Wasn't in my nature to let things go, either. As I looked at Clarice, I thought about how I could never turn my back on her again, and I had to sleep sometime. Killing her would be as easy as using that garrote she'd brought, or stuffing a sheet down her throat and holding her still until she choked to death. But where did that put me? I was already third-strike antisocial. I'd go to one of the max houses for sure, and I couldn't deal with that. No rehab, just prison, with hard-time crims. Way harder than Clarice, or anyone else in here. Surviving max was for monsters.
"You going to kill me?" Clarice asked as if she could read my mind. I sat back, still watching her. I also saw the red alarm light flashing on the camera, which meant security had been alerted that we were out of view. They'd be coming to check. Any minute.
"Not right now," I said. "I've got to rewash all these sheets."
She blinked. "Why? You can't trust me."
"It'll take Deluca a while to catch on. So enjoy the hell out of those movies, eat all the special meals. Once he figures it out, he'll cash out your account balance and bribe somebody else."
"Might pay somebody to come after me too."
"He might," I agreed. "Chance you take, friend."
She gave me a look I couldn't read, and I stood up and offered her a hand. After a long hesitation, she took it, bent, and picked up the cord.
I grabbed it from her and tucked it away in a pocket.
She grinned. "Can't blame a girl for trying."
Right on cue, a guard walked in the door, trying to look casual. We both turned toward him, and I had a moment's doubt what Clarice would do.
But she winked, picked up an armload of sheets, and said, "Let's get busy."
After making sure Clarice understood that she wouldn't get a second chance, I got a medical bot to see to my broken finger. Didn't even hurt. I was coming out of therapy when the same guard who'd escorted me on arrival--the polite, muscular one--found me and pulled me aside. "Miss Cole," she said. "Come with me."
"Why?"
Wariness crawled over me. Clarice had gone after me in a blind spot, so nobody else had seen, but maybe she'd ratted about the fight. No, that didn't make sense. She wasn't the type, and she had more to lose.
"You'll see," the guard said with an inscrutable look.
There was something odd about all this. About her too. She was still polite, but there was something else going on. She stood farther away, almost . . . reverent in her regard. Maybe they did see the fight. Maybe this is how they treat badasses at Camp Kuna.
I spotted Clarice as we strode down the hall; she gave me a startled look, eyes widening, and I decided she had no idea what was going on, either. So, not about the attack. Something else.
As we approached the common room, the hot buzz of conversation swelled. Lots of voices, all of them excited. What the hell?
Everything went quiet as I walked in, and I felt disoriented, like a security hi-beam had hit me in the face. I wasn't used to being stared at.
Belatedly I noticed that the common room was filled with prisoner neon, plus new arrivals in designer suits. I focused on a small woman with the fixed expression of someone who'd had too many cosmetic tweaks. Her platinum blond hair didn't suit her; neither did the bloodred lipstick. While some might find her attractive, she scared the hell out of me. She wore a Camp Kuna ID tag that read KAMRYN KOSTLITZ, CEO.
The boss.
When she stepped forward and smiled, the rest of her face didn't move. She extended her hand, and I ignored it. "What is all this?"
Kostlitz somehow turned the fact that I'd refused her greeting into a gesture of presentation to the people standing nearby. "Zara Cole, ladies and gentlemen!" As if I was some star coming onstage.
Then I realized that was exactly what was going down. The other inmates displayed a full range of emotional response: shock, anger, and delight. Drone cameras hovered all around, catching me from three different angles, and there were delegates in expensively tailored royal blue, with white patches on the breast. I knew that logo. Hell, everyone knew that logo. It was playing on every screen in the world right now: an elliptical shape that mirrored the Leviathan's shape, etched in silver and gold, set on a stylized star, with a tricky H hidden in the design.
The man in the center of the group stepped forward, and some folks skipped a breath.
Marko Dunajski.
I didn't follow the Honors, but hell if you could avoid knowing who he was. Pretty as a movie star. Tall. Dark haired. Fair skinned, with a Slavic point to his chin and broad, strong cheekbones. He looked like every hero fantasy come to life, right in the common room of Camp Kuna, and none of the kids here would ever forget it.
