Biome Page 5

  Chapter Four

  Yes, she knows. Or at least she suspects. Which is essentially the same thing.

  I don’t know where I’ll go, but I have to get out of here.

  “Just a headache,” I mutter thickly, and I force my legs to bend, to pick me up, to carry me toward the door. It’s like trying to move in zero gravity, my efforts hardly yielding any effect. I’ve barely reached the other end of the dome before I hear clipped footsteps close behind.

  There’s no way I can run. I’m still just trying to focus on walking. That, and not vomiting up my popsicle. If only I could’ve made it to my afternoon duties and lost myself in the wooded undergrowth of the Scrub Biome. But it’s far too late for that now.

  “Elizabeth.”

  Shiffrin adopts a warm, friendly tone as she catches up to me, matching my halting pace. I try to smile at her, but it probably comes out more like a grimace.

  “Um… hey.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine.”

  “That’s good.” Shiffrin takes my arm and forces me to stop. I consider resisting, but I doubt I could. Bile is at the back of my throat. I never knew a headache could make me sick like this. But then, this is no natural headache.

  I stare at a scuff on my left shoe, concentrating on something simple, fighting to remain calm. Presently I realize I’m wearing my running shoes. I must’ve accidentally put them on this morning in the confused darkness of my sleeping pod.

  More feet approach behind us.

  “Ah… hello, doctors,” says Shiffrin, and I’m surprised by the edge in her voice. When I turn I see the approaching forms of Sarlow and McCallum. Stocky and broad-shouldered, the pair serves as the joint maintenance directors of the colony.

  “Good afternoon,” says Sarlow. It sounds like a question, as if she’s checking.

  “Do you have time for a little walk, Lizzy?” asks Shiffrin. “I was hoping we might chat.”

  “Well, I—”

  “This way.” And I’m marched off like some kind of criminal, Shiffrin at my right, McCallum at my left, and Sarlow right behind. Silence fills the air, broken only by the squeak of our rubber shoes. For a second I wonder where we’re headed, but then we take a turn and I know at once.

  We’re going into the Helix.

  The colony is divided into a series of domes. Largest are the biomes, five immense bubbles that house the assorted climates. Attached to these domes are smaller versions, where the kitchens, sleeping pods, wash areas, and various other facilities are kept. It all makes a sort of clustered ring. At the center of that ring is the Wheel—and at the center of that is a sort of tower, called the Helix.

  Swirling to a point like a screw, dotted with dishes and antennas, the Helix relays messages to and from Earth. Once it was the spacecraft that brought us to Mars. Now it serves as living quarters to the doctors—probably along with other, more sinister purposes.

  As I stumble along, panic mounting, I suddenly wonder just how many memories are inside my head. I’ve got Chloe’s and mine. And I guess Derek’s and Noah’s. It hits me that I might have more—possibly all of the memories of every cadet on the planet. And if that’s true… if that’s true, I should know anything they know. Or rather, what they knew. Shouldn’t I? Such as, what’s inside the Helix, a structure I’ve never entered.

  Gritting my teeth against the tempest inside my brain, I hopelessly try to recall anything I can about the central building. But nothing comes to mind.

  “We missed you at breakfast,” Shiffrin says in her usual placid tone.

  “I wasn’t feeling well,” I mumble without thinking. Then hastily add, “I feel fine now.”

  No answer.

  As we round a bend in the Wheel, I see the entrance to the Helix—a silver door at the end of an empty hallway. This door looks different from the others on the colony. Shiny chrome instead of carbon, and no handle to be seen. Dread settles in my chest.

  Why has no one been inside? Or maybe I just don’t know how to reach those memories. Unless cadets have gone inside but never left. Maybe the doctors don’t need to brainwash you in there. Maybe they lock you inside a cryobed, leaving you adrift in a world of endless dreams.

  Maybe that’s where Doctor Atkinson really is right now, sealed in a frozen coffin.

  We’ve reached the door. Cameras leer at me from every angle as my heart begins a staccato beat, adrenaline kicking in. I can’t go in there. If I do, I might never come back out.

