Shades of Earth (29 page)

61:
AMY

I sprint to the meadow,
dirt raining down on me as one of the glass bombs explodes in the hill above. I cover my head with my arms and run as fast as I can, holding my breath when the smoke blows in my direction. I hope the latrines can provide me with a little cover before I dash to the lake, then up and around the forest to the compound. If I can make it to the communication room, I can lock the aliens out. That was what the biometric lock was for, to make sure that only humans got through.

I think about the big windows in the communication building. I hope they're made of something stronger than glass, or else the aliens will just smash their way inside. I shake my head, refusing to think about this. I will go to the communication building, and I'll talk to Elder, and we'll figure out a way to stop the aliens, and everything will be fine.

I jog in place a few steps, ready to kick off and sprint to the lake, when someone grabs my arm. I nearly scream, but I'm yanked back, a hand covering my mouth.

“It's me!”

I struggle free and turn to see Chris, his blue eyes shining.

“What are you doing?” I gasp, slinking closer to the shadows at the latrines. The tall meadow grass does little to hide us.

“Shh!”
He looks around him.

There's so much noise from the battle that I doubt anyone can hear us, but I lower my voice. “I was going to the compound,” I say.

He nods. “Good idea. I'm going with you.”

I start to protest. I was able to make it to the latrines because they're close and there was so much chaos. But there's nothing to cover me as I run to the lake, and two people will stand out more than one.

Chris raises his gun, a high-powered rifle. I pull out my own .38. If it came to bullets, I'd rather have another gun with me.

We both run straight for the lake. I keep turning my head, trying to see if anyone's following us, but there's so much happening at the colony that we're ignored. Smoke billows up from the first couple of buildings. My heart breaks for a moment. The aliens have completely breached the colony. A group of people are running up the mountain, a line of soldiers at the bottom, trying to protect them. It won't be much longer before they're all taken.

Or killed.

“Ready?” Chris asks when we reach the lake, his voice still low.

I nod. We don't have time to stop.

I've never run faster than now. There is no pacing to the way I run, no method. I just race, as fast and hard as I can, until I reach the asphalt of the compound.

Sweat drips off my body, making dark circles on the black asphalt. I lean over, my hands on my knees, gasping for air.

Chris stands at the communication room door. “What are you going to do?” he asks.

“See what Elder's discovered, first,” I say automatically. If he's solved Orion's last clue, he might have the information we need to stop the aliens. And even if he hasn't . . . I want to hear his voice again.

“And then?”

“Activate the weapon, if I have to.” I swallow hard. I don't want to be responsible for a genocide, even of alien creatures who are trying to annihilate us. But I'm not going to let them kill my father and my friends, not when I could stop it, not when they've already killed my mother.

I open the biometric lock, and Chris follows me inside, his rifle still at the ready. I holster the .38 and go straight to the communication bay.

My hair sticks to my brow, and my shirt is drenched. The air inside the communication room feels stuffy and humid. I lift my shirt away from my chest, flapping the cloth as I try to cool down. “I don't know how to operate any of this,” I say, staring at the control panel.

Chris steps forward. “It's not that complicated,” he replies. “I already programmed Elder's auto-shuttle into the network, here.” He flips a switch, and static fills the air. Another press of a button, and a steady
beep-beep-beep
interrupts the static. “I'm hailing him. He should answer as soon as he sees my signal.”

I move over beside him, looking down at the control. “I wonder which one of these operates the weapon,” I say.

Chris looks at me with his startling blue eyes, an unreadable expression on his face. “I don't think it will be safe to detonate,” he says. “We don't know enough about it.”

My hands curl into fists. I remember Dad giving attack orders, but after the first bomb, I didn't hear him again. Is he, even now, gasping for breath, his blood leaking on the dusty yellow stones as an alien crows in triumph over him?

“What
were
those things?” I ask softly.

“They looked humanoid to me,” Chris says. “Maybe they're not that different from us.”

“Good,” I say. “If they're not that different from us, they'll be easier to kill.”

62:
ELDER

Bartie glances up
at the weathered concrete face of the Plague Eldest. “So . . . should we get some chisels and hammers?” he asks sarcastically.

“Oh, no. I was thinking we'd go a little bit bigger.” I look past the statue, barely able to hide my excitement at my plan.

