Dove Arising (27 page)

The Committee members rise when they see me. Like a string of robots, the others in the room follow. Skat yawns.

Though flustered, I salute. Is this the proper way to greet the most powerful people on the Moon?

“No need for formalities.” Cassini’s voice rustles like desiccated leaves. As he speaks, his creeping fingers tug at individual strands of his beard.

“We took time out of our busy schedules to meet
you
.” Hydrus’s voice oozes like maple sap, as saccharine as the unhealthy food he must have eaten to make his neck disappear.

“The youngest captain in our military history,” drawls handsome Nebulus, whose silhouette is like that of an Earthbound marble statue. The youngest Committee member, he was only in his twenties when he ascended to the post. He begins scrolling through his handscreen—maybe he’s checking my stats.

“And a girl, no less,” Andromeda adds. Her hair, as curly as Callisto’s, is almost as short as a man’s, but her body is rounded enough to peg her as a woman. She gives Nebulus a look of disapproval—he shouldn’t be on his handscreen during a meeting—and he puts both hands down by his sides. Even Committee members have to watch their manners, I think. But only with each other.

“What we’re asking of you,
Captain
Phaet, is
indispensably
important,” says Hydrus. “A recent Earth recon mission has informed us that Pacifia may be planning another strike on lunar territory.”

Searching for emotion in eyes I cannot see is unnerving, to say the least.

“We need someone
competent
, not necessarily needed here on the Moon, and above all,
inconspicuous
.”

Wolf Omega turns left, then right for approval before he speaks; his bristly brows protrude from his face in silhouette. He raises his trembling hands.

“It was serendipity when we heard about a new captain from Base IV. You are among the
greatest
specimens of our great nation’s youth. Be honored to do our
great
work, to be ambassador of our
great
philosophy, to rid the Earth of uneducated filth—”

“That’s enough,” whispers Andromeda, patting Wolf’s shoulder.

Shivering, I process what I’m hearing. I’m going to Earth within weeks of finishing training. Although I’ve internalized operating manuals and my new authority, I doubt I can apply them outside of an evaluation or sim. I certainly won’t be ready to touch down upon that shifting blue marble on the horizon, which will surely be much more intimidating in person.

Yinha’s earlier warning comes to mind. As a captain, I must take charge of and assume liability for entire recon missions.
Is the Committee trying to hurt me? Or are they giving me a chance to prove myself?

“I can take over from here,” the General says. “I know you are all busy today.”

“Thank you, General. Yes. We must resolve the energy dispute on Base II,” says Hydrus. I scrunch my eyes shut and shake my head, hoping to clear the fog of agitation. Base II was built near Base I eighty-five years ago as an emergency shelter in case of attack or infrastructure problems. No evacuation ever occurred on Base I, but Base II still has a purpose. On rare occasions, Base I uses more solar power, water, or food than it produces on its own; Base II often makes up the difference.

“Pay attention, Captain,” the General orders.

My eyes snap open. The Committee has disappeared from the walls, replaced by the rows and columns of figures, the images of Earth and its satellites. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t let me catch you daydreaming again. Am I understood?”

Do all officers ask their underlings some variant of that question, as if we don’t comprehend English? Will I do so myself in a few years, or worse, a few days?

“Yes, sir!”

“You will lead this recon mission. You will not reveal your assignment to anyone. Your team includes capable subordinates who have already demonstrated loyalty to you.”

My handscreen flashes. Nash, Io, Orion, and Wes will accompany me to Earth. Within me, the stubborn loneliness begins to thaw, and the corners of my mouth jerk upward. I don’t care if the Committee sees.

Then I see our departure date: August 24—the same day as Mom’s trial. I teeter on unsteady legs before my hand reaches back and finds the plane of the door.

I mumble like the fearful daughter I am, “Thank you, General.”

The General swivels his chair, giving me the back of his broad head.

Skat flicks his hand at me. “That means you’re dismissed. Shoo.”

I salute the two officers and inch backward out of the room.

Yinha paces in circles around my apartment, forehead wrinkled.

“That’s an intense assignment. They could have asked me or someone with more experience—especially when they know I’d like to take a break from teaching incompetent teenagers.”

But you’re a horrible soldier. You said so
.

She lowers her voice, surveying our surroundings for one of the security pods. “And Pacifia? It might be the second-biggest city on Earth, but its technology is
gritty
compared to ours. They couldn’t hurt us decades ago, and they definitely can’t now.”

Yinha widens her eyes at me before slowly blinking twice.
Oh.
I wonder if she knows that Mom will be on trial while I’m spying on Earth.

“Strange, the timing. Usually, they give teams a month to prepare for an Earth mission. This is your first assignment, and they’re giving you
two weeks
.”

Oh, yes. She knows everything.

Maybe they gave me the position of captain so that they could send me to Earth on Mom’s big day—and have me assume responsibility for anything that goes wrong. Did they think it would help them win?

