Shades of Earth (9 page)

13:
AMY

Brrk! Brrk!

I shoot up, tangled in the sleeping bag, as an alarm blares throughout the cryo room and red warning lights flash in the ceiling.

“What's going on?” I ask my mom, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

Dad's already racing across the cryo room toward the bridge. A second later, Elder follows him. I throw the sleeping bag off my legs and leap up, running to the hallway.

Emma Bledsoe catches me as I reach the door. “Let Colonel Martin take care of—” she starts, but I jerk free of her and skid down the hallway. She follows at my heels.

“What is that?” I shout over the sound of the alarm. Dad looks up as Elder types a code on the bridge control panel.

“The shuttle's going into lockdown,” Elder says, cursing as the alarm continues despite the codes he's punching into the computer.

“What happened?” Dad roars, and for the first time I notice Chris standing by the door.

“I was on duty all night, sir,” he says, flustered. “No one was here. It just started going off.”

“The shuttle sensors are messed up,” Elder says. “It's detecting rapid pressure changes.”

“But the pressure isn't changing,” Dad says, holding his hand out as if he expects the air pressure to suddenly drop.

“I
know
,” Elder says. “That's why I said the sensors are frexing broken.”

“Can you cut off the damn alarms?” Dad shouts.

“Lockdown in fifteen minutes and counting,” the computer's voice cuts in before the alarm continues.

Elder throws up his hands. “Even if I could fix it, there's no way I could get it working again in fifteen minutes. That door is going to seal one way or another.”

“For how long?”

Elder shrugs in frustration. “I don't
know
. It depends if the problem is coming from the sensors themselves or if there's something else wrong.”

“We've got to get everyone out, then,” Dad says, frowning. His frustration is evident, but that's hardly fair. He can't expect Elder to know everything there is to know about the mechanical operations of a shuttle that's literally centuries old. Dad glances up at the sky, and I remember the horrible screeching cries of the alien birds, the huge dents on the side of the shuttle. Could they have somehow caused the sensors to go off-line?

Emma seems to be thinking along the same lines. “Sir,” she says, “but what about the planet's native wildlife? Any alien presence could be a threat to the population.”

My father looks deep in thought for a second, but then Chris interjects. “The negative ramifications of confining the ship's crew and our own to the shuttle for an indeterminate amount of time, with limited food and water and without any restrooms, will be a bigger threat than anything the planet could plausibly present. I can assure you, sir, that the biggest danger lies in trapping everyone in the shuttle, not evacuating it.”

Dad whirls around. He's heard enough. “Chris, Emma, get the evacuation started
now
. Everyone—every single person—must leave the shuttle.
Immediately.
All military is to aid with evacuation, then pick up as many weapons as they can carry on the way out.”

The computer adds, “Fourteen minutes, thirty seconds.”

“Hurry!”
Dad shouts.

“I'll try to buy us more time,” Elder says, turning back to the computer.

I want to help him somehow, but I know I'd just get in the way. Instead, I race after Emma. The military is already up and waiting for orders. As soon as Emma tells them what to do, they scatter, pulling people into the hallway and ordering them to the outside door. The people from the ship near the hallway are the first to go—too surprised to object, I think. The scientists try to bring their equipment with them.

I run over to Mom. “There's no time,” I say, pulling the microscope out of her hand. Honestly, a microscope?

“Amy, what's going on?” she asks impatiently, as if this were all a prank that I orchestrated. The alarm pauses while the computer announces, “Thirteen minutes before lockdown.”

“We have to
go
. Now!” I say.

“Why?” Mom picks the microscope back up.

“The doors are going to seal!” I shout as the alarm resumes. “You'll be trapped inside!”

Mom blanches. “For how long?”

“I don't know!”

Mom finally gets the message. She drops the microscope on the table and starts pushing the other scientists toward the hall. The door has seal locks, strong enough to keep out the vacuum of space. We're stuck on a planet with only the possessions we carry—if that door locks and the computer malfunctions, there's nothing we can do to open it again.

The shuttle will become a tomb.

“Go! Go! Go!” Emma screams at the group of shipborns clinging to the wall. I race over.

“We have to go!” I shout.

They look at me, confused. They're willing to listen to me before Emma—I'm not one of them, but they know me at least, and trust me . . . sort of. But they don't understand that the shuttle's turning against them; they see it as their only source of protection.

