The World Forgot (20 page)

“Then why the hell are we going there?” Chloe asks.

“The planet is devoid of
life
. Not artifacts.”

“And how could you possibly know a thing like that?” Chloe asks.

“The Ares Project,” I say, queen of the obvious realizations. “You've had your people searching for weapons for a while.”

“Well, not
weapons
specifically,” Byron says. “Not until recently. But remnants, yes. Pieces of the puzzle. And all the pieces we have point to one very particular spot. We will be landing at Terraforming Station 1-1-3-8. Prior to being evacu­ated, the team there had reported unusual power readings below the surface. They'd been in the process of tunneling toward the source.”

“And you think these power readings will lead us to some sort of Jin-Kai-killing deus ex machina?” I ask.

“We can only hope.”

“And here I'd always thought poetry was a complete waste of time.”

“Don't go knocking old Byron's verses, now, miss,” comes a sturdy voice from behind me. “A man needs something to occupy his mind during long trips to the loo.”

I spin around and embrace Titus Oates, who wraps me in a massive bear hug.

“I'm so glad you're okay!” I say, squeezing him. He squeezes back.

“I should say the same,” he tells me. Then he leans back to look me in the eye. “In the future, Miss Elvie, if you could refrain from absconding with any vehicle that isn't expressly yours . . .”

I hug him again. Chloe leans over to my dad and stage-whispers.

“Don't tell me that's my great-great-uncle,” she says.

•    •    •

As we make our way down to the surface of the planet, it's weird not being behind the controls. But I don't think Lord Byron was particularly keen on having his granddaughter behind the wheel.

“You're coming in a little hot,” comes Oates's voice over the comm. He's still up on the command ship, tracking our landing. Our dinged-up little jalopy is coming in blind, since the terraforming stations' systems have all been powered down to avoid detection by the Jin'Kai. “Bring her up a titch and start firing your front thrusters.”

“How exactly does one quantify ‘a titch'?” I ask Dad nervously. Dad, ever the champion of precision, simply shakes his head in dismay. Our descent has been bumpy enough that Ducky has been in the bathroom since we disembarked, and the entire Britta Brigade hasn't missed an opportunity to
eeeewwwww
after each upchuck.

“Fret not, Elvie,” Byron says jovially. “Oates and I speak the same language. Look! Down below! You can see the station.”

Indeed, as we approach the ground, the station comes more clearly into view through the sandstorm that has kept us blind till now. The station itself is fairly small and non­descript: from this altitude it almost looks like a metallic wedding tent, although I know that in reality it's a prefab building with living quarters and an engineering bay. What stands out is the atmospheric generator that towers above the station. It's an enormous orb, with intricately crosshatched paneling running down its sides, making it look something like a baseball the size of a baseball field. Along the top runs a series of vents from which the generator—dormant now—would pump the gaseous cocktail necessary to start the process of transforming Mars from an “uninhabitable rock” to a “prime real estate opportunity.”

“You look like you can handle things from here,” Oates chimes over the comm again. “If you won't be needing us any further, we'll be off. I hope you find what you're looking for, old sport.”

“I do too,” Byron says. “Be safe, my friend.”

“Good-bye, Miss Elvie,” Oates says. “I'll be seeing you before long.”

“You be careful,” I say, my eyes welling up against my will.

With that, the comm cuts out, and Byron begins our final descent. Ducky enters the cockpit, wiping his mouth and looking very much the worse for wear.

“I still don't see why they're taking the ship with all the guns,” he says drearily.

“They're needed back in the fray,” Byron says. “
The Albatross
is our fittest fighting vessel. They'll buy us the time we need.”

“You hope,” comes Chloe's cheery answer.

“He could have at least taken Britta and the rest with him,” Ducky moans. “As if puking weren't bad enough, I have to do it with an entire cheerleading squad listening in.”

“Truly you've suffered above all others,” Chloe says. Ducky starts to respond, but a jolt of turbulence sets him off again, and he rushes back out of the cockpit without another word, holding his hand over his mouth.

