Paradise 21 (22 page)

The more they talked about it, the angrier she got, resurrecting her old demons. “He loved his ideals more than he loved me, and I hated him for it. If it came down to it, he would have left me for his greater cause.”

“I’ll never leave you. Even though you do act like my mom.” Loot punched her shoulder and she smiled, ruffling his hair. The one good thing she’d done in her life was take him in. She hoped it made up for everything else.

They crested the ridge as the plumes of smoke grew on the horizon. The ruins of a primitive civilization stretched before them in piles of blackened soot.

“Cool, it’s a lizard man.” Loot scurried down the ridge to where a body lay burnt in the middle.

“Don’t touch it.” Tiff ran to keep up with him, her fingers staying on the grip of her gun. “We don’t know if the thing is diseased or venomous.”

Over her shoulder she heard Drifter call out, “I’ll cover you from the ridge.”

“Don’t shoot anything.” Tiff yelled back to him, “It may be Striker.”

“Wouldn’t want to hurt a hair on his head now, would we?”

“Not if you want to get off this planet, we don’t.”

As Loot bent over the strange, reptilian face, Tiff kept her distance and cocked her laser, peering through the debris for any signs of a live lizard creature.

Reckon caught up to them. When she turned to him, she saw fear in his eyes. His voice cracked on his words. “I thought they were colonists, not marauders.”

Tiff shrugged. “The lizard men must have posed some kind of threat or stolen something very valuable to them.” Although her explanation seemed logical, the carnage made Tiff uneasy.

Drifter finished sweeping the area, tucked his laser into its holster, and slid down the incline. “Well, these lizard people sure as hell pissed the colonists off.”

“I’ll say.” Loot covered a body with a piece of hide from a fallen tent. “Where is everyone?”

“Dead.” Reckon had unholstered his gun and held it in shaky hands. “Or they ran away.”

“Let’s hope so.” Tiff gestured in front of her. “Whoever these colonists are, let’s pray they’re long gone by now. Come on. Search the area. Look for any signs of Striker.”

As she picked her way among the ruins, Tiff had a sinking feeling that Striker had moved on.

“Looks like we missed the party.” Drifter threw a piece of burnt hide over his shoulder and kicked some broken tools in the debris. “There’s no sign of him, psychic girl.”

Reckon sat on a rock and wiped the sweat from his red forehead. “Yeah. Anything that happened here is long done.”

Loot walked to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. He spoke under his breath, “Don’t worry. We’ll find him.”

Tiff squeezed back tears as anger and frustration balled up like two fists inside her. She should be the one comforting the boy, but the finality of the dead colony only made her feel like a failure. She yelled a curse through gritted teeth and kicked a rock across the ruins so hard it left a dent in the metal sole of her boot.

“You stay here.” Loot handed her an almost empty water bottle. “I’ll make camp, ’kay?”

She couldn’t bring herself to answer him with her usual “Okay.” Hope seeped away from Tiff, like someone had cut a vital vein in her arm and let her blood flow out. Her body went limp and she gave in to the doubt lurking in her heart. She’d had a true vision when she’d felt like she’d never see the space station again. They were on a wild goose chase, marooned on this forsaken planet for the rest of their lives.

As Tiff looked for something to rip apart, she heard Drifter shout with a voice full of awe. “Oh man! Look at that!”

She raised her head, dreading whatever vile creation came at them next. No giant crab spider descended from above. Instead, blue light filled the sky, like an aurora borealis shining from somewhere in the distance.

“What do you suppose it is?” Loot stopped hammering a perimeter laser in the sand to shield his gaze.

“Can’t be electromagnetic or weather-related.” Reckon squinted his eyes. “Something on the ground is projecting it.”

“Don’t make camp.” Tiff reached out and clamped her hand on Loot’s arm. Her voice was desperate, but she couldn’t control it. Her anguish had bounced back to hope and her body filled with bubbles of anxiety. “We’re going over there.”

