The Forgotten Shrine

by Monica Tesler

  Lucy clears her throat in a way that can only mean there’s someone behind me. I turn, expecting to be bowled over by a whiff of Bad Breath’s bad breath (even worse now that it’s laced with vomit). Instead I’m face-to-face with an Alk.

  “Greetingsss,” he hisses. “Are your sss-seatsss sss-satisss-factory?” His minithrone is purple with gold fringe. The bottom half of his body is coiled on the plump seat. His silver-black skin glistens under the lights. He hovers beside us, kicking up the air current, so there’s a slight breeze.

  “Totally satisfactory,” Marco says. I can tell he’s trying to get rid of the guy quick so we can get back to our conversation.

  “Exsss-ellent,” the Alk says, waving his shiny cyborg arm. His eyes are like black marbles. When he blinks, his eyelids close from the sides. “Now that we are sss-speeding along, you may sss-stand. But firssst, let me introdussse my-ssself.” He crosses his metal arm in front and bows his head. “I am Sss-steve.”

  “Did you say ‘Steve’?” Lucy asks.

  The Alk nods. We exchange glances. Lucy giggles. I press a hand to my mouth to keep from laughing.

  “Is there a problem?” Steve asks.

  “No problem, Steve,” Marco says, bringing on a new round of laughter.

  “Exsss-ellent. I sss-shall be your esss-cort. Pleassse follow me.”

  We unbuckle from our harnesses, grab our packs, and follow Steve through the craft. Now that we’re moving around, it’s clear this is an old Earth Force vessel. The layout is identical to the ones we rode during our first tour.

  Steve glides in front of us and navigates to the back of the craft. We pass a room filled with minithrones plugged into the wall.

  “Do you always use those?” Cole asks.

  Steve hisses in a way that says he has no idea what Cole is talking about.

  “Those,” Marco says, pointing at the thrones. “The flying air chairs, sky rides, butt lifters, whatever you want to call them.”

  “Not when we sss-swim.”

  Swim? Eek. I would not want to run into an Alk in the water.

  We continue down the hall. We pass a room with a low table surrounded by Alks coiled on round cushions. The Alk at the center hisses and clicks. I’m pretty sure that’s Seelok. I slow, and my eyes lock with his. Then he points his cyborg arm at the door, and a partition slides into place, shielding them from view.

  The rest of my pod continued on. I jog to catch them.

  Steve hovers in front of an open room. “Pleassse come in. Take a sss-seat.”

  A large, low table dominates the room. There are wires and headsets spread around its surface.

  “What are we doing here?” Lucy asks as we slowly shuffle into the room.

  “Time for quesss-tionsss,” Steve says, closing the door behind us.

  Cole glances up at me. So it begins. Just as the admiral predicted. They’re going to interrogate us and try to extract Earth Force secrets. What if we don’t tell them anything? What will they do with their cyborg arms then?

  “Excuse me, Steve,” Lucy says. “Where is Officer Johnson?”

  Good question. We need someone to get us out of this mess, and isn’t that exactly what Bad Breath’s job is? Although, the fact that we’re looking to Bad Breath to rescue us says a lot about the safety of this whole mission.

  “The offi-ssser is resss-ting. He was feeling sss-sick.”

  “Maybe he’s feeling better now,” Lucy says. “Can you check? Or send me. I’ll go get him.”

  “There is no need. Have a sss-seat.” He gestures with his metal arm to the chairs around the table. They’re just like the ones in the main passenger bay, with harnesses and recline buttons. As soon as we’re seated, Steve anchors his throne to the floor. With a wave of his wrist, the top of his cyborg arm morphs into a screen. He studies the image and hisses to himself.

  “Jasss-per Adamsss, we’ll sss-start with you. Pleassse put on the head-ssset.”

  I have to be the guinea pig? My breath catches in the back of my throat. Everyone’s staring at me. How long can I stall before Steve gets mad? I glance at Marco. He nods. Why can’t he be first?

  I select a headset from the pile on the table. It’s silver with lots of sensors and fits over my head like a beanie cap. Once I put it on, Steve waves his arm, and the cap buzzes. I jerk, expecting my brain to feel the buzz. But it doesn’t, and when the buzzing stops, Steve clicks contentedly.

