Evolution (3 page)

“We want to bargain for a truce,” Beechy says swiftly. “We'll help you face the Mardenite raiders if you let us remain free until we reach the Core, and if you treat our wounded. I'm sure you could use three more pilots and a ship mechanic—”

“I have no interest in bargaining with traitors,” Sam says, cutting off Beechy. He looks at the soldiers behind us. “Take them away.”

A soldier grabs my arm from behind—my wounded one. The pain spreads hot and fast, but I'm too weak to pull away from him. Another soldier grabs Darren and another takes Fiona by the wrists, who looks like she might punch Sam in the face.

“Listen to me,” Beechy says, his voice rising in frustration. “Did you see how many warships are heading for the mountains? We shouldn't be arguing about this. We should be figuring out what we're going to do if they attack, and how we're going to get off the Surface.”

Skylar clears her throat behind Sam. “With all due respect, sir, I could use Beechy's help piloting the hovercraft. And Fiona might be able to get the comms working again between our ships.”

I stare at her, unable to believe she's actually arguing for our side. But Sam looks so enraged, I'm not sure he's going to listen to reason.

“Sam,” I manage to croak. “Please.”

He turns his eyes on me again, glaring. “Get them inside the ship.”

The soldier pushes me forward, up the boarding ramp.

I'm dimly aware of Dean saying something to Sam, something that makes Sam look even more furious. But I don't hear what he says. The pain in my arm consumes me, and everything turns hazy again.

Keep going,
I urge myself. But I can't.

Another wave of dizziness rushes over me, and this time my strength gives out completely. Darkness spreads across my vision.

A body breaks my fall, and it's the last thing I remember.

*   *   *

I swim back into consciousness, with no idea where I am. I can feel I'm lying on a padded table with a blanket over me. A haze of blue light glows above me, and there's a strong antiseptic smell in the air.

I must be aboard the hovercraft, in the infirmary. There are voices coming from beyond the foot of the table I'm lying on.

“I don't like this,” a person who sounds like Beechy says.

“Neither do I,” a deeper voice replies. Lieutenant Dean. “But it's too late for that now.”

Their voices are hushed so I pretend I'm still asleep and listen.

“We just need to keep her as safe as we can until we get to the Core,” Dean says. “She's our best hope for survival.”

Who are they talking about? Sandy?

“Will you help me?” Dean asks.

“Fine,” Beechy says. “I'll do what I can.”

“Good. I'll send someone for you as soon as we call the strategy meeting,” Dean says. There's the sound of his boots clunking out of the room, and the hiss of a hatch door shutting behind him.

I open my eyes again and look around the room. The infirmary is small, with counters and cabinets lining the walls. There's a door to my left, probably leading to a storage closet. Beechy stands with his back to me near the foot of my bed, by the hatch door leading out of the infirmary. He's still wearing his safety suit, but he's taken the helmet off and he's running his fingers through his dark hair. When he turns around, I see hardness flickering across his expression. Annoyance at what he and Dean were discussing, or something else?

“What's going on?” I ask. My voice is weak from exhaustion.

Beechy startles, but quickly regains his composure. “Hey,” he says, walking around to the side of my bed. His forehead creases with concern. “How are you feeling?”

I hesitantly move my right arm, which someone bandaged in my sleep. There's still a dull ache where the laser seared my skin, but the pain is a lot less than it was earlier. And I don't feel light-headed anymore.

“Better,” I say, exhaling in relief. “How long was I out?”

“Not long,” Beechy says. “Twenty minutes. We're still in the valley.”

My stomach clenches. Twenty minutes isn't long, but it could've been enough time for the Mardenites to put the first wave of their attack into motion. They could've discovered the city on the other side of the Surface by now—all the thousands of people trapped there could already be wiped out. Or they will be soon. Commander Charlie wasn't on the Surface when hundreds and hundreds of raiders poured out of the battle stations; he doesn't realize sacrificing everyone in the city won't cripple even half of Marden's fleet.

The longer we take to get to the Core and convince him to put a different defensive strategy into motion, the more innocent people will die.