Bartie follows my gaze across the ship to the grav tube clinging to the side of the wall. His eyes round. “You're going to
smash
it?”

“Got a better idea?”

Bartie laughs. “I think it's frexing brilly.”

It takes both of us the better part of a half hour to move the statue from its pedestal onto an electric cart. We use crowbars and wedges, but in the end, we both jump on the pedestal, pushing, before the whole statue crashes down. It lands on the electric cart with a thud and a crack. Bartie jumps down from the bench to inspect our handiwork.

“One arm broke off!” he says, picking it up and using it to wave at me. “Look, it's hollow inside.”

The arm has exposed a narrow hole in the side of the statue, and it is, indeed, hollow inside. I try to wiggle my fingers in, but the concrete is thick, and without tools, there's no way to break it open.

“I guess we
will
have to smash it,” Bartie says in mock reluctance.

“Such a shame,” I comment.

“It's a great work of art.”

I nod sagely. “It's a sacrifice we'll have to make.”

Bartie's smile cracks through his false sincerity. “Come on!” he says, excited.

We practically run up the path between the Hospital and the Recorder Hall with the cart trailing behind us, but some of the fun of breaking apart the statue dissipates as I think about how, when I leave
Godspeed
this time, I'll never come back to it. I have been on this path countless times. I walked along it with Harley and Kayleigh, before they were both gone. I used to race it with Bartie and Victria. I kissed Amy, right there, by the pond, in the “rain.”

I'm going to miss it. I thought I said goodbye to
Godspeed
when I left, but I realize now that I always believed
Godspeed
would still be here, that I would be able to look up at the stars and see it floating, a beacon in the sky, a reminder of the home I once knew. But now I know that this goodbye will be the final one I say to the ship.

Bartie and I have to shove the cart to get the statue fully under the grav tube. Bartie locks the cart down so it won't get sucked up, then orders the grav tube on at low levels. The tube sucks the statue up a few meters, enough for us to slide the cart out of the way.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Bartie says, grinning.

“Gladly.” I push my wi-com. The familiar
beep, beep-beep
fills my ear, and although I once longed to hear it again, it sounds strange to me now. “Grav tube on, stationary transport to Shipper Level,” I say.

The tube switches fully on, and the statue is sucked up.

“We better get back,” Bartie says, pulling me behind the cart. “That thing's going to shatter everywhere!”

The statue soars up and up, scraping along the clear sides of the grav tube as the tube curves along the contours of the ship.

I push my wi-com button again. “Grav tube
off,
” I say.

“Caution: transport material is currently inside the grav tube. Eldest override?” the computer voice in my ear says pleasantly.

“Override confirmed,” I say, grinning. “Grav tube operations off.”

The familiar sound of the tube cuts off suddenly. Bartie and I both look up. The statue stands, stationary, for just a moment, then plunges down, twisting in the tube. Some of the acrylic material of the tube breaks as the statue's edges crash against it. The statue picks up speed as the tube straightens out, nothing but a gray-black blur inside.

BOOM!
The statue crashes into the grav tube base and
explodes
. Gray dust and chunks of chalky concrete fly everywhere, and Bartie and I both duck behind the cart as gravel rains down. Before the air is clear, I jump up, racing to the debris.

Amid the cracked concrete and broken grav tube, I can just make out a shiny silver box. I reach for it, gray dust sticking to the sweat on the back of my hand.

“What is it?” Bartie asks. His voice is low and breathless.

I lift the latch on the box, and the lid creaks open.

Inside is an old vid recorder and AV display, the kind they used before floppies. It's about the size of both my hands put together and is nearly an inch thick and heavy. Underneath it is a small book bound in brown leather. The pages are yellowed with age, but the writing inside is clear. A formula of some kind and detailed scientific notes.

“I haven't seen one of these in ages,” Bartie says, picking up the AV display. “I think there are a few old ones in the Recorder Hall.”

Bartie's right. No one's used this tech in a long time. Maybe not since the Plague Eldest.

The recording is labeled, a white note with handwritten information in black ink:

 

These are the original recordings collected by Captain Albert Davis, the first Eldest of
Godspeed
, as he established Eldest rule. Additional copies will be passed down to each successive Eldest, and this will be preserved, hidden in the event of mutiny.

