Flame (21 page)

Arthur rolled onto his side in this unfamiliar bed. There should be a way to make it right. There must be.

A partial map of the galaxy hung on Arthur’s bedroom wall, glowing faintly in the darkness, and he turned on the bedside lamp to get a better look at it. Someone had plotted the course of the Empyrean with pushpins. In relation to the rest of the poster-size map, the ship had traveled fewer than two inches. Arthur shook his head. Forty years of unimaginable speed and they’d only gone two inches.

He looked a little closer and saw that the ship was headed for a particularly dense cluster of stars. The closer distance couldn’t be perceived out the portholes with the naked eye, but judging from the map, the Empyrean was within a dozen years’ journey of several hundred star systems.

He wondered if any of them had been surveyed.

He went into the living room, fired up the com console that sat on the table, and called up the nav system. He knew he was taking a chance doing this, but he suspected that the repair crew didn’t have time to monitor com usage on the ship. They barely had time to keep track of each other.

He called up the approaching cluster of star systems and started going through them one by one, looking for any information. To his surprise, the vast majority of the systems were labeled “Insufficient Data.” He read farther in the comments and learned that the nebula the Empyrean had just traversed had distorted the readings on these systems, making their data unreliable.

Now that they were on this side of the nebula, though, there was nothing stopping Arthur from performing a survey of his own.

PART THREE

MONSTERS

It is only in folk-tales, children’s stories, and the journals of intellectual opinion that power is used wisely and well to destroy evil. The real world teaches very different lessons, and it takes willful ignorance to fail to perceive them.

—Noam Chomsky, “The World after September 11 (2001)”

SNARE

Kieran lay burrowed under a mound of satin sheets. After seeing Waverly the day before, he’d crawled into his silky bed, getting up only to relieve his bladder and sip at cups of tea his mother worriedly pushed at him. He couldn’t eat—couldn’t swallow anything past the lump in his throat. He couldn’t even have the light on—it hurt his eyes. He wanted to sleep forever and forget about Anne Mather and Waverly and the constant question that nagged at him: Had he betrayed Waverly, or had he tried to help? He drifted in and out of a flaccid doze, relieved of his self-loathing only when he slept.

“Kieran.” A soft voice entered the room, changing the composition of the air. “Waverly’s missing.”

It took him a moment to realize he hadn’t dreamed that voice. He peeked out from under his pillow to see Felicity looking down at him. Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck, and it lay over her shoulder like silk.

“What do you mean?” Kieran sat up, regretting the stale smell of his room. He pressed on his eyes, willing himself awake. “She’s
missing
?”

“I just came from her apartment. Her mother says she never came home last night. Has she been here?”

“Not since yesterday afternoon.” Kieran shook his head. He just saw Waverly! How could she be
missing
? Kieran threw his covers off. “Let’s go talk to Mather.”

He paused to run his fingers through his matted hair, then went out of his room to find that Felicity was already opening the door and walking out of the apartment. He ran to catch up.

The elevator on the way up to the administrative level felt very small to Kieran. Felicity stood close enough that he could smell her floral shampoo, making him painfully conscious of his own stale shirt.

“I liked what you said at services about getting the Empyrean kids together,” she told him. “The Pastor arranged a school for the little ones to attend every day, did you know?”

“I guess that’s something.” Now that Waverly was missing, all else seemed small and petty. “Mather has the power. All I can do is ask for things.”

“You did more than that,” Felicity said. “You said it in front of the whole congregation. Mather needed to do
something,
or it would seem strange.”

Kieran glanced at the surveillance camera trained down on them from the ceiling. “Shouldn’t you be careful of what you say?”

Felicity shrugged. “I didn’t say anything bad.”

Kieran studied her. She smiled at him, crinkling the bridge of her nose in the most adorable way.

The elevator doors opened onto the busy corridor. Kieran sidled out of the elevator and, with Felicity right behind, went to Mather’s office. Two guards stood outside the door. The big one with the dove insignia on his shoulder eyed Kieran with suspicion. “The Pastor is busy.”

