An eternity passes. Nobody moves. The silence is deafening. I feel each rapid beat of my heart, hear each pulse in my ears. Sixteen people with fifteen guns, poised and ready. Deadlocked. One stray twitch of a trigger finger and we all go down.
“All right, fine. Since we seem to be at a bit of an impasse, allow me to further emphasize my point. I am going to disable this gun’s stunner safety. If you do not immediately drop your weapons, I will kill him. Simple as that.” Wolfe clicks his gun into kill mode; half a second later, Adam reluctantly drops his.
“Good boy. Now, the rest of you.”
Luke and Charlie lower their weapons to the ground, where they are quickly retrieved by nearby guardsmen.
“You too, little bird.”
I glower at Wolfe as I crouch down and place my gun on the grass. When I stand back up, Adam, Luke, Charlie, and Tom all have their hands raised—palms up—in surrender.
“You win,” Adam says. “We’ll come with you. Just don’t hurt him.”
Wolfe smiles—a wicked, toothy grin. “Now those are words I like to hear.” He lowers his gun from Tom’s back and shoves him forward.
In the split-second Wolfe breaks eye contact to holster his weapon, eight arms simultaneously fling downward. All fifteen guns careen out of their owners’ hands and fly into the open shuttle bay.
“No!” Wolfe shrieks.
“Now!” Adam yells.
Luke turns on the spot and sprints into the bay, making a beeline for the sleek silver ship.
With a grunt and a wave of her arm, Charlie’s FX sends six of the approaching guardsmen off their feet. Adam clotheslines one of the guards, knocking him to the ground, then body slams another. Tom throws an elbow backwards and connects with Wolfe’s nose before launching himself forward into the melee. They move like a dance: graceful, lithe, but powerful. The now-unarmed guards never stood a chance.
A lone guardsman hurtles toward me and instinct kicks in. I drop to the ground just as he’s reaching out to grab me, jutting my leg out and causing him to trip. He hits the ground face-first. I roll him over, my fingers curled into fists, but he’s already unconscious.
Luke’s victorious cry suddenly rings out from the shuttle bay, followed by the unmistakable roar of an engine. Charlie, Adam, and Tom all immediately turn and run into the shuttle bay.
“Terra, come on!” Adam shouts as he races past me.
I pick myself up off the ground, and am just about to charge after them, when I see it.
Wolfe, with one hand still blocking the blood pouring from his nose, reaches into his boot and draws a small gun. It is no stunner special. It’s old. The kind that I’ve only ever seen in movies. The kind that is actively outlawed due to the shatter risk it poses to the UV filter.
With a bloody grin, Wolfe raises the pistol and aims it directly at Tom’s back.
“No!” I cry, leaping forward. I don’t really have a goal; I know I won’t be able to reach him, won’t be able to push him out of the way. I just know that I have to do something.
The pistol goes off with a deafening bang.
I fall to the ground.
“Terra!” Adam rushes back, crouching next to me as I clutch at my right leg, a strangled cry ringing through my throat. Blood seeps out of the bullet-hole in my thigh, painting my hands red as I try to stem its flow.
Wolfe raises his gun again; with a flick of his wrist, Adam knocks the weapon out of Wolfe’s hands before slamming him backwards into the ground.
The pain is like nothing I’ve felt before. The bullet hit me high on the outside of my leg, almost at my hip. It feels like my leg is both on fire and being doused in ice. In one moment it’s burning, and the next it’s as if the same spot is being stabbed over and over.
Adam pulls off his shirt and wraps it around the wound, tying it as tightly as he can into a makeshift tourniquet. The fabric is soaked with crimson in seconds.
“Adam! Let’s go!” Charlie calls. She and Tom are already at the shuttle.
“Can you stand?” Adam says to me.
The mere act of lifting my leg is unbearable. I choke on the air as I try to breathe through the pain, but it’s too much.
“I can’t,” I sob.
“It’s okay, I’ll help you.” He throws my arm over his shoulder and raises his hand, telekinetically bearing my weight.
We’ve just gotten me upright when I hear the shouting. I look back to see a sea of black uniforms barreling toward us. Reinforcements have arrived. The wave of guardsmen begins preemptively firing off stun shots. One clips Adam in the arm and we both collapse.
