10We make better time the next day than we did the day before, if only by dint of the fact that it’s not really possible for us to make worse time. There’s a brief delay before we set out when Jovan suddenly decides that he wants to be the one to lead us all to the bunker—as if I don’t have better things to do than pander to his ego! A brief power struggle ensues, with Jovan demanding to go first and me saying I’ll be damned if I’ll allow him to lead me and thirty-four others around in circles just to feed his ego. Surprisingly, it’s Zane who breaks the standoff.
“Jovan, why don’t you go first, to lead the way and clear a path with your knife, while Teal follows just behind to back you up as navigator?”
Jovan agrees, clearly liking the sound of him as leader and me as mere backup, and immediately pushes past me. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, though just barely, and try to ignore my sudden unease. Though our current dilemma is solved, I have a feeling this won’t be the end of it. Still, at least we’re moving now. Besides, in two days—three, tops—we’ll be off this planet for good, and this will all be just a distant memory. Shooting a grateful look at Zane, I follow, shouting directions as I go.
Maybe it was yesterday’s practice, or maybe the terrain is just kinder to us today, but by late morning, we’ve arrived at the seventh of twelve major landmarks I marked on my map—a trio of trees twisted and twined around each other to form one massive übertree.
Awed murmurs break out as we descend into the bowl-shaped miniature valley the trio calls home. Even I’m impressed, my appraising eye noting that the trunk, with its braided coils of black, white, and brown, must be a good four meters in diameter at least while the trunk as a whole ascends upward of . . . well, higher than I can see. Vivid moss grows up its north face in a riot of green while flowering vines wind up around the black trunk in a collage of cerulean blossoms so brilliant they practically glow against their dark backdrop. In fact, life of all kinds abounds on the tree, from the plants that seem to grow straight out of the bark itself to the birds, bugs, and brindlers that flutter through the branches above.
We collapse among the brush-enshrouded roots in a scattered mass, falling under the sway of the great tree as its leaves ripple and rustle in a verdant sea above us. Kieran breaks out the bag of rations, and there’s a general scramble for meal bars and rat paks. Voices rise as people vie for their favorites, and someone’s hand gets stomped in the shuffle, but eventually everyone ends up with something, if not what they wanted.
I perch within a shallow depression where two roots meet, the natural formation creating a perfect seat, and idly munch one of the meal bars from my pack. It’s gone soft in the boiling heat, and if it ever had much taste to begin with, it has long since melted away, but it’s dense with calories and will keep me going through the ferocious heat. Though I’m hungry enough to eat the whole thing and then some, I settle for half a dozen bites before wrapping it up and storing it in my pack again.
Maximizing my holo-map, I check our position for the millionth time. There’s a far-flung homestead nearby—too close for my comfort—but though the inside fences are lit, the ones between them and the forest remain encouragingly untouched, and I think we’re safe enough. We’ve been here for a good half hour now. If the enemy was going to come after us, they’d have done it by now.
“How far have we gone? Are we almost there?”
Divya’s plaintive tone pulls me from my ruminations. I eye her where she sits with Mario and a few other girls a short ways away. Mud streaks her face and sweat mats her hair, and she looks more miserable than I’ve ever seen her in my nearly two years at the academy.
I minimize my map once again. “We’re not so far away. Only about five or six hours to go.”
“Six hours?!”
I shrug and don’t answer. Technically, it’s probably more like seven or eight hours at our current pace, but I rounded down for morale purposes.
Divya glares at me, as if I’m somehow to blame for all the distance we have left to cover. “How are you so fresh when the rest of us are exhausted?”
“What do you mean? Of course I’m exhausted,” I object, only noticing now that I’ve said it just how true it is. Between two nights on the ground and a day and a half on my feet, my body is one giant ache, from the bloody pricks on my arm where the vine caught me yesterday to the muscles stiffening in my legs now that I’ve stopped walking. My right arm is cramped and knotted from holding up the holo compass for so long, and my head throbs like a pulsar, courtesy of no sleep and hours of intense concentration. In short, I feel like slag. And yet . . .
And yet.
I also feel alive. Sitting here on this root, my lungs swelling with the oxygen-rich air of the forest and my heart pumping like a fist, I feel more connected to the world around me than I have in a long time. Maybe ever.
“Whatever.” Divya scratches at a rash of red bumps on her arms. “You look like you’re out for a country walk, not running away from a bunch of invisible . . . things. Look at you! I’m being eaten alive, and you barely have a bug bite on you.”
Glancing down at my own arms, I realize she’s right. Though I still have the faded remnants of yesterday’s bites, there don’t seem to be any new ones. I finger the violet flowers tucked in my hair. So my theory was right—they do repel bugs.
