United: An Alienated Novel (29 page)

“I’d better go,” Aelyx said.

“I’ll hold you to that promise.” Cara bowed back as he leaned in for a kiss. “Nope. I meant what I said. This isn’t goodbye.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head as if he couldn’t decide whether he found her stubbornness annoying or impressive. He took a step toward the door. “No goodbyes.”

Chapter Nineteen

A
s Troy extended a palm to reopen the door, Aelyx caught his wrist and stopped him. Troy delivered a quizzical glance, and Aelyx checked over his shoulder to ensure Cara’s back was turned. “Stay with the group. I’m going alone.”

“Like hell,” Troy cried, then lowered his voice to a hiss when Aelyx shushed him. “I can’t do any good in here. I don’t know squat about alien tech, but these Marine-issue boots were made for kicking ass.” He jabbed a finger toward the interior of the ship. “That’s what I can do in there.”

Aelyx leaned in and spoke quietly. “I need you to stay with your sister.”

“Why?”

“Because I drew the shortest strip.” Surely they both knew what that meant. “I need you to make sure Cara evacuates to the shuttle, even if you have to forcibly drag her there and hold her in her seat, which will probably be the case.” He gripped Troy’s shoulder. “Can you do that for me?”

Troy drew a long breath and rubbed the back of his neck with a heavy hand. He didn’t speak, but the tension in his face told Aelyx he’d asked too much. When this was over, Cara would never forgive either of them.

“Look,” Troy said. “I know I gave you a lot of grief when you started dating my sister. But I know how she feels about you. She really”—he grimaced—“loves you, so I figure the best thing I can do for her is to go through that door and watch your back.”

“But there’s no reason for all of us to—”

Troy cut him off by scrubbing a palm over the door and stepping through its disintegrating material into the airlock. “You coming, or what?”

Aelyx strode inside the chamber and resisted the urge to argue. The harder he pushed, the deeper Troy would dig in his heels. If he had to, he would evade Troy and force him to return to the hangar.

The door rematerialized and the chamber filled with the sound of rushing air. Once pressure was optimized, the opposite door dissolved to reveal a dimly lit passageway stretching at least fifty yards into the distance. Aelyx hesitated. Ahead of him, billows of steam rolled across the walkway in thick clouds. The effect reminded him of last year’s Halloween festival at Midtown High, when the seniors had filled the halls with artificial fog and strobe lights, and then hidden in wait to frighten unsuspecting freshmen.

“Jesus,” Troy whispered, pulling his T-shirt away from his chest for ventilation. “It’s like a haunted sauna in here.”

Moisture had glued Aelyx’s shirt to his own chest. The choking humidity made him wonder if the Aribol were partially amphibious.

Neither he nor Troy moved until the door began to materialize from the bottom up, forcing them to jump over it into the hall. Aelyx landed as softly as he could and paused, cocking an ear to listen for voices or approaching feet. When he didn’t hear anything, he strode forward while Troy followed close behind.

As Aelyx walked, he studied the texture of the wall and noticed it resembled the dark, grainy material of the airlock door. He trailed his fingertips over the surface, expecting to find it slick with condensation, but the wall felt like animal hide, dry to the touch and slightly bumpy. He pressed harder, torn between disgust and amazement. He’d heard of “living ships” made from organic material, but he’d never thought such a thing possible.

The surface gave way beneath his touch, and he yanked back his hand as a patch of the wall opened. There was a pipe on the other side. “Look at this.” He craned his neck and followed the pipeline to where it disappeared into a section of ductwork. “If this pipe leads to the onboard humidifier, it’s only three floors above us.”

Troy tested the pipe, touching it briefly with the pad of one finger. “It’s too hot for us to scale. We’ll have to find a stairwell.”

Aelyx quickened his pace to a silent jog as his insides fluttered with hope. Maybe he wouldn’t have to detonate the fuel cell after all. He reached the fork at the end of the corridor and stopped to glance left and right. He noticed bodies in movement and quickly jumped back. His glimpse was so brief he couldn’t describe the beings, other than to say they moved upright and stood at least five feet tall.

He pointed to the right and mouthed at Troy, “Someone’s down there.”

Troy crouched near the opposite wall. “How many?”

