Stronger (5 page)

By the faint light of the moon, I slip into my room and sit on the edge of my bed. Olivia’s curly red hair pokes out from under her blankets. I wish I could wake her and tell her what happened to me today, but I can’t. Even if I could, I wouldn’t know how.

Trying to ignore the chill, I pull my shirt over my head and I slip into my pajamas. I crawl into bed and my breath hitches at the cold sheets. The temperature has dropped even lower than normal and the thin blankets aren’t much protection. I clutch Polly, my old doll, my one memento from my childhood, and try to get at least a little sleep. I touch the marble in her pocket, the one Uncle Charlie brought back from my grave. Bryant had left it there. As I nod off, I smile, remembering the hours he spent teaching me to play.

A thunderous boom explodes in the air, shaking the ground and ripping me from sleep. I roll out of bed, tripping over the blankets as I stumble to the dark window, my heavy breathing fogging the glass. A streak of orange flame licks the sky.

A high-pitched siren rips through the air. Flashing red lights break up the pitch-blackness and my heart pounds in tandem with them, their eerie gleam making the darkness sinister. The percussive thumps of hovercraft engines and the roaring whoosh of fighter planes rise above the alarms. My breath sticks in my throat.

Another explosion? 

Iron locks on the dorm’s door click into place and a thick metal panel slides over the window. I step backwards to avoid having my fingers caught. The emergency lights cease their flashing, and the wail of the sirens goes silent, their residue ringing in my ears. The door and window remain sealed, the only light the faint crimson glow of the emergency bulbs.

“Emily?” Olivia’s trembling hands clutch her thin blanket to her chest. The raised warrior-tat on her cheek stands out in the eerie red gleam. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” I move to her side and take her hand in mine. “A drill, maybe?” My reassurances taste bitter on my tongue. There is no drill scheduled, not for another two weeks. Are the Musks attacking again? Will they drop more of their atmos-bombs? The horrific images I’ve seen in history books flash through my mind, the bloated bodies with their exploded eyes and purple swollen tongues. Acid rises up the back of my throat. If the atmosphere is changed again, will we end up struggling for breath like our ancestors? Humanity barely survived their last attack. Genetic modifications may not be able to save us next time.

Are they also responsible for the explosion at the Sacred Square earlier? The fear of another Musk attack on Earth is the reason why we’ve been taking the war to them, sending our finest Warriors to fight on the Musks’ home world. At least that’s the reason the Orions give. Most believe it, and sometimes I feel like I should too, but it wasn’t the Musks’ fault. The Orions controlled and manipulated them as easily as they do us. The Orions are the true enemy. They’re the only alien race that wants our home, the only ones enslaving humans to fight their wars.

Right now, there’s nothing I can do, except get some rest. I climb back into bed, though my pulse is racing too fast for sleep to come. As I lay my head back, a new thought occurs to me. Maybe it’s the rebels that are attacking. They’ve finally made a massive strike against the Orions! It’s unlikely considering that Ty seemed to know nothing about an imminent attack, but I smile at the idea.

From across campus, the synchronized march of the Valudis warriors thuds against the frozen earth. A crashing sound echoes in the distance. My thoughts go to Ty in his plane, fighting. Even though he won’t be sent to fight on the Musk planets till after graduation, he’s still part of the security protecting us here on Earth. I hope he’s okay.

Muffled cries from adjacent dorm rooms travel through the thin walls. I picture myself for a moment as a Val, a leader and protector. What would Bryant do for those so afraid? He’d comfort them. I lack the strength of a Val but there has to be something I can do. Olivia watches as I get on my knees in front of the large vent between our room and our neighbors.

“It’s okay,” I say. There’s a muffled sob for a reply. Grabbing a spoon from my drawer, I use the handle to pry open the vent on our side of the wall, and push out the one on their side so I can squeeze through it. “I’m coming in.”

I crawl in and move to the bed where the sniffling girl is huddled. I give her a hug and invite and her and her roommate to come back to our room for a while.

“Can we come too?” the neighbor asks.

“Of course,” I say through the vent.

It takes almost an hour until I have gathered all the girls from the rooms I can reach. I guide them all back to my room. The sounds of pounding feet and shouted orders can still be heard from outside and the group of girls clutch at each other, holding one another close while they cry. There isn’t an empty spot on the ground. For the first time ever it feels warm in the room. I sit on the edge of my window sill, clutching my doll.