I drop my hand. Divya is still staring at me, clear resentment in her eyes, and it occurs to me that it’s not the distance or the bugs or even the forest itself that she’s upset about, but the fact that I left her behind. That when the ghouls came and the sirens went off, I picked up my pack and walked out that door with barely a backward glance.
For a brief moment, I see myself through her eyes, a retreating back in the frothing chaos, and a twinge of shame flits through me. Maybe I should have waited . . .
My mind flashes back to the hours just before the invasion, to Lia, to Dad, and something inside me hardens. No! This is a war. I did what I had to do to survive, same as everyone else. If she’s looking for an apology, she’s slag out of luck. It’s not my fault she couldn’t get her act together enough to get out of her fraggin’ bed!
Almost as if hearing my thoughts—or more likely, seeing them in my eyes—Divya’s gaze drops, head hanging down as she fidgets with her anklet. Despite my resolve, I can’t help feeling a little bit sorry for her, never mind that we’re all in the same plight. Pulling the blossoms out of my hair, I toss them in her lap.
“Here! Put them in your pocket or your hair. They’ll help with the bugs.”
Getting to my feet, I shoulder my pack and walk away without waiting for an answer. I’m almost positive I saw some more of those violet flowers in the trees over at the edge of the valley where we came in. I’m pinning a second bunch of blossoms into my hair when Djen interrupts me, Mercury on her heels.
“Vida’s missing,” she says without preamble. “She said she was going to talk to Xylla for a minute, but that was, like, twenty minutes ago, and when I asked, Xylla said she hasn’t seen her.”
I blink, several possible responses coming to mind, though the one I settle on is, “Why are you telling me?”
“Who else am I going to tell? Jovan?” she adds with a snort that makes it clear what she thinks of that idea.
Good point. Glancing at Mercury, I ask, “Can’t we just locate her on the chit network?”
“That’s the odd thing,” he says with a wave of his chit hand. “According to this, Vida’s chit isn’t linked into the network anymore.”
I frown. “Could she have gotten accidentally dropped somehow, like if she strayed out of range or her signal got blocked?”
“Not without setting off the alarm.”
The three of us exchange a glance. If she wasn’t accidentally dropped, then she could only have deliberately chosen to disconnect herself. Clearly there was somewhere she wanted to go without anyone knowing, but where? I briefly entertain the possibility that she picked up a squatter, then shake my head. Until her sudden disappearance just now, she’s been with the rest of us the entire time. There’s no way she could’ve picked up a squatter without me smelling it. She must’ve chosen to leave . . . but why?
I twirl the blossoms around in my hand, twisting them left and right as I try to make sense of everything—and suddenly I know. Like a fist to the gut, all the little clues she dropped here and there over a period of days, weeks, even months connect in my head. I know why she left, and more importantly, I have a pretty good idea of where she’s going. A quick check of the town’s directory on my chit confirms my theory.
Pursing my lips, I try to decide how best to handle the situation. Quietly, that’s how, I decide after a moment.
“I’m sure she’s around here somewhere,” I say. “Probably just needed a hygiene unit. I’ll go do a quick scout for her, make sure she’s sat. Merc, can you keep me connected to the network but make it so I won’t trigger the alarm if I go out of range?”
He nods, already activating his chit and making some quick adjustments to the network. “Okay, you’re good to go. Just be careful—if you wander out of range, you’ll drop from the network, and we won’t be able to find you again.”
“Noted.” My eyes flick back to Djen. “I need you to keep this quiet for now. If anyone asks, just tell them Vida stepped off into the jungle to freshen up. The last thing we need is a panic over missing persons. I take it everyone else is accounted for?” At Djen’s affirmative, I nod. “Good. Keep it that way.”
I finish securing the new flowers into my hair, briefly check my holo-map once more, then turn around and walk off into the jungle.
Even if the way weren’t fairly straightforward, I’d hardly need my map to navigate. I’ve barely gone a klick before the wind whips up, breezing through the trees to hit me full in the face. The faint scent of sour-and-sweet ripples through my nose, and I freeze, every sense on high alert as I smell them for just the second time in my life.
The enemy.
Fear courses through me, the natural trip of adrenaline that pulses through the veins whenever prey senses predator. I struggle to take a breath, almost overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of my terror. I’ve been afraid before, but never like this. Never have I feared for my very survival. The human race has been the apex predator for too long, and now that we’ve been kicked down the food chain, our natural survival instincts aren’t nearly enough.
