Crimson rising sa-2

by Nick James

  I shake my head. I’d been thinking about this all night. I’d been thinking about it so much that I couldn’t sleep. It’s the one overriding struggle that’s consumed my thoughts these past four months, ever since that day in Seattle when I found out who I really was.

  I close my fist. The Pearl explodes.

  Alkine’s eyes widen and he falls to the ground in anticipation of the force. A shockwave of green energy shoots in every direction. It connects with the walls, warping them before flowing into the circuitry of the Skyship. Power surge. Lights will be flashing in the dorm rooms tonight.

  I feel the energy flow through the chamber and turn my head to watch the body of a Drifter shoot out from the nexus of the explosion. Drifters, Alkine calls them, like he’s hoping they’ll just drift back out into the cosmos where they came from and leave us alone. But it’s not as simple as that. I’m a Drifter. An alien. And aliens deserve to live, too.

  The figure soars into an open vent above the chamber before crashing down again and disappearing below us, flying in a blind panic. It’ll likely find the chute to the nearest open docking bay and escape. It’s not the best of scenarios. I don’t have time to make out features or details or even tell if it’s male or female, but the Drifter will live. And if it has any relation to me, I’ll have done something good. We’ll have a chance to find each other.

  As the energy dissipates, I turn back to Alkine. Without a word, he jumps from the ground and rushes at me. I don’t have time to react before he grabs me by my shoulders, spins me around, and pushes me into the wall. I collide hard with the metal, helpless against his superior strength. His hands dig into my shoulders. I can barely look at his face.

  “Now you’ve done it,” he rasps.

  I look to the side. “So what? Are you gonna kill me now?”

  “Of course not.”

  “But it’d be easier for you, wouldn’t it?”

  His grip tightens. “You need to calm down.”

  I meet his eyes for the first time. “Calm down? That could’ve been my mother in that thing! It could be my dad!” “That doesn’t give you the excuse-”

  “I don’t wanna hear this again,” I say. “Just pull out the gun and get it over with.”

  Alkine shakes my shoulders. “You’re selfish, Fisher. That Pearl’s the only thing that’s keeping us operational. It’s the only thing that’s keeping us safe!”

  “It’s murder,” I mutter.

  “You’re being irrational.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re being a murderer.” My lip shakes. “You promised and you… you lied and-”

  “I can’t talk to you like this.” He moves his hand to my chest, pushing hard. The other hand heads for his belt, retrieving the gun. I know this without even looking.

  I keep my fists at the side, pushed against the wall. “Of course not. Never talk. God forbid we should talk-”

  “You want to endanger the lives of my people? You deal with the consequences.” He grits his teeth. I watch him bring the piercing gun to the side of my neck. I feel the cold metal of the muzzle against my skin. “You’re not the only one on this ship, Jesse.”

  I swallow. “Last spring, after my first training mission, you said you wanted me to think of you like a father.”

  He moves closer. I feel his breath on my face. “I saved you in Seattle. I’ll always save you.”

  I latch onto his eyes. I’m not scared, and he has to know that. “You’re a hypocrite. You don’t know what you’re saving.”

  He sighs. I can’t tell if it’s out of frustration, sadness, or anger. Maybe it’s a little bit of all three. “Go to sleep, Fisher. This isn’t you. This isn’t right.”

  A sharp pain strikes my neck as the needle’s shot through my skin. The serum only takes seconds to work. Before I know it, I feel myself slump into Alkine’s arms. My eyes shut. The energy in the room fades. Ghosts. That’s all it is now.

  3

  I wake in a gray room. My face is pressed against the thin fabric of a too-tiny couch, its cushions sunken and hard. There’s no table to go with it. Only one small, dirt-stained window on the unadorned, scratched walls.

  This is how it is these days. I’ve woken in this room before-punishment for stealing a Pearl from Dr. Hemming’s science lab, punishment for my last midnight adventure to the ship’s core reactor two months ago. I’ve had time to study this room, from the crack in the corner of the ceiling to the one floor tile that sticks up a little more than the rest. This is where they put troubled people to cool off. Half holding cell, half observation chamber. They could never hurt me, but that doesn’t mean they have to listen to me.

