pointing that out. First of all, Isaiah would treat his prisoners fairly without regard to Central Command’s actions toward me. I was more certain of that than of my own name. Second of all, I wasn’t exactly a valued member of the Remnant. Isaiah would be true to his word. I would be tried for treason. I knew I’d be convicted.

  I didn’t know what would happen after that.

  There was no future for me with West, either, but the time was fast approaching when I could say the things that had gone unspoken between us. Surely Isaiah would allow me that much. And then I would be at the mercy of the Remnant, and their tireless quest for justice.

  I deserved their justice.

  And so, when the Commander appeared about an hour after the guards had left, I went with him willingly. I had eaten well that day, meals of cheese and milk, cold roast and bananas, but I yet lacked the strength to spar with him.

  When he told me, face impassive, that he expected me to appear before a team of cameras before and during the transfer, and not to make any decisions I’d regret, I merely agreed. I was mild, utterly tamed. I would proceed from this cage to another, much the same as ever.

  I was not to mention any talk of treason, against the Ark or the Remnant, nor of my own hand in ending the battle between the sectors or recovering Ambassador Everest. My mind was made dull by the bliss of my body’s recovery, and I did not question his motives.

  “It is an armistice, Miss Turner, but it’s a shaky one,” he said, mistaking my blankness for contemp
lation. He’d pulled a thin metal chair into the cell from the hallway and seated himself before my bench. His hands clasped in his lap, and his leg was crossed knee-to-ankle. The effect was authoritative without being overtly threatening.

  I looked at him, unable to decide whether I should consider his meaning or not. “Then you must have granted them access to the mainframe,” I said, my voice plain.

  He pursed his lips and matched my tone. “Not exactly. It seems they’ve taken it. Along with several of our citizens. Doctors, even a scientist.”

  “It was all a diversion,” I guessed, my mind beginning to awaken. “The lights, the oxygen. Everything. I’m sure they always knew you wouldn’t give them access. They must have had other plans to… execute, during the blackout.” I straightened slowly. If Isaiah had had access to the entire Ark, even for a few minutes, I was unprepared to believe he had stopped at kidnapping a few high-value citizens. I knew him better than that. He was capable of far bigger plans. I lacked the energy, the grit, to guess what else he might be up to. It wouldn’t matter for me, anyway.

  “So it would seem. The cease-fire won’t last,” said the Commander. “We can’t let them keep our people hostage. Look at what happened on Ark Five. You may tell the King of the Remnant to enjoy his victory, such as it is, for as long as he can. But it won’t last.”

  “I told you. They’re trying me for treason. I don’t exactly have access to his inner circle at this point.” We spoke to each other without much emotion. It was the merest exchange of information, and nothing more.

  “My compliments to them,” he said at last, and stood. “See that you don’t mention it to the cameras.”

  I nodded my assent and stood, limbs tight, while he rapped on the door of the cell. It opened instantly, and the personnel gathered at the door had a view of my furtive attempts to stretch my arms and chest in the cramped space of the cell, made smaller by the presence of the Commander. The cameras crowded toward his face, which had transformed instantly to that of a kind and competent leader. The perfect tinge of regret heightened his look of determination, as if to communicate that he didn’t want to turn me over, but it was the right thing to do.

  I yawned.

  The cameras bugged in toward my face. The Commander’s hand was suddenly tight on my arm, and he started speaking.

  “As a show of good faith, we have agreed to a trade for the life of our own Ambassador Everest, who was captured while leading a strike team behind enemy lines in an attempt to stop their attack on our life support system. In return, we relinquish Charlotte Turner, a high-value Remnant operative responsible for the attack as well as for the death of three guardians. It is with a heavy heart that I agreed to this exchange, in spite of my love for my son. Like you, I desire to see Turner face justice. But each life under my command is sacred, and you may rest assured that I will stop at nothing to win back the hostages they have taken. The battle may be over,” he paused dramatically, “but we have only begun to fight.”

  The cameras snapped closed at his silent gesture, and he waited until the operators had dispersed before sending me out the door with Jorin. The Commander must have wanted to keep the way to the Remnant hidden from the general public. Jorin, exactly the same as ever, yanked me down the hall and toward the stairwell. I twisted my neck, popping it, trying to keep my mind clear.

  His previous warnings to me proved unnecessary, since I never got the chance to speak. The walk to the edge of the sector was my first in several days, and as I moved, my mind began to awaken.

  Surely the rest of the Ark, with their citizenship and dreams of utopia, had no reason to defect. So why the secrecy over the Remnant’s location?

  For that matter, why the lies about my value to the Remnant? The Commander knew firsthand I had betrayed them, and he’d almost certainly believed me when I told him I was wanted for treason. I chewed the inside of my cheek, slowly becoming frustrated with my lack of answers. I knew the Commander’s real goal was to get his son back, and after that, to crush the Remnant. Perhaps he wanted to make me look valuable so that he would appear justified in making the trade for Eren.

