14Screams break out as a few dozen exhausted students find they still have some flight left in them after all. Disoriented and panicked, they lurch to their feet, scattering every which way across the platform in a mad scramble to escape. Bodies collide and individuals fall as, driven on by the shrilling of the fences, they charge toward the sheltering recesses of the forest without regard for anyone or anything that might get in their way. I start to run, propelled by the same primal flight instinct, then stop, grim reality kicking in as a single inhalation tells me—
They’re already here.
A strange sense of calm descends over me. As though there was any other fate remaining to us. Pivoting on one heel, I turn around to face the oncoming enemy. Then, planting my feet against the hard metal, I stand alone in the middle of the platform and tip my face up to the sky, waiting . . .
With a rush of sour-and-sweet, a dozen ghouls come sweeping out of the western forest, straight toward me. Adrenaline shoots through me as I scent them coming, their odors so distinct I can practically see each individual outline zooming through the sky. My heart jolts, thrumming to life like a jump-started battery, but I stand my ground, fists clenched and nose to the air as they bear down on me. Fifty meters, twenty-five, ten . . .
My nerve breaks, and I squeeze my eyes shut—but it does me no good. I can still make them out as clearly as if I could see them, rushing through the sky like a fighter wing on a bombing run. Heart hammering, I take a final breath as I wait for them to take me . . .
Without so much as a whisper of wind, twelve ghouls zoom straight past my head, missing me by a meter in their headlong flight across the platform.
My eyes shoot open. I whirl around, hardly daring to believe it even as their scents—still a dozen in all—confirm the miss. My eyes touch on the others, easy targets all as they sprint for a safety that simply doesn’t exist. Heart in my throat, I wait for the ghouls to choose their hosts—with thirty-four others, they have plenty to pick from—but the enemy doesn’t so much as pause, passing well overhead before hanging a sharp turn northwest and disappearing into the jungle as quickly as they came.
Barely daring to believe it, I sniff the air—once, twice. By the third inhalation, all I can smell is the distant hint of sweet lemon, evanescing away into the air.
The ghouls are gone.
A shaky laugh tumbles from my mouth. Here I was, ready to meet my enemy, and my enemy was having none of it!
Relief washes over me in a sudden rush. Feeling strangely weak, I slowly sink to my knees, shoulders shaking and head in my hands as cold sweat runs down my face. My heart is racing, and my breath comes in trembling pants, and for a time it’s all I can do to simply breathe in and out. They’re gone, I remind myself, repeating the mantra over and over in my head. Slowly, my heart begins to ease and my ragged breaths even out. Wiping the sweat from my face, I force myself to take a deep breath before rising to my feet, head turning left and then right as I look for the others.
My relief instantly sours. The enemy is gone, all right.
And so is everyone else.
It takes the better part of the afternoon to round everyone up again after the ghoul scare and subsequent mass exodus. Overwhelmed by panic, the group split in every direction, people fleeing off through the trees with no idea of where they were going, only that it should be away from here. Luckily, the sheer treacherousness of the forest prevented anyone from going too far. As it is, it still takes me, along with the handful of others with sniffers, hours to hunt down the rest and convince them the enemy has really and truly gone. Even then, some refuse to come back to the platform proper but hide in the sheltering trees at its edge, clutching each other and crying as they try to make sense of the enemy’s latest move.
“I can’t believe they just left like that!”
“Yeah, but are you sure? I mean, like, really sure . . .”
“I smelled them go myself!”
“When those sirens went off, I was so scared! I thought for sure we were goners!”
“How do we know we aren’t?”
“I still don’t understand. Why would they come all this way and not take a single host?”
“Because they weren’t after hosts,” comes a familiar voice from off to my right. “They were looking for something, and it wasn’t us.”