  It all happened so fast, four months ago. After my chance meeting with Cassius in the Fringes, the Unified Party came after me. But it was Madame, head of the party’s Chronic Energy Crisis Commission, who knew the truth all along. Cassius and I were more than brothers. We were the first Drifters to land on Earth, and the means of unlocking every one that came after us. Her cover-up cost more lives than I can imagine, and it continues to this day.

  Cassius is out of the picture now, laying low in Canada. And I’m stuck here in Eastern Siberia. Chukotka. That’s what they call this bare eyesore of a peninsula. I personally never imagined a life where I’d know a word like Chukotka, but that kind of stuff happens now that the Academy’s on the run from not only Madame but the entire fraggin’ Skyship Community as well. After Alkine illegally crossed the International Skyline into Unified Party territory to rescue me, we were forced to leave our perch above Northern California and head across the Pacific Ocean. There’s too much uncertainty. Too many reasons for the Skyship Tribunal to find us guilty of sedition. That’s the word Alkine uses. Basically, we screwed up big time. Skyshippers and the Unified Party are already on the brink of war, fighting for elusive Pearls, oblivious to the truth. The Tribunal doesn’t know about my power. If they found out what really happened in Seattle, who knows what they’d do? Pearls are too precious. The fact that I can break them makes me dangerous, too. A liability, or a weapon. Either way, I’m a trigger for fullblown war. So we wait in tundra and mountain. It seemed the smart idea at the time.

  But it’s not a war on Earth that I’m most concerned about. While we fight amongst each other, something’s approaching from the stars. The Authority. I don’t know much about it beyond what Cassius and I heard from my mother’s voice recording last spring. I hope the Drifters can tell me more, but Alkine won’t let me speak to them. And with every Pearl that’s snuffed out, another potential ally disappears.

  There are six Drifters on Earth. Well, seven after last night. Not much of an army. And no sign of my parents, if they’re alive at all.

  I close my eyes and try to remember their faces. I’ve only seen one picture, revealed to us on an electronic disc just before we heard our mother’s recording. It fizzled out quickly until it was worthless. I can hardly remember what they look like.

  The Drifters I’ve freed might be able to tell me more, but Alkine hides them away. He holds them underground, somewhere not far from the Academy. Or so he tells me. It might as well be on the other side of the Earth.

  I straighten up as I notice the handle of the far door twist. It opens and in walks Mrs. Dembo, Head of Year Ten. My training year, as of two weeks ago when the new semester started.

  She’s a short woman, dark-skinned with bright clothing. Her graying hair’s cut close to her scalp. She holds a drinking glass at her side as she quietly shuts the door and turns to acknowledge me.

  I stare up at her. “I expected Alkine.”

  She approaches cautiously. “After what happened last night, Jeremiah thought it would be best if somebody else came and talked to you.” Her tone is calm and reasoned. Somehow this makes me angrier.

  I rest my elbows on my knees and look at the floor. “He’s scared then?”

  “I don’t know what would give you that idea.” She stops. “I brought water. Would you like some?”

  “Depends. Wh
at’s in it?”

  She moves to the couch and takes a seat beside me. I inch away. “It’s just water, Jesse. Straight from the reprocessor. Would you like me to take a sip first?”

  “No.” I reach for the glass and hug it with my fingers. “That’s okay.”

  She sighs. “You have to learn to trust us.”

  I nearly laugh. After all the lies they told me, the fact that they think they deserve my trust is the real kicker. It wasn’t too long ago that I was up in the ship’s air vents, spying on their secret faculty meeting. The entire staff knew I was different. They knew there was something wrong with me. They’d known ever since they brought me onboard, plucking me from the ruins of a destroyed Seattle when I was only three years old.

  Mrs. Dembo crosses her hands. “I wanted to give you the opportunity to talk. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  I take a sip of water. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was. Then I point to the ceiling, to the pair of illuminated panels in the center. “The lights are on.”

