Secret Worlds (556 page)

“Ah, I see.” Her voice softens as she looks over at Armonk. “You could’ve asked me. I would’ve been happy to arrange for a house visit.”

Armonk can’t walk over to her without his prosthetic, but he calls out, “House visit? Why didn’t you tell me he’s been here for weeks? I
have
asked you about that!”

Now it’s Dr. Varik’s turn to be flabbergasted. He wheels around to Nevada, who’s looking mortified. “Armonk’s been asking about me? Is that true?”

Nevada casts Armonk an exasperated, desperate look. “Yes, but we’ve been so busy with the Axiom Contest, I didn’t want them to be distracted—they wouldn’t have forgiven me for it. Armonk, I know you need your leg fixed, and I know the doctor’s a family friend. It’s been on my mind since I ran into him last week. I was going to take you over there the minute your projects were finished.”

“To heck with the projects, Nevada!” Armonk bellows. “It should’ve been my decision, I’m eighteen. I’m no child anymore.”

“Right. I’m—” Nevada appears on the verge of tears. “I’m truly sorry. I feel terrible.”

Dr. Varik goes to her and puts a protective arm over her shoulder. Have they been seeing each other for a while now? They do make a handsome couple—him with his serious eyes and noble stature, Nevada with her stylish desert clothes and pixie green hair tips. “I’m sure that Nevada wants the best for all of you,” he says. “Like the students at The Greening, she fended for herself as a teen. She’s trying to give you kids something she never had.”

Armonk sighs. “Nevada, I appreciate you giving us the opportunity to compete for the Axiom prize. God knows, Black Hills Sector needs the cash. But—”

“Exactly,” says Dr. Varik. Why is he so quick to speak for Nevada? There’s something irritating about that. Perhaps I’m too touchy about her, ever since she quarantined Thorn. Perhaps we’re all too touchy.

Nevada walks over to Armonk and pats his shoulder. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you immediately. Forgive me? I’m trying to do my best. I was never a parent, I’m not good at it.”

Armonk offers her a thin smile. “I suppose I never made it clear how badly I needed to see Dr. Varik. How badly my leg hurts being so uneven.”

“He’s not a complainer, like some of the students.” I roll my eyes, remembering Vesper always comparing how much food other people get, about getting her share of Axiom tools, about how people are always short-shafting her. In contrast, it’s clear how much Armonk chooses to endure in patient silence. It’s impressive and it binds me to him.

Nevada brushes her long hair out of her face. “Yes, well, I’m glad you’re getting a new prosthetic. Dr. Varik is very talented in that regard.”

The doctor sits down by Armonk. “I’d better finish adjusting this temporary leg, so that this
young man and woman
can get back to The Greening.” He winks at Armonk. “Nevada, make yourself at home in the other room, I’ll be a few more minutes here.”

When she’s out of the room, Armonk says, “That was awkward.” He pauses. “Whatever happened to Marisa Baron? The lady you were with when I first met you at my place?”

“Oh, Marisa’s still working for the rights of climate refugees—to get them fair hours and housing. Admirable, really.” Dr. Varik gazes off into the distance. “I suppose we grew apart. Haven’t seen her for a few years now. Time passes so quickly,” he adds wistfully. Then, as he looks back at us, he brightens. “I’m looking forward to finding out what your projects are.”

“Will you be attending the ceremony in Vegas-by-the-Sea?” Armonk asks him.

“Afraid I have too many irons in the fire here.”

We tell him about the yurt people we met and their sick daughter Moori. He promises to visit them. Then he helps Armonk secure the leg that he’s created out of hardened putty. I shy away from studying the details. “You’ll have to fill me in on who wins,” adds the doctor.

“As a matter of fact, I’d love to talk to you about—” Armonk glances through the open door to see if Nevada’s milling about within earshot.

“Talk about what?” asks the doctor.

“I’ll come back to talk another time soon. Would that be okay?”

“Of course. I’ll need to fit your final leg and,” Dr. Varik turns to me, “Ruby, you’ll need further testing and monitoring. So will your brother, Thorn. Perhaps I can come to the school.”

“It’d be best to have privacy here, it’s a delicate matter,” I insist. “Our classmates would press us with too many questions if you visit us.” God forbid every student at The Greening find out what we’re up to, what we’ve become, we’d never hear the end of it.

“Yes, of course.” Dr. Varik ushers us to the door. “I’ll talk to Nevada about letting you borrow the glider, come for office visits. Surely she’ll understand.”

