Quicksilver (33 page)

Sebastian reached out and laid his hand on my arm, right where he’d put the chip. He left it there for two seconds. Then, without a word, he got up and walked away.

One

Even finished, the EMP bomb didn’t look like much—more like a twelve-year-old’s Science Fair project than a weapon. It had none of the sleek, deadly menace of a rocket or the compact muscle of bundled dynamite. But all the right parts were there, and eight seconds after I pressed the button, it was going to send out an electromagnetic pulse strong enough to fry every piece of equipment in Mathis’s control room.

Or at least I hoped so, but there were no guarantees. So many of the components I’d seen back on the space station had used metals and minerals I’d never seen before. And quicksilver was the strangest and most unpredictable element of all.

“I still don’t get how this is supposed to work,” said Barry, craning over my shoulder. “I know you’ve got a timed detonator, so you don’t have to be there when it goes off. But how are you going to trick this relay thing into beaming up the bomb instead of you?”

He said
beaming up
with a relish that made my skin creep—but then, I reminded myself, he only half believed the story I’d told him. He knew I was afraid of being abducted by a scientist who might or might not be an alien, but if there was actual teleportation involved, he’d believe it when he saw it.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to get the chance. I glanced at Sebastian and Milo, who had just come up the ramp, and nodded.

“Hey!” Barry yelped, as Milo grabbed his arms and yanked them behind his back. “What are you doing?”

There was a loud rip as Sebastian tore off a length of duct tape and plastered it across Barry’s mouth. “Sorry about the beard,” he said. He wrapped another strip of tape around Barry’s wrists and lashed them together with a cable tie, while Milo dropped to the floor to work on Barry’s ankles.

“I’m sorry,” I said, as Barry’s eyes rolled wildly and his face turned red. “But I can’t ask you to be part of this. And trust me, you don’t want to see it.” Then I stepped back, and let Sebastian and Milo carry him out.

Alison came up to me when they had gone, forehead creased and eyes pained with the effort of ignoring my Noise. “Are you ready?”

My insides shriveled up like match-lit paper. I pressed a hand to my stomach, but it didn’t help. “No,” I blurted. “I mean, everything else is. But I’m not.”

Alison’s expression softened. “I know what that’s like.”

She did too. Because back on the station last summer, after Sebastian told her our attempt to find the right wormhole had failed, she’d volunteered to stand in for the missing long-range sensors and use her synesthesia to get us home. She’d been scared to start with, but the first wormhole she looked into had nearly broken her—the sensations were so overwhelming, so excruciating, that she’d thought she was losing her mind. I’d begged her not to give up, and in the end she hadn’t. But how she’d found the courage to put herself through that torment again and again, knowing each time how much it would hurt and what it would cost her, was something I’d never understood.

“How did you do it?” I asked her. “When you had to find our way home?”

Alison looked down at the floor. “It’s hard to explain,” she said. “I remember I got to the point where it was so bad, I couldn’t fight anymore. I felt like I’d come to the end of myself, and there was nothing left of me that was worth holding onto, even if I could. So … I let go.”

I frowned. “You mean you stopped caring what happened to you?”

“No. I mean I stopped trying to control it. Stopped thinking it was about me being strong enough or brave enough to save you and Sebastian, or even myself. Because I couldn’t do it, not on my own. And once I accepted that, it was like this enormous burden had rolled off my shoulders. I realized that everything that was happening or had happened or was going to happen next—it wasn’t
about
me. The universe was so much bigger than that. So everything was going to be okay, in the end.”

I stared at her. She gave an apologetic shrug. “Sorry. That probably doesn’t make much sense.”

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “It sounds like you had to be there.”

But I did understand, a little. If I hadn’t come to the end of myself this morning, I’d never have come up with a plan like this. And if I thought the whole thing depended on me, I’d never have the courage to go through with it.

Yet there was still so much that could go wrong. I couldn’t test out the EMP bomb to make sure it would work. I couldn’t be sure what range the relay’s beam would cover when it activated or whether Alison would give me the signal in time. And if Sebastian or Milo froze up, even for a second…

I shook the thought away. I couldn’t worry about those details right now. Either I was prepared to pick up this bomb and walk into the woodshop or I wasn’t, and that was all that mattered. Whether I had the courage to go through with this plan even knowing it could fail, or whether I’d rather give up than risk hurting myself for nothing.