“Two, I think. Maybe three.”

“Are they coming this way?”

Aelyx didn’t know, so he poked his head out from around the corner. About twenty paces away stood two creatures facing each other as if engaged in silent conversation. He could make out their general shapes—two short legs attached to a slim torso; two long, willowy arms; an oversize, oblong head resting atop a thick neck—but their edges and features were blurred. Their flesh seemed to glow, changing color from gray to pale pink to beige and back again. He squinted, unable to bring the details of their faces or hands into focus. It was like viewing a film through a broken projector, and he recalled what Cara had said about Noven brains being unable to perceive the Aribols’ true form.

As if sensing his presence, both creatures turned their heads toward him. Aelyx ducked back behind the corner and locked eyes with Troy. “I think they saw me.”

Troy hissed a swear and pointed at the staff. “Use it on them.”

Before he lost his nerve, Aelyx leaned into the open and pointed the staff at the creatures. Nothing happened. He tried again, mimicking what Jaxen had done, but the orb nesting inside the staff remained dull. Then his brain buzzed with confusion. He could sense what the Aribol were feeling. Their mental activity swelled within him, a force so powerful he shrank back and cringed.

They thought he was Jaxen. His russet skin and long, brown hair matched the person they’d seen months ago on their home world, but his actions were all wrong. They didn’t understand his odd behavior, and they were coming to investigate.

“What’re you doing?” Troy asked.

Aelyx gripped his head. “You don’t feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“They’re coming.”

“Use the staff!” Troy whisper-yelled.

Fighting to clear his head, Aelyx thought back to the alliance signing last spring, when he’d fired an
iphal
at Jaxen. It hadn’t been enough to point and shoot. The weapon’s safety mechanism had required intent—he’d had to
want
to fire it. Perhaps the staff worked in the same way. He concentrated on harnessing the power within the sphere, imagined drawing on it like a conduit through his skin. He felt a hum of energy, and the sphere glowed alive.

The first Aribol glided into view. Aelyx thrust the staff forward with all his might, and in the blink of an eye, the creature struck the wall with a sickening crunch and crumpled to the floor. Before Aelyx could lash out at the second one, he felt his limbs stiffen. The creature was inside his mind, shutting down his motor control. He dropped to his knees, the staff disappearing beneath clouds of steam. His lungs seized, and he couldn’t breathe.

Troy leaped from his crouching position and tackled the Aribol to the floor. No sooner had they landed than Troy gripped the creature’s head and twisted it sharply. There was a crack, and its body went limp. Instantly, the effect lifted and Aelyx was free.

While catching his breath, he crawled forward to study the Aribol more closely. There was a purplish smudge on the wall where the first body had hit. Blood, probably. Even in death, their edges seemed to vibrate at speeds too fast for his eyes, so he used his hands to see, feeling their fingers, which were long and skeletally thin, but with the flexibility of cartilage instead of bone. There were three fingers and an opposable thumb, covered by rough, dry skin that reminded him of fine-grit sandpaper. Despite the moisture in the air, several cracks marred the creature’s flesh. No wonder they avoided contact with the ground. Dust could easily make its way inside the bloodstream through these fissures.

Aelyx fanned away the steam and noticed a sprinkling of soil had fallen out of Troy’s pockets. “I’d forgotten about that.” He patted his own pockets, still full. “We should’ve thrown some at them.”

“I’m sure we’ll have another chance. Come on, let’s find the stairs.”

Aelyx retrieved the staff and followed Troy down the left hallway. As he strode along the corridor, he wondered why Troy hadn’t felt the Aribols’ emotions or succumbed to the mental attack. Perhaps it was because they hadn’t known he was there. Or maybe they could only breach one mind at a time.

Something caught Aelyx’s attention, and he paused. There was a whooshing noise coming from inside the wall. He tugged Troy to a stop. The sound came again, and Aelyx followed it a few paces forward to a slim doorway about half the width of the airlock exit. He rubbed a hand over the wall, and it parted to reveal a tube barely wide enough for both of them.

“An elevator?” he guessed.

Troy pressed the toe of one boot into the tube. When the floor held his weight, he stepped inside. “Worth a shot.”