I’m not so sure at all. Armonk and I leave with only a perfunctory goodbye to Nevada. She’ll have to earn back our trust.

Whatever Dr. Varik said to Nevada after we left did the trick. We’re free to take the glider and go for checkups, and take Thorn too. I could kick myself for not insisting the doctor keep my medical condition secret from her, because she tiptoes around me and gives me long, sorrowful looks fraught with sympathy as if I have the plague.

I’m not pathetic, I’m not dying; I’m frying amazing! There’s no need to look at me as if I’m going to disintegrate in the wind. I’m able to climb to the top of the Fireseed stalks in seconds, even the ones that wind way past the tarp holes. I revel in choosing a perch and basking in the sun—but not too long—just a half an hour or so, long enough to fill me with supernatural energy and speed. And all the while the plants hum at me:
Pretty Ruby, pretty plant lady.
And I hum back:
My beautiful star plants, I send you love.

Thorn’s getting lean and tan and fleet-footed. In the mornings, he hurries through his chore of sponging off the breakfast dishes and then he charges off to the fields to fertilize the Fireseed with a new compound I concocted.

After all, the plants now tell me what they need!
Minerals, minerals, minerals from shale,
they hum. I go out and pulverize those particular rocks. Well, thanks to George Axiom’s decision to donate a grand rock smasher we now we have an Axiom device that does it faster and in more quantity than I ever could.

One day I’m up in the tallest Fireseed stalk when I see Jan round the perimeter of the field on his sentry duty. He’s still a bitter guy, not talking much. He always wears a faint sneer, as if he forever disapproves of what you say or do, or how you look. At least he’s not chasing me! Not like Blane, who I often catch staring at me with a raw, troubled look, even after my scars have made me blessedly flawed. I hardly know what to make of it.

I’m in the western quadrant by the field’s edge when I raise my face to the wide gaps in the tarp and soak in solar vitamins. We’ve slashed them wider after realizing how much healthier the Fireseed is that way. The only problem is that now the crops are more visible from passing ships. Everything’s a trade-off, it seems.

Jan is marching along the perimeter as he does his sentry rounds. He’s a lean figure in a burnsuit, silver pistol holstered at his side. My eyes are lowered in lazy joy, when I hear a whirring off to my left. A glider has stopped by the field’s edge and the helmeted pilot calls out to Jan. I distinctly hear someone shouting his name. Who is this guy?

I jerk upright to full alertness when I realize the vehicle’s color. It’s the pearl blue of the ships from my nightmares.

By the way Jan and the pilot gesture sharply with their hands it’s clear that they’ve launched into some type of animated exchange. The man hands Jan something—a flipping of Dominion bills—and Jan points my way. My heart beats hard against my ribs as I duck behind a canopy of leaves. Where could the pilot be from and what business are they conducting? Is Jan giving away contest secrets? Can’t say why but that’s the first thing that crosses my mind. Or, god forbid, it could be one of Stiles’ men.

Thorn, Thorn, Thorn,
hum the plants.
Thorn, Thorn!

Reds. Reds, Reds,
comes the refrain, and repeats,
Reds, Reds, Reds!

Squinting at Jan and the pilot, something else catches my eye: a red blur of motion rising from the back of the field—frantic, flapping, driving forward like an arrow from its quiver. The Reds! Not just the one that Thorn’s been caring for but an entire V formation as big as a tent top, making its way toward Jan and the pilot at warp speed.

They race through the air and determinedly down. Jan’s arms shoot up to cover his face and he emits a high-pitched scream that has me gasping with shock.

How did the creatures replicate so fast? Why didn’t Thorn tell me he was growing a veritable Red horde, and why did he let them out? Jan can’t know about the Reds! But now he’s seen them. Does Thorn know about this attack? Does he have any control over them? Are the Reds turning violent? Bloodthirsty?

“Off! Get off!” Jan screeches as they form-fit their wings to his body. It’s quite spectacular, really, a breathing exo-skin made up of dozens of Reds glommed onto his writhing torso. But it won’t be beautiful for long because Jan is trying to wriggle his arms out from under them in order to fire his gun.

Meanwhile the strange ship rolls upward like a monstrous pearl and disappears behind a hazy vapor cloud. Jan curses as yet another formation of Reds dive-bombs him. He’s managed to grab his pistol from the holster and he’s aiming up at them. No! I can’t let him shoot! Where’s Thorn?