  “Of course,” she says. “You know the lighting runs on an automated system.”

  “It’s sunny outside. Your system’s ridiculous.”

  She frowns. “It’s not my decision to make, but I can certainly bring it up at the next meeting.”

  I take another sip. It helps to calm me down. Even so, my hands shake. “They’ve got another Pearl going, then?”

  “I don’t think this is something we should discuss right no w.”

  “If I knew where you were keeping them-”

  She holds up a hand to stop me. “They’re secure. Shielded,” her eyes pierce mine, “from those who would steal them.”

  I ignore her. “What happened to the one last night? Did anybody find who was inside?”

  “No,” she says. “It… er… the Drifter likely escaped through one of the air hatches below the engine works. Nobody saw, Jesse. We don’t know age, gender. No details.” She pauses. “You know, when I was an adolescent-”

  I hold the glass in front of me and release it. It plunges to the ground, crashing in a mess of glass and water. I watch the shards dance along the tiles before turning to gauge her reaction.

  Her fingers unclasp. Then she smiles. A small, fake one. “Hmm.”

  We sit in silence for a moment, watching the water pool along the indentations between tiles. Mrs. Dembo doesn’t make a move to clean it up. Instead, she pulls her arm around my back and squeezes. I resist the urge to fight back. I let her think that she’s comforting me.

  Her voice is low and soft this time, like she’s afraid others will hear. “I never liked it. I know that’s easy to say now, but I always felt rotten having to lie to you. We comforted ourselves in the knowledge that it was for your safety, but I’ve always believed that truth is more important than logic.”

  These are the types of things they say, now. Sweeping, vague slogans that are supposed to make me feel better. All they’re doing is trying to make themselves feel better. They know they’re screwing up, but they’ve dug a hole so deep that the only way to get out is to keep lying to themselves. They think they have the luxury of doing that.

  “I remember when you first came to us,” she continues. “You were a confused little boy, always staring off into the distance like you needed to be somewhere else. Our nurturing staff took good care of socializing you, but you were terrified of loud noises. I guess every child is, to some degree. We didn’t know what trauma you’d been through before we found you. We didn’t want to make things worse, so we invented a story. We explained your parents away in the most respectful, honorable manner we could think up. It was only ever meant to keep you safe. Everything we do is meant to keep you safe.” She extends her hand toward my knee. I pull away.

  “You lied.”

  She brings her hand back to her lap, sighing. “It… wasn’t my decision.”

  “Yeah, it was Alkine’s.”

  “Jeremiah Alkine is a good man.”

  “I don’t care how-”

  “And more importantly,” she continues. “He’s your commander. Don’t tell me that all the training we’ve given you thus far has amounted to nothing.” She pauses. “Look, you and I both know that things would be different if we could make it so. In a perfect world, Pearl Power wouldn’t be an issue. We could focus on what’s happening to you without consequence. But the climate out there, especially after our rescue operation in Seattle… we broke laws to help you. Important ones, to the Tribunal at least. I know it isn’t easy to hear, Jesse, but we can’t help the Drifters until we know that we’re safe ourselves. It’s a horrible choice to make, I understand that. We all do. But it’s the logical approach.”

  I keep my eyes pinned to the broken glass, unwilling to look at her. “I thought you said truth is more important than logic.”

  “I am telling the truth,” she responds almost immediately. “And that’s why it’s so difficult.”

  I close my eyes, wishing I could rewind time about six months. To think I used to be worried about scoring well on exams or passing skill courses. “Aren’t you scared of being my teacher?”

  “Why? Should I be?”

  I open my eyes. “My last head teacher died, you know.”

