Shades of Earth (34 page)

75:
AMY

Zane finally takes us
to the laboratories and, just as I suspected, they're far more advanced than the simple tunnels would imply.

A man stands in the center of the lab. He stares blankly ahead.

“Sit,” Zane says, and the man sits immediately, almost missing the chair Chris rushes to put behind him.

I wave my hand in front of the young man's face. Nothing. He's as empty as a blank sheet of paper.

“We're experimenting with methods of mass distribution,” Zane says, “so I've been giving this subject a diluted version of the Inhibitor drug through the water supply.”

I grin at Bartie, who—despite hesitating initially—grins back in response. This was our idea, inspired by the water pumps that distributed Phydus on
Godspeed
.

Zane hands the young man a tall glass of water. “Drink,” he adds when the man does nothing but stare at it.

The man guzzles the water.

Zane and Chris monitor the man's vital signs on their computers, but Bartie and I know where to look when the Phydus wears off, and so we're the first to notice as life returns to his eyes.

“What's happening?” the man asks, his voice cracking from disuse.

“You've been drugged—all your life,” Chris explains in a kinder tone than I've ever heard him use before. “And now you're regaining your autonomy.”

The young man's eyes are wide and fearful, darting around the lab.

“Have some water,” I say, handing him another glass. “It'll make you feel better.”

 

While Zane and Bartie discuss ways to distribute the Inhibitor meds more broadly, Chris motions for me to follow him out of the lab.

“There's something I want to show you,” he says.

I hesitate.

“Come on, Amy,” Chris says, a touch exasperated. “We're friends.”

“We are
not
friends,” I say. “We will
never
be friends.”

“But—” Chris's face looks devastated. His oval irises stand out in his watery eyes, but all this does is remind me that he's not entirely human and neither am I, not anymore. “I did what I thought I had to do,” he says.

“Like killing both of my parents.”

“I want you to know . . . ” he says, “I
need
you to know—I'm sorry.”

Sorry
means nothing coming from his lips.

 

Chris heads down the tunnel, and I follow—not to hear any more apologies, but so that I can understand just why he did what he did. We w
alk in uncomfortable silence.

I sniff the air. Something's different.

“You noticed,” Chris says.

I smell . . . copper, and something . . . something animal. It's nothing I recognize, but it's still familiar, like the memory of a scent I've never noticed before. The little hairs on my arms rise and my skin prickles with gooseflesh.

It can't be. Not here. We're underground. This is the one place on all of Centauri-Earth that there can
not
be . . .

“Pteros!” I scream as Chris leads me around the corner and I see them, all clustered at the end of the tunnel. I'm about to run when I notice the glass between the monsters and me.

“It's okay, that's solar glass,” Chris says. “There's no way they can break through.”

A ptero—one of the smaller ones in the group—hops on its massive hind legs, coming closer to the window. I creep forward too. The ptero extends its wings slowly—just to stretch them; there's nowhere for it to fly. The hooked claws at the end of its wing joints scrape against the glass, and I cringe at the sound.

“The pteros—they were made by the first colony, before the gen mods and Phydus,” Chris says. “The scientists in the first colony were trying to see if extinct animals from Earth could be resurrected here on this planet.”

Mom knew,
I think. The closeness between the pteros and actual pterosaur DNA. “The pteros also had Phydus, though,” I say. Chris was
with
me when I ran that test.

“I wanted to tell you before, but . . . ” Chris doesn't meet my eyes. “That was us. The rogue hybrids, I mean. That's one of the reasons I brought you here—I wanted you to know that you were right: we figured out a way to control them. To use them to fight for us.” He pulls out a tiny silver tube like a dog whistle. He blows a few notes on it, and the pteros all look up at him, swaying at the high-pitched sound until Chris pockets the whistle again.

The littlest ptero rubs its head against the glass, turns around three times, and sinks to the ground, curled up.

I shut my eyes, and I remember the other ptero, the one I shot in the head, the one whose mouth dripped with the blood and gore of the remains of Dr. Gupta.