  “What is your favorite food?” he asks.

  “Huh?”

  “Your favorite food.” His slick tail waves in the air behind him as he flicks his arm and pulls up the screen again. “Our recordsss sss-say sss-some of your planet’sss favoritesss are pizza, tacosss, and meat loaf.”

  Why is he asking me this? And who would say their favorite food is meat loaf? I look at Lucy. She shrugs.

  I may as well answer. Maybe he’ll go easy on me if I cooperate. “I guess my favorites are spaghetti, garlic bread, and chocolate chip cookies.” As soon as I answer, the headset buzzes. The buzz starts broad and then seems to zero in on a particular point on my skull.

  “Would that be sss-spaghetti bolognessse, sss-spaghetti carbonara, or sss-spaghetti marinara?”

  Why on earth is he asking me this? “You really need to know that? I think my mom makes meat sauce.”

  Buzz.

  “Sss-so, sss-spaghetti bolognessse? Exsss-ellent.”

  He asks me a dozen more questions about food, then moves on to Cole. An hour later he’s got a tablet full of favorite menus. And I’m starving. It definitely doesn’t help to think about all these awesome Earth foods right before landing on an alien planet where they’ll probably serve you barely edible awfulness. I didn’t think anything could be worse than Gulaga, but I bet the Alkalinians will try.

  Next he asks us about favorite activities, then places, then sports teams, then hobbies. Every time I respond to Steve’s questions, the helmet buzzes. It feels like it’s digging deeper into my brain, using my answers as guideposts to mine for more details. The questions never end. It’s like he’s preparing a special dossier on each of us for the dating show Mom and Addy sometimes watch on the webs during their monthly girl-bonding nights.

  When it’s Mira’s turn, Lucy tells Steve that she doesn’t talk. He asks her to put the headset on anyway, and the rest of us tell him what we know about Mira’s favorites. When we answer, the headset Mira’s wearing buzzes. Luckily, no one is stupid enough to suggest I translate for Mira brain-to-brain. We definitely want to keep our brain patches secret from the Alkalinians. I just hope they don’t already know.

  Finally, after we’ve been at it for hours, Steve deactivates his screen, and it disappears inside his arm. He disengages his anchor, and his throne lifts off, hovering just above our low table.

  “You may return to your sss-seatsss. We sss-should be at the planet sss-shortly.”

  We all practically leap from the table and run from the room. When we get back to the passenger bay, Lucy huddles us up. “What was that about? I was sure we were about to be questioned about all our Earth Force secrets.”

  “No joke,” Marco says. “Favorite foods? Sports teams? I don’t get it. You got any ideas, Wiki?”

  “Not really, but I’m fascinated by their cyborg limbs. As far as I know, Earth has nothing like that morphing metal technology.”

  “All I know is I’m starving,” I say. “I’ve been thinking about my mom’s spaghetti since his first question.”

  “You’re always starving,” Lucy says as we buckle into our harnesses.

  Mira reaches into her blast pack, withdraws a cup with a napkin stuffed inside, and hands the cup to me.

  Plucking off the napkin, I see that the cup is filled with taters from the mess hall at the base. She brought these for me? My cheeks grow warm.

  “Thanks,” I say to Mira as I toss a cold, mushy tater into my mouth. It’s delicious.

  You’re welcome. She darts her eyes up at mine, then quickly looks away.

  Twen
ty minutes later a buzzer sounds in the bay, alerting us to the shift out of FTL.

  “Well, Bounders, this is it,” Marco says. “Prepare to descend to the snake den.”

  “Can we try to have a tad more optimism?” Lucy says.

  “Go for it, DQ. I’m just trying to be realistic.”

  Seconds later Bad Breath appears. He staggers down the aisle, grabbing hold of the chairs for balance, and slides into an empty seat. His face is still green, and he reeks of vomit. Once he’s strapped in, he fixes his eyes on me.

  “What are you looking at, B-wad?”

  My brain tingles, and I’m filled with a feeling of restraint, like a cowboy just looped me with a lasso. I know it’s Mira’s way of telling me to stay quiet. I bite my lip.

  “I’m talking to you, plebe,” Bad Breath grumbles.

  Lucy leans over me and asks in a sunshine voice, “Are you feeling better, Officer Johnson?”