The hallway leading to the commander’s flight seat lay as empty as the vortex to a black hole. Barliss hesitated, wondering where the attendants had run off to. They weren’t supposed to leave the commander alone at any moment. Barliss buzzed the panel, requesting entry to the control deck, since his lieutenant’s status didn’t grant him clearance. After stating his name, the doors parted and disappeared into the walls. He straightened his uniform, took a deep breath and stepped in. Cool, conditioned air blew out, ruffling his hair. The tangy scent of chemicals tickled his nose. Wires sprouted from the man in the great chair in the center of the room like flowers from a vase, spreading up to connect to the ship’s systems and controls. Tubes holding gallons of pale liquids reflected the fluorescent lights surrounding the armrests of the chair.

“Good Evening, Lieutenant.” The pilot’s seat rotated to face him and the commander’s moon-white face wrinkled into a thin smile. He looked like a stick man in his firmly pressed uniform, the cotton still creased in perfect folds as if he never bent down.

Barliss bowed, looking down at his boots. He scolded himself for not polishing the scuffs before walking in. He felt like he trespassed in the commander’s sterile, pristine accommodations, tramping in with all kinds of germs and dirt. “Commander Gearhardt.”

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this.” The commander gestured to the wires protruding from his head like metal dreadlocks. “I’m getting older and it’s harder for me to disconnect. The risks are not worth the pretense.”

Barliss had no idea how old the commander was, but the man had been ancient even when Barliss had run around as a boy with plastic laser guns. One of the tubes bubbled and he tried not to stare as the liquid traveled down a clear hose and into the commander’s arm. “I understand.”

“The disadvantages are well worth the service. I have seen many years beyond my countrymen, experienced several generations of life, and, best of all, served the Guide most honorably.”

“You have, sir.” Barliss’ mind ticked away, wondering why the commander explained his duties to a lowly officer of the
New Dawn
. Was he dying? Barliss had thought the man was immortal. “Surely you’ll live to see the ship reach Paradise 21.”

“Dear Barliss,” the commander waved him closer. “My body is wasting away. Each month, these preservatives have less of an effect.” One gray-white eyebrow twitched up. “Which is why I’ve sent my attendants away and summoned you here.”

Barliss stood within arm’s reach, and yet the commander waved him closer still. He complied with awkward steps, careful not to crunch a wire or tube with his sand-crusted boots. No matter how many times he washed them, the red-orange grit wouldn’t go away. He stood so close, he could see the pink inflammation of the commander’s skin around each wire as it chaffed his head.

“Anything I can do to serve you, Commander.” Barliss tried to steady his voice, but he stumbled on each word.

The commander’s eyes shone bright with intensity. “I want you to follow in my footsteps and lead the
New Dawn
on its final push to Paradise 21.”

Shock hit Barliss, stinging him all over with numbness. The old man sat up in his chair expectantly, the wires pulled taut behind him.

“Sir?” Barliss questioned if he’d heard the commander correctly.

“Of course, you won’t have to plug in until you’re fully trained and even then you can disconnect to live your life as any normal man. It’s only in your later years you’ll be confined like me. There’s no pain, only a sense of greater meaning, a responsibility of purpose. It’s a big decision, one that will affect the rest of your life and lengthen it by threefold.” The commander raised his hand and waved it across the main sight panel as if he conducted the stars.

Barliss’ voice turned husky with wonderment. “I don’t know what to say. It’s a tremendous honor. There are many more officers above me that—”

“I’ve already chosen you. All you need to do is accept.”

The moment was surreal. Barliss felt like he was floating, unable to feel his feet touch the floor. The main control deck swirled around him, wires dancing around the commander like snakes on a Medusa’s head. Doubt seeped in, tainting a moment that should have been blissful. The extent of his unworthiness overwhelmed him, spreading like a disease through his mind.

The commander peered into his eyes so deeply, Barliss thought the old man stared at his soul. Fearing what the commander might see, Barliss stepped back.