My absence will make no difference to the Committee, but without me, August 24 will be a hard day for Cygnus and Anka.

I can’t abandon them on trial day, leaving them huddled at home. But I also can’t abandon my team’s Earth recon assignment and disobey direct orders.

“I’ve got to go to training now; it’s almost 08:00.” Yinha passes me on her way out of my apartment. For an instant, she’s close enough to whisper in my ear. “Be careful, Stripes.”

30

I POUND ON THE DOOR TO MY BROTHER’S room.

“Cygnus! Hurry!”

“Go away! Didn’t Mom want you to stay in Defense with your new friends?”

I hesitate, remembering that awful falling-out, and decide to convince him using the facts. “The Committee assigned me to Earth recon on the same day as Mom’s trial.”

My brother lurches toward the door, footsteps uneven. When it opens, I behold a boy whose eyes are so glazed I can almost see the reflection of a handscreen in them. We hurry to his cot and plant our rears over our left hands.

“So you’re back. Why? You were going to throw us your money and make us deal with the trial alone.”

“I got mad last time. Came here to say sorry.” I also have something to ask, but I’m not sure how.

“So what can I do for you?” Cygnus demands. “I’m busy already, data mining Law.”

“Help me.”

Cygnus tilts his big head to the side. “You’ll be gone.”

Nod.

“Going to Earth is dangerous. Those pieces of grit majors! Why don’t they go instead?”

I grimace. “It’s the Committee that’s sending me. . . .”

He waves me off with a flip of his hand. Like his head on his scrawny neck, it’s oversized compared to his skinny forearm. “Anka’s going to go ballistic. Well, not literally, but you know what I mean.”

He’s already doing too much—babysitting Anka, administering Mom’s medication and food, and reconfiguring parts of the digital world. It’s like we’re characters in a malfunctioning sim-game, assigned task after grueling task before we’ve accomplished the preceding one. Guilt can’t describe how I feel about asking him for more, but I have to be here on August 24. What if Cygnus or Anka needs me?

My voice cracks. “Is there a way to skip it?”

His jaw drops, and he meets my eyes for the first time. “Skip . . . skip your
mission
?”

“Break into Defense intranet? Enter a fake ship launch?”

“Hack Defense? That’s . . . hard! Hardest on the base!”

If anyone could do it, Cygnus could. “I could launch the ship,” I say, “then ride the escape pod back to the base. Record my voice now and play the files to my superiors later.”

“What about your team? I can’t get their voice samples. And trust me, there’ll be people listening in on your ship. Even if I could get clips, there’s no way the conversation would sound natural! You’re just asking for more problems. Mom’s already in trouble, and if you get caught, you’ll be kicked out of Militia. Or . . . worse. Then you’ll both be in jail—and—and if the Committee goes gritty and decides
not
to show mercy . . .”

. . . we will
all
go to jail
.

“I’m sorry, but . . .”

As I watch his reddened eyes and swollen fingers, I can’t suppress the shame. I swallow it down, but it merely sits undigested in my stomach.

I never had a choice about going to Earth.

“I’ll take care of Anka. And . . . and Mom. Just don’t die, I guess. I’d be sad if you did.”

“I won’t,” I say, even though it’s probable.

He throws his right arm around me. “You should talk to Mom. Every time someone mentions you, she gets this sad look. Sad, not mad, so don’t be scared. She just wants the old you back.”

I nearly scoff at his optimism. Healing my bond with Mom will be more complicated than showing her I’m still the same person. Cygnus didn’t hear her tell me I’d destroyed myself, implying that the old Phaet, whoever she was, had vanished and wasn’t worth trying to salvage.

“Why wait? Mom’s sleeping in the next room—” Cygnus raps his wall. “Right there.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I squeeze his middle, hanging on until I feel his skinny arm squeeze me back. “Thanks for trying to help.”

“Then will you talk to her soon? I don’t want to be in the middle of this anymore.” He returns to prodding his handscreen.

Somewhere inside, Mom and I are the same. She must be suffering from our separation too. If only she were forgiving enough, or I were brave enough, to end it.

Procrastination has never been a habit of mine. But days of patrol duty with no sightings of my family make it easy to put off visiting home again. I could get used to this lifestyle—not worrying about anyone but myself, at least on a daily basis. I have privacy now, and quiet. If I want to nap during my lunch hour, I don’t have to ask Anka’s permission to do it. If I want to stay up late reading, no one can prevent it.

But each convenience reminds me that I’m only pretending I don’t need my family, and my actions reflect the turmoil. Yesterday, I broke up a fistfight, accidentally stomping on a preteen boy’s foot and getting bruised on the knee as retaliation. I don’t mean to act like a cat submerged in a tank, but sometimes you can’t beat biology.

On August 12, during my thirty-seventh lap around the Atrium as it empties for dinnertime, the Phi twins and Caeli approach me. The boys glare, making me feel sick all over again about abandoning my family—and their willingness to abandon me. But their mother doesn’t seem to care.