The Silver Ship and the Sea

Prologue

From the story of Chelo Lee, dated July 17, year 222, Fremont Standard, as brought to the Academy of New World Historians

Fremont was discovered in the year zero. Zero always begins the marking of a new planet’s time, as if it did not exist before humans

found

it

.

My story did not begin until after year zero, but I should tell you about discovery. About zero. Zero is full of infinite possibilities. Five bright metallic probes swooped in from Inhabited Space, circled a wild planet, and then, one by one, plunged to the surface. Three landed in oceans, reporting salt and brine and signs of life. One disappeared entirely, possibly swallowed by the molten Fire River that issues from the mouth of the volcano Blaze, the hot soul of the continent Islandia. The fifth probe landed in Green Valley, where we live today. It reported that humans could breathe the air and that carbon-based life existed abundantly on Fremont.

And so, a hundred years later, the thousand colonists came. They fled Deerfly, a planet much like Fremont, much like Earth. Deerfly took its name from the shape of one of its seas, like a deer with wings. The shape is painted on the outside of the thousand colonists’ ship, Traveler.

They parked Traveler in orbit, taking seven small planet-hoppers to the surface, shuttling up and down for months with people and supplies. Being careful. Even so, Fremont’s predators began killing them even before they all made it to the surface. For Fremont was joyous, riotous, very alive, and very wild. The probes mapped a moment in time: a snapshot, not a movie. If more had found our valleys, had found the two livable continents (Islandia and Jini), had found the wide grass plains, the colonists might have been better prepared.

Fremont rumbles and moves and shifts. Its blood flows across the surface in red-orange rivers and slides into its waters, sending steam hissing and spewing to honor the marriage of water and fire. Fremont’s grasses and plants and animals are sharp-edged and sharp-toothed. Edible, but only once their defenses are breached.

New colonies often fail. Fremont’s

almost

did

.

After a full hundred years, Fremont hosted only fifteen hundred people, now third and fourth and fifth generation, ragged and hungry and tired. Two hundred wanderers, called roamers, traveled the continent of Jini. Twice a year, they returned to Fremont’s one city, Artistos, nestled between the Lace Forest and the Grass Plains. The roamers planted and tended a continental network of information feeds, which they used to document the beauty and danger of Fremont. They fought to gain the knowledge and experience needed for the colony to survive. Everyone else lived in Artistos, behind fences.

Artistos’s planners designed for five thousand. Planners laid streets out and builders put up the first houses. Guild halls ringed the town’s center, Commons Park. People tended the park, filled granaries, and gathered to learn and share stories, fears, and songs.

The colonists’ stubborn clutch on the values that drove their flight from Deerfly made Fremont even harder. They claimed true humanity, refused to be augmented, to improve their physical nature to better match the wild things that

surrounded

them

.

Two surprises landed on the Grass Plains in the year 200, ships bearing my parents and others like them. New Making and Journey were nimble enough to land on the empty concrete pads, Artistos’s spaceport, searing the ground around them black and bending the yellow-green whip grass flat. They bore a mere three hundred people, but three hundred altered. Modified for intelligence, for strength, for quickness, for long life. My early education on Fremont taught me they were evil, but they were my own people.

We now call what happened the Altered War, or the Ten Years War, and hope that no one else comes to make another one. Most say it started over scarce food supplies, or over demands from the altered that the original humans follow their footsteps. Others whisper that it started over bad advice given intentionally to the newcomers.

I don’t care. I do not know why it became war. Why couldn’t we all live here? After all, we believe both Jini and Islandia are habitable, even though no human lives on Islandia yet. But never mind, for that fact matters later, but

not

now

.

However it began, in the end fewer than a hundred altered survived. They fled Fremont, taking the Journey. Half of the first colonists died. One altered had been left behind: Jenna—blind in one eye, one arm lost, but fast as a paw-cat. Jenna ran, climbed, hunted, and outfoxed everyone who tried to

kill

her

.

And us. The only altered, as far as we know, born on Fremont.