  So then, why would he exaggerate my crimes to the Ark? If he wanted to make the trade look like the noble thing to do, why not make me seem like a petty criminal, instead of some kind of cold-blooded terrorist?

  This, at least, I thought I could answer. He was burning every bridge he could between me and the possibility of citizenship, and by extension, me and Eren. Eren was kidding himself if he thought his father would ever let this blow over, and now, neither would the rest of the Ark. I would never, ever gain citizenship. That meant that I would never be good enough for Eren.

  Or my father.

  I shook my hair from my face and continued to walk. None of this mattered. I had made my decision. I would win Eren’s freedom and apologize to West. I would tell him that our father loved him and somehow convince him he belonged with the rest of the Ark. That I would also face charges of treason was a fair price to pay. I was, after all, getting everything I’d wanted since being locked away all those years ago on Earth. Except, instead of a fresh start, my story would have an ending.

  Jorin pressed me through the door of the cargo hold, and I took in my last view of the bins. We were more than halfway to the end when his fingers clamped down on my arm like a steel trap. I stopped at once and made a grunt of protest, which I choked off when his fingers dug still further into my flesh, warning me to remain silent.

  Jorin’s eyes were wide, but not from fear. He was on high alert.

  I looked around, wondering why we’d stopped, but heard and saw nothing.

  “What is your game, silly girl?”

  I wanted nothing more than a successful transfer, but I was hardly fool enough to think Jorin would believe me if I told him that. So I simply shrugged.

  After a brief moment of consideration, Jorin pulled me forward, faster than before. And then, I heard it, too. The barest whisper of a shoe scuffing the concrete flooring, hardly making contact. Sneaking.

  We were being followed.

  No, not followed. I cocked my head and tried to make my feet quiet. It was harder than usual, with Jorin pulling on me. I pressed forward. I didn’t need Jorin to encourage me to hurry. As we approached the end of the bins, my pulse raced faster than my feet, and my hands began their familiar tingling. Jorin was right. A new game was on.

  We were not alone, and neither was the person tailing us. Jorin pulled me off our path, and we began to weave among the bins. I couldn’t imagine who was tracking us. Not Isaiah. We were headed right to him, so he had no reason to come after us. Not the Commander, who’d sent us and expected Jorin to return with his son. And not Eren, who was still a prisoner. Baffled, I increased my pace.

  At the end of two sharp turns, Jorin and I were moving more in unison, and I saw him give me an evaluating glance. As distasteful as his work could be, he was good at it, and his instincts tended not to deceive him. He decided that I had no part in being followed and loosened his grip.

  As a result, we were able to move faster and more quietly. I wove around the bins, angling ever closer to the edge of the sector, following Jorin’s lead, turning at the slightest suggestion of pressure from his enormous hand on my arm.

  It wasn’t fast enough. The closer we got to the edge, the more intruders I imagined.

  “They know where we’re going,” I whispered to Jorin. He looked at me, his mind calculating our options. “They knew we’d be here. They’ll be waiting for us when we get there.”

  Still we pressed on, and I began to see shadows shifting in the corner of my eyes. My growing trepidation gave me the speed I’d lacked since finding the Remnant. We were flat-out sprinting. I was as fast as ever, and profoundly grateful for the medical care and food I’d received over the past few days. Jorin, as usual, was slightly faster.

  Also as usual, he was armed with a gun.

  When he yanked me behind the corner of a bin, I couldn’t help shak
ing my head at him. “You really thought you’d need a gun for this?” I said, panting slightly. “I’m flattered.”

  “You’re up to something,” he said.

  “No, I’m not. But we’d be fools to go to the entrance to the Remnant right now.”

  He pushed his lips out, as if to say that my opinion meant little to him, then tapped a foot, thinking. His gun swung to point at me. “Fine. We go back. You first.”

  Another shadow moved nearby.

  I lifted my hands, but the game was as good as over, and we had lost. By my count, there were four interlopers in our immediate vicinity.

  Not counting the one right behind Jorin, with a gun pointed at his head.

  Thirty-two

  “Drop your weapon,” said a voice.

  Jorin complied, an ugly smirk on his face. “You won’t get away—” he began, but was cut short. The man with the gun stepped forward to deliver a blow to his skull that sent him sprawling to the ground. I gaped at the stranger, but he offered no explanation for his actions. He stood, waiting for something. Or someone, as it turned out.

  “I have no idea if you’re faking that,” came a new voice, “but be warned that we will shoot to kill if you move.”

  I looked around, wildly scanning the area for its source. “Who’s there?” I said, trying to make sense of what was happening.

  In response, the shadow itself seemed to move, rather than the man within it, pulling back, revealing his half-shaded form.

  There, two steps before me, stood my father.

  “Oh, Dad,” I breathed. “What are you thinking?” I looked down at Jorin’s crumpled form. “What have you done?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” my father said, shaking his head. “He’ll be fine, unfortunately.”

  “But you won’t,” I said, twisting around, trying to make out the number of people in the shadows around me. “You have no idea who you’ve just—”

  “I am not without my resources, Charlotte. Even up here.”

  I looked at him blankly.