Nova (11 page)

Not for the first time, I can’t help wondering why no Tellurian has tried to contact me or even come for me. Surely they know by now that their bomb didn’t go off. If only I had an instruction, a memory—anything!—that could tell me what to do. But I don’t. I have only myself, and if I don’t start making decisions for myself soon, someone else will.

I consider that option for a moment. Maybe that would be for the best. Let Rowan and the officers ship me off with all the other Aurorans to who-knows-where. Let them decide my fate. It would certainly be the easiest course of action.

The question is: if I let someone else make my decisions for me, will I be able to live with the consequences?

15
“‘A TELLURIAN WAR CRUISER IS
flying in quadrant B6 and is currently located at space coordinate (345.6, 9001.4). A Celestian cargo freighter is also flying in quadrant B6 and wants to remain undetected. Tellurian sensor arrays only have a range up to 745,001 space sects. If the cargo freighter is soon to enter space coordinate (589.1, 4999.8) will it be detected by the Tellurians?’ What? How am I supposed to figure that out?”

Michael flips back a couple pages on his tip-pad, scans the page, and goes back to the problem. He frowns, clearly no more enlightened than he was before looking back at the lesson, and slumps back against the wall. “I hate math.”

From my spot sprawled across the other side of the bed, I laugh. “It’s not
that
bad.”

“Easy for you to say,” Michael grumbles. “
You
don’t have to do it.”

Taking pity on him, I put the hologame he loaned me on pause and sit up. Sliding over, I glance over his shoulder at the tip-pad. “This is easy, Michael. Just use the distance formula.”

Michael shakes his head at my assessment of “easy,” but puts his stylus to the pad. “I don’t know how you do it. Even when we were kids you were doing all the advanced math lessons. Mr. Russell was always raving about what a genius you were.”

“That wasn’t Mr. Russell,” I say automatically. “That was Ms. Francis. Mr. Russell was the one I convinced you was an alien for half a day.”

“You did not!”

“Did too! You were so gullible back then, Michael.”

“I was not. I was just playing along.”

I smirk at him. “Sure, and that’s why you lined your baseball cap with alumna-seal. Seriously, I could convince you of anything.”

Michael gives me a dark look, but I just smile sweetly back. His mouth twists in a wry smile, and then his hand shoots out and grabs my foot. I shriek in surprise as his fingers tickle the bottom of my foot.

“Aah! Stop it, ha ha, oh stop, please! Ha ha, Michael!”

I manage to yank my foot away, and Michael lets me go. “Maybe I was the gullible one,” he says, leaning down until his face is right next to mine, “but you were always the ticklish one.”

My breath leaves me in a whoosh, and for a second I forget to breathe. Michael’s eyes, so deep and brown, are staring into mine with that look he has, the one that says I’m the most important person in the universe. Warmth pours off his skin, warmth and vigor and pulsing life force, so strong they brush across my skin like a physical touch. My stomach flips over, and I’m helpless to look away.

“Get a room, you two! Preferably one I’m
not
in.”

Teal’s irritated voice breaks the spell, and I drop my gaze. Michael pulls away as well, leaning back against the wall in his original position. “Don’t you have homework to do?” he asks her snidely.

“Nope. Finished it hours ago,” Teal replies. “It was so easy, it didn’t take long at all.”

The curtain dividing their room is currently pulled back like it is most afternoons, and she’s leaning back in her chair as she scrolls through a fashion zine. Michael scowls at the reminder that, even enrolled in all the advanced courses, Teal still finds school remarkably easy. Far easier than he does.

“Don’t you have some sort of science project?”

“That’s not due for another three-square. Besides, I’m doing it on the enviro system, so I can’t work on it until Gran takes me over and shows me around.”

Michael rolls his eyes at Teal’s pompous tone and goes back to his math. As I turn back to my hologame, I catch Teal staring at me from across the room. Her lips are pursed and her brow narrowed, a disapproving look on her face. What was once only wariness has morphed into outright disapprobation in the weeks I’ve spent with Michael, as if the closer I get to Michael the more threatened she feels. I would just tell her I have no intention of coming between her and Michael . . .
if
I actually thought she’d believe me, that is.

With a shrug, I go back to my game. As long as she doesn’t suspect what I am, Teal’s approval isn’t necessary.