A year ago, he'd been plucked from university (Cambridge. I'd unwillingly watched his bio in hour forty-six of the Honors retrospective) and sent out to space. Now he was back to meet his successor.
"Zara Cole," he said, and walked forward to extend his hand. "I'm Marko Dunajski. Welcome to the Honors."
Interlude: Nadim
I am waiting.
Chastened.
Typhon calls me weak and easily swayed. Not only by the stars but by those we study, searching for the answer to a question the Elders do not allow us to ask. Compliance is required to pass the trials and continue on the Journey.
Many of my cousins have gone ahead. I should have proceeded already, but I . . . I cannot stop the questions. And I cannot deny that even in my failures, I find satisfaction.
Impossible to kill the spark of anticipation, because this waiting means everything begins anew, and the ones who come offer a chance for me to make it right. I have their names, but I cannot yet know their colors or why the Elders chose them until they arrive.
I tell myself that this time will be different.
This time I will succeed. I will complete the test and then, finally, I can follow the song that I am not supposed to hear, a song of pain, and loss, and death. It rings over me in ebbing waves, sad as parting, deep as gravity. These are secrets I am not meant to know, questions I am not supposed to ask. My cousins vanish into the black, and their songs go quiet. The stars sing on.
This time will be different.
Closing voiceover by Garry Moscowitz, director of the banned documentary Shadows in the Sky:
Since the arrival of the Leviathan on that fateful and historic day, we've gained so much perspective. Humanity is not alone in the universe. After generations of exposure to science fiction stories, that might not have come as a shock, but it still had a profound effect . . . but what effect? Did we feel less important, less special? In a way, that seems to be true. But there's an argument that this was not a bad thing.
Humanity's hubris had, by that time, led us into a mire that was slowly, steadily drowning us, and for all that we saw the signposts, we kept on walking right into the mud, the rising tide. Arguing over whether the mud was just temporary, whether the tide would continue to rise. Why did we do it? In part, because we thought that humanity was implicitly special. That we had been chosen.
The arrival of the Leviathan, timed to save us from our own last, gasping folly, might have reinforced that belief; in some people, it did. Some religions became more convinced than ever that humanity had a destiny greater than any other species. But for many people, it became the moment that the opposite came clear: that humanity, for all its cleverness, was not unique. And what is not unique can be replaced.
Maybe the loss of that certainty did some good. It refocused our energy away from our greed and toward what we objectively identified, as a species, as good: caring for one another. Caring for our world, as good stewards.
In return, the Leviathan, who some see as angels, and a few as devils . . . the Leviathan gave us a true path to the stars. To touch, as the old poem says, the face of God.
But what did we find there, in the black? The Honors chosen to go return with wonderful stories; yet the ones who Journey never come back, never send us word. We're told there are reasons, that they
've gone so far that communication is impractical, and maybe that's true. But maybe, just maybe, these angels, these creatures, these shadows that pass across our skies and into the dark . . . maybe they aren't telling us everything.
And maybe we need to ask that question before we send more of our best, our brightest, out into the black. Ancient Greece sent its children as tributes to the Minotaur.
If there is a monster waiting out there among the stars, we deserve to know.
CHAPTER FOUR
Breaking Big
MY FIRST IMPULSE was to hit Marko Dunajski on his perfect chin.
I didn't, mostly because I'd get punished, and besides, there were a lot of cameras staring in my direction. The usual code of silence wouldn't apply here.
But I wanted to hit him, because I was afraid, and I hated being afraid. I already knew--however impossible it was--why Marko Dunajski was here. If I couldn't go to Mars with my mom, I sure couldn't commit to living inside of a sentient alien, where I'd be trapped in the weirdest way possible. Claustrophobia didn't begin to describe my issues, because it wasn't just enclosed spaces. The idea of being locked down for a whole year? Hard pass.
I defaulted to the philosophy that had served me my whole life. When in doubt, attack first. It made people back off, provided a moment to plan the next move or get a head start on an exit strategy.