I scream in pain. Adam jumps up and hooks his good arm around me. He drags me inside the shuttle bay and tucks me into a corner where the oncoming guards don’t have a clear shot.
I gag myself with my fist, biting down to muffle my wails. Falling has more than renewed my pain; it’s somehow sharper, more piercing now. Adam looks at me, his face filled with terror as the pings of missed stun shots reverberate off the bay walls. They’re getting closer.
“What do I do?” he says, his voice constricted, panicked. “What can I do?”
I bite my cheek to distract myself from the pain enough to speak. “Go. You need to get out of here.”
“No.”
“If you don’t go now, you’ll never get out.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“You have to. I’m not the only one who needs you. Please, Adam, you have to run.”
“Adam! What the hell are you doing?” Tom’s voice is barely audible between the sound of the ship’s engine and the oncoming horde.
Adam stands. He hesitates.
“Go!” I scream.
“I
will
come back for you.” He kisses me fiercely before dashing to the back of the shuttle bay. He hurtles himself at the ship just as it lifts off, latching his good arm onto the rungs of a short ladder on the side. The engine’s thunderous roar vibrates in my bones. I turn my gaze back to the cavalry that has almost reached me. I put my hands flat on the ground to rotate for a better vantage point and I feel something hard beneath my palm.
I curl my fingers around Wolfe’s pistol just as the first guardsmen arrive. They don’t even notice me. The ship rising overhead throws them into a frenzy—they begin firing directly at the hull. Their shots deflect uselessly and I almost laugh, though whether it’s in response to their epic failure or because of the blood loss, I can’t say. Then, as I watch in horror, the ship spins to reveals Adam still hanging from its side, fully exposed.
No.
My arm acts of its own accord, raising the pistol and aiming it at the nearest guard, his gun pointed clearly at Adam. I close my eyes.
Bang.
There’s a yelp and the sound of rushing footsteps. I open my eyes to see one of the other guards fire off three stun shots in my direction. One grazes my outstretched hand and sends it into spasm, forcing me to drop the pistol.
The rest of the guardsmen rush toward me and I know it’s over. My leg throbs in rhythm with my heart, and the adrenaline starts to leave my body. I am simultaneously sweltering and freezing. My body is shutting down. Two guardsmen drag me out of the shuttle bay by my wrists. There is a dull pop as one of my shoulders is wrenched from its socket, but it’s nothing compared to the still-searing pain in my leg.
My vision starts to blur. I watch the ship glide away, and try to focus on what little I can see of Adam’s form, still hanging onto the side of the ship. Someone thrusts an arm down to pull him up—Tom, maybe—but blackness overtakes me and I don’t get to see what happens next.
Chapter 27
I wake in a daze. The room is too bright, and my eyes are bleary. I can’t move; something pins me to whatever I’m lying on, but when I look there’s nothing holding me down. I try to sit up, which only causes my shoulder to pulse with pain. A clear tube runs out from the inner crook of my elbow, but I can’t see what it connects to.
Two blurry figures hover over me, speaking in hushed tones.
“She’s waking up,” someone says. A man, I think.
“Do it quickly then, before she’s fully lucid,” says a second voice. Feminine, but gruff.
Firm hands grip both sides of my shoulder. There’s pressure, then a pinch, then an earsplitting wail. It takes a full second for me to realize I’m the one making the sound. The pain of my shoulder being popped back into place makes me swiftly aware of the equally excruciating pain in my leg. My panic is worsened by my inability to move in response to the agony. Tears run down my temples and mix with my hair, which is pooled loosely around my head.
“Guess we didn’t give her enough,” the man says. The pain brings coherency back to my senses and I absorb my surroundings. I’m back in the laboratory, amongst the row of cots in the back. My attendants wear white masks and caps, leaving their blue eyes exposed as they stare down at me.
“Just load her up again,” says the woman dismissively. “Enough to knock her out until tomorrow. Then the morning shift can deal with her.”
A light purple liquid runs down the tube into my arm. Warmth spreads up my body and the pain starts to dissipate. Darkness begins to close in around the edges of my consciousness again.
“Wait…” I say feebly.
Both of my attendants suddenly straighten up and turn to face the same direction. Someone is speaking, someone new, but I can’t make out what he or she is saying. As I slip under, however, I hear a familiar sound. It sounds like clacking.