“What happened to the raiders that were heading this way?” I ask.

“We don't know.” Beechy sighs. “We haven't had a visual of their location since just before we reached the hovercraft, because of the storm. They didn't get close enough for our radar to pick them up, so we have no idea which way they went.”

Since they didn't target the valley, they must not know we're here yet. We should leave while we still can.

I sit up too quickly, and the dizziness rushes back.

Beechy grabs my shoulders to steady me. “Careful. You were hit pretty bad back at the compound. You need to take it easy.”

“I'm fine,” I say, though it's a lie. I'm exhausted and I want to sleep until the pain in my arm goes away. But there isn't time. “We can't stay here. We need to get to the Core.”

“I agree,” Beechy says. “Sam's about to call a strategy meeting so we can discuss our options and work out a plan.”

“What needs to be worked out?”

The plan seems simple to me: we depart immediately and take the shortest route to the Pipeline—the entrance to the lower sectors—keeping the hovercraft and the X-wings in a defensive flight formation. There's not much more we can do to prepare, since we hardly know the enemy we're dealing with. We'll be going in blind no matter what we do.

Beechy rubs his temple. “Well, some of the soldiers—including Sam—are afraid to leave until we've managed to make contact with flight control in the Core and let them know our situation. They'd be able to direct us on a clear flight path to the Pipeline. And there's some hope they could also send us back up from a Core squadron. The radio signal is still facing serious interference from the electrical systems aboard the Mardenite fleet, but Fiona's working on trying to patch it. We could set up a temporary camp here until she's finished. The problem is, it could take hours.”

In a few hours, it'll be daylight, which will make it much easier for the raiders to spot us, even with the trees providing cover. Setting up camp here is not a permanent solution.

“Even if we're able to make contact with someone in the Core, it would take too long for help to get here,” I say. “It's not just about us, Beechy. It's about the other people on the Surface. Every minute we stay here, more people die.”

“I know.” Beechy's cheeks pinch together. He was there at the meeting where Commander Charlie explained how he planned to put all those child workers in the city and detonate the bombs inside them to save the rest of Kiel. Beechy saw how big the fleet is; he knows the plan isn't going to save us. “We need to leave tonight. Dean and Skylar are on my side. We just need to get Sam and the other pilots to agree.”

“You're working with Skylar?” I can't keep the accusation out of my voice. Even though she argued with Sam on our behalf, and she was the person who warned us Marden's army had arrived in the first place, there's no way that makes up for all the other times she betrayed us. I can't forgive her for pretending she was part of the Alliance, acting like she was my friend when she was spying for Commander Charlie the whole time. He didn't inject her with any serum, but she still gave him every Alliance name and other bit of information he wanted. I can't forgive her for helping him break into our headquarters and capture everyone inside.

“Yes,” Beechy says, quite calmly. “I know what she did, and I know we can't trust her. But right now she can help us get out of here. So, yes, I'm going to work with her. I suggest you do the same.”

How can I possibly get along with Skylar? I don't trust her at all.

Although, as much as I hate to admit it, there are ways she could still be useful. She's a liar and a traitor, but she's also one of the best pilots I've ever met. And Sam is far more likely to listen to her than to us. Beechy's right; we need her on our side, in some capacity, however much I can't stand the thought of playing nice with her.

“Can't promise I'll be able to, but I'll try,” I say. I push off the blanket and notice my weapon holster is empty. Sam must've taken my gun. I guess I should be thankful that's all he did instead of throwing me and the other rebels in the brig, like he wanted. “How come Sam didn't lock us up?”

“Dean convinced him this is the smartest strategy. He's agreed to set aside our differences and work together to escape the Mardenites, for now.” Beechy's gaze drifts past me.

I still want to know what he and Dean were talking about before I woke up. But he seems distracted, troubled by something.

My stomach pinches as I remember. “Where's Sandy?”

“With Uma. She and the ship doctor are performing emergency surgery in the other room.”

I follow his gaze to the door on my left, the one I thought led to a storage closet.