“You used them against us,” I say flatly. “Is that what you brought me down here to show me?”

Chris throws up both his hands. “No! I mean—yes, but not that—I just . . . I wanted to explain.”

“So explain,” I growl.

“I didn't know it would be so bad. I . . . Zane and the others . . . they were just supposed to
take
that shipborn woman on Phydus. But the doctor was with her, so they took her too. And then the military woman showed up, and—”

“And they killed all of them.” Maybe the pteros ripped Juliana Robertson apart after she died, or maybe the rogue hybrids made it look like Juliana's death was because of them, but either way, she's dead.

“The shipborn woman was an accident. We didn't mean to make her overdose on Phydus.”

“And Dr. Gupta?”

Chris frowns. “I didn't know they would kill him. They—they thought he knew more about Phydus because he was with the shipborn woman who had the green patch. When he didn't tell them . . . ”

“They thought they could control him. Make him talk, under Phydus's influence.” My words are bitter. I think about what Elder said once, how different everything would be if people just told the truth.

“Dr. Gupta,” I say. “Was eaten.
Alive.
”

Chris's mouth turns down. “It wasn't supposed to be like that,” he says.

“But it was.”

“I'm trying to apologize,” Chris says in a small voice.

“You're not doing a very good job of it.” I can barely stand to look at Chris. I wonder if the bullet he put in Dr. Gupta's head was supposed to grant him a merciful death or to ensure that he couldn't tell us the truth.

“I told them that the Earthborn doctors didn't know about Phydus, that only the shipborn doctor did. . . . ” Chris's voice trails off.

“I guess Kit couldn't answer all your questions well enough. She was barely a doctor herself, you know—she'd been an apprentice until just before the shuttle launched. So they just killed her?”

“It wasn't like that!” Chris starts to protest, but I can see from his face that it was
exactly
like that.

“And Emma?” I ask.

Chris is looking at the sleeping ptero on the other side of the glass now. “She knew too much.”

I frown at this. Chris starts walking again, away from me. He pauses, and I can tell that he hopes I'll follow, that he hopes I'll forget about all this.

And then I realize what he doesn't want me to know. “She didn't know anything about Phydus. She knew too much
about you,
” I say. “She didn't trust
you
. You were the one she tried to warn me about. She guessed that you were a traitor.”

“I wasn't a traitor!” Chris says immediately, and I know he wants to believe that. He did what he had to do for
his
people, the rogue hybrids.

“You were a traitor to her,” I say. “And to me.”

“No,” Chris says, his voice pleading. “Amy, just listen—”

“
You
listen.” I glare at him. “If you had been honest from the start, none of this would have happened.
None
of it!” Emma would be here still. And Lorin and Dr. Gupta and Juliana Robertson. And Mom and Dad.

And Elder.

“We didn't know!” Chris is nearly yelling now. “Your father worked with the FRX military; he trusted them blindly!”

“But I didn't. And Elder didn't.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Chris asks in a desperate tone.

I shrug. “You could have asked.”

“But—”

I stop. I'm tired of hearing excuses. I'm tired of words. “You could have tried,” I say in an even tone. “You could have valued our lives more than your secrets.”

I walk off silently.

 

 

77:
AMY

Sol-Earth—and the FRX
—tries to contact us one last time. Zane comes to fetch me in one of his trucks.

“I don't know how they did it. There must be a smaller communication satellite still in orbit around the planet, or they found a way to boost the signal from their end. All the communication systems in the city turned on at the same time. It's a sign—they're trying to reach us.”

He takes me to the communication center in the compound. The auto-shuttle, now empty, still stands on the asphalt, overshadowing the communication building. I'd nearly forgotten the shattered glass, the hole in the wall. We step through it to enter the building. The biometric lock would have kept both of us out.

Red lights flash on the communication bay. Not much still works—the space station housed the biggest satellites—but when we turn the dial for the ansible, we hear a voice.