  “Have you ever been inside the Helix, Lizzy?” Shiffrin smiles over her shoulder as she puts her thumb up to a reader. Is she really asking? Because she must know I haven’t. If I had, we might not be having this discussion.

  “No,” I barely whisper.

  The reader glows a malevolent green.

  “Well, this should be educational, then.”

  I look down at my shoes. Still plenty of tread. But am I in any shape to run? Before I can decide, the door slides open.

  “If we just—”

  Clenching my jaw, I leap to the left, pumping my arms to gain an extra burst of speed. The move is sluggish, but I manage to duck out of McCallum’s reach, feeling a whoosh by my ear as his arm swings wide. Shiffrin is shouting, but I don’t hear a word. I concentrate on staying upright and putting as much distance between me and them as possible. Down one hall, then another. The world ripples in waves.

  I tear into the Tropical Rainforest Biome, and the heat hits me like a wall. The plants here grow so fast that they’re already tall, five meters, maybe six, sheltering the path in a tattered canvas of shadow and light.

  Down a slope, past tiny, pungent fields of cocoa, spices, and nuts. Beneath my jumpsuit, sweat is already dribbling down my spine. I run beneath the canopy walkway as Bolos—the cadets who tend the biome—peer over the edge. Their faces pull names to mind. Edgar. Anika. Savannah. Paolo. Pushing the thoughts aside, I slam the door panel and take off down another series of hallways.

  The Polar Biome is a welcome change after the rainforest climate, like sinking into an icy bath on a blistering summer day. But each biome is a full three kilometers across. By the time I make it to the other side, I’m fatigued and shivering. My sweat has turned to ice.

  When I reach the airlock I finally stop, gasping for breath. It’s funny, I didn’t intend to end up here. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? I have to get away, and they can’t chase me out there. At least, not easily. I reach for the access panel and a code pops to mind from a latent memory.

  Incredibly, it works.

  The great locking mechanism begins to spin, like on some colossal vault. My lungs are shuddering. But it’s not just the sprint that’s got me short of breath. I realize that I’m about to actually go out onto the Martian landscape. I try to recall if any other cadets have been outside the domes. But just as with the Helix, it’s a blank. Like trying to remember the face of a person I’ve never met.

  The door opens and I step into a square chamber about the size of a two-car garage. Spacesuits are lined along the walls like suits of armor, sentries at attention. As I move toward one, I hesitate.

  What am I thinking? If I leave, I’ll only get about six hours before I start running out of oxygen. And then they’ll catch me. That or I’ll die out there, alone with the rocks and dust.

  I know one thing: I’m not ready to die. I’m not even sure I’m ready to fight. In the corner of the room, I notice another security camera watching me. Rage swells. Isn’t it enough that they pry into our minds, taking whatever they like? What gives them the right to watch us so closely, making judgments about who we get to be?

  Without thinking, I rip a glove off one of the suits and throw it across the room. My aim is better than I expected; the metal fist obliterates the delicate plastic iris, leaving it hanging at an angle like a broken wrist. Then the glove falls with a clatter into an empty gathering crate.

  No one can see me now.

  How long until they catch up? I’m quick, but once they re
alize where I’ve gone, I’m sure Sarlow and McCallum won’t be far behind. A minute, tops. This moment is all I’ve got.

  Think, Lizzy, I tell myself furiously. They brought us to Mars for our brains, didn’t they?

  I stare at the gathering crate, and suddenly an idea pops into my head. Because I’m out of time, I don’t stop to question it. I start moving, disassembling the rest of the suit whose glove I threw. Then I dump the whole thing into the same crate. It fits, but barely. I shut the lid.

  Next I dash from suit to suit, sliding down the reflective golden sun visor on each helmet. Then I drop the bottom half of the last suit, duck, slide my arms up into the top half, and pick up the heavy white pants, buckling the two halves together.

  The whole process takes less than a minute, but I can already hear footsteps racing along the hall. I punch the airlock button, opening the door to the outside.

  Immediately, red lights begin to spiral and an alarm goes off. The door leading back into the colony seals up as I pull on my gloves. I hear a number of loud clicks and metallic thumps.