It’s been three weeks since my meeting with PsyLt. Rowan on Level Eleven, and life has settled into an easy pattern. In the mornings I jog around the hub or along the SlipStream tunnel. Even without Michael to race, the exercise makes me feel exhilarated and alive, as if I could do anything, if only I knew what I needed to do. Afterward, I get breakfast in the cafeteria and watch the news in the Blue Lounge. I haven’t seen any more stories about Tiersten. Still, the images of the camp remain burned into my brain, and though I try to explain the memories away as Lia’s, more and more I’m convinced I was there. Not that I have any more idea what that means than I did before.

In the afternoons I hang out in the hub. After my encounter with Captain Kerr, I started spending more time in the docking area, managing to pick up another couple of odd jobs. I even ran into Kerr once more before she finished repairs and left to complete her run.

“Hey, kid,” she greeted when I poked my head inside the docking ring a week ago.

“How’s your ship?” I asked.

The captain shrugged and checked off a couple cartons on her tip-pad. “Banged up, but space-worthy, at least enough for me to finish my run. Luckily, I don’t have to go back into Tellurian space anytime soon.”

“Did they find out who shot at you?”

“No. When approached, the Tellurian government denied all knowledge of the attack. Said it was a band of pirates, and they would devote all their resources to tracking them down.” Kerr snorted, clearly unconvinced by the explanation. “Whatever they said must have been good since the ceasefire is still holding.”

I felt a twinge of guilt, as if simply by being Tellurian I was to blame for what happened. The ceasefire is all a ruse; nobody knows that better than me. After all, you don’t send a human bomb into an enemy space station if you plan on upholding the ceasefire. Kerr’s skepticism was right on the mark, though she didn’t know it. Still, I couldn’t help hoping that maybe they changed their minds. Maybe they took my failure as a sign, and that’s why no one came for me.

Then it was my turn to snort. Whatever was going on, I doubted it was that.

Before I left, Kerr gave me her link number. “Good luck, kid. Maybe I’ll see you again when I pass back this way.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Assuming the station is still standing at that point. My clock has dropped another eight seconds since seeing Rowan—seven seconds after a slip on the lift led to a near-fall and one second during a nightmare. The latter instance I find particularly disturbing. I never imagined I could lose time in my sleep, but the evidence, boldfaced in my mind when I awoke, was undeniable:

*00:02:03*

Thirty seconds. That’s how much time I’ve lost since waking up on the floor of the hygiene unit to find I was a dud. If all my time slips away just a few seconds at a time, will I actually go off when my clock finally reaches zero? I wish I knew.

My evenings have been spent in the cargo bay or at Michael’s. I visit Michael every chance I get. Even when he’s busy with homework, like tonight, there’s usually something for me to do. Help Michael with his math, hang out with Taylor in the kitchen, even just play one of Michael’s hologames while he works. Last week he even took me to one of his g-ball games, and afterward, to a party with some of his friends. I felt strange, going to a party full of strangers, but Michael stayed by my side all night.

No doubt Rowan would be happy about the amount of time I’m spending with Michael, but that’s not why I come see him. I genuinely like being around Michael. Besides, the bay is smelly and crowded, and I much prefer the fresh air and quiet of the rings. Although, even the rings haven’t been as pristine as usual, the sweet-and-sour smell creeping in some days in isolated spots, like today. Maybe it’s because the misters, still acting up, have shut off again.

I shake my head, not particularly caring about the reason one way or the other, and resume my game. My lapse in concentration has caught up with me, my player suddenly catching on fire in a blaze of holographic flame before I can stop it.

“Stop, drop, and roll,” I urge her, but it’s too late. She dies writhing in agony on my palm. The game’s anguished screams are far too lifelike for my comfort. Even though I know they’re holo-generated, I still shiver every time I hear them.

Michael glances at me, having finished the math with my help and moved on to his history. “How many times have you died now?”

“Nine,” I admit glumly. “Maybe I should go.”

“No, wait. I’m almost done. Just one more question.” His chit vibrates to indicate an incoming h-mail, and he stops to check it. “It’s Dad!”

Michael’s face brightens, and he immediately drops his pad to check the message. A man’s face comes up. I can immediately see Michael in the man’s strong jaw and brown eyes.

“Hey, Michael,” the image says, and it becomes clear that Michael didn’t just inherit his dad’s eyes and jaw, but his smile. “I hope everything is going well on New Sol, and that you’re not giving your gran too hard a time. I got the holo of your last game—watched it twice. I hate to say it, but I’m starting to think you could give me a run for my creds. Maybe you could apply a little more of that enthusiasm to your schoolwork, especially your math?” Michael’s dad raises an expectant eyebrow, but I can tell he’s still really proud, whatever Michael’s math grade was.