  He makes a face. “Shut up.” He shifts in his seat and turns away from us. I guess he’s not feeling well enough to go into attack mode. Although that’s good for now, it doesn’t bode well for the mission. As soon as Bad Breath is on firm footing, his mean streak will kick in full force.

  Marco is right. It’s best to be realistic about our trip to Alkalinia. Bad Breath couldn’t care less about us, and our reptilian allies are probably up to something sinister. Like Admiral Eames said, now is the time for utmost caution. Sorry, Lucy, but optimism isn’t going to keep us safe.

  8

  WHEN WE SLAM OUT OF FTL, I sneak a glance at Bad Breath, sure he’ll be reaching for a barf bag, but it looks like he survived the shift with his stomach intact.

  Cole jabs me in the ribs. “Are you seeing this?”

  A gray planet is visible out the front window. That must be Alkalinia. Unlike Earth, the Paleo Planet, or even Gulaga, there are few contrasts in color. It looks like one of the dull coins my grandmother had in her collection.

  “Not the prettiest,” Lucy says.

  “But home sweet home for now,” Marco says.

  The craft descends into the atmosphere through a thick, turbulent layer of high clouds. When we emerge on the other side, the surface of the planet spreads beneath us, still just as gray and monotonous as before.

  “Where are the cities?” I ask. “I don’t even see any buildings.”

  “I think . . . ,” Cole starts, pushing up in his chair for a better view. “Yes, definitely. That’s water.”

  I loosen my harness and climb onto my knees for a better view. So that’s why it looks so gray. The surface is entirely covered by water.

  The craft continues its descent.

  “Where are they taking us?” Lucy asks as we angle for the water.

  “Look!” Cole points ahead. “Over there! And there!”

  Narrow sensor towers jut from the water. They have rotating blades and shiny disks on top. Near the towers, long stretches of panels float like giant life rafts. “What are those?” I ask. “Is that where we’re going to land?”

  “I don’t think so,” Cole says. “Those must be some kind of solar panels.”

  The craft glides even lower, so low that the Alks must be setting up for a water landing, even though that makes zero sense. There’s nothing in sight other than the sensors and panels.

  Then there’s a disturbance on the surface. A large funnel twists out of the depths, spilling waves away in a whirlpool as it rises. The craft flies past the funnel, curves up in an arc, then tips and dives directly into the funnel’s mouth.

  “Whoa!” I grab hold of the armrests and quickly tighten my harness. Mira places her palm on top of mine. She digs her nails into my skin. Across the aisle, Bad Breath mutters a string of swear words all smashed together.

  Pink air streams from vents and fills the funnel. Once the craft is completely inside, we start to slow and eventually come to a complete stop. It’s like we’re hanging halfway upside down in a pink cloud.

  “Fascinating.” Cole’s voice is filled with intrigue but holds no trace of the panic that courses through me. Somehow this situation must be in the range of possible variables that Cole equated when he found out we were traveling to Alkalinia.

  “What’s so flippin’ fascinating, Wiki?” Marco asks. Even he sounds stressed.

  “Using air to halt and cushion an airborne object for a vertical landing in a siphon port. I’ve read about it but never seen it done in practice.”

  Although I can’t see anything but pink smoke outside the windows, I can tell that we’re moving again. The craft shifts so that we’re no longer vertical. When we’re level with the surface, the pink smoke fades and the world outside the craft comes into focus.

  The ship is inside some sort of huge, clear bubble deep under the ocean. Outside the bubble, hundreds of meters below, the Alkalinian settlement spreads before us. Dozens of structures stretch across the ocean floor, interconnected by clear tubes. Most of the structures are dome shaped and windowless. A long tube extends away from the settlement. It’s hard to see much detail from this far away, but it looks like it dead-ends at a huge silver disk anchored to the seabed.

  “What’s that?” Lucy asks, pointing at the disk.

  “It looks like a spaceship,” Cole says, “but it must be part of their settlement, the new Alkalinia.”

  My stomach seizes, and the taters from earlier threaten to make a reappearance. I sink back in my chair and bow my head between my legs. I can’t pull a Bad Breath.

  Okay? Mira places her hand on my shoulder.