Unless—the hope flashed into my mind, and I clung to it—I didn’t have to make that choice after all. “Are we sure the wormhole hasn’t closed already?” I asked. “I’ve been assuming the relay would go dead if there was no signal, but—”

“It’s still open,” Alison told me. “If it had closed, my synesthesia wouldn’t be this strong.” She winced and backed away. “I’m sorry. You’re just so loud.”

When I’d asked her to look at my arm, she’d known how much the Noise would hurt her. She also knew what would happen to her synesthesia when the relay went off. Yet she’d chosen to help me despite the cost, despite the danger. Because she cared about me, even after all I’d done.

And knowing that, how could I turn back now?

I picked up the EMP bomb from the workbench, hefting it in both hands. “Go ahead,” I said. “I’m right behind you.”

Zero Hour

Draped in tarpaulins and paint-speckled plastic, the wood-shop looked like an alien landscape. The smells of sawdust and grease mingled with the fumes of rubbing alcohol from Milo’s first aid kit, and as I sat by the worktop with the EMP bomb lashed to my wrist, I felt oddly light-headed, as though I’d been drugged.

I hadn’t, though. Medication didn’t always mix well with my alien biology, and it was too risky to start experimenting now. Milo was in charge of the kill switch and the timed detonator gave me a little leeway, but I didn’t want anything dulling my reflexes when I pressed that button.

I looked down at my forearm, where Alison had traced the outline of my chip—the lurking spider beneath my skin that only she could see. And it did resemble a spider, with the blob of quicksilver in the middle and sensor-tendrils branching out in all directions. But the “legs” were only a couple of centimeters long, so it shouldn’t be hard for Sebastian to avoid them. Or so I hoped, because the alternative was a massive seizure.

The marker brushed my skin again, drawing a line ten centimeters below the elbow. Not Alison this time: she’d dropped the pen and fled, tears of pain glimmering in her eyelashes. It was Milo who held the marker now, his dark head bent so low that the glasses were sliding off his nose. His hand shook, the line wobbled, and he breathed a curse.

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s just a guideline.”

He pushed his glasses back into place and straightened up, his eyes haunted. “You’re so calm,” he said. “How can you be so calm?”

I didn’t feel calm. My stomach was seething like an active volcano, and sweat trickled down my spine. But if I didn’t keep it together, Milo and the others would fall apart too. And I couldn’t afford that. I needed him. I needed all of them.

My free hand gripped the detonator, thumb hovering over the button. The strap that bound the EMP bomb to my wrist was too tight, blood throbbing beneath my reddened skin. I concentrated on my breathing—in through the nose, out through the mouth—while Sebastian worked quietly behind my back and Milo wrapped the tourniquet around my upper forearm. I was going to get through this. I was not going to panic. I was not…

A muffled clank sounded from the other room, unexpected but familiar. It took me two dazed seconds to realize that it was my phone, tucked inside my discarded hoodie. Someone had sent me a text—and since pretty much everyone else who’d ever texted me was here, it had to be one of my parents.

“I’ll get it,” said Milo. He ducked through the strip curtain and returned, frowning at the screen.

“What did they say?” I asked.

He shook his head, and set the phone aside. “Never mind. It can wait.”

“No, it can’t,” I said. “That was my dad, wasn’t it? What’s the message?”

“Look, you don’t need this right now. Let’s just—”

“Tell me!” I shouted.

Milo closed his eyes, as though I’d exhausted him. Then he picked up the phone and turned it toward me.

It wasn’t from Dad. It was my mother.

–DECKARD WAS HERE. I’VE CALLED DAD. HE’S COMING TO GET YOU.

As though running could save me now, from Deckard or anyone else. And the thought of Dad barging into the maker-space, finding me like this, was unbearable.

“Lock the door,” I said to Alison, but Sebastian spoke before she could move: “It’s locked.” He crouched in front of me, laying a steadying hand on my shoulder. “I won’t let Deckard hurt you,” he said. “Don’t worry about him.”

“I’m not,” I said thickly.