“Blood!” one girl screams. “I’m bleeding.”

The room falls silent as I make my way to the bleeding Deb, a small girl who at most is thirteen. I take her palm in mine and use the bottom of my nightgown to wipe the wound clean. It isn’t a cut but a tiny scratch with only a few drops of blood. Our eyes meet and I see in them the fear I had only a few hours earlier.

Her breathing is erratic. “My sister got a cut and the next day she died.”

I apply a light pressure on the wound. “Yours is very small. A tiny scratch. It’ll stop. You’re going to be fine.” The girl leans her head on my shoulder, shaking slightly. “I know a story,” I tell her. “It’s about three bears who lived in the woods. Do you want to hear it?”

The girl nods, her tears glistening in the eerie red gleam of the emergency lights. Soon everyone is listening to the story my mother told me when I was a child. After I finish, they beg for a new one. I make one up. Time passes slowly. Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. At last the door lock releases and the window panel stutters back up, revealing faint morning light.

The girls around me all breathe a sigh of relief at the sunshine. “I’m still alive,” the girl says. Her wound did stop bleeding. I can only hope it doesn’t burst open again.

A speaker in the wall clicks and a burst of static precedes four words: “Report to your posts.”

Just like that. No updates given, no explanation for the drill, if that’s what it was. We’re expected to simply go about the day. I want answers, and I’m guessing the poor girls huddled in my room want reassurance. No one moves and the silence weighs on me when I realize they’re all looking at me.

I stare back, confused. What do they want?

“Do you think it’s safe to go back now?” a girl with dark braids asks.

“They said it was.” They still don’t move. “They wouldn’t have opened the doors if it wasn’t safe. We better hurry or we’ll be late for work.” When they still sit motionless I nudge the one closest to me with my hand. “Go now.”

Finally, one by one, they turn to leave through the now open doors.

Without their body heat the room soon becomes chilly again and goose bumps break out along my skin. Shivering, I move to the window, pressing my face to the glass. Below the rows of expensive houses on the cliffs overlooking the school, black plumes of smoke stand out against the purple sky. The Orions’ ships still hover above us but they’ve lowered, like they’re taking a closer look. Something happened. Something that’s rattled our rulers.
About time.

I check the sky for invading ships but don’t see any. I long for it to have been the rebels. But it couldn’t have been. So then who was it?

Mauve morning light now peeks through the window. It’s five fifty-five, which means we’ll be late if we don’t leave our room in the next five minutes. Olivia has fallen back to sleep. I wish I could let her sleep. I can see the dark shadows under her eyes from last night’s lack of sleep. If she doesn’t show, she’ll get another demerit and they’ll throw her out of the academy. On the street without a certificate from the school, Debilii
never stand a chance.

Olivia moans again, reminding me that I have to move. After shaking her awake, I pull on my cold and scratchy uniform.

The communal bathroom on our floor is packed, but unusually silent. Every time the door opens someone gasps, and when a bottle of shampoo gets knocked to the floor, a frail blonde girl bursts into tears. I hurry through my morning routine, eager to see if there is any news from the resistance. My growling stomach is the only thing that keeps me from seeking out my rebel contacts first thing. That and knowing that I have to get my signacom fixed before I can check in for work.

Hank, the signacom repair tech, has a small room down the hall from the cafeteria. Since I work in the greenhouses, I’ve had my share of signacom problems over the last few months and he doesn’t even bat an eye that mine is broken again. It’s just a fried fuse this time and he swaps out the tiny component in only a few minutes. With a wide grin and a heartfelt thank you I wave him goodbye and head toward the smell of breakfast.

I’m not sure where Uncle Charlie is at the moment, what assignment he’s working on, but I type up a report about last night’s events with Zac and Carlos. My fingers pause, not wanting to admit my recklessness, but Uncle Charlie should know I pushed one of the idols.
I touched one of the statues in the Square
, I type out.
Very heavy. I couldn’t move it
.
Was in the Square during the explosion. Don’t worry; I’m fine.
With a grimace I send off the report then delete it from my signacom’s history.

I slip into line in the cafeteria and smile at Gracie as she dishes out our daily rations. She smiles at me, but it’s not her normal grin. I’m surprised she can even manage a smile since most people are still sniffling.

