Bea and Radius not so much. “Why don’t Bea and I stay here and keep holding down the fort?” Radius suggests. His face stiffens into a frown that reveals his horror at snuffling up large quantities of Fireseed pollen.
Bea nods. “I’d much rather draw hybrid creatures than become one.”
“Plus someone needs to keep the prisoners in grub, and I’m the only one who really likes to cook,” Radius reasons.
“You’re off the hook,” I tell them. “Babysitting Vesper and Jan is plenty hard.”
After the early dinner, while Armonk gathers supplies, Blane and I head to the field to collect pollen.
I test him. “You sure you want to do this? There won’t be a way back once—”
“I’m sure, Ruby.” His soulful gaze reassures me.
In the privacy of the red jungle, we take a moment before the hike to dive into each other’s arms. Clasping each other tightly, we kiss. When his lips graze mine, the stubble of his days not shaving feels intimate and rough. Our passion withheld while in Vegas-by-the-Sea we give each other freely now. Our lingering kisses reveal our unfolding love and how fully committed we are to seeing this through.
He whispers, “You’re amazing, Ruby. I want to feel your thoughts and all of your emotions.”
I run my finger down the slope of his nose, his spray of freckles. “I’m intense, Blane, are you sure you can handle feeling what I feel?”
“Bring it on, Ruby, all of it.” His mouth on mine is hungry, pressing, taking all of me in. For all of those famished looks Blane gave me before I knew him, I feed him now with my attention, my tenderness, and the beat of my rapid-fire heart. His hard against my soft fits—we fit well together.
It’s hard to break away, but we can’t afford to wait until dark. We brush off and start hiking. I show him how to shake out the Fireseed stamen without damaging it, and collect its ruddy particles in the vials. Even with patches of the field destroyed and still smoking, we fill our jars to brimming.
A couple of the Reds swirl down and land on my shoulder, peck at my latchbag, and rummage their beaklike noses through my hair.
You’re here, you’re here, you’re here they thrum.
And the Fireseed plants add their harmony. Protect us, protect us, beauty.
I used to hate it when people called me beautiful. But the plants aren’t looking at my striking face, my long platinum hair or ample curves. They’re referring to the beauty inside of me. And I feel it too, unfurling, blossoming.
“What?” Blane asks me when he sees my smile.
“The plants are talking to me,” I breathe.
“Will they talk to me, when I change?”
“They will.”
We hike back to the school, and proceed to the project room with Armonk. I dose Blane and Armonk with just the right amount to make the transformation into hybridism, without them sinking into the fevered, nauseous coma that I experienced. It’s a fine line, and when they are done, with their nostrils stinging, ribs aching and limbs shuddering from the hard work of fusion, I have to admit I’m relieved.
Their transmutation will solidify in the hum of the sun. We file downstairs, adding Thorn to our little procession.
At the sound of our footsteps, Jan calls out, still tied to a wall post in his room, “Freaks! I knew you were a bunch of freaks from the second I saw you. I should have thrown you all out then.”
Freaks, you could call us that. In a good way, I think as my inward smile spreads.
Silently we traipse outside without our burnsuits and make a beeline for the dunes. The sun’s still up, though no longer at its zenith. No matter, we group together and open our arms and bodies to its vibrational food.
Eat, new ones sing the Fireseed, and the Reds join the refrain:
Eat, eat, eat, and take your fill, take your fill.
We huddle toward each other—like a family of nested lizards, or nested humans, or nested chimera, whatever we are at this moment. The sun blends us, one into the other, and we engorge in our power and strength.
Blane’s eyes turn from hazel to vivid green as his thoughts pour into me. Tide, tidal pool. Tide, tide, tidal pool.
Tidal pool? I ask, tidal pool?
Turbulence, he answers in my head, turbulent waters, troubled sky.
Ocean Armonk thinks, ocean, ocean.
I picture the ocean, its calm blue, and the infinite sky above it. Then I picture it troubled, with roiling waves, and whirling, angry clouds. Rough troubled waters, and rough troubled skies. What trouble? I ask without words.
Trouble Thorn answers, over the big ocean.
It is there the Reds call, it is there where they stole us, stole us, stole us!
My mind moves to the pearl, the ominous troubled pearl in the rough-hewn sky.
From the sharp, unexpected flash in Blane’s eyes to the way Armonk flinches, to Thorn’s growl of pain, it comes to us all at once, and so clearly.
I lower my arms, break away and yell, “The orb I saw over the Pacific Ocean! That’s where we need to go.”
“That’s Pacific Ocean 3!” Blane shakes out his legs.
“The NanoPearl headquarters, where they make those bugs,” Armonk adds.
I say, “When Blane and I got near it during the hovercraft ride I felt its incredible evil.”