I wasn't supposed to be staring into the cameras, but I couldn't help that; I didn't want to look at Marko, because he shouldn't be here, saying my name. Had to look at him, though, because he was talking to me again.
"I'm sorry for the surprise, but that's the way it's done," he was saying. He spoke English, but with an eastern European accent, and it took a second for me to realize he was trying to apologize. To me. I wanted to leave, but I could feel the guards hovering back there, blocking my retreat. "Are you all right?"
"Push off." As comebacks go, it wasn't my best. "I don't want any part of this mess. Leave me alone."
He hadn't expected that, for sure, and the shock on his face almost made me laugh. What's the matter, pretty boy? No one ever said no to you before?
I turned around, and sure enough, the gate was shut, with two guards standing between me and the way to my cell. They were staring at me like I'd grown another head. Kamryn Kostlitz, CEO, looked like she might have a stroke. Her sweet PR opportunity was turning into a disaster.
Someone stepped close to me from my right, and I snapped my head in that direction to stare at her. Clarice held up both hands and wiggled her fingers to show she wasn't carrying. "Hey," she said. "Come here."
I didn't want to, but she took my arm and pulled me toward her, and before I could put an elbow in her face, she whispered, "Play nice! You don't spit on a golden ticket. You cash in."
"I'm not some damn Honors pick!"
Clarice's mouth set in a hard line. "Say yes. You walk away from this, you think we're not going to kick the fool out of you?" She suddenly grinned, but her eyes stayed mean. "Besides. Makes a good excuse for why I couldn't kill your ass. Might save my life."
I yanked free of her grip, but she had a point. If I was dressed in a shiny Honors uniform, I didn't have to be afraid of drones or slick monsters in suits. Deluca would have to give up; there'd be too much splash if anything happened to me. I wasn't safe in here like I'd hoped. I wouldn't be safe out there in the Zone, either.
But I'd be safe as an Honor.
Plus, there were undeniable perks, including compensation for my family. I didn't give a shit about my dad, but Mom and Kiz . . . Yeah, they deserved this payout; I'd cost Mom plenty with fines, court costs, rehab fees. I almost laughed. I couldn't picture myself standing by some podium with the bands playing, shaking hands with the World Union President. I could barely exist for a few days in the sterile bubble most people called the world; the grit of the Zone was where I belonged.
As I wavered, weighing the pros and cons, Kamryn Kostlitz sidled up to me. "Say yes. Say it now. If you humiliate me, I'll send you to Barraga."
That was the bogeyman of institutions, where they stuck the no-hopers. It wasn't a place you went to be fixed, only caged.
My jaw clenched. I'd been on the verge of accepting, but I didn't like being pushed. "You got no cause."
"Don't I?" She had shark eyes, now that I was looking at her up close. "But I can think of a million reasons, and an . . . interesting offer just came in."
I could easily imagine her selling me out to Deluca. There would be documentation on my transfer to Barraga, but I wouldn't end up there. Having Kostlitz's hand out to Deluca meant that my time was up here at Camp Kuna, no matter what.
Time to make the best of the bad.
Pinning on a smile, I spun and walked back to Marko Dunajski. He seemed slightly amused, which made my knuckles ache with wanting to punch him. I controlled the urge and managed to force something like a smile. "Sorry," I said. "It's a shock."
"I imagine," he said, and leaned a little forward, like we were friends. "I don't think they ever sent for anyone from rehab before."
"Why the hell do they want me?"
Marko's smile looked genuine. He'd probably practiced it for the cameras. "We all have value, Zara. And we all come from different circumstances. They don't choose us for what we've done, but for what we can do." When I didn't answer, because I didn't know what to say to that bullshit, he lost some of the shine. "Are you really turning down the offer? Because that would be . . ."
"Unprecedented," said one of the sharply dressed media clones standing nearby. She looked like she'd been turned out in a doll factory. An expensive one. "Nobody's ever declined. Millions of people would kill for a chance!"
Being chosen was like winning the lottery, but I'd never even bought a ticket. On the other hand, since they were offering, I'd be a fool not to sign on. In a year, this would all be over and I'd be back with a permanent celebrity sheen. Harder for Deluca to get me then.