There are six of us; children of the dead. We were adopted, mostly separated. Alicia and Liam, both three years old, went to two groups of roamers, while four of us stayed in town. My brother and I remained together, adopted by Artistos’s leaders, Therese and Steven, as a sign of the end of the war. Kayleen went to the popular, and barren, biologist, Paloma. Bryan became part of a large household in the builder’s guild. I was five at the time and Joseph two. Kayleen and Bryan were both four. So I was the oldest, the one who had to keep us alive.

My new mother, Therese, once told me the altered designed our unique talents for Fremont. The words she used were, They made you for this place. My first parents must have been made for Fremont as well, but made for the snapshot the probe sent back, not for the real place.

We did not grow up in time to do whatever they made

us

for

.

They are, of course, gone, or dead. Their ship, the New Making, stands upright where it landed. The ground surrounding the ship is still mostly bare and black in a circle as wide as the ship is tall. Wider than twenty of us lying down. It reminds us of our heritage. It remains locked, inaccessible.

The Altered War ended twelve years ago. The first colonists returned to an enemy that had harried their flank, and in some ways had become their ally, as they fought the altered. They returned to the struggle to survive Fremont.

I barely remember my first parents. They floated in and out of our lives like smoke, coming to our tents late at night, exhausted, then leaving again at daybreak. I do remember Chiaro, one of the last altered to be killed. She raised us, and she was our teacher. To this day, although the pain has shrunk to a small stone in my belly, I miss Chiaro. Therese told me once that Chiaro saved us, bartered her own life for the six of us, claiming that we would someday be helpful.

Therese and Steven treat me well enough, and I respect them. At first, they were our captors more than our parents. It was only when we became old enough to work alongside them, old enough to begin learning our abilities, how to offer them carefully and subtly, that they began to treat us with respect and, perhaps, as family. My brother Joseph loves them, I think. He has no memory of our first parents. He has little memory of the first few years we lived in Artistos. He does not recall being watched carefully, as if he would turn and bite the hands that brought him breakfast. He does not remember the time before Artistos began to appreciate our abilities, to begrudgingly allow us to participate in the life of the colony.

And why not

appreciate

us

?

I am very strong, and think well about spatial relationships, about trajectories, about trends, about interactions between people. Those skills let me become quietly important, useful without being easily noticed. Joseph, like me, has no external physical enhancements, although he, too, is strong and fast with keen senses.

His extraordinary gift is built deep inside him. He absorbs and synthesizes and directs data, balancing multiple streams in his brain, accepting many inputs, seeing multiple current moments, and correlating information. He is so earnest in his desire to please that most love him. Again, I ask

why

not

?

We all need each other to survive.

1

Let me start with a nearly perfect dawn on Fremont. Morning light dappled my legs with patterns made by the broad leaves of the tent tree that sheltered me. The Lace River ran bubbling and giggling fifteen meters below. Two of our seven moons shone above: Faith, large and round, followed by her smaller companion, Hope; both pale in the bright daylight. As round as the moons, but near at hand and small, the redberry bush fruit had swollen into sticky orbs the size of my thumbnail. My fingers were stained red. I twirled a stick idly in my hands, thinking about the good harvest being tucked into the granaries and the storage bins. My hands moved of their own accord, restless because the peace made me restless .

I turned at footsteps on the path, recognizing my little brother Joseph. The light, fuzzy down ghosting along his chin seemed a little darker, and a slight widening of his shoulders emphasized his thin frame. He grinned widely as he sat down next to me and took the stick from my hands.

Here, Chelo, like this. He plucked a wide green diamond-shaped leaf from a low branch of the tent tree. He folded the leaf, then made a crack in the top of the dry stick and wedged the leaf into the crack. See? He twisted the stick, fast, so the black mottling of the whitish bark blurred to gray, his palms flat. He smiled, impish, his dark eyes dancing. His hands flew open and the stick rose, impossibly, higher than our heads, whirring like night-crickets. Leaf and stick separated. The leaf fluttered down onto my head and I laughed

with

him

.