The image continues. “We’ve been on patrol in . . . well, I’m not allowed to say where, but so far everything’s been nice and quiet with the ceasefire. We’re still on alert, of course. You just never know how these things will work out. Still, your mother and I are hopeful that upcoming negotiations will go well with the Tellurians. We miss you and Teal terribly, and we could all use some R&R.

“Speaking of which,” the image sighs, his face creasing with disappointment. “I know I told you it looked like we’d be stopping by New Sol sometime in the next few weeks to take on supplies, but unfortunately plans have changed. We’ve been reassigned and our new route won’t take us anywhere near New Sol. I’m sorry, but it looks like we won’t be seeing you anytime soon.”

I stifle a gasp and steal a look at Michael. The smile is gone from his eyes, his animated expression now wooden and stiff. Even Teal drops the front legs of her chair back to the floor, a grave look on her face.

“Look, Michael, I’m on duty again shortly, and I want to get a message recorded for Teal before I go. I know this is disappointing, but we’ll see each other again. I promise. In the meantime, watch out for Teal. She likes to act tough, but I know the separation is hard on her, too. With me gone, you have to be the man of the house. Remember, your mother and I love you both very much. Bye, son.”

Whack!

I jump as Michael’s tip-pad hits the wall across the room.

“Geez, Michael!” Teal exclaims, though she doesn’t look particularly surprised by the action. Michael doesn’t say anything, just grabs his jacket and stalks out of the room. A minute later I hear his and Taylor’s voices raised in the living room, followed a few seconds later by the sound of the front door. Silence reigns.

I get off the bed and start hunting for my shoes. “I’ll g—”

“It won’t do any good,” Teal interrupts. “There’s no talking to Michael when he vacs out like this.”

I abandon the search and sink back on the bed. “Does this happen a lot?”

“It did when Dad first left, though not so much anymore. He just worries a lot. Michael’s never been good at sitting home and waiting.” She glances down at her chit and waves her hand, a resigned expression on her face. “Here’s mine.”

Teal’s message is similar to the one Michael received. Their dad praises Teal’s recent academic honors and tells her she’s looking more beautiful with every message. Teal shakes her head as if to say the very idea is silly, but I can tell she’s soaking in every word. The bad news following, of course, comes as no surprise.

“Take care of Michael, Teal,” the message finishes. “He needs you, even if he won’t admit it. Oh, and be nice to that new girlfriend of his—what was her name? Lia? From the sounds of it, she’s been really good for him. I love you so much, baby girl. Talk to you again soon.”

I gape, shocked to hear my name. Michael’s girlfriend? Me? No, that can’t be right. Michael’s dad must have misinterpreted his last message. Michael doesn’t think of me as more than a friend.

Does he?

“Well, that’s that,” Teal says, turning off her chit and leaning back in her chair. It occurs to me that in her own way, Teal is just as disappointed as Michael at the news, for all that she doesn’t show it so dramatically.

“So when do you think Michael will be back?” I ask.

Teal shrugs. “The last time he got like this, he didn’t come back for five hours. You should probably go. I’m sure he’ll link you once he’s over his little snit.”

“I’ll wait,” I say firmly. “I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

She raises her eyebrows in clear disbelief. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because . . . it’s Michael.” Michael, who spent who-knows-how-long searching the lists for me that first day on the station. Michael, who came for me after I malfunctioned in the hygiene unit and forced me to get up. Michael, who held my hand and told me a lonely death would not be my fate.

I don’t say any of this, but it must be in my eyes, for after a long moment’s pause, Teal nods and hooks Michael’s chair out with her foot. “Sit down.”

I spend the rest of the evening with Teal. She has a fashion holo that allows the user to upload a digital of themselves and then try out different outfits and hairstyles. It even has an age progression function which extrapolates what you would look like as you grow older. I feel a little awkward with Teal at first, very cognizant of the fact that she doesn’t like me, but the earlier disapproval seems to have mellowed somewhat, softened into something harmless and benign. I even start having fun, giggling with Teal as we use her holo to turn a picture of sixteen-year-old Michael in faux-jeans and a T-shirt into a hundred-year-old Michael, stooped and wrinkled and clad in a sparkly ball gown. Then Teal snaps a digital of me with her chit and we try the same thing on me. I’m squinting like a total null in the picture, for she caught me a bit by surprise, but I’m too glad we’re getting along to complain. Instead, I watch the age progression and wonder if I’ll ever be any of those ages.