“I only need a moment of her time,” Kieran said steadily, though the man made him feel pinned and vulnerable.

“Please?” Felicity said softly from behind Kieran. The man glared at her so coldly Kieran felt the need to step between them.

“It’s important,” Kieran said to him, trying to make his voice forceful.

“Is that Kieran?” Mather called from inside her office. The door opened, and Mather smiled. “Felicity, too! Come in.”

“Waverly is missing,” Felicity blurted, refusing the chair Mather pointed to. She stood over the woman’s desk, dancing nervously on her feet. Kieran resisted the urge to put a hand on her shoulder to calm her.

“Yes, we know,” Mather said, composing herself as she settled into her chair. “Waverly evaded her guard yesterday afternoon and ran away under her own power.”

“Is Jacob Pauley still on the loose?” Kieran asked.

She nodded once. “He is.”

“Did you know he has already tried once to kill Waverly?”

Mather rested her elbows on her desk, knitting her fingers together. “No.”

“He attacked her on the Empyrean, which is what led to his capture.”

“I hear your concern, Kieran,” Mather said coolly. “But I think it’s more likely that Waverly is in hiding.”

“There’s no way Waverly would leave her mother,” Felicity said, her voice soft but strong. “She’s very protective of her.”

“There’s no telling
what
she might do,” Mather snapped.

“I’m telling you,” Felicity said, taking a step forward, “Waverly didn’t run away. Not without her mom.”

Kieran looked at Felicity’s profile, the way she stared at Mather, though he could hear that her breathing was quick and frightened.
Waverly always described Felicity as spineless,
he thought,
but it took courage to contradict Mather.

“You and I see Waverly very differently,” Mather said with a kind smile.

“Please listen to me, Pastor,” Kieran pleaded. “Jacob Pauley will hurt Waverly if he finds her before you do.”

Mather blinked, once, twice, and understanding flooded Kieran.

That was exactly what Mather was hoping for. She didn’t want to find Waverly. Mather wanted Pauley to kill her.

“I’ll make an announcement, Kieran, that Waverly has evaded her guard.” She spoke slowly, like a schoolteacher soothing a child. “Would that help?”

A shudder went through Kieran. “But an announcement would only inform Pauley that Waverly is alone.”

“What would you have me do?” Mather said, her eye twitching with annoyance.

“
Look
for her,” Kieran said. “Send out your guards. Comb the ship! You can’t let that lunatic get her!”

“You’d like me to serve justice by finding Waverly?” Mather narrowed her eyes. “But you won’t testify in my trial to defend the truth?”

Kieran’s throat went dry. In the corner of his eye he saw Felicity’s mouth drop open. She looked at Kieran, her eyes wide and frightened.

All along,
he thought,
she’s been waiting to spring her trap to get what she wanted from me.

The room was quiet. With the tip of her ring finger, Mather straightened her blotter, a row of pencils, papers sitting on the corner of her desk, then she lifted her eyes to Kieran and waited.

“I’ll testify,” he finally said in a whisper, “at your trial. I’ll tell the truth if you find her.”

“Thanks for this talk.” Mather stood up and held a hand out to the door.

They were being dismissed.

As they walked past Mather’s guards in the hallway, Felicity looked sidelong at Kieran, but neither of them spoke. Felicity nodded her head toward the central stairwell, and the two started down the cold metal stairs.

“She isn’t going to do anything for Waverly,” Felicity finally said, her voice shaking with anger.

“I know,” Kieran said grimly. “I’m going to Dr. Carver.”

“The church elder?” Felicity asked, confused.

“He’s the one using Waverly against Mather,” Kieran whispered. “He might help. But I don’t know how to get in touch with him.”

“I’ll have Avery send a text through the com system to the elders chamber. He has access.” Felicity lightly stepped down onto another landing and opened the door for Kieran. He felt awkward walking through ahead of her.

“I’m here,” Felicity said, pointing to a door to her right. Unlike the deadly still corridor outside his own apartment, he could hear the sounds of people living behind these doors—the laughter of a man and woman, the clink of silverware on stoneware plates, the strumming of an instrument. It sounded like home, and not home.