 

Orion must have known two things when he left the clue for me in
The Little Prince
. First, that copy intended for the Eldests was gone. Second, that the original was kept here—probably another Eldest secret that never made it to my ears. I guess the Plague Eldest figured that if people ever revolted against the Eldest system, they would destroy his statue and discover the truth he hid behind his concrete heart.

I load up the AV display and hold it in my lap so Bartie can see.

A man's face fills the screen. It's a face that looks mostly like mine, but lined with age and worry. He's somewhere between Orion's age and Eldest's, maybe fifty or so, but he has a scar on one cheek that makes the left side of his lip hang down in a perpetual frown. His fading hair is peppered with strands of black, and he wears it cut short, but I can trace the angles of his face and know they match my own.

He is the Plague Eldest. The first of us. The original, from which I, Orion, Eldest, and all the others are just cloned copies. He might have “improved” on us over time, adding gen modifiers to our DNA to make us better, stronger, more monoethnic in appearance, more charismatic in personality. But I can still see myself in him.

“I'm afraid,” the Plague Eldest says in a deeper voice than mine, “that this is the end.”

63:
AMY

“—lo?” Elder's voice crackles
over the radio from the auto-shuttle. Chris and I both lunge toward it.

“Hello? Hello?” I say anxiously, my heart sinking as I envision every worst-case-scenario possible.

“Amy, is that you?”

“Yes!” I nearly cry with joy. “Elder, you're alive! I was so worried.”

His laugh comes to me from miles away, but it's still
his
laugh. “Of course, I'm alive. What did you think happened?”

I can't even put those fears into words.

“Amy, I have to tell you—” Elder's voice pauses, and for a heart-stopping moment, I think our communication link has been severed. “I've found the last clue,” he says.

I blink, surprised. He doesn't sound very happy about this. “You did?”

“Yes, and you're . . . you're not going to like it.”

“What is it?” I ask. My mouth is so close to the intercom that I can taste the metal cover of the microphone. Chris moves behind me, and I nearly jump in surprise. Once I heard Elder's voice, I forgot he was even in the room.

“I think . . . I think I can show it to you. Give me a second.”

Chris touches the screen on the control panel. “He must have a video he can show us,” he says. “I might be able to help him load it from here.” He swipes the screen, bringing up a menu.

“Are you okay?” I ask Elder.

“Yeah.” He sounds distracted. After a moment he adds, “Why? Are you guys okay?”

I glance at Chris, who shakes his head slightly. We shouldn't tell Elder about the attack now, not when he can't do anything about it. Past Chris, I can see the trees of the forest and beyond that, a trail of smoke. Not from our smoke screen—something much larger is burning at the colony.

“Got it,” Chris says, tapping on the touch screen as a video feed loads.

“Did it load?” Elder asks.

“Yeah,” I say.

“You guys watch that; I'm going to go back and help with the packing. Everyone from
Godspeed
is coming down with me, and we're bringing supplies for everyone.”

I look at the smoke again. There might not be anyone to give supplies to.

The intercom cuts out, and Chris moves aside, letting me have the chair in front of the touch screen. He stands behind me. He picks his rifle back up, casting a nervous look outside the window.

A man's face fills the screen. “That must be the Plague Eldest,” I say aloud. I glance behind me at Chris. “He's the last captain of
Godspeed
, the one who decided not to land the ship when they arrived at the planet.”

“I'm afraid,” the man says, “that this is the end.”

I lean forward, listening as hard as I can.

“My name is Albert Davis, and I am the captain of
Godspeed
. This is what happened.”

The camera immediately shifts images. This footage was filmed in the Bridge. The image wobbles a bit as the camera is stabilized on the control panel. It sweeps the Bridge, showing everyone standing inside. This is before monoethnicity. The crew gathered on the Bridge are of several different races—and religions too, judging by the Hebrew star one of them wears as a pendant around her neck. My fingers go up to my own cross pendant, a small smile on my lips. It makes me happy to know that once,
Godspeed
wasn't as messed up as it became.

Everyone is chatting, but it's too soft to understand individual words. They seem excited or, perhaps, nervous. The camera swivels back into place, facing the planet.

Godspeed
is in orbit now, hanging over the blue-green-white of Centauri-Earth.

