I explain everything to Bartie, from Orion’s dying words to the latest alien attack on the colony, my strength returning to me as the meds and fluids enter my system. I start with the destruction of the shuttle and the deaths of so many of our people. We continue talking as Bartie and I walk outside, to the garden. There are oddly few people here, but Bartie tells me that most tend to stay on the City side of the ship. There are too many dark memories leaking from the hatch in the hole that used to be the pond. People don’t like to be reminded of the choice they made, the friends they let go.
We stop at the Plague Eldest statue, and both of us stare at it silently for a moment.
“It all begins and ends here, huh?” I can’t tell what Bartie’s thinking of, but I’m remembering the way I used to view the Plague Eldest, as if he was the model of everything I should be, an ideal I could only aspire to. But then I found out I was made of the same stuff he was and that it wasn’t either of our DNA that made us the leaders we had to be for our ship.
It doesn’t matter now. The Plague Eldest statue is only made of concrete, not replicated DNA and broken promises. The statue’s face is worn away, rivulets embedded into his cheeks as if from tears. “He knew,” I tell Bartie. “The Plague Eldest. He knew whatever it is that’s down there. He must be the king Orion refers to with that clue, and the only thing missing from Orion’s puzzle is information about who the aliens are and what they want. How to stop them.”
Bartie looks doubtful. “You got all that from a scribbled-in illustrated children’s book?”
I shake my head. “You don’t know how Orion played with us. It was all a game to him, always a game.”
“And this . . . whatever . . . that Orion has hidden is supposed to be some sort of way to . . . fight these ‘aliens’?” Bartie sounds skeptical—of both the clue and the threat on the planet.
I sigh, looking up at the concrete face of the Plague Eldest. The truth is, I don’t know. At all. Maybe it is. Maybe it’s not. I wish Orion was here to tell me himself . . . but now it’s too late. “I don’t like your odds of survival.” Bartie leans forward. “But I think they’re better than ours.” He jerks his head toward the statue of the Plague Eldest. “So what do you think is inside?”
“No idea,” I say. “Maybe a vid recording or a book. Maybe another frexing clue that will lead us down another ‘rabbit hole,’ as Amy likes to say.” I grin at him, but the smile’s really for Amy, even though she can’t see it. “Either way,” I say, “let’s find out.”
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.