“Go to Elder—he's just outside, you have to get out!” Something in what I say must penetrate—they follow the scientists already evacuating toward the door.

Once some people begin to leave, others follow. Emma and the military have resorted to physically picking people up and throwing them toward the hallway. No one's moving fast enough.

The alarms dim as the computer says, “Eight minutes and counting.”

We're never going to get out in time. There are too many people too scared to move. Too scared to leave.

Kit grabs me. “Tell Elder that these people are staying!” she shouts.

“What? They can't!”

“They're not leaving!” Kit says. “They're petrified! It will take weeks before they're ready to leave the shuttle!”

“They
have
to go!” I scream at her as the alarm blares incessantly. “If they don't, they might not
ever
get out! The shuttle will trap them inside!”

Chris, Emma, and a few more of the military approach the group that is backed against the wall. Their eyes are terrified, open wide and flashing white as their gazes dart left to right. A woman close to me has her back flat against the metal, her hands gripping the raised rivets along the side. Her head is slammed against the wall, and a trickle of blood leaks over her left arm—I recognize her. This is Lorin, one of the women I stitched when the ship first landed. She's thrown herself so violently against the unforgiving surface of the shuttle that some of her stitches broke.

“Lorin,” I say in as calm a voice as I can muster while the alarm blares. “We need to go.”

She shakes her head, eyes wide, mouth forming soundless words.

“We
have
to,” I say. I glance at the others backed against the wall. They've never lived without walls—but I can't let them die behind them, either.

“Enough of this,” Emma growls, knocking me aside as she grabs Lorin's wrist and starts to forcibly drag her from the room.

Lorin screams, pulling against Emma with all her body weight. She stumbles, and Emma drags her on her knees for a few steps before Lorin is able to wriggle free and run all the way to the other side of the shuttle, back against the wall as she shakes her head
no, no, no
.

“Seven minutes,” the computer interrupts.

“You guys get to the armory,” I say. “We need all the weapons we can carry. Kit and I can take care of the remaining people.”

Emma looks as if she's about to protest, but she throws her hands up in resignation and leads the remaining military personnel to the armory.

“How—?” Kit starts, but I cut her off.

“Where are the green patches?” I scream, my voice already hoarse from trying to speak over the alarm.

“What?” Kit shouts back.

“Phydus!”

Kit scrambles for her med bag, yanking out handfuls of green patches. Willing or not, I smack a patch on each of the remaining people who refuse to leave the shuttle. Better to give them a small dose of the hateful drug than leave them here to die. They shuffle toward the door—not fast enough, and I scream at them to hurry.

I reach Lorin last—she keeps trying to dodge out of my reach, but as the alarm announces the last minute, I tackle her and slap a patch on her hand. Her eyes glaze over. I yank her up, dragging her behind me as I race to the door.

“Thirty seconds to lockdown,” the computer says cheerfully. “Twenty-nine . . . twenty-eight . . . ”

I run to the door, more desperate than I'd ever been in any race or sprint in high school, pulling Lorin's limp form along. I will
not
be trapped inside this godforsaken shuttle.

Elder stands in the door to the bridge. “Hurry!” he shouts.

The computer continues counting down. “Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . ”

I shove Lorin ahead of me through the door—she falls, but she's made it to the other side.

“ . . . four . . . three . . . ”

I dive through.

The door seals shut behind me.

The alarm stops, but my ears are still ringing with the sound of it. “You okay?” Elder asks, dragging me to my feet. Kit, panting, helps Lorin stand.

“Yeah,” I say, rubbing my elbow. I must have slammed it against the metal floor.

“How long is this damn door going to be sealed?” Dad asks, glaring at it as if it's a personal affront.

“I told you,” Elder says just as angrily, “I don't know.”

Dad glowers. He's not happy about this at all, but there's nothing he can do. My eyes dart between the two of them. It's not fair of Dad to blame Elder . . . but at the same time, I wish Elder knew a
little
more about how to reverse the lockdown.

Dad sends Emma to gather up the military, then asks Elder to group his people together. Kit follows Elder down the ramp, leading Lorin by the hand.

Dad drops a hand on my shoulder, holding me back. “Don't do that again,” he says.

“Do what?” I ask, still rubbing my elbow.

“Don't put yourself in a position where you sacrifice yourself for
those
people. If a few got stuck inside, that would have been their fault. If you'd gotten stuck inside . . . ”

“We all got out in the end,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Take this.” Dad presses something cold and hard in my hand. A gun—a double-action .38 in a canvas holster. “Remember what I taught you,” he says. “Just pull the trigger. Don't cock it. Use both hands when you aim.”