Aelyx squeezed in beside him, looking for a set of controls as the door re-formed. The interior walls were bare. He didn’t touch anything, but the tube shot up on its own volition and then stopped almost at once.

“This must be the next level. Maybe if we don’t touch—” Inertia cut him off as the tube lifted again. Perhaps its default setting was to take them to each floor one at a time until they chose to exit.
Or until someone else wishes to enter
, he thought with a chill.

He held his breath when the tube stopped again. The wait at this floor seemed longer than the last. To his relief, the door remained sealed and the tube shot upward.

“Next floor, right?” asked Troy.

“I think so.”

The tube stopped. Aelyx rubbed his palm over the door, and right away he knew they’d reached the boiler level. A burst of heat tightened the skin on his face, and swirls of steam obscured his vision. But it wasn’t until he exited the chute and came face-to-face with dozens of Aribol, each basking in the warm mist leaking from massive water tanks, that he realized his shortsightedness. To creatures like these, this location would be the most desirable room on the ship.

Troy froze beside him, and Aelyx felt the same waves of confusion crash over him, ten times stronger than before. There were too many thoughts piercing his skull.
Who are these Noven?
Why are they here?

“Now I know what you were talking about.” Troy clutched his forehead. With labored movements, he pulled both hands down to his pockets.

The creatures’ bewilderment turned to a suspicion so intense it was nearly blinding. Dark spots twirled in Aelyx’s line of vision, as if he were about to black out. He tightened his grip on the staff and used his other hand to clutch a fistful of soil from his pocket.

“Now,” Troy said, and threw two handfuls of dirt into the air.

Aelyx cast another handful at the group and fired the Nova Staff. He couldn’t see what happened next, but he heard the smack of flesh against metal. There was a brief reprieve that cleared his vision and loosened the vice around his temples, just long enough for him to scan the area for any Aribol left standing. One of them stood in the background, far beyond his reach. He raised the staff to strike, but with the movement came a pain so sharp Aelyx had to probe his scalp to be sure it hadn’t split open. He clenched his eyes and sank to his knees while Troy cried out in agony. Aelyx curled into a ball on the floor, cradling his head. His muscles locked, starting with his arms and legs, followed by his torso, and eventually his lungs.

He willed himself to breathe, but his chest refused to obey. Soon his eyes bulged and his face began to tingle. He thought desperately of Cara. He had no way to warn her; no way to destroy the ship so she could evacuate. More than that, he would never see her again; never watch her blue eyes sparkle when he entered a room. He pictured those blue eyes and held tightly to the image as consciousness slipped away.

And then she was gone.

Cara touched her com-sphere through the fabric of her uniform, hesitating twice before leaving it in her pocket. Aelyx and Troy would contact her when they were ready. The best thing she could do was let them focus. She’d give them fifteen minutes of uninterrupted silence.

Then all bets were off.

She spotted Larish’s legs sticking out from beneath one of the ships. On the opposite side of the hangar, Syrine and Elle were searching for a control panel that might lift the anchors from the landing gear and allow them to flush the ships into space. Cara had checked her end of the room. So far, none of them had found anything.

She scooted on her back to join Larish under the ship. Its belly was open, exposing thick, granular, fleshy-looking tubes that reminded her of the cow’s intestine she’d dissected in AP Biology.

“There’s no doubt why the Aribol wanted fertilizer and raw phosphorus destroyed,” Larish said. “These ships aren’t fully airtight. Their filtration systems can block the toxins in errant dust or dirt, but the concentration of elements in fertilizer would be too high for them to screen from the pilots.”

“Is that what you’ve got there, the filter?”

“No, I believe this is the fuel line.” He sliced into a tube and frowned when nothing came out. “Or not. Regardless, it must be a necessary component of the engine or it wouldn’t exist.”

“So if we can open the bellies of a thousand ships and cut their innards, the engines may or may not operate.” She shook her head. “There has to be another way.”

“Well, unless we can find a control panel …” Larish trailed off as a buzz tore through the air. Loud and steady, it struck Cara as some kind of alarm. She drew a sharp breath and locked eyes with Larish as both of them reached the same conclusion. The external hatch was about to open. Any loose objects—or bodies—inside the hangar would be blown into space with crushing force.