At the surprisingly perspicacious response, I glance over. Zane stands at the edge of the group, his quiet presence only observed now that he’s dared to speak up. His gaze meets mine, and I can see in his eyes that, of all the others, he alone sees the bigger picture—that this planet’s invasion isn’t, and never was, about obtaining hosts. To the enemy, we’re neither players nor participants in this war, but merely pawns, our very fate predicated solely on our ability to be used when and how it suits their needs. By fleeing to the jungle, we temporarily made ourselves inaccessible, but now that they’re in the forest . . .
All bets are off.
“If they don’t want hosts,” Kieran shoots back, “then what do they want?”
That’s the question, isn’t it? My eyes slowly drop to the platform beneath my feet. First the TruCon office, now this TruCon-owned bunker . . .
It can’t be a coincidence. They’re here because of TruCon, I just know it, and yet they bypassed the bunker without pausing for a second. Was it because they could tell it was empty? Or because they didn’t even know it was there? Perhaps both, if they hunt psychically, as many seem to think they do. Whatever the answer, the Specs clearly didn’t find what they were seeking in town if they’re out here. So if TruCon isn’t here or in town, where are they?
I cast my mind back to the bunker with its caved-in section, and a sudden thought occurs to me. Terraforming bunkers are always seeded in clumps of seven—six bunkers arranged in a ring around a central hub. What if TruCon just picked up and moved to another bunker after whatever accident caused this one’s collapse?
Activating my chit, I run a quick search for the other bunkers—maybe if I view their locations, I can guess which is most likely. To my surprise, the search turns up nothing, not even the bunker I’m currently standing on. Frowning, I run the search again, certain there must be a mistake. Still nothing.
Shutting down the empty holoscreen, I consider the implications. Clearly the bunkers exist, so if they’re not on the map, it can only mean . . .
Someone erased them from the database.
My heart turns over. I have to go back down there. Every instinct is telling me that somehow these terraforming bunkers are the key to the invasion. If I could just access the system, maybe I could find out what TruCon is up to, or at least where they are. I couldn’t get in before, but maybe, just maybe, if I had a hacker on my side . . .
Mercury listens to my request with a slight frown on his face. “You realize all the terraforming maintenance is controlled from a facility in town, right? They stopped using the bunkers decades ago. Why would you want to go down there?”
For some reason, I hesitate. “I . . . c-communications.” The lie stutters out without thought, born of a niggling doubt I can’t quite bring myself to share. “The bunkers may be old, but their com equipment was specifically built for interstellar communication. Even with sat-links, our chits can’t begin to compare.”
He frowns. “You think the Navy might still be out there?”
“It’s military protocol to keep a picket ship on a planet once it’s quarantined.” This is actually true, not that I think there’s a comet’s chance in hell they’d answer us even if we could reach them. Military protocol also requires them to block any and all transmissions coming from quarantined planets.
Clearly Merc doesn’t know that. His face immediately lights up. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?”
Nodding in agreement, I glance away, unable to look at the false hope shining in his eyes.
By the time we’ve gotten the pressure points on the entrance hatch cleared and depressed, a large group has gathered to watch. The hatch grinds open, and after a quick glance down to confirm that everything is as I left it, I mount the ladder and descend, the others close at my heels. While they wander through the abandoned chambers, oohing and ahhing at this strange time capsule into our past, Mercury and I go directly to the control room. I pace around impatiently while he noodles at the console. I’m so distracted that it’s only on my third pass across the room that I notice it: The door to the tunnel leading out, which I left open in my haste to leave, has been shut. Not just shut, but locked up tight, a brand new biometric lock now embedded in the heavy metal. I finger the band of black sealant now ringing the door frame, the implications clear.
Someone knows I was in here, and they don’t want me coming back.
Something cold flutters in the pit of my stomach. Hoping to hurry things along, I turn my focus back to Mercury, but he’s having no luck with the ancient tech. “That’s it,” he finally says. “I’m calling for backup.”
Backup arrives a few minutes later in the form of an athletic sophomore named Hegit. She joins Merc at the console, but she doesn’t have any more luck than he did, commenting after several minutes, “It’s no use. The system’s locked up tight. Only the planet’s registered owner—TruCon, in this case—can access the terraforming system.” She frowns. “Well, them and the original terraformers, I suppose. If they weren’t all dead.”