“I know,” I say, thinking about when I fired a gun at Doc. The bullet blew through his knee. This gun is cold and dormant, but the memory of that time tricks my nose into smelling gunpowder and blood, making my stomach churn.

“Stay near Chris,” he adds in an undertone. “I trust him more than any of those shipborns.”

“They're not bad,” I say. “They're just people.”

“They're not
our
people.”

14:
ELDER

Colonel Martin stands
on top of the exposed bridge as we regroup. Everyone wears a glazed, shocked expression. My people spent their first day here crashing into the planet and the second day being thrust outside by an alarm.

I glare at Kit, at the green patches that are stuck to the arms and necks and hands of the last people to leave the shuttle. In my mind, I know this was the only way to get the stragglers out into the open, that if they had not been forced out, some of these people might
never
have left. Just because they had the courage to get on the shuttle doesn't mean they had the courage to leave it.

I swallow back the bitter taste in my mouth. The patches are temporary, I tell myself. They're just for now, just because they were truly needed. I turn, looking for Amy, painfully aware of how much I want her to confirm my resolution. But she's standing on top of the bridge, between her mother and Chris. She leans over and says something in a low voice to Chris, something that makes him smile.

I jerk my head away from them.

“Thank you all for helping us by leaving the shuttle quickly and smoothly,” Colonel Martin shouts over the crowd, his earlier frustration with my people masked by his public military face. “For now, the best thing we can do is find a permanent home for the entire colony. We do not know how long the shuttle will remain sealed off and thus cannot rely on it for long-term shelter. As such, we need to find an area that has natural defenses and easy access to fresh water.”

Nervous excitement fills the area. There are so many of us out here that we're pressed against the trees of the forest we landed in. I never thought I could feel claustrophobic off the ship, but the sheer number of people crowded together in one spot makes me uncomfortable.

“There is safety in numbers,” Colonel Martin calls. “We are a large group, and it is my hope that any creature that might attack one of us individually will be scared off by our sheer size.”

Around me, my people start to grumble. They've noticed Colonel Martin's choice of words—his
hope
for safety—and they are not comforted by it. Several of them turn to me, and I, like a coward, don't take my eyes off Colonel Martin. Eventually, the others follow suit.

“We're going to head in this direction”—he points ahead, slightly to the right—“as the probe indicated fresh water could be found nearby. Military: rank one in the lead with me, rank two at the tail, rank three circling remaining perimeter, rank four scout ahead.”

The military immediately divides itself while the scientists stay clustered with my people in the middle of the sandy clearing near the ship. A small group of soldiers disappear into the trees, ostensibly to scout out the danger ahead. Colonel Martin starts leading the group forward, but none of my people move. On the ship, every square inch was perfectly measured. Even the hills were perfectly spaced, symmetrical rows of measured bumps in the ground. This land is nothing like that. It slopes forward randomly. Rocks and pebbles and bushes and even giant trees are scattered around with no apparent rhyme or reason.

“Excuse me,” Lieutenant Colonel Bledsoe calls. “I'm sorry, could you please not wander away?”

One of the Feeders, Tiernan, stares at Bledsoe for a moment, confusion in his eyes, and then continues wandering closer to the edge of the forest. He's curious but hesitant, lingering in the shadows cast by the tree trunks that twist like knotted rope.

Bledsoe growls in frustration and starts striding toward Tiernan. Before she reaches him, I intercept. “He can't understand you,” I say.

“Why not?” she snaps. “I'm speaking English, aren't I?”

“Yes. But—your accent.” It's even stronger than Amy's, with a rush and lilt to the words that makes them hard to understand.

“I'm South African,” Emma says, and I struggle to recall the battered globe in the Learning Center. “I spent most of my childhood in southern France, though. My ma's British. Oh,” she adds, surprised. “She
was
British; my father
was
Libyan.” She says the words in past tense as if they are bitter on her tongue.

“I see,” I reply. I don't want her knowing that I hardly remember the names of Sol-Earth's major countries, let alone the fact that its inhabitants could speak the same language and still manage to sound different.

She nods and resumes shepherding
Godspeed
's former passengers along, her rate of speech only marginally slower than it was before.

I sigh. At least she's trying.