Come on, sis, let’s go. He stood, shifting on his feet, full of restless energy. He was nearly my height, black-haired and black-eyed like me, and fast and strong, like all six of us altered. In Joseph, speed and strength showed in long wiry limbs and well-defined muscles. Neither he nor I displayed obvious physical differences; we didn’t have Bryan’s size or Kayleen’s long feet and extra

strong

toes

.

Green Valley spread below us as I followed Joseph down the packed-dirt path to the science guild hall. Artistos nestled against the Lace Forest. The Lace River, behind us now as we walked, bordered the city to the north, cliffs marched up and away to the east, cleared land gave way to thick forest to the south. Another cliff face bounded the valley, falling westward to the Grass Plains that themselves ended in the sea. The town itself spread neatly out from Commons Park. Thin strips of green parkway ran beside the river, buffering Artistos and making space for fishing and gathering and walking. The two cliffs, up and down, the High Road and the Sea Road, forced the town’s small industrial base north, across the river, and barns and fields bellied up to wide tent trees and tall thick-trunked near-elm of the forest in the south. Dense thorny underbrush made the forest a true barrier. All the land we needed so far had been long cleared, although each spring we fought the forest to maintain the boundary.

Joseph and I passed small groups of people hurrying to cross the river and

start

work

.

We walked faster. If we were last, Nava would be mad. We already angered her just by being ourselves, by being born at all. We couldn’t help that, but we could be on time. Our jobs were simple, for us. Joseph would slip open to the data nets, feeling the subtle messages carried on the air from the networks; his very being vibrating with and understanding the myriad stories of hundreds of pinpoint wireless data nodes that surround Artistos. Today, he would monitor a repair team heading past the perimeter to fix and replace failing network nodes. Meshed with satellite data and images from Traveler, Artistos depended on the wireless network to track movements of large animals, identify weather, gather seismic data, and provide a host of other information. The data network served as warning, science, and reassurance all

at

once

.

I would be Joseph’s help, bringing him water, asking him questions from the others and relaying answers, recording as much as I could in my pad for us to talk about later. I would make sure

he

ate

.

We crossed Park Street, heading for the science guild hall. Garmin and Klia and May walked toward us. They were all roughly our age, and in a hurry, at risk of being late for work across the river in the industrial complex. Klia looked up and saw us, and elbowed Garmin, who glanced our way and grasped Klia’s and May’s hands, pulling them toward the other side of the street, away

from

us

.

Good morning, Garmin! I called, my voice as loud and cheery as I could make

it

be

.

Garmin glared at me, just for a moment, and I expected him to say something mean. But he only turned and whispered to Klia, who watched the ground. I heard the words, "… darn mutants. They shouldn’t be

allowed

out

."

I was mutant enough to hear his whispered words, but not rude enough to reply. Joseph scowled, but he, too,

ignored

them

.

May watched the park intently, as if she expected something scary to pop out of the grass and frighten her. Or as if she just didn’t want to look at us. If we’d passed May alone, she might have nodded politely, maybe even have said hello. Joseph and I glanced at each other and walked faster, getting distance between us and Garmin. We didn’t look back until we ducked into the science

guild

door

.

The main room of the science guild hall was large enough for five hundred people. Offices, labs, and meeting rooms lined two sides of the building. The walls were wood from the Lace Forest, the roof tiles made of molded riverbank clay. The builder’s guild makes us glass windows, hauling sand up from the beaches and across the Grass Plains after the fall burn, when the grass is low enough for safe travel. Guild members set the thick windows loosely in clever slides designed to survive the frequent small earthquakes that plague Fremont.

Nava, Tom, and Paloma waited for us in the monitoring room. Nava frowned when we came in, her green eyes an icy contrast to her red hair. "

You’re

late

."

We weren’t late, we were just last. I ignored her, accustomed to her coldness, her resentment of every use the colony made of our skills. Her husband Tom, a dark-haired, stocky, and gentle bear of a man, greeted us more warmly, smiling and handing us glasses of apple juice. We drank, and I ushered Joseph to the soft blue chair Steven had designed for Joseph to lie curled in his favorite monitoring position: hands and feet drawn up into a ball. It looked more like a little round bed than a chair, although Joseph could sit up in it when he liked. He almost

never

did

.