I let out a frustrated sigh, but before I can ask if there’s anything else they can do, a cheer goes up from another chamber. I distinctly make out the word cookies within the vague roar. Apparently, the others have found some food hidden away in some cupboard. Merc and Hegit glance at each other hopefully before asking, “Do you mind if we take a break and . . . ?” Merc inclines his head toward the cheers.
Waving them away, I turn back to the console alone, tapping futilely at the board for lack of anything better to do. I’m still idling at the controls when I hear soft footsteps. I glance back just as Vida enters.
She shoots me her default glare before lowering herself enough to ask, “Have you seen Xylla anywhere?”
I start to answer, then stop, a light going on in my head as I glance between her and the control panel. Terraformers? Or maybe just someone with the terraformers’ DNA?
“Well?” Vida demands impatiently.
“No, but I have something for you.” I point to my backpack where it sits on the floor beside me. The Queen B frowns, but her curiosity is enough to get her over to the console. I wait until she’s reaching for the bag, then quick as a whip, I snag her hand, drag it over the console, and slap it palm down onto the access plate.
“What the—”
The entire wall springs to life in a single instant.
*Welcome, Vida Lucia Ríos Árboles d’Iolanthia*
*Please wait while your identity is verified*
*Interfacing with Chit . . . *
*Scanning DNA . . . *
*Checking Claim . . . *
*Access Granted*
Two jaws drop in unison. It’s hard to say who looks more surprised, Vida or me. Though I’ve known about her true origins for a few days now, there’s something mind-boggling about seeing the simple Vida Ríos from the academy suddenly transformed into the Iolanthian OSC holder right before my eyes. I certainly didn’t expect my random hunch to pay off so quickly. As for Vida . . .
“You really didn’t know?” I ask, an edge of doubt creeping into my voice. “All this time, and you didn’t know?”
“What? That I had a back door into the terraforming system? No!” she retorts. A beat passes. Slowly the initial shock on her face ebbs away, replaced by a stricken, almost frightened look, and for a moment she seems almost vulnerable. “That is . . . Abuelo once said that. . . toward the end of the terraforming, his jefa had created a safeguard . . . a failsafe in case of the worst . . . but I didn’t know I . . .”
She stops, eyes still glued to console as the welcome message dissolves into the main menu. With a shake of her head, Vida finally says, “She didn’t want Iolanthe to become another Terrelia.”
Terrelia. At the mention of that misbegotten colony, understanding dawns on me. I get it now.
Everyone knows the story of Terrelia—how the planet’s Original Settlers got into a dispute with the planet’s owner, DuranaCorp, over the terraforming results. The company wanted to raze the planet and start over; the settlers didn’t. When DC’s attempts to first buy them out, and then later oust them through legal means both failed, the company turned to sabotage, using the terraforming system to turn the planet’s own weather equalizers and soil treaters against it. The colonists sued, but DC used their superior assets to tie the case up in litigation for years. By the time the courts were ready to step in, it was too late. The land had been poisoned and the homesteads destroyed, all of the colonists impoverished and left with no choice but to sell off their claims for a pittance before leaving to eke out whatever semblance of a life they could on another planet. It was a tragedy, or perhaps a treachery, of epic proportions, depending on who tells the story, and one still taught in every Terra Bio class to this day. No wonder Vida’s ancestor felt she needed to program in a back door—a legacy to pass down through her family that they might keep what happened on Terrelia from ever happening here.
“Hey, you got in!”
At Mercury’s sudden return, Vida and I both jump. Vida just has time to shoot a don’t you dare tell glare at me before Merc asks, his mouth half full of oatmeal cookie, “How’d you manage that?”
“Uh . . .” I hem, squirming slightly under Vida’s hardening stare, “I remembered something from long ago. Hey, do you know how to access the coms? I can’t seem to find them.”