  Thirty seconds. That’s how long it takes for the airlock to seal and begin depressurizing. Anything inside the airlock that isn’t maintaining an atmosphere of its own will be choked and frozen before it can even shiver. Or at least, that’s how it was when we first landed. Now that Aster has been terraforming for a few months, it could take longer. If shrubs can take root out there, it can’t be entirely hazardous, can it?

  As soon as the depressurization is complete, I begin to grow lightheaded. It takes me a few seconds to realize that my oxygen isn’t flowing. I fumble with the controls on the front of my suit as the other end starts to open. Then I look up.

  It’s so desolate.

  A gentle slope shoulders upward, dust and rocky terrain scattered with tufts of yellow plants and cactus-like growths. Even through my visor the sunlight is stark, only hampered by a gale of dust that’s just begun to kick up, reducing visibility.

  What’s out there? I can’t help but wonder. And for a fraction of a second, I’m tempted to find out. Are fragile, single-celled organisms wiggling to life in a desert puddle even now? Have entire ecosystems formed in some half-centimeter fissure just beneath the rusty surface?

  For a prolonged moment, I just stare. It’s funny, but until now I’ve never really considered how amazing it is that life is able to exist here. Or anywhere. The dust and dirt that blow into the airlock, once dead, can now support life again—even if it isn’t much.

  They say Mars was like Earth, billions of years ago. With time and care, is it possible we could bring it back? Looking out at it now, I can almost forget what waits behind me and dream.

  Almost.

  The alarm is going off again, and the door begins to close. This is my moment. I click off my air, let my arms hang as naturally as I can, and stand absolutely still. As soon as the airlock is sealed, the other door opens.

  “I can’t believe this.”

  Shiffrin is the first one into the room. Her usual cool demeanor has evaporated, leaving behind a woman on the edge of a breakdown.

  “We should have been able to head her off before she ever reached an airlock. How did she get the access code? I mean, she… she could die out there!”

  Sarlow and McCallum are next, wheezing. Then Conrad, and another doctor who I think is the agriculturalist from Polar. They’ve only just arrived when a beeping fills the room. Shiffrin begins fiddling with her watch. A holographic image blooms, a full-size, ghastly blue human projected into their midst.

  Dosset.

  An oxygen cart is at his side, tubes snaking up to his crinkled face. The rest of the doctors grow quiet, the silence interrupted only by the hiss and click of the respirator. It’s as if they’re afraid of him. Or maybe just respectful.

  I attempt to slow my own breathing, to save what little air I have.

  “Doctor?” asks Conrad hesitantly.

  At first, Dosset doesn’t answer. He’s looking at the place where the now-hidden suit had stood, rubbing his stubbly jaw. Then the projection turns, as if drawn like a magnet toward the gathering crate. My heart stops.

  But he doesn’t seem concerned with the container. Instead, he tilts his head up, carefully examining the broken security camera.

  “Well,” he says, his voice muffled. “I’m genuinely surprised for once.” It’s hard to hear the hologram through my helmet, especially over the thundering of blood in my ears. Then, abruptly, Dosset laughs. The others exchange looks.

  “Something amuses you?” Shiffrin asks.

  “Our dear Doctor Atkinson,” he replies once he’s caught his breath. The hologram turns. From this angle, he’s looking almost directly at me. Even though I know he can’t see beyond my golden visor, it makes me want to start running again. “I believe we’ve just learned what he stole the Memory Bank for. Or rather, who he stole it for.”

  The full weight of his words hits me like a sledgehammer.

  Atkinson.

  Suddenly it falls into place. If Shiffrin didn’t give back my memories, someone else must have. And Atkinson went missing the same morning I woke up with my headache. They must’ve known that he stole this… this Memory Bank, but they didn’t know what he planned to do with it. That would explain why Dosset started the rumor about a virus, so that if a cadet woke with a head full of random memories, they’d just think they were sick and turn themselves in.

  Like Chloe almost did with me.

  Conrad is aghast.

  “You think he uploaded the entire Memory Bank to a single girl?”