* * *
When I wake up, I am sitting upright. The cot has been adjusted so that the top half is raised, giving me something to prop up against. A wire is pinned to my chest just below my clavicle, connecting me to a monitor that beeps idly. I’m wearing a baggy hospital gown. Glad to see that I can move my extremities again, I grab a fistful of the gown’s scratchy white material and rub it between my fingers. A thick bandage is wrapped around the entire upper quadrant of my leg and my shoulder throbs dully. I’m still hooked up to the IV, but whatever chemical had rendered me immobile appears to have left my system.
“Finally,” says a bored voice. “Took you long enough.”
Prime Morrigan Whitlock sits in a comfortable-looking chair next to my bed, watching me over the top of her glasses.
“Leave us.” She dismisses two guardsmen I hadn’t noticed.
“What happened?” I say groggily.
“What do you remember happening?” she asks.
“There was shooting,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut as I try to recall the last moments at the shuttle bay. “Shooting and chaos and…” The image of Adam dangling from the side of the airborne ship flashes in my mind. “They were going to kill him. They were trying to shoot him down.”
“Mmm, yes, I can see how that would be a very alarming scene to witness. Which is why, I assume, you felt the need to interfere?”
“Oh God,” I say, remembering the way Wolfe’s pistol shuddered as I pulled the trigger. The beeping on the monitor speeds up. “Did I… did I…?”
“What? Oh, you’re talking about Guardsman Yao. No, no, don’t worry, you’re not a murderer. You barely even grazed him.”
I exhale long and slow. When I inhale again, my clarity begins to return, and I finally realize exactly who it is I’m talking to. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to make sure you’re all right,” she says brightly.
“Right. Because my wellbeing is of the utmost importance to you,” I say.
“It is, Terra. At least for the time being. Your alien bodyguards may have escaped for now, but I have full confidence that they’ll be back for you.” She stands up and walks to my bedside. Clack, clack.
I glare at her.
“I will admit, their telekinetic abilities were a complete surprise. I’m impressed they managed to hide them from us for so long. Admittedly, we should have been more prepared.” She purses her lips. “Though, really, how can you prepare for something like that? Ah well. When they return for you, we will be ready.”
I try to calculate how long it could be before Adam comes back for me, trying to assess whether the Tribunal would really be able to make a stand. I can’t imagine it’ll take him more than a few days on the ground to regroup and ante up, and now that he’s reunited with the others… Finally, the odds seem like they’re in our favor.
“They barely broke a sweat taking out Wolfe’s team,” I say. “You’re kidding yourself if you think you’ll be able to recapture them. And even if you did, you can’t seriously believe they’d ever help you again. They know what you were using them for.”
“Oh? And what might that be?”
I steel my expression and set my lips in a hard line. I’ve already said too much.
Prime Whitlock surveys me with raised eyebrows. “Ah. So, you’ve heard about the conversion project then.”
I loosen my clenched jaw, but manage to keep my mouth closed. I narrow my eyes at her defiantly.
“Come on, out with it,” she says. “You must have
something
to say about it. How much do you know?”
She’s goading me on purpose, but I can’t stay quiet. “I know you’re trying to leave this planet in the dust,” I say. “Simultaneously leaving us to rot, of course.”
A smirk flickers across her face.
“Don’t you realize that if you abandon the groundworld you will be essentially committing genocide?” I continue angrily. “The Tribunal would be singlehandedly responsible for the death of every terrestrial—over half the human race. How can you live with yourself?”
“Progress requires sacrifice, Terra. You think we’re these great villains, hell-bent on destroying your peace and happiness. But we are only trying to protect the longevity of our species. We are here to ensure the continuation of the human race, and we can’t do that on a dying planet. So yes, we want to leave. And, no, there isn’t enough room for everyone. But we are not the bad guys.”
I snort. “Covering all of this up, deceiving the people who trust you, who work tirelessly for you? Kidnapping people, holding them against their will, forcing their labor? You can’t be serious. You are tyrants. You take advantage of our trust and use our labor to fuel your own selfish plans.”
Whitlock rolls her eyes. “Take advantage of you? We give you purpose. Where would you terrestrials be without us? Before the Tribunal took control, the groundworld was a cesspool of crime and violence. At least with our guidance we’ve crafted you into something useful.”