“Eeeeeewwwwwww!” comes the chorus of Brittas.

“We're coming in for a landing,” Byron says. “Elvie, Archer, Harry, you're with me.”

“I think I should stay behind to look after the repairs, don't you?” Dad says. “We've got the hyperdrive working again, but if the Jin'Kai show up, I'd sure like to have that stealth field operational.”

“You're my resident computer wizard, Harry. How am I supposed to access any foreign systems we come across without you?”

“I can't be in two places at once, and I've got more time under the hood with these babies than anyone else here other than yourself. Besides, with a totally foreign system, you'll need someone with a more intuitive feel than I have. In which case, Elvie's your woman,” Dad says. I nearly choke on my surprise. “What?” he says. “You know I've always been extraordinarily proud of your acumen.”

“I know,” I say. “I've just never heard you say I was
better
than you.”

“I have every faith in your abilities,” Dad tells me.

I think my cheeks are burning.

“You'll need help,” I say.

“Donald and Marnie can stay to assist me.”

There's a pang in my chest at the thought that I won't be sharing my first martian experience with Ducky. But if Dad actually approves of him as an assistant, I know that will be a good consolation prize in his eyes.

“Fine,” I say. “But then you have to keep the Brittas as well. I'm not going anywhere with that lot.”

•    •    •

After activating the station's environmental systems and giving them enough time to pump the station full of breathable air, Cole, Byron, Chloe, and I head down inside. With caution we step into the station via the long entry corridor, which, if my love of schematics and my more-than-decent memory are correct, leads directly into the living quarters—a sparsely furnished area for the initial terraforming crew to sleep and eat in while not operating the massive machinery at the heart of the base. Byron takes the lead, clearly anxious about what we'll discover.

I'm on Mars,
I keep having to remind myself with every step. I always dreamed I'd be a part of the Ares Project one day. This isn't exactly the way I envisioned it, but hey, dreams change.

Up ahead Byron comes to a doorway. “Archer, give me a hand with this, would you?” he asks. Cole runs over to his superior, and the two of them attempt to pull the unpowered door open. I stand with Chloe behind the two as they grunt and strain, and Chloe mumbles something under her breath.

“What was that?” I ask.

“I said I don't even know what I'm doing here,” she says.

“Well, we're trying to uncover . . . ancient martian secrets . . . that will . . . do something. We hope. Or not.”

“It's pointless. Even if you find something, the Jin'Kai are the superior race. They'll win this fight precisely because of their superiority.”

“Superior, my occasionally bruised behind,” I say. “They might be all burly and, okay, occasionally covered in a slimy impenetrable exoskeleton, but they are
totally
evil.”

“Your morality is subjective.”

“I don't think it's subjective morality to say you shouldn't steal young girls and use them like cattle.”

“The Almiri do it,” she says.

“Well,” I start. “That's different.” She gives me a look, and I swear it's like looking into a mirror. A really judgy mirror. “Okay, it's not different. But that's one of the things we're going to change.”

“I should be with them,” Chloe says.

“Them?” I ask, dumbfounded. “‘Them' who? The Jin'Kai? Marsden? The ones who stole you from me, messed with your DNA, brainwashed you?” After all this time, I cannot believe that she'd still consider those intergalactic dickheads as her preferred team.

“They didn't brainwash me. You keep treating me like I'm some stupid little kid.”

“You're, like, two months old!”

“I have my own mind.”

“Yeah, well, tell me when you decide to use it.”

Instantly my brain locks up. Because those aren't my words streaming out of my mouth like some uncontrollable verbal diarrhea.

They're my mother's. The one person in the universe I swore I would never be like.

“Look,” I say, trying to reset. “I know you don't like me all that much. But trust that I want what's best for you. You are the whole reason I'm doing any of this. Not for the Almiri. Or even the Enosi. Or even flipping mankind. It's all for you, kiddo. So that, when all this is over, nobody gets to decide your fate but you. I'd lay down my life for you, annoying brat that you are. Bok Choy
did
lay down his life for you.”