  “I don’t get it,” I whisper, slowly pushing myself up as the nausea passes. “Gedney tells us all that stuff about the Alks leaving their planet, and he doesn’t think to mention that their new home is underwater?”

  “Maybe he didn’t know, Ace,” Marco says. “Just pretend you’re a fish and you’ll be fine.”

  The craft rocks, nearly sending my pod mates to the floor. They sit down as the craft starts to lower. Soon we’re no longer in the clear bubble. We pass into a walled zone and then descend into a domed chamber with bright lights.

  Once we touch down, the craft is surrounded by an army of machines. They must use the same technology as the Alks’ flying thrones, because they hover around the craft like annoying metal insects. Some of them whip out enormous windshield wiper blades. One of them zooms in front of the window, squirts purple liquid onto the glass, and swipes it clean with the blade. Other slaps echo on all sides. The whole craft must be getting a wipe-down.

  “What’s going on?” Lucy asks.

  “I believe it’s a decontamination protocol,” Cole replies.

  Decontamination from what? I wonder, even though I’m not sure I want to know.

  Once the machines complete their work, they fly to the edge of the chamber and plug themselves into the wall. Doors unfold on the far side of the room, and a group of Alkalinians coast in. They don’t look exactly like the Alks we’ve met so far. Where Seelok, Steve, and the other officers have a single cyborg arm, these Alks have three small lizardlike arms on each side of their bodies, close to their heads. And instead of using ornate flying thrones, they ride on souped-up scooters loaded with mechanical contraptions. They cross the chamber floor and form a line in front of our craft.

  “Did I mention how much I hate snakes?” Marco asks.

  “More than once,” Lucy says. She stands on her tiptoes and hisses in Marco’s ear.

  He slaps her away.

  Steve zooms in on his throne. “Greetingsss, Offi-ssser John-ssson!” he says to Bad Breath. “I trussst you are feeling better.”

  Bad Breath grumbles something in Steve’s direction.

  “Exsss-ellent! Welcome, all of you, to the Alkalinian Sss-seat!”

  “The Alkalinian what?” Lucy asks.

  “Sss-seat. The sss-senter of our government and sss-sivilization.” Steve steers his chair to the front of the passenger area. “Pleassse sss-stay in your sss-seatsss. We will be exiting the sss-ship into the sss-siphon port sss-
shortly. The esss-teemed Regent Sss-seelok and hisss guardsss will disss-embark firssst.”

  There’s a commotion in the front of the craft as Seelok and his entourage descend. As soon as his throne clears the ramp, all of the Alks in the siphon port bow their heads and wave their scaly tails. Seelok keeps them in this deferential pose for a solid minute before waving them up with his cyborg arm. Seconds later two scooters glide to his side and escort him from the port.

  When the other Alks have left the craft, Steve instructs us to follow him. We grab our blast packs and follow Steve through the passenger cabin.

  Bad Breath shoves Cole out of the way so that he’s first in line. He turns on us once Steve disappears around the corner. “Listen up, B-wads! Don’t forget who’s in charge here. I’m running this mission, and you losers fall in line. Got it?”

  I brace for Marco’s predictable comeback, but none comes.

  Once Bad Breath spins back around and heads for the exit, Marco whispers, “I don’t have the energy to battle him every time he opens his mouth. Hopefully, we can manage to ditch him soon.”

  We head down the ramp and onto the floor of the siphon port, where Steve is waiting for us. “Thisss way, pleassse.”

  We follow him across the port, a few steps behind Bad Breath. When we’re almost at the corridor where the other Alks exited, two scooter dudes race in to meet us.

  Steve and the two Alks hiss and click. Then Steve turns to Bad Breath. “Offi-ssser John-ssson, my compatriotsss have arrived to esss-cort you.”

  Bad Breath shifts, and a confused look crosses his face. “I’m chaperoning this group. We should stay together.”

  Steve circles him with his throne. “But that doesss-n’t sss-suit an offi-ssser of your sss-stature. You de-ssserve sss-special quartersss. Offi-ssser quartersss. You will be reunited with your chargesss for working hoursss.”

  Bad Breath considers this. “Of course, you’re absolutely right.” He turns to us. “No misbehavior. I’ll know. I always know.” And with that, the scooter Alks rush him out of the siphon port.