Atherton #3: The Dark Planet (No. 3) (8 page)

"What do you mean he's not back yet? He shouldn't even be

gone
yet!"

"How could they do this?" Isabel went on. "It's like they tricked

us--tricked Edgar!--so they could get what they wanted."

"Try to stay calm," reasoned Samuel. "We don't even know for

sure what's going on yet."

The two of them were standing in a grove of second-year trees

tying strings around clusters of figs along with a number of other

adults and children who might be able to hear them. Samuel

was trying to keep her from giving too much away.

"How can you say that?" said Isabel, her words like a storm

against a door that might break free at any moment. "They sent

us away. They knew we wouldn't let him go to the edge alone,

without support... without us
there
for him. It matters, Samuel.

You know it matters to Edgar."

Samuel couldn't deny that Edgar was doing something that

might very well get him killed. For all his strength and skill and

courage, he was still only twelve and without parents to protect

him.

"Do you think Edgar is easy to fool?" asked Samuel. "I mean,

do you think he would let this happen if it wasn't what he really

wanted?"

"He wouldn't do that--not without at least telling us first."

"I heard them talking," Samuel revealed. Isabel had agreed to

let Samuel secretly go back to Dr. Kincaid's cave, and he'd

arrived just as Vincent returned to the cave. He'd heard

everything they'd said.

"What did you hear? Tell me!" Isabel shouted.

"Only if you keep your voice down," cautioned Samuel.

"Everyone on the tree line is listening."

Isabel let out a grumbling sort of sigh. "Just tell me what you

heard," she whispered.

Samuel didn't have the will to hide anything from her piercing

eyes, framed with those thick black brows.

"Vincent and Edgar went together, but Vincent returned alone. I

crept in between the giant rocks to listen. I didn't understand at

first because he started speaking to Dr. Kincaid about things on

the Dark Planet. But they weren't talking, they were arguing. Dr.

Kincaid sees things differently from Vincent."

"How do you mean?"

"It seemed to me that Dr. Kincaid would... I don't know... risk

more in order to reconnect with the Dark Planet. You know how

Vincent is always protecting everyone? Well, Dr. Kincaid

seemed to think it was time to start protecting people on the

Dark Planet. Vincent wasn't so sure it was worth the risk."

Samuel was trying to hold back the truth, but his resolve was

crumbling before Isabel's very eyes.

"There's something you're not telling me, Samuel. Spill it or I'll

load a fig in my sling and go see Dr. Kincaid myself. I'll
make

him tell me."

"You wouldn't," said Samuel, knowing what a good shot Isabel

was with her sling.

"I would!" insisted Isabel.

"Okay, just calm down. I just think it's a lot more complicated

than we realize. I mean, what if we really could save a lot of

people? How much risk is that worth? I don't think Dr. Kincaid

wants
to risk losing Edgar. I think he feels he has no other

choice."

"He's willing to sacrifice Edgar to reconnect, isn't he?"

"I'm not sure it's fair to say it that way. Dr. Kincaid is trying; it's

just not that simple."

"Of course it's simple! We're talking about Edgar!"

Isabel's voice had risen once more and this time one of the

adults was walking toward them.

"What's the matter, Isabel? Is Samuel not doing his share of the

work?" It was Lars, a good friend of Isabel's father. The last

thing she wanted was her parents finding out about this.

"He's keeping up just fine," said Isabel, trying to muster a

convincing smile. "We were just talking about my reading

lessons--it's very hard, and I've been getting frustrated."

This was a good lie if ever there was one. Samuel read better

than most in the grove, because he had long been a citizen of

the House of Power before its collapse. The formerly illiterate

population of Atherton, including Lars, Isabel, Edgar, and all of

the former residents of Tabletop, had struggled mightily with the

effort to learn to read, and many eventually gave up improving

their skills in favor of a simple life of work.

"I know exactly how you feel," said Lars. He glanced at Samuel

and secretly wished he could read as well as the young boy

from the Highlands. "Reading's not for everyone."

"Oh, I like to read," said Isabel. She wasn't willing to feign

laziness for a second. "It's just that Samuel is trying to teach me

some
advanced
reading, and it's challenging." Lars frowned,

already turning to go.

Samuel glanced down the row of trees and then out toward the

blue lake. "I think we should get out of here. If we leave now

maybe we can get to the crevice before he comes back. We

could be waiting there for him. He'd like that."

"Maybe he would and maybe he wouldn't."

She decided she'd like to be there when Edgar returned so she

could tell him how mad she was that he had gone off alone

without telling his two closest friends.

"Let's finish this row. When we come to the end we'll sneak

away and find him."

Thick veins of yellow and gold glowed soft and warm along the

stone walls where Edgar stood. He had come to the end of the

passageway. It was slightly wider here, but other than that, it

had the appearance of a dead end.

Edgar was suddenly gripped with the alarming realization of his

own hunger and thirst. Could he die in here? The thought

scared him, more because he was alone than anything else.

He touched one of the walls and found it trembling ever so

slightly. Looking back, the passageway was entirely empty.

There was nothing but walls to touch, a floor to walk on, a

ceiling to look at.

"I wonder what Isabel and Samuel are doing. I bet Isabel is

mad." Talking to himself made Edgar feel better, less hungry

and afraid. "She's going to kill me if I ever get out of here."

Lifting his heavy feet with great effort, he closed the final

distance to the wall at the back of the chamber. When he

reached it, he touched it, he pushed against it, and then he

kicked it.