“—trying to reach any remaining survivors of the
Godspeed
mission. Message repeats: this is the FRX, trying to reach any remaining survivors of the
Godspeed
mission. Message repeats—”

I press the intercom button. “Hello?” I say. “This is Amy Martin, daughter of Colonel Martin.”

The message on repeat dies. “Hello?” the voice barks into the intercom.

“What do you want?” I ask, unable to keep the anger from my voice.

“This is Chairman Li of the Financial Resource Exchange, representative of all the nations under the FRX.”

My eyes drift up to the silver double-winged eagle engraved on the memorial plaque above the communication bay.

“What do you want?” I ask again.

“We would like to know your status. All communication was severed. We no longer have remote control of any previously active functions of the space station—”

“The space station blew up,” I say flatly.

“Did the hybrids revolt?” Chairman Li says. “What happened? Are the rogues greater in number than previously thought?”

“We have joined forces with the hybrids,” I say. “We have a cure for the ‘vaccine' you gave everyone.” I raise my voice as Chairman Li tries to talk over me. “We are making sure all the hybrids are able to think for themselves, and so far none of them have elected to remain your slaves.”

“Confirm that you are acting commander of the
Godspeed
mission,” Chairman Li shouts into the intercom.

He thinks the rogue hybrids are talking to him—that they hacked the system.

“I am the acting commander,” I say. “I don't have a code for you, but I do have this: we have united forces with the hybrids—rogue or not—and none of us are any longer under your control.”

“We have already sent ships toward the planet,” Chairman Li says angrily. “If this is the way you and your people feel, we will treat you all as rebels and act accordingly!”

“That's fine,” I say. “You should know that without the space station, I'm told it will take you the greater part of a decade to reach us. And while you will only have the weapons you can carry, we're going to spend that decade making as many solar bombs and missiles as we want. And we'll point them all straight up to the sky. As soon as your ships get here, we're going to blow them up.”

“This is
our
planet!
Our
solar glass! You can't just cut us off like this!”

“
His
planet?” Zane says beside me. He glares at the intercom. It's a very good thing—for Chairman Li, at least—that he's so many light-years away from us.

“Just try to take it,” I say into the intercom. “But I somehow think our missiles are bigger than yours. Here's the thing you never expected: if you enslave an entire group of people for as long as you've enslaved the hybrids, they're a bit angry. And personally? I'm angry too. So if it's a war you want, please,
please
, come over here. We'd be happy to fight it.”

Static crackles over the intercom. I turn the dial until it clicks, severing the last connection we had with Sol-Earth.

Zane crows in triumph. “That? That was brilliant!” he says.

I grin at him weakly. I might have just caused an inter-planetary war. In a decade, when—if —the warship from Earth arrives, he might not be so happy with my rebellious streak that has been amplified by my new hybrid status.

But I also meant it. If it comes to war, we will fight. I will fight.

I will never give up my home again.

 

79:
AMY

“What's that?” Zane asks
, pointing to one of the few lights still blinking on the communication bay.

I clear away the dirt and debris accumulated on top of the control panel.

“Homing signal,” I say, reading the label under the light.

“A homing signal?” Zane asks. “What's it detecting? The auto-shuttle landed, the shuttle from
Godspeed
is gone . . . ”

A ringing fills my ears, making me dizzy.

The escape rocket only has two directions: to go to the space station or to come back here, to the compound.

The homing signal continues to blink.

“Could it be . . . ?” Zane asks, looking at me.

He presses a button, and a small, compass-like gadget like the one Dad used to find the probe ejects from a slot under the flashing light. It blinks on and off, showing a spot maybe a mile away, in the forest.

It can't be,
I think.
It's impossible.

But I snatch up the compass and race out of the room.

 

The homing signal's beeps grow louder as I crash through the forest. I run without thought or fear. I carry one of the solar guns now, but I don't even think about the possibility of danger as I dodge tree limbs and jump over exposed roots. I run past the burnt-out area that holds the remains of the
Godspeed
shuttle, past the little grove where Chris kissed me. I don't care how lost I get, if I ever find my way back.