Paloma stood in the far corner of the oblong room, her back to us, poring over logs from the night before. "Traveler, she said to no one in particular, reported two small chondrite asteroids last night. One burned up on entry and the other landed in the ocean."

Tom grunted. Could have been big ones. Gianna said we’ll be in the storm for months. It’s the worst on record.

Let’s just hope all the big ones miss us, Paloma muttered, her words almost a prayer. After she completed the logs, she looked over and smiled at us. As Kayleen’s adoptive mother, she treated us, and our gifts, as normal. I loved her for it. Even Steven and Therese, who stood up for us, didn’t treat us as equals. Paloma grinned. The monitoring team is mounted. Are you ready?

Joseph drained his apple juice, handed the glass to me, and leaned in to take my hand. Blood, bone, and brain, he murmured, reciting the words he and Kayleen used to trigger the changes in their consciousness that hooked them into the data nets. Take care of me, sis. He smiled, falling away from me, his eyes closed, his face slack. He looked as if he were dreaming a good dream. He loved nothing more, then, than to feel and hear his body sing

with

data

.

Today’s repair team included our adoptive parents, Steven and Therese, who led the colony. They rarely left Artistos’s boundaries, tethered by their responsibilities. Perhaps it was the easy summer that drew

them

out

.

All together there were ten, a large group, mostly because they planned to hunt. Djuri flesh is soft and almost sweet, tender, a treat when you are accustomed only to goats and chickens. While djuri herds often come near us in winter, they stay higher in summer. That day, the team took the High Road and those of us left behind hoped for a feast.

The repair team was tied to us by four of the increasingly rare earsets. Those allowed people any distance apart to talk, using satellites and ground-based wireless nodes to beam clear voice anywhere inside the wireless net. I’d been allowed to use one twice on trips to the Grass Plains with Therese and Paloma to catalog species, and they tickled my ear inside. We could not make new ones here yet, every one we lost reduced our communications ability. Joseph though, Joseph could hear the earsets without needing one himself. He couldn’t speak, but he

could

hear

.

His body had softened and he breathed easily. By now he held at least three data streams in parallel, his agile brain watching them all, interpreting the varied messages from outer pods, the relentless pings of the boundary, and the voice streams from the expedition members, probably laughing and happy to be out, moving easily with their hebras’ fast,

rolling

gait

.

The boundary bells rang friendly exit as the expedition passed beyond the hard-won relative safety of Artistos. I wished I were with them, feeling a breeze cooling my sweat, hearing birdsong. Being in danger. I turned my face to the window to hide my longing and watched the long fronds of the twintrees in the park across the street and the play of five children throwing hoops on the fine grass.

Twintrees were native, but the grass, tightly controlled, came from Deerfly. Children could fall on it without being scratched. Commons Park was the softest place on Fremont.

We waited. Joseph would speak anything we needed to know, talking through the repair process while Paloma and Tom watched on their own monitors, a step removed from Joseph’s intimate data immersion.

Never one to waste time, Paloma analyzed crop yields, periodically wiping her long blond hair from her face as she took notes. Tom and Nava argued quietly in the corner.

Joseph spoke. "They’re starting up the

High

Road

."

Paloma stretched and went out. I watched through the window as she shimmied up one twined trunk of a twintree set, and pulled down a shirtfront full of bittersweet fruit. She came back in and handed me two fruits, round balls the size of my fist, crowned with small thorns. I set one aside for Joseph, and started carefully peeling the bitter rind of my own. The salt-and-sour smell of the rind filled the long

narrow

room

.

Joseph narrated the trip. Pod 42A. Test and replace. I wrote my own recording of the journey, kept for Joseph to remember, and to supplement the dry electronic recording of events. Knitting pod data. Freed from its thick skin, twintree fruit is small and yellowish. I popped mine into my mouth, whole, and bit down, savoring the sweetness as he continued. Complete. Moving up toward pod 58B. Monitoring was a rhythm. He spoke, I wrote, he spoke, I wrote, I teased him up from his trance to drink water, to eat, he fell back into data and spoke and I wrote.

