“Doesn’t matter. I need your help. We’re going to the boat. Move.”
Sammie nodded, a strange smile overcoming her. She obeyed Jamie, and they carried Michael down the pier. Standing over the boat, Jamie reached a haphazard decision about transferring Michael. Although his own strength was all but sapped, Jamie thought he’d do better on the receiving end. He and Sammie sat Michael down on the edge of the pier, the teen’s feet dangling over the side and touching the outboard. Jamie jumped into the boat while Sammie held Michael steady.
“OK, Sammie. Careful.”
Jamie sat the flashlight on the cushioned passenger seat in the stern. He reached over the edge, hoping the boat wouldn’t sway or bang against the pier. Sammie pushed Michael forward. The boy fell helplessly into the boat, straight for Jamie’s embrace. Sammie jumped in, grabbed the flashlight and helped Jamie lay their friend on the long, cushioned seat.
“How is he still alive?” She whispered. “He’s been moved so much.”
He pointed a finger in her face. “He’s gonna make it.”
“OK, Jamie. Yeah. He’s gonna make it. What do we do now?”
“The bow line. Untie it. I’ll get this thing running.”
Jamie crossed his fingers, grabbed the flashlight and hoped for a little luck. Sometimes boat owners were careless and left the key in the ignition. When Jamie saw otherwise, he hoped to rely on the value of experience. He ducked under the steering wheel, turned over on his back and shined the flashlight onto a jumble of electrical wires.
Jamie focused on the lessons learned during and since the night he and Michael stole their first car. He searched for the right combination of wires. When he heard the soothing rumble of the bilge pumps, he smiled. Sammie stood behind the driver’s seat and handed Jamie the pistol.
“Watch over Michael,” she said. “I’ll drive.”
He took the weapon and nodded. Jamie saw the desolation on her face and knew she wouldn’t turn on him again – at least not right away. She was still in shock.
“Run it full out,” he said. “Coop doesn’t have much time.”
She grabbed the wheel like a pro and pushed the throttle forward. She told Jamie to have a seat beside Michael. He all but fell to the deck, his energy given out. As soon as he did, she throttled all the way up.
The boat sprinted across Lake Vernon, passing through slivers of fog. Jamie had no sense of speed or direction anymore, only sheer and utter exhaustion. He leaned against the passenger seat, his head inches from Michael’s, his best friend’s blood smeared over both of them.
“I’m sorry, Coop. I’m so sorry.”
Jamie wanted to cry, but he didn’t have the ability. He watched Sammie from behind, her features now cast in a pale blue glow.
Jamie dropped his head. His eyes fell upon his blood-splattered wristwatch, which illuminated green. Just before he closed his eyes, no longer able to stay awake, Jamie saw the time: 5:56 a.m.
He succumbed to the truth and fell asleep anyway.
He had four hours to live.
Exogenesis
15 years ago
B enjamin Chevallier didn’t want to abandon his family name. They were taking his friends, his memories, his dreams, even his stream amp. Why couldn’t he retain something of his own in the new world? He used to think his parents cared.
“I’m almost in Tier 3,” he told his father. “I’m in the top two percent of my class.” Tom Chevallier sighed and told his eight-year-old son to look beyond classical education.
“The Tiers teach us about the past. They show us what was built centuries ago, before the fall. No amount of schooling will save the Chancellors from themselves. We need adventurers who are willing to cast tradition aside. The Chevallier descendency will be remembered for its courage in charting this daring new path.”
Benjamin couldn’t tell whether his father was sincere or borrowing from the propagandist rhetoric he wrote for instream broadcasts. Tom Chevallier was the leading counter-voice to the rising influence of The United Green. “No price is too high,” he ended each broadcast. “No sacrifice too small. A future without Chancellors is impossible.”
Benjamin lacked the courage to tell his father that yes, the price was too high. He shouldn’t have to lose his future to save generations yet to be born. Twenty hours was not enough warning to unpack his life and seal it behind a holo-storage barricade.
“Fifteen years is not a lifetime,” his father said. “The new world will fascinate you. Benjamin, even their most forward-thinking geniuses know a pittance of what you have accumulated in eight years. Examining humanity in a nativist, even tribal state, will shed light on our own humble beginnings. These lessons will provide you with wisdom our people will need to hear. True, you will not take a predictable path through the Guard or the Bureau, but you will come out ahead. Trust in yourself, Benjamin.”
Tom was asking for too much, but the boy had no options. At first, he asked about staying with grandparents in Paris, or with his cousins on the Ark Carrier Septimius, orbiting Catalan. His parents said “no” before he made his case. “Security,” they insisted. “If suspicions are raised, you might place the mission in jeopardy. Many members of The United Green hide in plain sight,” they explained. “Trust is in short supply.”
Benjamin asked about his new surname, but it remained as classified as their destination. They would tell him en route, after their shuttle left the city. In the meantime, they told him to make a short list of things his heart most wanted to do before leaving. Anything was acceptable, so long as it did not involve saying goodbye to his friends. “They will