She passes me my morning ration: a bowl of soup and a thin slice of truff bread, and leans closer to the metal rails dividing us, whispering, “Do you know what happened?”

“No. Any news in the kitchen?”

“None.” Gracie bites her lip, stretching the warrior-tat on her chin tight. “Let me know if you find out any details?”

“Of course.”

I slide my tray along the track, picking up one small carton of nutri-drink. It’s all I’m allowed. The science team in charge of this colony carefully monitors our caloric intake. They know exactly how much each Deb requires to make it through the day, and that’s what they provide. Not a bite more.

The cashier shakes her head at me and takes my tray of food from me. “I’m sorry, but you don’t have enough points to pay for your meal.”

With everything else that’s happened I’d forgotten about losing my points. Meager as it is, I almost cry as I watch her take away my breakfast. Hopefully, by lunch I’ll have earned enough from my shift to be able to eat.

My signacom vibrates on my wrist. I check the message.
It wasn’t us. Meeting this afternoon at the hardware store.
The message disappears, programmed to delete itself.

Even though I won’t be eating, I look for a place to sit and drop on the bench beside Olivia. Dark circles line her eyes and her bright red curls are slipping out of her braid.

She blows on her soup. “Aren’t you eating?”

I tear my eyes away from her slice of bread. “I got in trouble yesterday.”

Olivia rests her hand on top of mine. “Again? Who did you try and help this time?”

I shrug and don’t bother replying. The large screens in the cafeteria light up and it’s our morning message from Silvercloud and Sunflare.

Their beautiful faces are almost painful to look at, their smiles lovely enough to warm the coldest, darkest soul. Even I, who know who they are, am momentarily comforted with their image. The whole cafeteria pauses, gaping at the screen; some fall on their knees in worship. Around the whole campus, in every classroom, and throughout the city, in every store, the Orions are wishing us good morning, telling us of their love, warning us to obey the rules. It’s now, when they speak, that their perfection fades for me. Because of the filters in my ears, I can pick up the true tones of the words, their lack of true feeling, their deadly warning. But those around me are moved by every word.

When the screen goes blank, the cafeteria flickers back to life again. Olivia quickly finishes her now cold meal. We have only a few moments before our shift starts. The dorms are always chilly, but outside is even worse. I stick my hands in my pockets and look up, watching the sky for a glimpse of my brother’s plane. Several circle above us, but I don’t see one with scarlet flames on its underbelly.

The scent of fire teases my nostrils and tufts of black smoke still linger in the sky. I think back to both of the explosions from the night before. Could one of them been a crashing Val ship? My chest tightens and I force myself to breathe. It takes everything in me not to go explore, to check on Ty. I stare into the violet sky until Olivia drags me along the path toward the greenhouses.

Not seeing Carlos at his usual spot reminds me of the horror of his death the night before. How I failed to save him. My fingers curl into fists. I never want to feel this way again.

Three musical notes chime over the speakers, a five-minute warning for shift changes. As we pass the guard station, we flash our ID’s. The officer examines the readouts before turning his scratched binoculars back to the sky.

I punch my code into the terminal at the farming building and press my thumbprint to the pad while Olivia does the same. We enter the sealed locker room and pull on the bright green biohazard suits assigned to us. Olivia and I double-check each other’s suits before we snug the filter hoods over our heads.

I give the designated three knocks on the pressurized door and wave to the camera. The door shudders as it slides open just wide enough for us to squeeze through. A gust of poisonous, oxygen-filled air ripples my suit as it rushes though the opening. The laser grid scans my suit and the lights on my wrist monitor blink green. Safe. The next door swings open and I enter the greenhouse.

Even after five years of working here, the beauty of the place still causes an ache in my chest. Real live trees. Most everyone I know is terrified of the toxic levels of oxygen emitted, but I secretly find them fascinating. I’d work here without the high-risk pay bonus. To me it’s like a warm fantasyland.

I’ve always tried to imagine the smell of the colorful, juicy fruit, or how it would taste on my tongue, but it isn’t meant for a Deb like me. All our food is derived from truffs and other fungi, most of it bland, all of it gray and colorless. Classical music begins, signaling the beginning of another workday.

“Harvesting today,” the foreman orders.