An hour

passed

.

Two

.

"

Djuri

herd

!"

I repeated his words loudly, smelling grilled djuri meat already. Tom and Nava drifted closer

to

us

.

Excitement painted the edges of Joseph’s voice. Gi Lin counts ten, Therese counts twenty.

I laughed. The pessimist and the optimist. I would bet on fifteen. Djuri are small animals, human-sized, long-eared and four-legged, horned; thin runners that blend into thickets. I imagined them in a band of trees, dappled with light. There would be a cliff, a stream, the trees, the broad High Road, and then a steep falling away to the Lace River below. The expedition would break into two groups, one ahead, one behind, and drive them together to stun them. Most would escape, but

not

all

.

Alarm crept into Joseph’s voice, feeding data back to the expedition. Paw-cat above you. In-line between pod 97A and B. He’d have caught the size and shape of movement only. Enough. The cats had their own data signature, in the way they moved fast and low and the heat of their strong bodies. The nets almost never made mistakes identifying them. Paw-cats loved djuri as much as we did. I pictured the High Road in my head. The cat would be in the rocks, hard to spot. Joseph breathed a relieved sigh. "Steven and Mary see it. Circling to run

it

off

."

Are there more? Tom asked.

Probably.

Which meant he hadn’t

identified

more

.

Suddenly Joseph tensed, then he called, Quake, and then, moments after the words registered, the quake bell rang in Artistos, once, for medium danger. The window rattled in its clever cage, Joseph shook in his chair, my own chair bumped below me like a live thing, and Tom and Nava and Paloma grabbed for each other.

Then the quake stopped.

We laughed, the nervous, relieved laughter of fright.

Six point five, Joseph said, then called to the expedition, Are you all right? He began narrating. Gi Lin and Therese report everyone accounted for. The hebras are nervous. Steven lost sight of the cat, thinks it went up, away from them. Therese says the djuri have gathered in a knot, the does in the middle, says she’s never seen that. They’ll try and take some now, while they’re frightened. Gi Lin can’t make his hebra move. It’s— His face screwed up suddenly, and he yelled, The rocks. Falling. Run. Quake. Run! He reached for me blindly, his eyes shut, his hand clamping down on mine, hard and tight. His eyes opened, dark whorls filled with horror. I pulled him in, close to me, looking for a safe place

to

go

.

The only sound I heard for the space of four heartbeats was his ragged breathing.

The quake bell clanged over and over and over: danger, danger, danger. Joseph screamed. The window shattered outward. Tiles fell. The ground bucked under my feet, throwing me on top of Joseph. My ears were full of the bell, of Joseph’s scream, of Nava and Tom and Paloma yelling, of the dull thud of tiles crashing onto the street and landing on the shattered glass. Alarm bells rang from the hospital, the school, the guild halls, the water plant. The ground shivered a last time and went still.

I gathered Joseph to me, holding him, rocking him, tears streaming down my face. Why wasn’t he talking to Therese and Steven? To Gi Lin? To me? "Joseph, can you hear them? Are

they

okay

?"

He’d lost control.

Joseph never lost control monitoring. But if he felt them

all

die

?

What if

they

died

?

Fear touched my voice as I called, Joseph?

He hung slack in my arms, as if he were someplace far away, as if he were crushed by the rock fall. A scream filled me, wanting to burst out my throat, and I kept it in, fighting it, fighting for control. Joseph

needed

me

.

Nava’s voice behind me, demanding answers I didn’t have. "What happened to them? What does

he

see

?"

I held Joseph close to me, not looking at her. He doesn’t see anything, I snapped. Couldn’t she see his pain? We needed to be in the open, away from the shattered window, the damaged guild hall, away from Nava’s bad grace. I tugged on Joseph. Wake up, wake up. Now. Come on. He didn’t respond. His eyes stayed closed and narrow. His skin felt cool, as if he himself were not there in my arms

at

all

.