Scrambling down the Fireseed stalk, my panicked limbs become clumsy. My heart fairly chokes me as I race toward Jan. There’s a deafening shot, then another. A plaintive squealing turns me inside out. Crashing through the dense field, I finally see it. A limp Red is dangling from Jan’s hand, it’s snout or whatever it is exactly, is agape in a display of tiny teeth.

Jan stumbles forward, the fluttering, squealing mass of Red wings still clamped onto his skin. I can’t quite see what they’re doing with their snouts. Are they biting at his burnsuit? If Jan doesn’t kill them, Nevada will surely put them to sleep with an injection when she finds out they attacked one of the students. That can’t happen! The Reds are Thorn’s—his project that we pray will win us enough money to save our family and friends back home and get them to safety.

“Jan, put your gun away!” I yell. Too late, I hear another sickening pop. “Stop your shooting! The creatures are friendly,” I insist, though I know nothing of the sort.

This time, he hears me. He wheels around with the Reds still stuck to him like so many Vampire bats.

My mind calls out to them:
Off! Off! Off!
And then, in a desperate appeal to Thorn to come fast from wherever he is:
Thorn! Fast. Fast!

Off! Off. Off!
Comes the refrain, not from me, but from my brother. Though I don’t know how I know, until I see him, tears streaking down his face as he pulls one of the carcasses from Jan’s fist and cradles it in his arms.

Jan wastes no time in yanking the Red out of Thorn’s arms and stuffing it in his latchbag. In the flash of movement, there are no drips of blood, only a drool of green on Jan’s burn glove. “Whatever the hell that thing is, it scratched clear through my suit sleeves,” he growls. “I’m taking it to Nevada for identification.”

Thorn turns bright crimson. He kicks Jan in the thigh, again and again. Thorn’s small but these days he’s a powerhouse. I can tell by the way Jan flinches he’s doing a bit of damage. I’m caught between blurting out the truth: that the Reds belong to Thorn, that they’re his creation, and between silence and simply trying my best to get the limp corpses away from Jan. That’s what Thorn seems to want.

En masse the Reds alight from Jan’s suit, and make the strangest, mournful
yeep
sounds as they flutter off into the forest. The Fireseed is humming its own tumultuous refrain. I sense the Reds perched in the shadows, waiting for another command from Thorn to attack.

With one hand, Jan bats Thorn off. With his other hand, he tosses the second Red body in his latchbag. Again, Thorn charges forward and lands more kicks. Jan groans but isn’t deterred. He grasps Thorn by his slender shoulders and pitches him down. Thorn’s head clunks against the woody trunk of a Fireseed stalk.

“Stop that!” I yell. “You’ll give my brother a concussion.” I begin to pummel Jan with my balled fists.

“Crazy woman!” He catches my fists and holds me there.

I shake him off and step away. He’s too strong for me, plus my eyes have caught sight of his pistol, undoubtedly loaded and ready to kill again. Another tactic will have to do. “Give us back those animals, they’re—” is all I dare say. Because Thorn, having scrambled up and brushed off, is frantically shaking his head at me. Beet-faced with silent rage, he’s begging for me to shut up.

“What? You think these are your pets?” Jan yells. “No way I’m giving them to you. They may have infected me, they need to be tested.”

Thorn inches up, ready to land another kick. Brave, hotheaded soul.

Jan slides his gun from his holster and slowly levels it at Thorn. “Don’t you try anything more,” he warns low in his throat. “So help me, I’ll shoot you down.”

This overgrown bully better put his goddamn gun away. In my head, the plants scream,
Go, go, go!
I lift my head to the internal racket and breathe in … the smell of fire. What next? A thin, smoky coil is wafting up through the leaves from just beyond. Is the field on fire? Taking Thorn’s hand, we run back to The Greening.

About ten minutes later, Jan reports that the blaze is out, though a sweetish smoke lingers, scratching the inside of my nostrils. Everyone crowds around the patio table, gaping at the two Red carcasses. They’re a sight up close. So eerie with their human eyes staring at nothing, their mortal wounds running with the same greenish liquid that swims in my veins, and their delicate leafy wings and stamen-like tufts, now partially flattened with gore.

Thorn is screaming and screaming inside. I hear it even though his lips are pressed together in a thin line. Clasping him tightly to my side, I’m hoping that the pressure will provide him enough comfort to impel him to stop. The Fireseed is still wailing too, as plaintive as if it’s bleeding out. These two Reds are its half-breed infants. My eyes fill with tears. If Jan could hear them, would he feel something, anything?