“There it is!” a woman's voice says from behind the camera. A moment later, I see it too—a sleek silver shuttle, zooming over the horizon toward
Godspeed
.

The camera cuts to black, and I gasp in recognition as a new image fills the screen: the hatch where Harley died.

The camera is pressed against the porthole window, and the hatch is open, showing blackness.

“A little history,” Captain Albert Davis says from behind the camera. His voice sounds bitter. “Twenty years before we were due to land, we sent a probe to Centauri-Earth. The plan was that we'd get an idea of the environment, adjust our studies so we'd be ready for the planet when we landed. Instead, Sol-Earth discovered that there were some valuable resources on the planet. And they figured out a way to make transportation there even faster. They landed first. They built a colony.”

Something metallic lowers over the hatch. Not the door, but something cylindrical that locks onto the side of
Godspeed
. It's the bridge between the ship and shuttle that was shown earlier.

Captain Davis laughs bitterly. “And now they have to figure out what to do with us.”

A tall, slender woman with jet-black hair and cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass steps out of the shuttle bridge and into the hatch, adjusting her tight pinstripe skirt. Captain Davis opens the hatch door after checking the pressure, and the woman steps out, smiling. Behind her, several men carrying thermal crates emerge from the shuttle. Captain Davis frowns at the crates.

“I would prefer our conversations be off the record,” the woman says. Her voice is kind, but even I can tell this is an order, not a request.

After a moment of blackness, the camera switches back on. It's higher up now and stable—mounted somewhere, and, from the way the others ignore it, I suspect that the woman from the shuttle doesn't know it's there. Captain Davis has set up a meeting with her in the navigation room on the Keeper Level of the ship. Above them, light bulbs map the stars. A table is in the middle of the room, and Captain Davis sits opposite the woman.

“The original colony proved . . . difficult,” the woman says.

“In what way?” Captain Davis leans forward. He is clearly someone used to having authority, but I can tell that the woman intimidates him. I notice a flash of silver on her lapel—a small double-winged eagle pin. She's the representative from the FRX.

“The solar glass this planet can produce has provided us with nearly unlimited pollution-less energy. It's revolutionized the way Earth produces and consumes energy; it's the answer to the prayer we've been saying since fossil fuels ran out.”

Captain Davis nods solemnly. The woman has yet to answer his question.

“The problem,” she says, sighing dramatically, “is that the original colony limits the type of production it's sending to us. We need
more
.”

“More solar glass for energy,” Captain Davis says, “or more for weapons?”

The woman's eyes narrow, but she laughs genially and waves her hand, dismissing the question. “I know you're opposed to the weapons manufacturing we've implemented, but rest assured that your people will not be asked to produce weapons. Just energy cubes, as we discussed before.”

Captain Davis looks skeptical, but he doesn't comment again.

“As I've said, the problem is the production rate. Our people—the original colony and, when you land, all of your people—are having problems with solar radiation. Too much sun; it makes people sick.”

My jaw clenches. This isn't true. We've been on Centauri-Earth nearly a week, and none of us have gotten sick from sun exposure.

The woman waves her hand, and the men who came with her from the shuttle appear, carrying the thermal crates. They open one of them and hand the woman a syringe filled with golden liquid.

“This is a genetic modification vaccination. I assume you're aware of gen mod material?” the woman asks.

Captain Davis nods. “The livestock were modified to better adapt to life in the bio-dome of the ship. We've used it sparingly on some crops throughout the years.”

The woman smiles. “Gen mod material has been
enormously
helpful in this situation,” she says. “We grafted a vaccination to solar radiation onto gen mod material. We simply inject a person with this vaccination . . . ” She reaches for Captain Davis's arm, but he snatches it away. The woman laughs as if this were all a joke, but it is clear neither of them trusts the other. “Once someone is injected with the vaccine, it grafts to the person's genetic code, ensuring that not only will that person be vaccinated against solar radiation for the rest of his or her life, but all of their descendants will be born immune as well. One shot, and every generation that lives on the new planet will never have to worry about solar radiation again!”

Captain Davis doesn't speak.

“I've got enough vaccine for everyone on board
Godspeed
. I'll leave it here with you.” The woman waves her hand again, and the men cover the crates and take them away. “Once your ship is vaccinated, we'll talk again and help you land the ship on the planet's surface.” She looks around her, her eyes lingering on the curving metal ceiling. “I imagine you'll be glad to get off this outdated hunk of metal. Bit claustrophobic.”