Tom came from behind me and tugged me unwillingly away from my brother. Joseph sensed my absence: he struggled and kicked, lashing out wildly. Tom pinned Joseph’s legs, picked him up, and started toward the door. He looked over his shoulder and caught my eyes. Follow me. He spoke into his earset, his voice high and worried, Report out. Anyone. Anyone.

I followed Tom out and across to the park. Joseph hung limp in Tom’s arms, his eyes closed, his face over Tom’s shoulder completely white.

Soft grass tickled my ankles. Tom settled Joseph so his head rested in my lap. I stroked his shoulder, the side of his face, trying to pull him back from wherever he had gone. Fear chittered inside me, raced through my veins, forced my fingers to shake and soured my stomach.

The sounds of the colony accounting for itself flowed around us. Nava, taking charge, using the deep sonorous gather-tones of the central bell, pulling the townspeople to meet at the amphitheater behind me. Children crying, people calling for their loved ones, dogs barking.

The guild halls and houses ringing the park all stood. Windows had broken, doors had been forced out of true. Water from a broken underground pipe gushed up through the tight-packed stones on the street between me and the school.

Kayleen and Bryan found us, Bryan’s eyebrows drawn together in worry. Fear brightened Kayleen’s blue eyes. Like Joseph, she could tap data streams, although two or three at a time, not the unlimited number that Joseph could juggle. He’s in shock. She reached a hand out and touched his cheek, her dark hair falling over her face. "How connected was he? What’s the last thing

he

said

?"

I told them the story. Bryan sat across from Joseph, watching his face. Kayleen sat next to me, chewing on her lip, uncharacteristically quiet. Kayleen running out of words felt like one of the moons falling.

Townspeople poured around us, streaming to the roll call bell, discussing damage in loud, worried tones. Blood coated Hilario’s handsome dark face and ran down his arms and hands, as if a fountain of blood had opened in his skull. Gianna limped. One group carried a prone form on a stretcher toward the hospital.

We were used to death and danger on Fremont, but by ones and twos, nothing so widespread.

The bell called for us, too. Bryan picked Joseph up, carrying him like a baby, and Kayleen and I followed, holding hands. We settled at the top of the amphitheater, Joseph lying still on the grass, his head pillowed on my thigh. Bryan sat on my other side, sometimes taking my hand. Our feet dangled over the edge of the wall. Above us, a large twintree leaned over the amphitheater. Children usually scampered up and down its broad branches, picking fruit and scaring their parents into high-pitched calls to be careful. Today, only two small boys seemed brave enough to

climb

it

.

We looked down into a ring of granite steps falling gently downslope to a stage. Built in the first hundred years, when the colonists were more hopeful, the open amphitheater could hold two thousand easily; fewer than eleven hundred lived in Artistos today. It always felt bigger

than

us

.

There was no gathering today, just an accounting. After people marked themselves present, they were sent back out in small knots to check streets, record damage, find wounded, and do all of the hundreds of things that needed to be done. Nava and the other three Town Council members assigned work and recorded information. Tom ran errands

for

them

.

The boundary bell rang, and hope surged in me until I recognized the exit tone: riders being sent to check on the expedition.

Paloma took Kayleen to check on the hebras and goats, but Bryan stayed with us, silent and protective. Nava charged up the aisle, standing over us like some red-haired warrior, her hands dirty, her shoulder-length hair hanging in damp red strings around her face, her green eyes boring into mine. Has he said anything else? Does he know if any of them are alive?

He seems to be in shock, I said, as evenly as I could.

"Well, your job, both of you, is to fix him. We need him back on the

data

nets

."

The ground chose that instant to shiver and jerk again, enough to jolt more tiles from the guild hall roofs onto the ground, to cause a child to scream. I have to go. Get him working. She jogged away

from

us

.