  “It’s not so unbelievable,” Dosset replies. “Only two cadets ever learned the access code to the airlock, and Elizabeth Engram was not one of them. To my knowledge, neither cadet ever shared the code. If she doesn’t have their memories, how else was Elizabeth able to leave?”

  “But that many memories at one time,” Conrad sputters. “He… it could’ve killed her!”

  I can feel the air growing thin inside the suit. Just a little longer. If I can just hold on a little longer, surely they’ll leave.

  Shiffrin is nodding, looking lost.

  “That’s why the others—”

  “Yes,” says Dosset.

  “And how he—”

  “I believe so.”

  She wraps her arms around herself as if to ward off a chill.

  “I never would’ve thought Atkinson capable of this.”

  “Which is exactly why we must continue to do as we always have,” says Dosset. “His very actions prove the necessity.”

  “Did we at least learn why?” Conrad asks.

  “Why?” Dosset repeats.

  “Why he did this. What he must have told Elizabeth to do next. Surely he had a plan, in order to take such a risk?”

  At first, there’s no answer. Just the hiss, click. Hiss, click. Then—

  “For now, focus your attention on Elizabeth. Whatever his motivation, you make a good point: Marcus still seems to underestimate the trauma involved with heavy memory alteration.” He turns to the maintenance directors. “Jackie and Patrick, you go after Elizabeth. She’ll be too disoriented to get far, but knowing her, my guess is that she’ll keep running until someone stops her.” Again he pivots, this time shifting his oxygen tank. “The rest of you, talk with her fellow cadets. See if she’s told anyone what she knows. Anyone she considers a friend. I don’t want loose threads.”

  “Understood,” says Sarlow.

  “Oh, and doctors?” They all look up. “Let’s handle this delicately. We still have several days until the next Revision. The last thing we want is some kind of widespread panic.”

  “Of course.”

  Dosset pauses, and then he adds, “And let’s have no more talk about Marcus Atkinson.”

  The holographic image vanishes. Shiffrin and the others hang about for only a moment, then hurry off without a word.

  I don’t even have time to worry about Sarlow and McCallum discovering me before they’ve chose
n other suits, expertly stepping into the armor-like plates. Then the airlock opens again, revealing that the gale has intensified into a howling storm, obscuring the slope and the plants completely. The two hulking astronauts click on headlamps and start out into the swirling dust. Moments later they’re gone.

  Seconds crawl, my lungs trickling fire. The airlock door begins to close, and then it seals. Pressure returns and the lights click off, leaving only red emergency bulbs like giant, mounted fireflies along the wall. I claw to release my helmet.

  The seal pops and I’m gasping, taking greedy gulps of air. I don’t think about anything else until the burning in my chest has eased. When I feel normal again I shakily unbuckle the pants of my suit and slip out, hoping the doctors are far enough away to not hear the noise.

  My sweaty jumpsuit clings to my body. I think about Chloe and feel a mixture of guilt and fear. I should never have involved her. They’re likely on their way to find her right now. I wonder if she’ll be able to lie when she tells them I’ve got the virus.

  At this point, I wonder if she’ll even think she’s lying.

  Slowly I sink to the floor as the wind picks up, sending tremors through the airlock. What am I supposed to do now? When Dosset’s thugs don’t find me out there in the dust, they’ll eventually be forced to assume that I’m dead. Will they just erase me? Like a memory too dangerous to hang around, the déjà vu of a girl who had only a single friend.

  I feel like I want to cry. But I can’t. I’m either too tired or too numb. What I really want is for all of this to just go away. I’d love nothing more than to walk up to Dosset, tap him on the shoulder, and say, “Please take these memories. I don’t want them.” Then he’d pull out a Stitch and make it all disappear. Because that’s what the doctors do.

  But inside my head, I feel the voices swirling. The volume is low enough that I can think, but barely. Echoes of grief and embarrassment, stabs of guilt and pain. Many of the memories are negative, it seems. But as I vaguely recall getting caught in a lie, I realize it was what made me careful to be honest. And when I pushed that girl and called her those names, I didn’t mean it. I was jealous. But I never had a chance to be forgiven by her, and I never forgave myself.