I have to know what's on the other end of this homing signal.

As I run, the tree branches whip around me, scratching my arms and face, snagging my clothes. My heart thuds in my ears, in perfect time to the beeping homing signal from the compass in my hands. For the first time, I'm grateful to be a hybrid because it is my hybrid muscles that make me run faster than I ever could before.

I'm closer.

Closer.

I slow down, turning on the spot, trying to figure out where the signal is pointing me. I sniff the air, my eyes focusing on every detail. I push through more branches. I can hear rustling and movement as small animals and birds skitter out of my way.

 

And then I see it.

 

The escape rocket.

 

It clearly crashed, taking out half a tree with it. A jagged scar in the earth shows where the escape rocket skidded to a halt against the ground. It long ago quit smoldering, but I can smell smoke clinging to the burnt-out trees that must have been engulfed by the flames shooting out of the thruster at the back of the escape rocket.

The front of the escape rocket is crumpled like paper, the pointed nose flat, sharp edges of metal exposed. The cockpit is encased with glass, but dirt and debris cover it so completely that I cannot see inside.

I drop the compass onto the ground.

I shut my eyes.

I try not to think that I'm about to find Elder's dead body.

I climb over the broken wing of the escape rocket, grappling to find something to hold onto as I make my way to the cockpit. I slip, slicing my arm on exposed metal, blood making my hand slick.

When I reach the cockpit, I wipe it with my hands, smearing my blood with the grime on the glass. I strain my hybrid eyes, begging them to see what lies inside.

Nothing.

No Elder—no one at all.

The cockpit is empty.

“Amy?” a voice says from the forest. I whirl around so fast that I lose my tentative hold on the edge of the escape rocket, crashing down and landing with a metallic thud on the wing. I scramble up, looking frantically in the direction where I heard the voice.

A person emerges from the trees.

Tall, with dark brown skin and dark hair and dark, slightly almond eyes. High cheekbones and full lips.

And even though my body is screaming at me that this isn't
possible
, my heart is singing one name:

 

Elder.

 

I stand slowly. And then he's running toward me, and I'm running toward him, and we don't stop, we crash into each other, and I'm laughing and crying, and he's dirty and limping; there's dried blood on his head and one arm hangs funny, and he cries out as I touch it.

My hands shake as I raise them to frame his face.

It
is
him. It is. It is.

“As soon as
Godspeed
hit the space station, the escape rocket lost its connection,” Elder says as soon as I relinquish his mouth so he can talk rather than kiss me. “It locked onto the homing signal in the compound instead and headed straight to it. I got caught in the blast, though, and knocked off course.”

“Why didn't you come back sooner?” I ask.

Elder's voice is cracking and raspy. “I tried. I didn't know where I was.” He looks around the forest. “I found a creek nearby, so I had water. And my leg.” He looks down, and I see the crude splint he's made for his leg. He couldn't walk, and he didn't know where to go.

“I just had to hope you'd find me,” he says.

Then he can't talk any more, because I'm kissing him, and I don't think I'll ever stop. But I do. I lean back and stare into his eyes, and it's not until I see the light within them that I realize the truth of it.
He's back.

He's skinny, far skinnier than I've ever seen him. I think his arm is broken by the way he holds it against his body, and his leg definitely is. He's bedraggled and wounded and dirty, but he's
here
.

He blinks. Touches the side of my face, near my eyes. My eyes that are blue now, not green. With oval irises.

“I'm still me,” I say, because my greatest fear now is that he doesn't want a hybrid Amy.

He cocks an eyebrow. “You think I care if your eyes are blue or green? I just care about
you
.” His hand slips down my arm, and he wraps his pinky finger around mine.

“You came back to me,” I say, my voice breaking over unshed tears of joy.

“I'll always come back to you,” he tells me, pulling me close.

 

Always.