The World Forgot (5 page)

“How'd ye ever make the slip out from such a hackit mess?” Marnie asks.

“I was not at the lodge for some time before the attack occurred.”

At that, Cole chimes in for the first time. “Sir?” he asks. “Why not?”

“The Council has . . . seen fit to relieve me of my duties as commander.”

Color me stunned. “You mean you're not the Head Almiri in Charge anymore?”

“My lenience with regards to the Enosi—and certain individuals within that larger group—caused me to fall out of favor,” Byron tells us. “Rather quickly, by our standards. The Council allowed me to retain my rank, but my voice on policy matters has been somewhat muted for the time being.” He looks at me, a wistful look in his eye. “My opponents had me stripped of power within a week of my shuttling you away to safety. Or what I thought was safety. My comrades aboard these vessels are the remaining few who still follow my orders.”

Suddenly he pounds his armchair and jumps up with the theatrical flair you'd expect to find in a community production of Shakespeare in the Park.

“Curse my stunted vision! This is all my fault. Your mother. The base. All of it. I should have listened to you, Titus, from the start, and worked harder to reconcile the Almiri and their Enosi offspring. But no, I was the consummate politician, wasn't I? Compromising my morals into a vapor. Talking when I should have acted! The exact antithesis of the great Titus Oates! And now my own daughter, siding with the enemy, because of my failings. ‘The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree I planted. They have torn me, and I bleed.'”

Please, please don't let this dovetail into twenty minutes of iambic pentameter or something. I think I'd rather fight the Jin'Kai again.

“We all find our conscience,” Oates says. “You did what you thought was right. As you always have.”

Dad steps in too. I guess it's not every day that you get to console your alien father-in-law. “We must live in the present, not the past,” Dad tells him. He's using the voice he used to with me when I would sulk over a bad test grade. “It was quite fortuitous that you happened across us back on the mountain.”

“Fortunate? Yes. But not a coincidence,” Byron says.

I cock an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Byron reaches to the outer right side of his command chair and taps a sensor, which opens a small compartment. Several electronic devices rest inside. (I half-expected it to be a beer mini-fridge, but maybe that's on the other side.) Byron pulls out a long, flat device that looks almost like a bent Ping-Pong paddle, with an angled grip attached to an LED screen. It is beeping at a fairly rapid rate.

“What is that?”

Byron approaches me, and as he does, the beeping grows even faster. He hands me the device, and I look at the display. The majority of the screen is a faint blue, warbling around the edges with a slight purple distortion. But dead center is a bright flashing yellow dot, and in the bottom right-hand corner is a series of numbers. No, not just numbers.

Coordinates.

“Elvie?” Cole says, looking over my shoulder. “What is it?”

“This is me!” I gasp. “You've been . . .
tracking
me?”

Byron nods. “Since I sent you to Titus.”

“How? Why?”

“I knew I needed to get you as far away from the Council as I could, at least until I could figure out a better course of action. I figured a remote, little-known location would be ideal, with Titus being the perfect guardian. I still wanted to be able to keep tabs on you, however, just in case. So I placed a tracer in you.”

“You stuck something inside me without my knowledge or permission?” I ask. “You Almiri, man, you have some real issues.”

“I didn't do anything so quaint,” Byron says. “I wanted to be able to track you, but I also wanted to be the only one with such capabilities. A physical tag could be spotted too easily. A mutation, however . . .”

“This isn't going to end anywhere good, is it?” I say. I already feel sick to my stomach.

“To be blunt, my dear,” Byron replies, “I altered your DNA.”

“You did
what
?” I shriek. “What did you
do
?” I begin frantically searching my arms, like I'm going to, I don't know, spot a new mutated tracer mole or something. “Wasn't I hybrid enough for you before?”

“It wasn't anything serious. I promise. I simply gave you a little tweak to assign you a specific membrane potential—an electrical signature on a cellular level—that I would be able to detect even from great distances using the device you're holding.”

“So leaving aside the great invasion to my rights as an individual and my serious
disgust
at the intrusion for just a second,” I begin, and Byron nods, “you're saying that you picked up this signature of mine and knew I was headed to the Poconos . . .”