I guide a wheelbarrow over to the row of strawberries and join Olivia. I lower myself to my knees and gently begin pulling the ripe fruit. I had a strawberry once when I was a little girl, before my uncle took me from my parents. Try as I might, though, I can no longer remember what it tasted like.

About an hour into my shift, a shadow falls across the row in front of me. I look up to see the foreman peering down at me.

“Emily, Olivia, the oxygen containment tanks are getting full.” He adjusts the hood on his suit to see me better. “I’ll need you two to change them out right away.”

“Yes, sir.” We both dip our heads before he starts back toward the airlocks. I stand with a groan, bending my back until it pops. Leaving our wheelbarrow there, we walk together to the far side of the greenhouse and through the maintenance airlock that leads to the air handling room. A low hum fills the airlock, but as soon as the next door opens, the sound explodes into a deafening rumble that I feel in my bones. One by one, we disconnect the full tanks from the mass of hoses emerging from the concentrators and replace them with empty tanks from the rack. Only after we reconnect the hoses can we turn the release valves. If either one of us does it out of order, we’ll both be dead in minutes. Olivia’s about the only person I trust to do this with.

“Emily,” Olivia shouts over the noise. “I can’t get the one in the back. Can you reach it?”

I nod over-dramatically so she can see the movement despite my hood. When I first started working here, I was the smallest, thinnest Deb in the facility. Anytime the hard-to-reach hoses in the back needed to be disconnected, I would have to crawl back to undo them. I can no longer fit, but I can still slip my skinny arms through the small gaps between hoses and disconnect them by feel. It’s not fighting panthacats barehanded or anything, but it’s one of my skills.

It’s a relief to finish and leave the cacophony of the maintenance room. My ears are still ringing when we finally return to our row and continue picking. After a couple more hours of gathering fruit, the shift ends. We pile our cases of collected fruit onto the conveyor belts, and Olivia and I pass through the airlocks and into the showers of the anti-contamination room before heading back to the locker room to remove our suits.

At lunch, I hold my breath while the cashier scans my wristband. Thankfully there are enough points and I can finally eat. The greenhouse pays higher and more often, since it’s such dangerous work.

The lukewarm truff soup and stale bread have never tasted so wonderful before.

A group of Debs are talking about the explosion at the Sacred Square and want to see the aftermath. Deciding I could blend in with a group of Debs, I join them. In the light of day, the scene looks slightly different than I remember. The dome is ruined. Only a skeleton of metal is still standing; the glass walls are almost all completely destroyed. Bits of glass shine in the sun like drops of deadly dew.

Several Vals are supervising a few Debs who are picking up the remains of the building

Heavy, metallic fabric encases the idols. I overhear one Val joke that the coverings are to reduce radiation so they don’t have to go through too many Debs to finish the cleaning. I doubt it. It’s more likely to protect the idols from us Debs. The Orions care far more about their precious gods than they do about us Debs, no matter how many times they tell us they love us.

Two guards are standing near us and their conversation catches my attention.

“Did the videos catch anything?” A Val asks.

Videos? I’d completely forgotten about the videos. I scoot a little closer, needing to hear the reply.

“There was a shadowed figure seen outside and another entering. The blast corrupted the footage but they have the back-up they’re trying to clean up.”

I’m torn between relief and horror. They haven’t been able to identify me, but what if it’s not over? Could the cleaned feed expose me and my stupidity?

“This is taking too long,” one of the Vals complain. “We need more help.”

The two turn and see our group. “You group of gawkers, you’re all assigned to help.”

Picking up glass is a dangerous job, but we know better than to murmur.

One of the guards gives me a pair of sturdy work gloves and assigns me to pick up the larger pieces of glass and fill the wheelbarrow with the shards. The work is grueling and I’m careful to avoid letting the sharp edges touch my skin.

At one point I bend down for some glass and pause, unable to tear my eyes away from the pool of dried blood in front of me. This is where they found me, where Bryant rescued me, where a Val died. Died! A Val who could heal from almost anything bled out here, and yet I, a Deb who can be killed by almost anything, lived. How? He protected me from the worst of the fall? Maybe, but I remember the feel of glass slicing my skin. He didn’t protect me from those. So how did I survive? And how did my nose stop bleeding? Do I
heal
?