“I know you have doubts about your abilities, Lieutenant. I’ve seen the evil devils manifest all along. Yet you persevered where many others have failed, fighting your insecurities, challenging the confines of your own genetic code.”

He placed a paper-light hand on Barliss’ shoulder and pulled him close. Barliss found himself oddly steadied. “I look at you and I see someone who will beat the odds, someone who has sacrificed everything for his station, someone who will make the right decisions when the time comes.” The old man’s weak breath fell on Barliss’ cheek like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. “I believe in you, even if you don’t fully believe in yourself.”

A door opened in Barliss’ inner heart. He’d locked it long ago when his father had frowned in disappointment at his poor test scores in emotional intelligence. His parents had created him with the promise of all the best genes, and yet he’d come out lacking, and the old man had never let him live it down. He’d earned every small victory without anyone’s support and had worked his way up the chain of command by his own political savvy. Now the most important person in all humanity offered him the dream he’d always wanted.

Licking his dry lips, something changed inside him. His fragile slew of insecurities turned to a hardened edge of resolution. Barliss grasped the commander’s hand in his own and shook it lightly.

The commander gazed back at him with expectation, weariness wrinkling around his bright eyes.

This time Barliss didn’t cringe or flounder. He stood up, tall as a man newly knighted. “I accept.”

…

Striker opened the hatch and stepped onto the platform of the elevator. Strange cooing noises, like whistles on the wind, surrounded him as he descended into the belly of the ship. The coral closed over his head.

Were the gentle tones birdcalls? Striker knew no desert buzzard could find its way into the elevator shaft. The platform hit the bottom, and the door opened to the main corridor. The sounds came through an internal speaker, resonating all over the ship.

The dead aliens spoke to him. He looked around the walls with wonder. They must have recorded their voices into the mainframe. The pattern of sounds repeated, like an ongoing message. He wished he’d found a phonetic guide.

Bright sapphire light illuminated the once-dim corridors. Feeling as though he walked through an entirely different ship, he headed for the main shaft to the central control room, where Aries had found him soldering a broken leg on one of the high stools. The screens on the walls teemed with symbols and sky charts of systems he’d never seen before as the ship rebooted and came alive. Although Striker had no linguistic skills, he could break through code, and if he figured out the patterns in the symbols, he could learn to fly the ship.

Excitement flashed through him and his hands shook as the blue light pulsed around him, casting the controls in a dreamy indigo glow. Striker chanced pressing a panel, and a blueprint of the ship appeared on the main screen. Symbols flashed around it, probably reporting diagnostic evaluations, but one area of the ship lit up brighter than the others. Striker drew his finger across the screen and pressed on the spot catching his eye. The blueprint enlarged that particular region and he recognized the egg hatchery down in the belly.

Was it a warning? Striker left the control room and descended into the lower level, jumping two and three steps at a time, afraid the egg chambers might open. Since they’d lasted this long, he didn’t want to be the cause of their destruction. He needed to be sure he’d secured their contents before taking off.

Mist flowed around his feet as he opened the door to the egg chamber and stumbled in, pressing his hot hands against the cool glass. The eggs sat exactly where he’d left them, eternally suspended in airtight containers and fog. Wiping a crust of glimmering specks from the glass, he pressed his forehead against the clear space to peer into the closest chamber.

The egg glowed in the dim light like a tiny, stolen moon. As the ship awakened around him, the light brightened and air circulated on the other side of the glass. Tiny dust particles swirled up around the base like shimmering flies. The egg twitched, a slight teetering off center and back again, and Striker pushed his face closer, his breath blooming in foggy spurts on the glass, and waited, watching for another movement.

“Come on,” he whispered under his breath, expecting the shell to crack and a feathery arm to reach out. Nothing happened. The egg lay as still as a fossil. Maybe he’d imagined the movement. He sighed, running his fingers through the wave of hair that always fell just above his eyes and tried to absorb all of the changes taking place around him. If it had moved, then his hope that some of the eggs were still alive was justified.