I grab Tiernan, drag him back to the group, and have my people start passing on the word: stay on the path, keep up, let no one get left behind.

I make sure that everyone in the crowd is ready to go. Kit stays in the back with those on Phydus, the only people in the group who are not wide-eyed and fascinated by this new world. I wonder how much of this they will remember or if, when Kit takes their Phydus patches off, they will recall only the terror and panic they felt when the drug was first pressed into their skin.

A dark-skinned man with black hair approaches Kit. “I am Dr. Gupta, one of the medical officers on the mission,” he says formally in an odd accent, extending his hand. Kit shakes it, surprise evident on her face. “I understand you're a medical professional as well?” he asks.

I watch the two of them as we all make our ways into the tangle of trees. Kit's shy at first, but soon she's happily discussing the differences in medical technologies. Dr. Gupta is fascinated by the Phydus patches, and Kit is eager to compare notes with another doctor—her apprenticeship with Doc had barely begun when she left him to come to Centauri-Earth.

I can't keep the smile off my face—seeing the two of them talk makes me hope that the people from Sol-Earth and my people might soon find some sort of common ground.

“These trees look so familiar.” I slip through the crowd, following the sounds of Amy's voice. “But yet, somehow, different.”

“They are,” a deep male voice answers her.

I pause, trailing a few people behind Amy and the young military man, Chris. When Kit was talking with the Earthborn doctor, I was happy, but seeing Amy and Chris together twists me up inside.

“I have to admit—I'm surprised,” Amy continues.

The trees seem unusual to me—but I've never seen a Sol-Earth tree to compare these to, at least not outside of pics and vids.

“They're like banyan trees,” Amy says. “You know, the way that they look like a bunch of small trees all knotted together.”

I don't know what banyan trees are, but Chris nods in agreement.

“Different, though,” she says again. “Everything
reminds
me of Earth, but not quite. Like this.” She pulls down a clump of straggly, string-like moss that wafts between the leaves of the trees, dangling in our way. “It's like Spanish moss, but purple and sticky rather than dry and gray.”

Chris plucks the sticky strings from Amy's hand. “This stuff is getting everywhere,” he says, making a big show of almost getting it in Amy's face.

“Ew, get it away!” Amy says, batting at the purple strings playfully.

“Why? Don't you
like
it?” Chris teases, dangling it closer to her.

I want to snatch the purple stringy moss from Chris's hands and shove it down his throat, but I don't. I hang back, glowering, and even though I know I'm being loons, I can't help but to keep listening to their conversation.

“I wonder what kind of animals are on this planet,” she continues, blithely ignoring the look of adoration on Chris's face.

“You mean other than large, reptilian birds that try to eat people?” Chris asks, his voice still flirting and playful. I roll my eyes.

“Yeah.” Amy looks up and around at the treetops. “There should be other birds. Animals. Something to eat that purple stuff, nests within the limbs of the trees. Squirrels and snakes, deer and rabbits.”

“This isn't Sol-Earth, Amy,” Chris reminds her gently.

“Oh, I know,” Amy says. “But it just seems like . . . something's missing.”

“I'm sure there are other creatures,” Chris says, and he really does sound positive of it. “But Colonel Martin was right: most animals would hide when nearly two thousand people go tromping through the forest. And besides, those reptilian birds would have needed something to eat before all of us tasty people got here!”

Amy squeals as Chris lunges at her in false menace. She jumps back, tripping on an exposed tree root. Chris grabs her and pulls her close to him, wrapping his huge, muscular arms around her in safety.

Enough. I stomp farther away, determined to get out of earshot of the two of them.

“Your eyes,” she says, staring up at him. I pause, unable to make myself look away from the image of Amy focusing all her attention on another guy.

“What about them?” Chris asks, a little defensive.

“They're kind of weird.”

“Wow. What a way to come on to a guy.” Chris shakes his head in mock disbelief.

“No, I'm serious.” Amy shoves him playfully.

“And who said I wasn't?”

“No, really. They're just so blue.”

“And yours are
so
green,” he says, mimicking Amy. “I don't know how you can see with those.”

I don't wait for her to answer him. I can see just fine, and I do
not
need to stand around and watch as Amy admires some other guy's eyes. I circle around to the other side of the crowd, then push my way to the front of the group. I try to squelch the jealous rage that's growing in my heart.

I might have the whole world now, but it's not enough if I don't get to share it with her.