“They took a scan of Sandy's internal injuries and…” Beechy exhales, trying to keep calm. But his voice comes out hoarse. “We didn't get her here fast enough.”

I reach out and squeeze his hand. “She's a fighter. She'll make it. Once we're back in the Core, a surgeon will be able to fix her.”

Beechy says nothing, but he doesn't let go of my hand. His golden brown eyes are anxious, glued to the door.

I can't help remembering the last time I saw his eyes this close, when he was still subdued by the serum. They were blank, wiped of life. The Beechy who'd been my friend since I'd been transferred from the Surface work camp to the Core, who'd comforted me when I was terrified I'd fail Extraction training, had been replaced with someone more bot than human. I wish I could do more to comfort him, now that he's the one feeling hopeless.

“The baby's a girl,” Beechy says softly, breaking the silence.

“Is she?” I'd hardly thought of his baby as a person until now. A tiny human with scrawny limbs and a faint beating heart, growing inside Sandy, getting bigger by the day. I wonder what she'll look like, whether she'll have more of Beechy or Sandy's features. If we can find a way to defeat the Mardenites and overthrow the Developers, their daughter could be born into a world made peaceful and whole and new. Or she might not even make it through the night.

“Sandy has a name in mind for her,” Beechy says. He blinks fast. His eyes glisten with tears. “She told me right before we left for Crust. Said she would tell me the name when we saw each other again.”

“When she wakes up, you can ask her.”

There's another interlude of silence. The crease of worry in Beechy's forehead tells me the question he's thinking, but afraid to ask aloud:
What if she doesn't?

I don't know what to tell him. When I think of losing Logan, of never again seeing his lazy smile or hugging him close or waking up to his arms around me, I'm not sure how I'd be able to go on. I'm not sure I'd be strong enough to live in a world without him. But if there was still a hope of saving the other people I cared about, I'd have to find way.

Beechy drops my hand. His eyes glisten with water. “If she dies, it'll be all my fault. I'll never forgive myself.”

I set my hand on his shoulder. “What happened to her wasn't your fault—”

“Yes, it was,” he says in a hard voice. “I told Charlie the location of the compound. I gave up the Alliance. It's because of me that Sam's troops broke in. If they weren't there, she never would've been hurt.”

“The troops would've reached the compound with or without your help,” I say. “Skylar would've given up the location if you hadn't.”

“I'm still responsible.”

“Beechy, you were under the serum, remember? Don't blame yourself for what you did while Charlie was controlling you.”

He lets out a short, husky laugh. “Oh, what, and you don't blame yourself for everything you did?”

I stop short of answering him. A lead weight drops into the pit of my stomach. I do blame myself, for all of it. For every word I said to Charlie while I was under the serum, for everyone I hurt against my will.

Beechy doesn't know the worst of it. He was already onboard this hovercraft, in the cockpit readying us to depart the Core and invade Alliance headquarters. But I was outside the ship, in the flight port with Charlie. He ordered Dean to bring him a gun. Then he handed the gun to me and told me to shoot Logan. I tried to ignore him, but it was impossible; the serum was calling the shots.

My fingers squeezed the trigger and Logan fell to the floor, blood pouring from his leg. I screamed and screamed inside my head, but the serum wouldn't let me make a sound. Logan couldn't hear how sorry I was, how much I needed him to forgive me. I still don't know what Charlie did with him after I left.

I swallow the tightness in my throat.
Logan's okay. You're going to see him again.

Beechy's expression is riddled with guilt. He must know he struck a nerve. “Clem, I'm sorry—”

“It's fine,” I say automatically.

“No, it's not.” He sets both his hands on my shoulders. “You were right. You shouldn't blame yourself. Nothing you did was your fault, either.”

I take a shaky breath. “I know.”

His words stir anger inside me—not at him, but at the people who do deserve the blame: Commander Charlie and the other four leaders of Kiel. The Developers. They're the ones who controlled us with injections and ordered us to hurt the people we cared about. They're the reason for every loss we've ever faced, and every person we've had to say good-bye to.