  She scoots closer. “Mr. Wilson died protecting you. It’s not something he would have been ashamed of and it’s not something you should feel guilty about. So, no. I’m not scared.” She stands, narrowly missing the broken glass, and crouches next to me. She tries to catch a glimpse of my face. I make it hard for her. “Jeremiah wants confirmation that you understand the repercussions of what you did last night. He runs a tight ship, Jesse. You know that. Nobody’s interested in holding you prisoner. We don’t want to confine you or restrict access to your friends. We want you to continue your training. We want you to be a vital part of this team. You’re important. We have a great deal of respect and… fondness for you. And we haven’t forgotten. We know what you’re going through. We have to make it right. It’s just going to take some time.”

  Somehow this sounds even worse coming from her. I’ve always liked Mrs. Dembo. I always thought she had my back, even when Alkine was less than cheery about my training progress. Suddenly, I feel sick to my stomach. Or maybe it’s hunger. I haven’t eaten since dinner last night.

  So this is the choice I have. It’s always the same. Play by their rules and wait, or become their enemy-work against the only family I’ve ever known, even if they’re not the real one. Skyship Academy used to mean safety. Now I’m not sure.

  Mrs. Dembo stands. “The Sophomore Tour is tomorrow afternoon. I’d like you to be able to participate. These types of activities are helpful to take your mind off of things you’re unable to control.” She paces to the center of the room. “Of course, we can’t let you out of here consequence free, but we’re giving you another chance. I know I can’t speak for the others, but you’ve always been very special to us. We hate to see you like this.”

  I glance up at her. I know she expects a response, a declaration of loyalty or something, but I can’t stomach the thought of it. It’s all about them, like always. But the bottom line is, I’ve gotta get out of this room. I can’t do anything in here. So I make the only move I can. I nod.

  Mrs. Dembo returns the gesture. “I’m going to give you just a little more time to think about it. Should I grab you some more water?”

  “No,” I whisper. “Sorry about the mess.”

  She smiles. “Don’t you worry.” She turns to leave, but stops before grabbing the handle. “Things are going to be alright, Jesse. I hope you know that. Days might seem dark now, but I’m confident that your turning point isn’t as far away as you expect it might be.”

  I don’t know what she means by that. It sounds like a mild threat, even coming from her. But maybe that’s just me being paranoid.

  I watch her leave in silence and kick the heels of my feet against the couch. When she’s gone, I bend forward and pick up the largest shard of glass I can find. I run i
t across my finger, not strong enough to cut, but firm enough to feel. Then I chuck it at the door, hoping that maybe it’ll stick. It doesn’t. I watch it fall to the ground. Everything’s silent.

  4

  Cassius pulled his head from the water and took a gasp of breath. He ran his fingers through his wet hair and used the splash to cleanse his shoulder. The bullet had only grazed his skin, leaving a shallow wound. Still, he couldn’t afford an infection. The worst of it had closed throughout the evening. Even so, the cool saltwater stung.

  He sat with his bare, calloused feet dipped into the Arctic. He’d found a sheltered area, a secluded grassy outstretch from one of the city’s lesser-known waterfront parks. Trees surrounded him on all sides, save for a narrow walkway behind him that offered a brief snapshot of the city skyline.

  The sunrise beamed a shocking orange, lifting from the edge of the skyline so close that it seemed like its fire could reach out and touch him. Back home, the chemicals in the Fringes obscured much of the sky’s color, dulling sunsets and sunrises. The Polar Cities were lucky that way. By the time the chemicals from the Scarlet Bombings made their way up north, they were so dilute that they had little impact. A ten-degree climate increase, fifteen at the most.

  He stared at his reflection in the ocean, trying to understand the face before him. Beyond the scratches and bruises, he’d lost close to fifteen pounds since running from New York. He looked more like Fisher now. Skinny. Or skinnier, at least.

  It was just after three in the morning. The sun had been down for exactly one hour and twenty-seven minutes. He’d been keeping track. This time of year it was light almost all day and night in the Polar Cities. He’d tried getting some rest, but every time he closed his eyes, the thought of that Unified Party gas bomb shocked him awake. It killed him not to know who threw it. They’d done him a favor, finishing off those slum assassins. They could have easily killed him, too. Instead, they sent gas. They wanted him unconscious, but not dead.