“And we doubled back, yes,” Byron finishes for me. “We would have been here sooner, had we not first followed the other signal out into orbit.”

“Other signal? What other signal?” My eyes go wide, and I can feel my ears do that weird thing where they move backward on my head without my having to touch them. “You put this genetic tracer mutation in Olivia too, didn't you?”

“Yes,” Byron says. “The device tracks both frequencies on separate channels. When Olivia's signal began to move independently, I grew concerned. We lost the signal out in the Rust Belt. We would have continued the pursuit, but then I saw you headed for the Poconos, and into the Jin'Kai's waiting arms, so we doubled back.”

My body turns to ice. “What do you mean, you lost the signal?” I say. “You couldn't track it anymore or . . .” I can't even bear to finish the sentence. I feel a hand on my shoulder. It's Cole. I shrug him off.

“The signal dissipated,” Byron tells me. “We believed that to be due to interference in the belt, although of course we can't know for sure. That's why, when we saw your signal, we—”

“You
left
her,” I finish for him. “You left her with
them
.” Half of me wants to punch my grandfather in the kisser—for turning away when Olivia needed him most, for violating both of us for our own protection (because one must never forget that the high and mighty Almiri always know what's best for
everyone
). But honestly the other half of me wants to give him a big old kiss on the mouth—this horrible violation might be my only fighting chance at finding my daughter. I shake my head free of confusion. Focus on what's important. “What are we waiting for?” I ask him, pointing to the tracker in his hand.
Hold on, Olivia.
“Why aren't we heading back there this second? Let's go find her!”

“The fact remains that we have no point of trajectory to use as a locus for a search,” Byron says, dousing my hope with a bladder full of buzzkill. “A full-scale sweep of the entire sector would be necessary.”

“Well, then that's exactly what we're going to do!” I tell him. “Let's put all this flipping advanced alien tech to use for a change, for something other than your own selfish purposes!”

Byron looks at me with a stern expression. It's not quite angry, but we've entered into no-nonsense territory. It's like I can feel him winding up the hammer, ready to bring it down on all my remaining conviction.

“We simply don't have the manpower for that, Elvie, given our current situation. The Almiri—nay, the world, is under direct assault. The enemy has dealt the first blow, and we must regroup. My modest strike force alone cannot hope to repel the invaders. We must rally the forces of men and Almiri alike for the coming—”

“I want my daughter back, you son of a bitch!” I scream, flying at him. He doesn't flinch as I fall on him, slapping at his face and clawing at his shirt. Some of the crewmen on the bridge move to grab me, but Byron waves them off. It's Oates who puts his strong hands on my shoulders. He doesn't pull me, or wrap me up. He just holds me until I calm down. The tears are racing down my cheeks and dribbling off the edge of my nose. I'm sure I'm quite the sight, but I don't care. That's kinda the point.

“My dearest child,” Byron says softly. “I promise you, when the time is right, I shall move heaven and earth to help you find your daughter. But we must focus on the bigger picture for now. We must force the Council's hand by making ourselves known to the leaders of Earth. And there are mysteries to be unlocked which may be our only hope of surviving the coming storm.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I say, wiping my nose. “You do that.”

Byron turns to one of his crewmen. “Ensign, would you please take our guests to the quarters we've made up for them? You should all rest. We'll reach the rendezvous point with the rest of my men shortly. From there we will discuss how to proceed.”

“Lord Byron, or, should I say, Commander,” Dad says, stepping forward. “I would like to offer my services to you in any way possible. I know the Almiri are a race of superintelligent beings, and I don't want to toot my own horn, but I am probably the smartest person I know.”

“It would be my honor to have you on our team, Mr. Nara,” Byron says.

Dad wraps me up in a big hug and kisses my cheek.

“Get some rest, dearheart. I'll come see you shortly.”

I don't answer, just return his hug. He pulls away and looks at me, sadness on his face.

“We must make our plans according to the problems before us,” Dad tells me softly. I can see the pain in his eyes. “We'll find her,” he says. “I promise.”