He gave me a penetrating look. Then he stood up. “I’ve taken the guides off,” he said, “and cleaned the blade. I’ll need you to lift your elbow.”

My hand felt slick on the detonator. I flexed my fingers, willing the cramped muscles to relax. “All right,” I said, and a cool metal plate slid underneath my forearm as Sebastian pushed the saw into position.

A sliding compound miter saw, to be exact—also known as a chop saw. It consisted of a large circular blade suspended vertically over a metal platform, with a slit through its center so the blade could be fully lowered. The blade was designed with a hand grip at the top, so the operator could pull it down with as much strength as necessary to make a clean cut through the wood or metal below.

Or in this case, through the flesh and bone of a scared alien girl who might or might not survive the operation but either way would never use her right hand again.

My righteous right hand,
Mrs. Park’s Bible verse had said. I was fairly well ambidextrous, but even so, I depended on that hand for so many things. Without it, what kind of maker would I be? Not very righteous, I suspected. I’d be slow. Clumsy. Dependent on other people’s help. No doubt I’d learn to compensate eventually, but I’d never forget what I’d lost.

“Wait,” said Milo. “I have to tighten the tourniquet.” He bent over me, pulled the strap snug, and twisted the pin until my arm throbbed in protest. “Okay, I think it’s good.”

I looked down at the sleek, professional-looking band, clearly designed for the purpose. “You got this from your mom?” I asked.

“Yeah. I told her I had to do a presentation on emergency medicine for health class.” He straightened up, his eyes avoiding mine. “She was thrilled. Drove back to work and borrowed a whole bunch of stuff.”

“Tori.” Sebastian spoke quietly. “We’d better get started.” He looked over his shoulder at Alison. “Ready?”

Alison was breathing hard, freckles stark against the whiteness of her face. She’d pressed herself against the opposite wall, as far away from my Noise as she could get, and she looked ready to faint at any minute. But she nodded.

Milo moved behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and holding me tight. He said huskily, “I’ve got you. Try to relax.”

“Just don’t forget to let go of me afterward, okay? If it takes me, and you’re too close—”

Milo bowed his head, silky hair brushing my cheek. His lips moved softly against the nape of my neck as he whispered, “I know.”

He didn’t want to watch what Sebastian was about to do. I didn’t blame him. I clenched my right hand around the strap of the EMP bomb and poised my left thumb over the detonator. My throat ached, and my mouth felt dry. Any second now, it would begin.

“Niki!”
Dad’s voice echoed from the corridor outside, muffled but frantic. He was knocking on the door—no, pounding on it, with those big bear’s paws of his. But it was a heavy steel door with a deadlock, and it wasn’t going anywhere. “Niki, open the door!”

Sebastian looked at me for confirmation. I replied in a harsh whisper:

“Do it.”

The saw buzzed to life, its whine escalating to a scream. Alison shrank back, covering her ears. Sebastian’s lips moved, inaudible but clear: “God have mercy.”

And the spinning blade came down.

The pain was white-hot, searing, breathtaking. It bit through my skin and ground straight down to the bone; it strangled the yell that had bubbled up in my throat and turned my insides to slurry. As the saw ground to a halt in mid-cut, Sebastian shaking with the effort of holding it steady, I felt darkness whirling in from the edges of my vision—

No!

I fought for consciousness with all my remaining strength, clinging to my own agony like a lifeline. I had to stay alert until the chip in my arm registered that my life was in danger, until the relay came zooming through the doorway to rescue me, until the instant I heard Alison cry out—

“NOW!”

Sebastian’s hand jerked down. The slice of hot steel through my forearm gave way to a sickening rush of cold air, and the weight of the EMP bomb dropped away. My left thumb shook and slipped around the detonator, groping for the button. Where was it? I could feel the chip in my arm vibrating, and I knew I had only nanoseconds left—

All at once I was yanked backward, breath crushed out of me by the force of Milo’s arms. The detonator tumbled out of my hand as I went flying away from the workbench, speechless with pain and the shock of failure—

I crashed to the floor with Milo beneath me. His head smacked the concrete with a sickening
crack
, and he went limp. Panicked, I scrabbled to get off him as my ears roared and my skin began to tingle—