The distraction works, and soon Merc is humming away at the main console as he works the controls. Vida leans over his shoulder, eyes like a hawk as she watches to make sure he doesn’t uncover anything he shouldn’t. With the two neatly distracted, I surreptitiously sidle over to a small console on the other side of the room. Knowing I don’t have much time, I get to work, scrolling through the system in search of anything that might give me insight into TruCon’s activities and, by extension, the enemy’s invasion.
Water, air, soil, weather—I go through every system one after another, but as far as I can tell, everything is operating normally and has been for decades. Clearly whatever TruCon is using the bunkers for doesn’t involve the terraforming system, at least not directly, and yet if not that, then what? I’m starting to think I was wrong, and that my theory about TruCon using the bunkers was completely off, when I happen upon the bunkers’ usage stats.
My eyebrows nearly jump off my face. Holy stars. Something in one of these bunkers is sucking a hell of a lot of power. Scrolling through the options, I toggle from the stats to a geographical display, color coded from blue to red based on usage. A map of Iolanthe fills the screen.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
The terraforming bunkers light up on the map one after another, appearing in the jungle surrounding the settlements in an almost perfect circle. The bunker we’re currently in is blue—no surprise, as all that’s running are a few lights, consoles, and basic life support—but the other five blaze like fire in shades of yellow and orange. Any doubts I had vanish in a heartbeat. So they’re not just in one, but in five—
Ding!
Six. The last terraforming bunker suddenly pops up on the map, scarlet as blood. My mouth falls open. The final bunker, the hub of the entire terraforming network, is located under none other than the spaceport.
A laugh borne of pure disbelief tumbles from my mouth. Can it be possible? Was the very thing the ghouls came into the jungle to find actually smack-dab in the middle of town this whole time? Beneath their very arrival point, no less? It seems both unbelievably surreal and poetically ironic at the same time.
So now I know where TruCon is. The question is, how long until the enemy does?
I frown. There’s no telling when the enemy might discover TruCon’s little underground city, but maybe I can set it up so I’ll know if they do.
A frustrated sigh from across the room warns me I don’t have much time left unattended. After a quick glance at the other two, I retroactively add myself to the roster of terraforming workers. I have to fudge my birthdate to do it—the system now thinks I’m 107—but it’ll be worth it to have my own back door into the terraforming system. That done, I link myself into the underground force fence network. There! Now if the enemy penetrates any of the underground bunkers, I’ll know.
Logging out of the console, I rejoin the other two. “Any luck?”
Merc shakes his head. “No matter what I do, I just can’t get it to connect to the interstellar network, and all the hails I’ve sent into space have gone unanswered. I hate to say it, but we’re cut off.”
I nod in what I hope is a consoling fashion. He looks so disappointed that I can’t help feeling vaguely bad for deliberately sending him on this wild goose chase. I start to speak, but before I can say anything, a low crackling suddenly fills the room.
“I repeat, what’s your status? Over.”
Everyone jumps as the voice unexpectedly booms from the bunker’s speakers. A smattering of gasps gives way to total silence as the three of us stare at the console in utter shock.
I take a breath. “Is that . . . ?”
Merc slowly shakes his head. “That signal’s coming from land, not space. Whoever that is, it’s not the Navy.”
A cold silence falls over the room as we all realize that if it’s not the Navy, there’s only one other option: The Enemy.
A second voice comes over the com. “We sustained some minor injuries—cuts and bruises, insect bites—but otherwise everyone is sat.”
“Good, and the target?”
“Still not found. However, we picked up a trail early yesterday, and we’ve been following it west ever since. We hope to have more to report soon.”
A trail? A wave of cold suddenly washes over me. “Merc, where exactly is that signal coming from?”
Merc frowns and types something into the console. A moment later, a holo map springs up over the board. One red light blinks from the middle of town. Another red blip is moving quickly through the jungle . . .
. . . and heading straight for us.
Vida swears. “What do we do now?”
“We’re going to do the only thing we can do.” Grabbing my backpack, I slip it over my shoulders. “Run.”