I draw another breath and force myself to concentrate. If I’m smelling the enemy, I must be close to my destination. Gritting my teeth, I tiptoe through the trees, trying to move as silently through the undergrowth as possible lest the sound of my approach somehow tip the enemy off. With every step, the faint scent becomes a little stronger, the odor of overripe lemons tickling my nose like the whisper of smoke heralding a fire. I force myself on, shoulders knotting and muscles tensing as I slip past trees and over roots and through thorny vines that flow around me like deadly waterfalls. The forest is eerily quiet, the usual croaks and calls, flutters and scurries all muted as though even the animals know there’s something even more dangerous lurking in the world just beyond their doorstep. A soft patter sounds in the trees above, and now it’s raining again, running down my face in spicy rivulets that only seem to enhance the acrid smell rather than dampen it. A flash of gold strikes my eyes, and suddenly I see her.
She stands under the indigo blossoms of a jacaranda tree just outside the rain-gilded glow of the enviro-shield. Through the draped greenery and the gold shimmer of the shield, I can just make out a homestead on the other side: Los Tres Árboles, or Three Trees, according to the map pooling over my palm. It’s an Original Settler’s Claim—one of the first homesteads laid down by the early settlers that came to Iolanthe. Nothing special compared to all the other homesteads on Iolanthe . . . unless you happen to be from there.
I shake my head in astonishment. I’ve always known there was something off about Vida, but I never once suspected that the bitchy intergalactic jet-setter was in reality a native—one of the very dirt-poor homesteaders she seemed to despise. And yet, now that I know, I find myself wondering why it didn’t occur to me sooner. She has that poor-but-proud arrogance so common in OSC holders whose planets failed, so that instead of becoming the wealthy founding aristocrat-adventurers so admired in Celestian culture, they and their descendants were instead condemned to eke out a life of poverty on a planet that would forever eschew their very presence. Dirtball Royalty, as the common slur goes. No wonder Vida didn’t want anyone to know. Her very heritage must be an affront to her pride! And yet, as I stare at her desolate face, a mask of despair and longing as she stares into the home just beyond her reach, it occurs to me that perhaps I do her an injustice, simplifying feelings that are in actuality far too complex to define.
For a long time, I just stand there in the falling rain, watching but not speaking. It feels wrong to speak, like interrupting at a funeral where you’ve never met the deceased and only superficially know the living. Vida is silent too, though she must have heard me arrive, her cheek resting against the bark of the jacaranda as she stares longingly through the shield. When she finally speaks, her voice is oddly soft—subdued, even.
“How did you know?”
“That you’re from Iolanthe?” I take a few steps forward and lightly finger the spray of violet blossoms in my hair, a twin to the one she wears herself. “It was the flowers that gave it away. You put them in your hair that first day on the run. We never covered them in Terra Bio, but you knew they would repel the bugs anyway.”
“A bunch of flowers?” she asks after a second, as if unable to believe something so small could have tipped her hand.
“There were other things too. The easy way you move through the forest while everyone else stumbles around like a bunch of nulls. How you knew the name of the spider on Djen’s back, and which way was south, and how to filter the water at the stream. The way you spoke about the people here when TruCon’s offer was announced. You were so resentful, like their decision to stay wasn’t just a curiosity to you. It was personal.”
My mind flashes back to the perfectly choreographed routine she put on at the academy, and I can’t help shaking my head in reluctant admiration. “You talk a good game, playing up the whole bitchy galactic and all, and if we hadn’t ended up out here, I probably would’ve never seen through it. But let’s face it—your clothes are too old, your speech is off, and in all my time here, I’ve never once seen you get on a shuttle heading off-world—”
“Enough! I get it, all right?” Vida interrupts, her characteristic fire finally returning in the face of my relentless logic. She pushes away from the jacaranda so violently she almost stumbles. “Why are you even here?”
Good question. I hesitate, uncertain now as to why I so summarily charged into the Rainforest after my worst nemesis, and finally shrug. “Djen noticed you were missing. It was only a matter of time before the others raised the alarm, so I came.”
“Do . . . do they all know?”
That you lied to them? That you’ve been lying to them for months, and even years, about who you are and where you came from?
The words hover on the tip of my tongue, the harsh sentiments no less than she deserves, only they’re not mine to give. Sure, she lied, but she’s not my friend and has never pretended to be, and while I have little regard for her subterfuge, she’s never owed me the truth.
“Doubt it,” I say with a shrug. “In case you haven’t noticed, they’re not exactly the most observant bunch.”
Vida frowns, eyes narrowing as if she’s trying to decide whether to believe me or not. Before she can pass judgment, the breeze picks up again, cutting through the trees from the southeast. A chill runs down my spine as the ever-present odor of sour-and-sweet intensifies. While the enviro-shield can stop a squatter, a ghoul could fly through it as though it’s not even there. I eye Vida suspiciously, wondering how long she’s been out here, if her lonely vigil has been as solitary as it appears. She catches the look and scowls.