The image cuts to black.

“What is this?” I ask softly. “None of this lines up with what we thought happened. . . . ”

Chris doesn't respond. I glance back at him. His jaw is fixed in a hard line, his startlingly blue eyes flashing. He looks
furious.

The screen's image shifts, and I turn to it again. Now Captain Davis is in a laboratory—the gen lab, on the cryo level. Two men and a woman in lab coats stand around a young girl, maybe fifteen or so, with long dark hair and narrow eyes that remind me of the captain's. She sits on a chair in the center of the lab. Behind her, I can make out the Phydus pump—but it's not pumping Phydus. Instead, a large vat labeled
VITAMINS AND SUPPLEMENTS
stands next to it. Over the girl's shoulder are the cylinders of fetuses from Earth, but none of them contain clones of Elder. Not yet.

“Is it reversible?” Captain Davis asks one of the men in the lab coats.

He shakes his head. “From what we can tell, the ‘vaccine' does nothing but turn a person into an obedient dog.” He hands Captain Davis one of the syringes the woman with black hair gave him.

The man in the lab coat shakes his head sadly at the girl. “We'd tested it . . . we had no idea our volunteer would be affected in this way.”

“Maybe you should have tested it before you accepted my daughter as your volunteer,” Captain Davis growls. “You should have known better than to test it on a human subject so quickly.”

The scientists look nervously at each other, all scared of the captain's wrath. The only person in the room who doesn't show any emotion is the girl. His daughter.

“We've isolated the compounds within the ‘vaccines,'” the woman continues, her voice high and scared. “There is gen mod material there and another drug, one we've never seen. When injected, a person becomes . . . well, a person becomes this.”

They all look at the girl on the chair. She stares vacantly back.

“What is this drug?” Captain Davis grinds out, furious.

“We're calling it Phydus. When taken orally or injected into the bloodstream, it makes a person temporarily obedient. When it's combined with gen modifiers, though, the condition becomes permanent.”

“This is what the FRX wants from us. Mindless workers. Perfect slaves.” Captain Davis looks bitter and enraged. I think for a moment he's going to punch his own daughter, but he spins away from her instead.

“You know from our communication with the first colony on the planet that the FRX was pressuring them to increase production of solar glass and make more weapons,” the woman in the lab coat says. “After trade negotiations crumbled, we never heard back from the colony again.”

Captain Davis gapes at the woman. “Do you think . . . the entire first colony? They're already drugged into slavery? Transformed into something not entirely human?”

“It must be,” the woman says. She sounds as if she's about to cry. “Maybe the FRX tricked them like they tried to do with us, calling it a vaccine. Maybe the FRX found a way to force the drug on them. Either way . . . ”

“Either way, it's too late for them.” Captain Davis's face crumples. “And her.”

“We're working on a drug to inhibit the properties of Phydus.” One of the male scientists steps forward. “We might be able to find a cure.”

Captain Davis whips around to his daughter, a sudden look of hope crossing his face—one that fades just as quickly. “And if we land and give the cure to the first colony?” he demands. “The FRX will just do it again. They want their glass, their weapons. There aren't enough of us, even if we joined forces with the colony, even
if
we could cure them.”

“If the FRX is that determined to control us,” the woman says, “what can we do to save ourselves?”

The camera shifts again. A group of people are at the table in the navigational room, deep in conversation.

“They voted,” a young woman says. “The majority of the crew want to land the ship.” She is fierce, this woman, tall and dark with wild hair. She wears vivid red, but everyone else in the room wears muted colors. And they all already look defeated.

Captain Davis slams his fists against the table. “Don't they see the danger in that? Don't they see the terrible fate that's befallen my little girl? The FRX doesn't want a colony, it wants slaves!”

“We can fight—” the young woman starts.

“How? We don't have many weapons, not ones like the FRX has. If they can't control us with Phydus, they'll drop solar bombs on our heads.” Everyone but the young woman seems to agree with Captain Davis.

“So—what? We're going to just stay on the ship?
Forever?
” she demands.

Captain Davis spreads his empty hands out in front of her. “What other option do we have?”

“We will fight,” the woman in red says. “We'll fight
you
if we have to!”