Jill doesn’t like this plan. I see her glance over her shoulder. She looks scared.
“Come on,” I say. “That break on the other side of the canyon needs an eye on it anyway. And the longer they think we’re dead, the less they’re going to want to let us camp.”
It’s the word “dead” that does it. Jill shoulders her pack, and we leave the erupting pool, heading at a fast clip toward the canyon break.
When I was on the ship, all I wanted was to be off it. The Centauri III is big, almost too big, but there’s something about being with the same people in the same space when you know you can’t open the door. I couldn’t wait to be out here on my own, and Jill was the same. And now, for a few minutes, we really are on our own, and here I am, practically at a run without that umbilical cord of a signal. We thought we trained for everything, but we didn’t train for this, and I think that’s what has me so off-kilter.
But deep down, it also feels just a little bit good not having Dad call the shots.
There’s some thick growth to push through, more of the bizarrely bendable trees, and then we find the break and we’re climbing again, pushing up against the gravity of the planet. I was right about the way we’re following. It really is regular and wide, just like I tried to tell Dad, rising at a steady, even slant. Water could have done it, maybe, but so could hands.
I pause every now and then, trying to see if the rock is showing any evidence of human cut marks, but Jill huffs, impatient, and finally she just grabs my hand and pulls. She wants that signal. I wonder just how many times in her life Jill has been out of connection with Vesta. Maybe not often. Maybe not ever. Jill was with her mom all the time on the ship. When she wasn’t with me.
We’re both winded when we get to the top, the land going grassy, still rolling and undulating its way upward. I’ve got our connection status visible in the corner of the lenses, so I’ll see the change when we get the signal back, but there’s nothing yet. Jill still has my hand, and suddenly we tug on each other. We’ve tried to walk in opposite directions, Jill circling the canyon, back the way we came, while I’ve spotted a wide, shallow depression in the landscape that might match the trajectory of the canyon break. She frowns at me.
“You said we were headed up high, to get the connection back.”
“I just want to see whether that depression is natural. How it’s cutting through … ”
“Beckett, first priority has to be communication!”
“Actually, first priority is fulfillment of the mission.”
“You know we’re not cleared to move forward, no matter what our objective … ”
“Forward is only about fifteen meters that way, Jill.” I watch her eyes narrow, and sigh inside. “Look, we’re going that way to look at the evidence, because looking at the evidence is why we came. It’ll take ten minutes.”
She drops my hand. “Are you pulling rank?”
I ought to be scared of that look she’s giving me, but right now I’m just annoyed. I could pull rank. Technically. I’m older by a year and I’ve trained longer. Jill and Vesta didn’t join the project until we were six months in. And now, in view of my earlier revelations, I’m suddenly wondering if Jill and Vesta were brought on in the first place at the direct request of my parents. Not for the good of the mission. For me. Does the Lost Canaan Project have requisition applications for “female, suitable mother of my grandchildren”? Because Mom just might have filled that out. I’m irritated with all of them.
“Beckett,” Jill repeats. “Are you pulling rank?”
She is definitely scared. “Jill, you know I don’t operate that way. But once we get that connection, they’re probably going to pull us straight back to base camp, and then somebody’s going to have to hike all the way out here to look at that depression. Or, we could take ten minutes and check it out now.” Jill bites her lip. “Look, you don’t think the Commander would ignore the objectives of a mission for a technical problem, do you?”
I regret this argument the second it’s out of my mouth. Dad doesn’t like Commander Faye, and the feeling is mutual, so two years on the same ship and I’ve never had more than a curt nod out of her. But Jillian loves the Commander. Admires her. She’s risen fast through the ranks, knows how to get things done, and how to deal with the military, which is what most of the Centauri’s crew is. But I’ve heard stories about Juniper Faye. Most of them fact. And Dad says the way she dealt with the Canadian rebels was ruthless. Patient. Like a spider. And with all the ethics of a patient spider, too. A brilliant success if you’re interested in crushing your enemies. A disaster if you’re interested in cultures and history. Or humans. I don’t plan on running anything the way the Commander would.
But the idea has worked on Jill. She readjusts her pack. “Okay, let’s just hurry and get it done, then.”
I look back to the canyon break and take some measurements with the glasses, then start along the depression, doing the same, sometimes from the vantage point of my stomach on the ground. I am getting a regular width sometimes, which is exciting until I lose it. But that could be erosion. Seismic activity. And then the depression crests the final ridge and we’re at the top of a gentle slope, tall grasses flowing down into a valley that is surrounded by mountains.
I squat down to look, searching, but the depression has disappeared, and that makes me think water or erosion after all. Disappointing. Or maybe I just can’t see it beneath the ground cover. I take one step forward, and a cloud of tiny, lace-winged mothlike things rises up suddenly from the grasses, thousands of them, making swirling patterns in the air as they fly. I turn my face from their dusty wings, wait for my vision to clear, and then Jill’s hand is on my arm, pulling.
“Oh,” she breathes. “Oh, Beckett … ”
The valley is a shallow scoop in the land, and in the center is a forest, trees spreading their limbs like a canopy. But it’s a circular forest, unnaturally so, and clear along the edges, reflecting the sunbeams here and there, are gleams of shining white.
A wall. A wall of white stone.
What I’m seeing is a city.
I stood for a long time on the edge of an overhanging rock, a green river running slow beneath me. Deciding. I’d climbed down as far as I could, lucky not to have fallen before I meant to, but it was still a long drop, and I had no Knowing of how deep the water would be. I felt my heart beat, and beat, breath pumping in and out of my lungs. I couldn’t see a path sideways. There was no way back. Only forward, and I’d promised her I would run. That I would find the city. Forget. I held my breath and stepped off the rock. And the feeling was like falling into memory.