I can see from the clenching of her jaw that I may have just pulled the last stable Jenga peg out from under her wavering reserve of restraint.

“
He
didn't lay down anything,” she says, sharply enough to cut my heart out in one fluid swipe. “
You
left him.” I feel air escape from my lungs, but I can't form any words. My vision goes blurry, and I realize that my eyes are filling with tears. “And
you're
trying to decide my fate right now!”

“Th-that's not true,” I stammer. “I . . . tried . . . with Bok . . . I
tried
. . .”

“That's enough!” Cole shouts suddenly. He storms up to Chloe, getting right in her face. “I don't want to hear another shitty thing out of you, or so help me, I might just put you over my knee. That is
your mother
, do you understand? Your mother, who carried you for nine months, who gave birth to you, cared for you under unbelievably hard circumstances, and when you were stolen away from her, stopped at nothing—­
nothing
—to get you back. Now, we're all sorry about what happened to Bok Choy. He was incredibly noble and brave. But don't you dare crap on what both he and Elvie have done for you.”

“She could have waited,” Chloe says, suddenly crying. “She could have—”

“She could have done jack shit. He was already dying, Chloe. He was bleeding out from his gut. And if the stab wound didn't get him, all that messed-up weird science Marsden played with his DNA would have. You know that. He knew what he needed to do, and that was save you and your mother, because he loved you. The way we love you.”

Chloe is a ball of tears now. She takes a halfhearted swing at Cole, only to fall into his arms without resistance. As she sobs into his chest, I wipe my own tears away and take in the lovable doofus whom I've been so hard on the past year. It's as if he's suddenly blossoming into an honest-to-goodness father right in front of me.

“It's okay, sweetie,” Cole tells Chloe in a hushed tone, rocking her gently. “It's okay. I mean, it's not, because we're all probably going to die soon, but you're okay.”

Ah, Cole.

“We need to keep moving,” Byron announces. He has jimmied the door open far enough that we can all fit through. “The strange power sources were reported down this way. The crew was excavating the area when they were recalled.”

Cole guides Chloe as she slips through the doorway after Byron and starts down the stairs. I tap Cole on the shoulder, and when he turns around, I surprise him with a big hug.

“What's that for?” he asks.

“You're going to be a great dad,” I tell him. “Check that. You
are
a great dad.”

Cole grins. “Guess my paternity suit had to kick in sometime.”

I pause, mentally accessing my Cole-to-English translator. “Cole,” I say slowly. “Did you by any chance mean ‘paternal instinct'?”

He nods. “Yeah. That thing.”

And with that, Cole squeezes his way through the doorway. I follow closely behind.

The stairs spiral downward for several dozen meters before they disappear and give way to a red, ashy rock path.

“We must be getting close,” Byron says. He carries a sensor pad in front of him, much like the tracker we used to find Chloe back on the ozone station. “The readings are getting . . . for lack of a better term, weird. There's definitely a power signature down here, and it's not one of ours.”

“So, did these guys find something underneath their station by sheer dumb luck?” I ask.

“No,” Byron answers. “Each station was positioned in an area that seemed likely to have supported life at some point in the past. While the surface of Mars had been lifeless for eons when we first began the Ares Project, it seemed reasonable to assume that if there had been a native species, that species would have developed a subterranean civilization. And the most likely starting points for building such a system would have been below where the native species had lived prior to the environment's becoming uninhabitable.”

“Of course,” I say, vowing never to ask for explanations from an epic poet again. (Seriously, there's a reason the guy never took up haiku.)

“Here,” Byron says. We are facing a large rock front.

“Are you sure?” I ask. “The path continues down this way.”

“The signature is coming from behind this wall.” Byron pockets the sensor pad and exchanges it for two wonky-looking pistols. He hands one to Cole.