“Do you live with…,” Kieran began, but he stopped, hating how the question sounded.

“With Avery? Not yet.” Felicity smiled, biting the tip of her tongue between her front teeth—an odd quirk of nervousness that made her painfully endearing. “Living together without being married isn’t really allowed here.”

“Oh,” Kieran said with an embarrassed nod.

“Waverly’s smart,” Felicity said, reaching toward Kieran’s hand with her own, just enough to tap him on the wrist. “She’s a survivor.”

“Yeah,” Kieran said, but his stomach tightened.
Please just let her be hiding in the rain forest. Or the orchards. Please let her come home.
The thought of that man finding her and what he might do to her made Kieran tremble. He didn’t want Waverly anymore, but he would always care for her, and he’d do anything to help her.

NIGHT

Seth woke gradually, confused by his surroundings until he understood he was still in his hiding place in the back of the lab. Some kind of loud noise he couldn’t identify at first—the intercom—had woken him. He moved to rub his eyes, forgetting about his hand, and was paralyzed by a pain so severe he curled into a fetal position and endured shooting needles emanating from his finger and up into his forearm. His hand was worse, much worse.

The next thing he became aware of was a creeping chill moving over his spine and into his aching limbs. It felt like more than cold. It felt like fever.

So this was it. He had an infection.

He peeked through the gap in the shower curtain to find the lab lights were turned off. The scientist must have left. He shoved the bag of graffiti supplies out of the stall along with his new stencil, turned on the shower, and drank from it, then pulled the shower curtain aside.

Arrogant,
Waverly had called him. If he’d gotten on that shuttle with her, he’d have received medical attention and his hand might be healed by now. Instead he hid out for a few useless weeks until his wound got so bad he was going to have to turn himself in anyway. Because that’s what it had come to. If he didn’t want to lose his fingers, or his whole hand, for that matter, it was time to turn himself in.

Everything Waverly said to him in that awful fight, every single vicious word, had been the truth. It wasn’t the whole truth, though. He’d had one noble motive for this ridiculous escapade: to deserve her, even if he couldn’t have her. He still wanted that.

“So, Ardvale,” he asked himself through his teeth, “what are you going to do with your last night of freedom?”

Seth picked up his sack, which held only a few tubs of paint, a wide paintbrush, and the metal patina solution that Amanda had given him. He examined the stencil he’d made. It wasn’t perfect. The curve of her nose was slightly off, and so was the shape of her left eye, but it was unmistakably Waverly.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he whispered.

He limped to the door of the lab and peeked into the corridor. There was no one around. The clock on the desk by the door read 1:07
A.M.
There probably wouldn’t be too many people moving about, but there’d still be a night crew in Central Command, and someone would be watching the surveillance video.

He’d have to move fast.

He found a lab coat in one of the lockers at the back of the room and a white cap that looked like something a surgeon would wear, probably to keep the scientists from contaminating samples with shedding hair. It would likely take a few minutes for anyone observing surveillance to recognize him. A few minutes would be all he needed.

He left the lab and took the stairs up two at a time, ignoring the way each impact jarred his poor hand. Once he reached the habitation level, he bolted through the doorway and held his stencil against the wall with the forearm of his hurt hand, careful to protect his splinted fingers. He soaked the paintbrush in the tub of metal patina and, with a few strokes, smeared a thin coat over the stencil. The whole process had taken less than two seconds. The patina solution was a charcoal gray color, and he could smell it already working on the metal it touched, corroding it, changing its color, leaving behind an image of Waverly that mirrored the posters of her hanging everywhere.

Only under Seth’s version was a single word:
TRUTH.

As he worked his way down the hallway, he ripped the awful posters down. He didn’t pause in a single hallway for more than a minute or two before he moved on to the next. Within five minutes he’d coated an entire level, and he hadn’t run into a single person. He sprinted to the stairwell and went down to the next level. He ran out of the metal corrosive after his third hallway and moved on to royal blue paint. By the third habitation level, all he had left was red. This made the most striking image of her: Waverly in the color of blood, the color of prophets, Waverly the truth teller.