Half Way Home

I looked past Myra at the activity around camp. The pattern of movement made more sense. People were spreading out. Searching.

Myra pushed her short bangs back on her head. “Have you had much contact with them? Seen anything unusual?”

I shook my head. “No, but we’re all exhausted. Maybe they’re just taking a day off.” I tried to make it sound reasonable, but I didn’t believe it myself. “Where did they normally sleep?” I asked.

“The communications module. But supply works in there during the day. They aren’t there.”

“Let’s head over there,” I said. I set off toward the communications module without waiting for her to agree.

“What are you thinking?” Myra asked, hurrying to catch up.

“I’m thinking we might find they aren’t the only things missing.”

There was only one person working in the module when we arrived. The place had a strong chemical odor as vials of bubbling fluids sent off wisps of dangerous-smelling smoke. Kayla, a girl I had spoken to several times, turned from a makeshift workstation, a crude plastic visor over her face.

“Find them?” she asked Myra. “Oh, hello, Porter.”

“Hey. Do you sleep here?”

Kayla shook her head. “I sleep in the power module. Remember? You dripped solder in my bedroll the other day. Found it in my hair during breakfast.” She smiled, but it faded quickly as she looked back and forth between us. “Has something bad happened to them?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I need to find out where they keep their stuff.”

“Oh.” Kayla stood up and took off her visor, laying it carefully on the workstation. “Mica is in here all the time. I know where she keeps her sack.”

We followed her to the end of the module where a wall of shelves had been built by someone in construction. Most of the cubbies were full of labeled golden canisters, but the top shelf was packed with bedrolls and duffels made out of stitched tarp. Kayla stretched up on her tiptoes and moved several of the bags aside.

“That’s weird,” she said. “She always comes to this corner.” She walked down the row of shelves, craning her neck to see up top, but I already knew the answer.

“It’s not here,” Kayla said.

I nodded, turning to Myra.

“You knew,” she said.

“I suspected.”

“What is it?” Kayla asked, but Myra was pulling me back to the door and out of the module. I thanked Kayla over my shoulder for her help.

Myra turned to me once we were outside. “You think they left, don’t you?”

“I do. I think—”

“Did you see this coming? Why didn’t you warn us? Isn’t this what your profession does?”

I felt a flush of anger at the accusation and pointed toward the power module. “I build satellites,” I said, my voice much louder than I was used to hearing it. “I solder plumbing and I make propulsion stages. I do shit I couldn’t have spelled two weeks ago.”

Myra ran her hands over her face and looked down at her feet. “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry. I—it’s been crazy the last week. But if you thought this was a possibility—”

“It never occurred to me until last night,” I said, which was the truth. “It was just a fleeting thought, really. I was wondering how long before people broke down, before they mutinied or ran.”

“Mutiny?” Myra cocked her head to one side. I watched as her hand came up and rested on her gun, then remembered who she slept with of late. “What have you heard? Is it Kelvin?”

“What? No! I haven’t heard anything.” I tried to convince her with my eyes, but hers were no longer on me— they were searching the dispersing crowd, which was searching for the missing couple. “I just worry we’re pushing people too hard,” I said. “It’s just a matter of time before some of us break down.”

Myra narrowed her eyes and focused on me again. “We’re colonists, Porter. We were trained for this.”

That’s bullshit, I wanted to say, but I managed to restrain myself. I was beginning to suspect Myra and I were not on the same side. Then they hit me—this series of sickening realizations: Had Mica and Peter not run, the base could be having these very conversations about me. About me and Kelvin and Tarsi. I was empathizing with Mica and Peter while Myra was probably thinking about stringing them up for treason.

“I need to go tell Hickson,” Myra said. “Go grab a quick lunch and come to the command module. We need to start searching the perimeter, see if they were able to get through the fence somehow.”

I nodded, glad to be done with the conversation and eager to see my friends.

••••

The perimeter fence had been built on top of a wide berm that ringed the entire base. Soil had been pushed up from both sides fifteen years ago, creating ditches on either side that made the ten-foot electrified fence all the more daunting to predators from without.

And prisoners within.

I stood in the inner ditch with Scott, a construction worker I’d been paired up with for the search. The two of us admired Mica’s handiwork. Five of the horizontal bars had been clipped—or more likely, as I examined them closely, they had been melted with acid or a cutting torch. Their edges drooped and the ends were bubbled and uneven. Five insulated wires had been attached to each bar; their coils drooped down into the ditch, leaving plenty of room for someone to crawl through.

It looked like Mica’s new electrical training had served her rather than the colony.

“Not bad,” Scott said.

“Yeah,” I said. I wondered if he was taking notes as well. “Then again, these things weren’t built to keep out sentient life. Any of that on this planet and we would’ve been aborted fifteen years ago when it was a lot less messy.”

“Gross, Porter.” Scott frowned and slapped me on the back. “Let’s go tell the others.”

“Let’s save the walk,” I said. I reached out, grabbed one of the insulated wires and jerked it free. The buzzing from the electrified fence shifted in frequency, becoming agitated like a startled hive of bees. In the distance, a horn sounded, whirring up and down from scream to moan and back again. The noise gave me a chill, but I felt satisfied with the little test.

Scott punched me in the arm. I turned to defend my actions, but he just stood there, smiling at me.

“You scientists are fuckin’ awesome,” he said.

• 13 • Cover

Tarsi and I sat in the cab of our tractor, alone. Kelvin had to work late on the launch pad, as the first of the canopy-clearing missiles had been moved up the timetable and was scheduled to launch that night. We had asked to watch from the pad shelter, but there were concerns about how much bombfruit would fall after the explosion.

The food, of course, would be a welcome bonus, even if much of it would be wasted. After the tremors, we had learned bombfruit meat didn’t stay fresh, even with refrigeration. Hairy worms appeared in them after a while, and even though we knew a ton of fruit was rotting on the ground beyond the fence, nobody was allowed outside. With work on the farm halted, the hope around the colony was that the missile would do more than clear a hole for the rocket—it might see us through another week.

“What do you think Mica and Peter are doing right now?” Tarsi asked me.

“I don’t know,” I said, “but I hope they’re able to find some cover.”

“Me too. And I hope they found something different to eat.”

“That would be nice.” I leaned forward and looked up through the glass at the absolute blackness above. “It must grow fast to have closed us in like this.”