“Sure,” I say, and I even manage a nod. I turn back to Byron, the tracking device still in my hand. “Is it all right . . . if I hold on to this for now?” I ask. “I know she's not going to suddenly reappear while I'm napping, but . . .”

“Of course,” Byron tells me. “There's no harm in holding out hope.” He nods to his ensign, and the young crewman leads me, Ducky, Marnie, and Cole back out into the hall. The whole way down the corridor, Ducky's got his arm around me, and I rest my head on his shoulder.

Hold on, Olivia,
I think.
Just hold on.

•    •    •

“These quarters aren't so bad,” Ducky says, bouncing his butt on the cot a little, taking in the 1970s-era sci-fi blandness that the Almiri let pass for décor. He nudges me in the arm. “I mean, considering we just spent a month underground at the South Pole.”

“Yuh-huh,” I say absently. In truth, I'm not paying attention. I'm counting in my head.

“I cannae imagine what yer goin' through,” Marnie says. “But rest assured that when the time comes, I'll help ye find yer bairn. If she's been taken to the Rust Belt, the Enosi have contacts there. Folks that go unnoticed, and therefore notice everything.”

“What's a Rusbell?” Cole asks from his bunk across the room.

“The Rust Belt,” Marnie repeats. “Tha's where all the lowpin space stations are and all tha'. Cruisers, beat-up ships, lots of rubbish, mainly.”

“Guys,” Cole says to me and Ducky, “is it just me, or is Marnie talking gibberish?”

I attempt to act as translator. “The Rust Belt,” I say. “You've been there, Cole. It's where the
Echidna
was stationed.”

“Oh, the
Rust Belt
,” Cole says. “I thought Marnie said ‘Rusbell.' And I was like, ‘Where's the Rusbell? I've never heard of that place.' And then the other part of me was like, ‘Yeah, I don't know. Better ask.'”

“Thanks for that glance into your inner monologue, Cole,” I say. I turn my attention to Ducky. “How long do you think it's been since they left us here? Five minutes?”

“Probably closer to ten,” he replies. “Why?”

Without answering I spring up off the mattress and open the door.

“Elvie?” Cole says as I pass him into the corridor. “Where are you going?”

I look both ways down the hall. Empty. And why wouldn't it be? We're not prisoners anymore. We probably have free rein to go wherever we please on Grandpop's party boat in the sky.

Well, almost anywhere.

I'm already halfway down the hall toward the lift when the others realize I'm not merely stretching my legs. The three of them come bounding after me, and catch up just as I enter the elevator and hit the down button. They squeeze themselves in with me before the doors slide shut.

“Mind filling me in, Elvs?” Cole asks as we travel down to the bottom deck.

“Let the boys up there enjoy their explosions and heroics and other boring derring-dos,” I say. “The Almiri can have their little race war. I'm getting my daughter back.”

“Yer going to track down Marsden?” Marnie asks. “How?”

I wield the tracker. “With this.” The elevator doors slide open, and we're down on the hangar level. I make a beeline for the sealed bay doors.

“Elvie, you heard the commander,” Cole says. “That thing won't be able to penetrate whatever interference is mucking up the signal. You'd have to be, like, right next to Olivia for it to pick her up.”

“Then I guess we have a needle in a haystack to find,” I say. “Marnie, your contacts in the Rust Belt. Where can we reach them?”

“We've eyes 'n' ears on several installations,” Marnie says. “I'd start on New Moon, the ozone refinery station.”

“Very well, then. We'll start there. Maybe your guys have heard about some unsavory types lurking about, hiding with the rest of the floating garbage up there.”

“And how do you propose we get there?” Ducky asks. “Swim?”

“If it wasn't already clear, I'm stealing a spaceship,” I say. “One of those neat little numbers with the stealth shield.”

Ducky slides in front of me, bringing me to a halt. “Elvie, you're not thinking.” He turns and points at the bay doors. “Unless you've suddenly jumped several ranks in the military service of the aliens who
don't even like your kind
, you don't have the clearance to open those doors, let alone launch a ship.”