Bryan whispered under his breath, He’s not a machine. Anger thrummed in his quiet voice. Bryan’s strong, polite outer nature shielded him against his adoptive family. They never forgot his altered strength or forgave his extraordinary intelligence. He never lost his temper. Patience, however, is not forgiveness. It is merely patience, and Bryan’s anger burned deep. Now, it lit his blue eyes, tightened the line of his jaw, and flushed his skin. He pushed his brown hair from his face with one large hand and stared out across town, his gaze apparently fixed on the horizon. Bryan was always sweet and patient with us, but like the big sheepdog that helped Stile with the hebras, I knew he could be dangerous to anyone who threatened me or Kayleen or Joseph. It’s okay, I whispered to him. "Nava and I both want Joseph to heal, if for different reasons. It will

be

fine

."

Bryan got up, smiled softly at us, and walked down the hill. He came back a few moments later, carrying a blanket, a canteen, and a hunk of bread. He covered Joseph carefully with the blanket and handed me the water and half the bread. My shocked body welcomed the water, but I simply held the bread in my lap, unable to take a bite. I stroked

Joseph’s

head

.

Dusk had driven the twintree shadows nearly the length of the park when the boundary bell finally rang entrance. I looked up, stilled by dread. Bryan must have seen my feelings in my eyes, because he said, Go, I’ll watch Joseph.

I kissed them both on the forehead, and ran down the street toward the river. They’d be coming in from the north, I could intercept them at Little Lace Park. If there were any dead, the searchers would have to pass through the park to take the bodies to the other side of the river for preparation. I’d pass anyone bringing the living to the hospital. I ran

all

out

.

I passed four groups of people before I ran up on Paloma, her blond hair flying. She turned toward me, her blue eyes startled, and put a hand out, yelling, Chelo!

It took great effort to slow my steps, to bridle the energy that burned in me and obey her, to go no faster than her pace, draw no more attention. But I

did

it

.

Kayleen and Tom and about ten other people had already converged on the riders in the park. The long graceful necks of two hebras poked above the human heads, nearly silhouettes in the evening light. Tom struggled with a bundle strapped to the back of the nearest hebra. I ran up to him. Tom narrowed his eyes and looked as if he were going to send me away, but Paloma and Kayleen stood beside me. He sighed, and swallowed, and continued with his work. It seemed to take forever.

The burdened hebra turned its bearded head, watching Tom carefully, its wide-set dark eyes curious. Cold settled inside my stomach. The body lowered and the shroud opened to reveal Gi Lin, one side of his face flattened, the other perfect. Kayleen, Paloma, and I nearly crushed each other’s hands in sorrow.

The other hebra was similarly burdened. Just as Tom loosened the ropes, a hand flopped out. Steven’s hand. His left little finger was missing, an accident from the last days of the war. It is one thing to be certain of something, and another to have knowledge of it driven into you with the harsh stake of reality.

I swayed, and little gasps escaped my lips, as if I were a prey animal near death.

Someone keened.

Paloma asked, Any word of the others?

Ken, one of the men who’d gone to retrieve the bodies, answered her. His words were choppy, uneven, as if he still had trouble admitting their truth. Rocks fell almost all the way across the road. Hard to pass at all. We saw a dead hebra off the cliff. Rocks on him. Rocks crossed the road. He swallowed. We did see Therese’s body, but a rock too big to move is covering most of her. We’ll have to go back later.

I stumbled into Paloma’s arms as the second expected blow

became

real

.

Tom came up, putting his arm over my shoulder. Go on, Chelo, take care of Joseph. You can’t stay in the park all night. Your house came up safe in the survey. Go there. We’ll check on you tomorrow.

He glanced at Paloma and Kayleen, his eyes demanding rather than asking. "Can you take her back? Settle her and Joseph in? Then meet me at the amphitheater, I’ll be there in

an

hour

."

We walked back, clutching each other’s hands, stumbling through nearly complete darkness. Only one weak moon, Plowman, added to the starlight. The town’s evening lights hadn’t come on. We stumbled through the dark to find Joseph and Bryan where I had left them. Bryan carried Joseph, and the five of us shuffled carefully home, crunching shards of glass and ceramic roof tile under

our

feet

.

Kayleen and Paloma helped me tuck Joseph in. Bryan made me a cup of mint and redberry tea. After they left, I tried to drink the tea, but it tasted bitter. I wandered about, restless, picking up cups and pictures that had fallen, sweeping the shards of a broken potted plant into the trash.