I looked right into her bio-grafted head-cam, that hungry, beady third eye that never blinked, and gave it my best, brightest smile. "I'm not turning it down," I said. "That would be foolish." I turned to Marko and held out my hand. "I'm very pleased to be, uh, Honored."
He had a firm grip, but his hands had the smooth, pampered feel of a man who'd never picked through garbage or curled up cold in the ruins. He'd had a perfect life in a perfect home with a perfect family, and when he'd gotten picked as an Honor, it had probably just seemed inevitable.
"Congratulations," Marko said, and this time, his grin was real. I could see it in his eyes. "You won't be sorry. You're traveling with Nadim, and I like him very much."
"Who's Nadim?"
His eyebrows rose, just a little. "Our ship. Sorry, your ship now. We will move on, Zhang Chao-Xing and I, to a ship traveling farther. We have been accepted for the Journey."
Sure. "The Journey." It was a bigger thrill than being an Honor, or so they said. Sounded like a terrible idea. But I nodded and smiled anyway. Ship. My ship. I felt a little sick.
The Camp Kuna inmates were whispering to each other, wide-eyed and lovestruck . . . if not with Marko, then with the whole idea of being plucked from the ashes, like the old Cinderella stories, to go to the stars. Only the Honors and the lucky few chosen for Mars colony ever left Earth. I was giving these people hope.
Marko took my hand, raised it high, and we turned to face the head-cams as they broadcast this out to everybody on Earth. I was the feel-good story of the year. My fellow inmates started clapping and hooting and yelling, some through tears of joy. Like I'd earned something. Accomplished something.
Like I wasn't a person anymore, just some empty space where they saw themselves, someday.
Marko had brought me a uniform. I guessed I shouldn't have been too surprised about that; after all, the Honors Committee found me, arranged for all the media coverage. They'd know my size too.
It fit almost too well. The trousers were tailored perfectly in nu-silk, light and warm at once. The dark blue jacket button
ed over a nu-silk white shell, and my name was embossed in gold on the plate just above my left breast. Oh, they'd included new underwear too. Comfortable boots. Nice.
Part of me had to wonder if Deluca was behind this, somehow. To the best of my knowledge, the Honors program was inviolable, but that bastard had a long reach. Maybe Kostlitz had pushed me toward this because of him.
Probably not, though? She wanted the free PR for Camp Kuna. Plus, I had to be tougher to get to, now that all the cameras were aimed at me.
Still, I didn't relax. As I came out of the changing room, I got another spontaneous round of applause, this time from the guards and Camp Kuna administration, who'd gathered to shake my hand on the way out. The same people who'd stared at me with a cool, assessing air, who'd marked my files and assigned me to menial work, now looked at me with stars in their eyes.
Kostlitz posed for a holo with me. I shook hands because it was the only way to get through them, and beyond the wall of Camp Kuna uniforms, I glimpsed Marko's blue and white. It felt like a relief when I made it to his side. He shook hands with as many as he could and signed personal H2s on the way out.
The media ate it up.
Since Clarice was on record as my friend, I hugged her. "Stay out of trouble."
"Here? Not a challenge. Shit, you just made me special."
I had to laugh as I turned away. I whispered to Marko, "Is it okay if I say good-bye to Dr. Yu?"
After some juggling, we found my head doctor in the crowd. "Already wishing you well, Zara. Take care of yourself." His sincerity touched me, but I couldn't show it.
That's it. I'm out of here. We walked out into the large, grassy exercise yard and headed for the gates. They cranked open. The guards actually clapped.
Once we were outside, Marko turned and held up his hands as the camera drones pressed in closer. "Okay, okay, enough," he said. "Let Zara have a little time, all right? You know how much of a shock it can be. You remember me when I was picked?"
He gave them a slack-jawed expression of surprise, and some of the media types behind us laughed. The drones hissed away, nearly silent in the open air. I was sure at least one or two were still tagging us from a distance, and the people with head-cams were probably taking long-range vid, but it felt like I had some privacy again.