40 Lifeboats & Motherships #2
Agency 51 is no longer off the map, though the line of people who make it that far is considerably shorter.
It’s substantially easier to enter this time.
Meredith makes some phone calls, and the gates roll open for us.
I get that feeling in my stomach again. The “this is too easy” feeling I had last time.
Like Adele wants me here, less like something is missing and more like I’ve forced the puzzle pieces into the wrong spots.
Flashes of lightning flicker far in the distance.
The faintest hint of thunder rumbles from the building storm clouds.
The smell of rain wafts in with the breeze.
Shadows unfurl and race along the ground as the storm steadily creeps closer.
This storm is natural but leaves me feeling unmoored anyway.
Like my mother’s eyes are watching even as I stand under the tall tower where I know she waits for me.
At first, I think the lightning is the cause of the sudden brightness, but instead of a flash, it lingers.
It’s as if someone has flipped a switch in the heavens, illuminating everything.
The Mothership is abruptly visible, a bright spot looming high above and outshining the darkness that rolled in with the storm.
It’s massive, a city in the sky, giant solar sails catching the light, and I think of pirates and sinking ships and want to laugh at the irony.
The panic and pandemonium, as it appears out of nowhere, is instantaneous.
Guards, tourists, news helicopters, robots—suddenly everyone is shouting and moving, the anticipation shifting to panicked action, sweeping in with the wind like the tumbleweeds.
I don’t hesitate, knowing this is my best chance while everyone is staring at the sky.
I wrap my tethers around me like a shield, clutching onto every one of my loved ones, even as I’m running from them, trying to do this right for once.
I leave Meredith and Zara clutching each other and Eldi in Orion’s arms. I can’t tell if the arm Luca has thrown over Calvin’s shoulders is for his own sake or if he’s buying me time.
But for a moment, I am alone. Time to go.
Just this once, I’m determined to be the only one harmed, determined to make this sacrifice the final one. Maybe I’ll be fine, I lie to myself.
The voices inside my head reach a screaming crescendo. They are louder and clearer than ever before, calling me back, calling me home. All my moments have been building to this one. I know how to stop my mother, but I have to go alone; I refuse to drag anyone down with me.
My years of practice lying and hiding suit me well.
In the chaos at the front gate, I duck away.
I run for their lives, not my own, darting through entrances and secret corridors toward the tower where my mother wields her lightning.
They’ll come after me eventually, but all I need is enough of a head start.
I climb the winding stairs, my heart racing from exertion, but I’m strangely calm, outpacing my apprehension.
Here, with you, not alone. Voices chorus.
We are here. Yes, I know, I answer them. I haven’t let go of my family yet.
The door at the top is swinging in the wind, and dread catches up to me.
I am unsurprised to find Adele waiting for me.
The space that already feels too small feels even smaller with the cages lined up near the entrance, full of trembling children.
I count six of them, some more creature than others.
I want to cower with them or turn and flee back down the stairs as the wind whips around me.
From up here, I can see far across the desert, mirage-like shimmers of vehicles crawling across the ground.
I can make out human figures, too, and I wonder if I could recognize any of them from this height, but I can’t afford the distraction or delay.
Adele’s back is to me, her eyes on the stormy sky, the looming Mothership.
“I’ve been waiting for you to arrive before starting,” she says.
The Gauntlet glitters ominously on one hand; the other holds a jagged black sword.
I recognize the material, thin and warped, carved for bloodshed, not pageantry.
But there’s nothing else. No high-tech weaponry, no missile ready to launch, no army.
She makes no move to attack me, even as I palm my dagger and rush to . . . do what exactly?
“What are you doing?” I ask.
She lifts the jagged sword so it glints in the light. “I’m going to open the void, return those I lost. Those creatures are the start of the repayment.”
The cages are right there. I inch forward, keeping my dagger up between Adele and me as I approach the first cage. I haven’t forgotten how she nearly threw me off this cliff edge. “Let them out. They’re children! They’ve done nothing wrong. They don’t deserve this.”
“Neither did I,” Adele snaps, losing patience. “You’re going to finish making this weapon for me.”
“Like hell am I going to do anything for you!” Wind tugs at my clothes and threatens to pull me closer to her, closer to the edge where nothing but a fall waits for me.
“You might not do it for me, but you will for them,” Adele says. And there’s something in her voice, that softness I have rarely heard, that gives me pause.
“What are you talking about?” I say, turning toward her.
“I’m talking about starting over. And this is the key.”
“Why meteorite?”
“The blade needed to be strong enough to harm the Chupacabras. Life was hardier on that planet, conditions harsher. This planet is paradise for them. Ironically, this is a common material on the planet where it originates from. It was much harder to track down in this corner of the galaxy.”
Meteorite fragments shift under me; wisps of blackened ash eddy into the air, disturbed by my feet; my curiosity propels me forward.
“You’re going to murder the last of an alien race with a sword?” I say scornfully. “Why?”
“This,” she says, running her finger along the flat of the blade, “will become a bridge to that realm where magic lives, a conduit through which souls lost to the void can return. I would do it myself, but I’ve already given too much of myself to the void.
There’s nothing left to give. If I returned there, nothing would reemerge.
So I created you to be the sacrifice that returns them.
I created you to be the payment magic needs to return what was taken. ”
Listen, listen, listen.
I shake my head, trying to clear my mind.
“Nothing was taken from you! You’re always attempting magic you have no business doing. Controlling people, raising the dead, destroying an alien race. You’ve completely lost it; you aren’t making sense at all.”
“Take this, make it a gateway. And with every one of those creatures”—she gestures toward the row of cages—“that I kill, I’ll open a doorway for our family to return.”
“I’m not killing anyone, least of all children,” I say.
“I’ll tell you everything. I won’t hurt you.
You’ll choose the path yourself. You came back because you can sense it’s the right thing to do.
Take this.” She extends the sword, hilt side toward me.
“Take this and listen. Then you’ll understand why.
You’ll understand what I’m doing. Your soul, your magic, a gateway.
I know the cost is high. But for countless other lives in exchange, how can you say no?
I tried to find another way; I tried to love you, to save you. But I need this.”
Hear us, hear us.
She is wide eyed and fragile, begging me to listen.
This is my mother as I have never known her before, and it stops me in my tracks.
I shouldn’t. I should stop her right now.
All I need to do is get close enough to grab ahold of her and I could finish this.
But nothing is adding up. My soul. A magical gateway.
A sword to destroy an entire alien race? To what end? For what reason?
Listen.
I take the sword carefully, and I see something in Adele’s eyes that terrifies me: hope.
Surrounded by fragments of meteorite—the last remnants of a long-dead planet that crashed here by chance—I stop and listen.
Standing on the scorched-earth evidence of her failed experiments, Adele explains everything.
Answers all my questions. Puzzle upended, the missing pieces drop into my outstretched hands.
I listen as she tells me a terrible story.
I listen as my mother explains to me exactly why I would make this weapon for her.