Steven and Therese should walk in any minute. I knew better, yet I looked up for them over

and

over

.

I pulled my bedding into Joseph’s room and lay down on the floor. False crickets chirped outside the window and the occasional call of a night bird sounded from up above the house in the beginning of the Lower Lace Forest.

The night passed slowly. What if Joseph didn’t get better? What would happen to us now? Who would take

us

in

?

2

Light falling in the window woke me, making me blink. Where was Therese? Then I remembered, and wanted to fall back asleep until Therese woke me, until forever. My back felt stiff from sleeping huddled on the hard floor of Joseph’s room. Joseph stirred .

Are you awake? I whispered.

Yes.

I sat up and gazed at him. He lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling, his face white. "How do

you

feel

?"

Joseph’s eyes met mine, but looked right through me. It made me shiver. Like fire burned me inside out, he murmured, his voice cracking. I heard them, their voices, their cries. Steven calling out for Therese, Mary yelling for Jonas, but of course, he wasn’t with them. I was afraid with them, as if the rocks were falling on me. I heard their pain, heard them wink away, one by one. Therese died first. I heard Steven yell for her, then I heard him scream. He looked up at the ceiling. I couldn’t help them. Tears glistened in the corners of his eyes. "I … I felt it here, felt the quake rock my body, but I’d already felt it up the hill and they were dying, so my attention stuck there,

with

them

."

I whispered, "Do you remember sitting in

the

park

?"

I sensed you all, you and Kayleen and Bryan, and Tom once. Bryan stayed with us. Finally, he looked at me. "Is everyone

else

okay

?"

Okay? Of course not. But I nodded and fetched him a glass of water. His lips looked dry and chapped and his eyes were the wrong shade of black, like thunderclouds about to pour rain and fire. I watched him take a long, slow drink. Only when he handed me back the empty glass did I say, No one died here. Denise broke her wrist, Hilario’s face got banged up by a falling roof tile. Gianna hurt her ankle. I heard the hospital was full, but they released most people. We were lucky.

"

Were

we

?"

A knock at the door saved me from answering, and I dragged myself from Joseph’s side. Something as normal as answering the door seemed impossible, like walking through waves. As I pushed the door open, the widening crack spilled light and birdsong into the short hallway. The happy normal sounds scraped at my confused grief; I wanted the world to be silent and respectful.

Bryan stood just outside, his bulk filling much of the doorway. He folded me into his arms and whispered into my hair. I’m so sorry. I would have come sooner, but I couldn’t. I didn’t answer, just stood in his arms, drawing strength from his bulk, his steadiness. After a minute, he asked, How’s Joseph?

He’s awake. Come in. I stepped back and Bryan passed me, heading for Joseph’s room. The empty place he left in the doorway filled with Kayleen, damp from a shower, but not fresh; her eyes drooped and she moved slowly.

Sorry, I just couldn’t come earlier. Nava made me and Mom run tests on the data nets until after midnight. She pulled out a kitchen chair, sat down with a thump, and started combing her hair with her fingers, watching me. You don’t look like you slept. You look exhausted. Just a minute, I’ll find us some breakfast. How’s Joseph?

Seeing her lifted my spirits a tiny bit. He’s … he’s hurting. Kayleen headed for Joseph’s room, still trying to untangle her hair. I followed her, so the four of us crowded into the small square room. There was only one chair, which Bryan filled, so Kayleen sat on my rumpled bedding and I perched on the narrow bed by Joseph, who had turned back to

the

wall

.

Bryan spoke low and even. "… need to talk. I know you don’t want to, I know it’s not a good time yet, but Kayleen and I are worried. We need to come up with a plan for

you

two

."

I blinked, startled. That was my job and I hadn’t been doing it. I didn’t want to do it, not yet. I put a hand on Joseph’s shoulder. He’s right. We need to plan. There would be too much to do to let anyone grieve long. Nava wasn’t one to wait on emotions, and certainly not on ours. The town couldn’t wait. A fresh wave