Nothing happened.

This is a disaster,
thought Edgar. He was really trapped this

time. There was a gigantic monster blocking the way out that

spewed molten rocks and firebugs. And even if by some miracle

he could make it past, it wouldn't matter, because there were

seven more monsters waiting for him on the outside of Atherton.

He ran his hand over the surface of the passageway and,

overwhelmed by a feeling of total despair, he punched the wall.

Edgar crumpled to the ground, holding his throbbing knuckles.

And then, in the dim yellow and gold light of the room, he spied

a hole near the floor about twice the size of his closed fist. It had

blended in at first, but there was no doubt of its existence now. It

was black as night inside as he peered down the gullet of the

hole.

Why are there always holes? I hate holes!
thought Edgar,

shaking his hand until the pain started to go away. He was

imagining what might happen if he reached inside. Something

might eat his hand. Something might grab his hand. Or maybe,

just maybe, a treasure of some kind would be hidden inside,

like the book he'd once found on the cliffs leading to the

Highlands.

Edgar looked all around the room one last time for other holes.

None. He crouched in front of the hole and imagined what might

be inside. A minute passed. Then another. Finally, he put his

fingers a little way inside the hole.

The wall inside was smooth as glass, which he hadn't

expected. It felt alive with slickness, and Edgar was sure his

fingers would be wet when he pulled his hand back out, but

they were not.

He put his hand back in, a little deeper this time, and his heart

raced at the thought of having his fingers bitten off. He took a

series of deep breaths and tried to calm down, then he shut his

eyes tight and reached deeper still.

His fingers touched a handle. Surprised, he quickly pulled his

hand away, but then he wrapped his fingers around it and

pulled. It wouldn't move, so he tried to turn it. The handle spun

and clicked to the right. He tried pulling on it again, and this

time the handle moved toward him.

Should I keep pulling?
he wondered. It seemed the only natural

thing to do. He had to pull hard on it, but eventually the handle

came flush with the wall. When Edgar let it go it wanted to slide

slowly back into the hole, so he pulled it back and turned it to

the left. This locked it into place, where it stayed.

Edgar had no idea what he'd just done. He turned toward the

back wall, once so hard and immovable, and saw that it was

changing before his very eyes. The thick yellow veins of light

had turned molten red. The veins widened more and more, until

there were no veins at all but a throbbing wall of heat.

"What have I done?" said Edgar, his voice trembling and

unsteady. The place seemed to have come to life and he feared

for his life all over again.

Edgar scrambled for the handle and tried to turn it back, but it

had locked into place. Whatever Edgar had set in motion would

continue whether he liked it or not. He could wait and let the

room dissolve into lava or run down the passage and face a

monster waiting to tear him to pieces.

The center of the back wall began to melt. Edgar expected it to

flow across the floor and overtake him, but instead the section

of wall slid down into the ground. It appeared to be hollow

below the back wall, so that the liquefied stone simply fell away

and left a wide opening that could be passed through. Under

the opening lay a wide, bubbling orange cauldron of lava.

Edgar approached the opening cautiously and felt the heat

grow with each step. It became so hot he could barely stand it

and thought his clothes would ignite into flames. The thin hairs

on his forearms shrank and twisted as if beaten down by the

destructive power of heat. A charred black rim surrounded the

opening, and whatever lay on the other side was hidden by a

layer of hissing steam.

Edgar stepped back, away from the heat, and tried to think. If he

jumped through the opening he might well be leaping into an

open oven on the other side. Or, just as horrible, the weight of

gravity might pull him down as he tried to cross over. He didn't

even want to think about what it would feel like to sink into a

boiling vat of melted Atherton.

Edgar looked in the direction from which he'd come and knew

he couldn't get out. He gathered all his courage, took two deep

breaths of hot air, and ran as fast as his legs would go.

I can't turn back! I can only jump with every thing that's in me.

And so he did.

Station Seven was a metal and glass building that hovered over

a lifeless, rock-encrusted cove on the Dark Planet. A web of

entangled steel beams suspended the station in the air, where it

was safe from the toxic sludge that drifted in and out each day.

At the vast window of Station Seven sat a woman looking at the

shadows of a forsaken wood outside.

"It's quiet tonight," she concluded. "Too quiet."

The woman brushed a hand across her brow and returned her

arm to rest on the rail of her chair. There was a coldness about

her, as if the Dark Planet had made her heart turn to stone. She

held a vacant but powerful stare into the night beyond the

window.

"What will you do?" she asked. As usual there was no one in

the wide open room to hear her. She had long ago fallen into

the habit of speaking to herself. There were few others for her to

hold a conversation with, and besides, she preferred to be left

alone.

The woman was having one of her frequent recollections of a

conversation with Dr. Luther Kincaid. Eight years ago--had it

been that long? Eight years of silence, and in those eight years,

the Dark Planet had grown much darker still. And Station

Seven? It was but a shell of its former significance. Almost

everyone had fled with the arrival of the Spikers.

"You will bring him back," the woman said forcefully, replaying

the words she'd said in that distant conversation. "You will find

a way."

There was a visible change in her face--a cringing of hate and

regret--as the face of Atherton's maker came into her memory.

The madman Dr. Harding. She could not think of him for a

single second without being overcome with anger. For a long

time she had gone every day down one of the three passages

to visit his laboratory.

"He'll come back and finish what he started," she would say.

After a year of waiting she grew bitter. She had trusted Dr.

Kincaid. Every resource at her disposal had been freely given,