“I’m not infected!” she protests fiercely, raising her chin just enough to give me a glimpse of the sniffer stuffed up her nose, and I find I actually believe her. For underlying the belligerence is a deep anguish, the sort of turmoil that can tear you in two, and I instinctively understand:
It would be easier for her if she was.
There would be no choice then. All she would have to do is pull out her stolen passkey, swipe open the shield, and go home. Maybe she’d only have three years left, but at least she’d be with her family. Instead, she’s faced with an impossible choice: leave her family and live, or stay behind and die.
I think of Mom, out on a warship somewhere, and Dad, gone to the stars, and Michael. If Michael were there, waiting with open arms on the other side of that shield, I would walk through it in a heartbeat. Of course, I would have a brilliant plan to save him from the Specs while doing it, but I’d walk through all the same.
But Michael isn’t here, and even if he were deficient enough to step foot on this stars-forsaken planet, he sure as hell wouldn’t be waiting for me with open arms.
Something inside me hardens at the thought, and any pity I might have felt for Vida’s plight dies, petrifying into something harsh and gray and cold. Suddenly, more than anything, I just want to get out of here. To put this homestead, this forest, and this whole fraggin’ planet as far behind me as possible.
I put one hand on my hip and hold the other out to her in clear demand. “Come on. We’ve wasted enough time already. Just give me the passkey to the shield, and let’s go.”
Wrong thing to say. Vida’s nostrils flare, eyes narrowing into a mean-girl mode I know all too well. “Maybe I’ll come back, maybe I won’t, but one thing’s for sure: I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Slag! I can’t leave her here alone like this—not a heartbeat away from walking through that shield. Even if it wasn’t a matter of life and death, she knows too much. The moment she picks up a squatter, our cover—our position, our very existence out in the forest—will be blown. She could lead the enemy straight to us without even realizing what she was doing. I rub a trickle of raindrops off my face and try to figure out how to fix this.
When nothing springs to mind, I finally say, “So what are you going to do, then? Stand here in the rain until a ghoul decides to fly through that shield and make your decision for you?” She flinches at the remark—a direct hit—and I decide to press my advantage while I’ve got it. “That’s exactly what I would expect from the others, but not from you. You’re stronger than that. At least decide for yourself. Don’t let the enemy do it for you.”
Vida looks away, and I strain my neck to get a glimpse of her face, wishing I could hear what she’s thinking. It’s a risk, telling her to make her own choice—after all, if she decides to walk through that shield, I doubt there’s anything I could do to stop her—but it’s a calculated one. Though there’s never been any love lost between us, even I have to admit that in some ways, we are undeniably the same. Just like me, Vida’s a survivor. Everything I’ve observed in the past fifty-four hours, the past two years, tells me so. I would wager everything I have that if forced to decide, Vida will choose to live.
I fold my arms over my chest and wait for her to speak, trying to look for all intents and purposes as though I could wait here all day, when in fact every sour-and-sweet inhale has me itching to take off through the forest and never look back.
“You want me to make a choice?” Vida says at long last. “Fine, but first you have to answer something for me.”
I raise an eyebrow, wondering what she could possibly want from me.
“Did you really know the girl who blew up?”
She might as well have doused me with a bucket of ice water, the unexpected question catching me completely off guard and freezing me to the core. My chest tightens up, and all I want to do is slap the question away. What gives her the right . . . ?! But as I stand here on the edge of her family’s homestead, looking into a secret life I’d known nothing about only minutes before, I realize this isn’t a random question. And my answer could make all the difference.
“Her name was Lia,” I finally say. “She lived next door to us on Aurora a long time ago, before the war started. The day she died was the worst day of my life.”
Vida doesn’t say anything, merely stands there, waiting for me to continue. Strangely enough, I do.
“My brother was in love with her. He never said it, but he didn’t have to. You could just tell. In the way he looked at her, the way he smiled at her. The way he lit up anytime she walked into a room. She made him better, and when she died, he completely lost it. He blamed me for her death—still does. The awful thing is, he’s right. At least in part. I could’ve grabbed her; I could’ve stopped her from getting off that train. I could have . . . but I couldn’t.”
I stop, unable to say any more, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve said enough. Something sparks in Vida’s eye, some small gleam of recognition, and it occurs to me that she’s now in the exact same position I once was—faced with an impossible choice that is ultimately no choice at all. And just like me, one day she’ll look back and say the exact same thing.
I could’ve gone back for my family. I could’ve walked through that shield and gone home. I could have . . . but I couldn’t.
Even now, the words echo in her eyes, resonating behind a sheen of unshed tears, and I know my case is won.
Vida looks back through the shield for one long, lingering moment. Searching for one final glance of her family, perhaps, or just saying goodbye. Then, turning her back on her home for the last time, she puts the passkey in my hand, and wordlessly we walk back through the deepening rain.