Nothing. And then I think, no, he addressed the technology first.
“Command. Turn right.”
I’m wrong again. That was the Centauri II’s technology. Beckett controls with his eyes. I stare at something that looks a little like a light square. It glows blue. And the Earthling on the air bike I just passed has turned his head. Little words and pictures appear across the blue light, which is so bizarre, especially on a machine flying me through the air by itself. I see the word “Route,” and stare carefully at only that word, and then other words appear. “Preset.” “Reset.” I choose “Reset,” and I see a list. Centauri III is one. Canaan and New Canaan are others. And so is “Pilot Control.”
And the air bike is slowing. It’s going to land me in front of the gates. There are Earthlings there, running up from different directions. Shouting. I stare at the word “Canaan,” and then the next option, which is “Set.” I grip the handles hard and the bike zooms back upward, leaving the Earthlings behind with a passing wind. The bike shoots between the peaks, putting rocks and a mountainside between us, the plain rushing below me like Beckett’s map in the frame of light.
I feel a rush of fear, the cold steals my breath, and then a deep thrill of speed. The sky is glowing, pink rays streaking out from the coming sun, and I think of the words from the medical journal, the ones I have cached for so long. Because I didn’t want to believe them.
The onset of Forgetting is traumatic … symptoms of fear, panic, disorientation, and paranoia that can lead to unwarranted violence …
That’s what Beckett is facing if he is there for the Forgetting. With Commander Faye and seventy-five Earthlings trained to fight. And I bet they’ll have weapons, agreement or no.
If I’m there, it’s going to kill me. And so the solution is: Don’t be there.
I twist the grip forward and speed toward the sunrise.
We walk back through the gates of Canaan like some kind of ritual procession. Lian Archiva and her Knowing in the lead, Commander Juniper Faye next. Me. And then a squad of seventy-five, in formation. No visible weapons. But I know they’ve got the small ones in their belts. Maybe we are a ritual. I don’t know.
We pass the house where I exploded the door. And even though this is one of the most important archaeological sites in history, and that pile of blackened rubble is a shame caused by nobody but Beckett Rodriguez, I smile. And then I ache.
I miss her.
The Commander turns her head, looking back to check on me, and I fix my face to nothing, like Samara would. Faye doesn’t need to catch even a whiff of what I’m thinking. Because the soldier that delivered me to the launch took one quick second to press his thumb to my cuffs and leave them unlocked. A dangerous move that will have been documented, unless he knows someone who can hack. I’m waiting for my moment. To disappear. To get back into the caves, maybe, and back to New Canaan. And maybe that will delay my parents’ punishment a little longer, too.
Funny how things have twisted around. I wish I could tell her.
The sky has lightened so much we can see on our own now, but the soldiers behind me are having trouble navigating the trees and staying in formation, tripping over saplings and roots. The buds look ready to explode. And then I hear the faintest whoosh in the air.
I glance up, but I can’t see anything. Lian Archiva stops, holds up a hand, and I see we’ve come to a half bowl in the sloping land of the city, with terraced sides and a broken tower straddling a stream at its bottom. The amphitheater. Exactly the way it was supposed to have been.
“I was clear,” says Lian, “that there was to be no one else present at our negotiations, and that the city was not to be entered with technology?”
“Someone’s off course,” says Faye, her eyes narrowing. “Centauri, who’s flying around on an air bike?”
But there’s no answer.
“Centauri!”
I grin. She’s out of communication.
“I was told this problem was corrected,” Faye says to Finchley.
I think, someone’s going to pay once she gets back on the— An air bike zooms straight over our heads, circling once before angling down into a flat space beside the running stream and the broken tower. It’s not a perfect landing, but it’s not bad. The rider swings over a leg. A leg beneath a red dress that is dirty and a little torn, hair half up and tangled from the wind. Sam. Whose amber eyes are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Who just flew an air bike from New Canaan.
And she looks right at me, and mouths the word “Hi.”
Who is this?” a woman yells beside Beckett. The Commander. I’ve never seen her before, but there’s no mistaking who she is. She thinks she’s in charge. She makes her way down the terraced steps, pushing past the Knowing, who are coming more slowly. The rest of the Earthlings hang back at the rim, not sure, I think, whether she wants them up or down.
“I am Samara Archiva,” I say. “You’ve been tricked.”
She grins at me. And so does Beckett. He’s got his hands bound in front of him, shaking his head, grinning like he’s going to laugh. Which is crazy. I smile back. Then the Commander barks, “Finchley! Set up a perimeter! And send me five soldiers to detain this—”
“No,” I say. “Leave them where they are, or I won’t tell you what’s—”
“No,” a different voice says. It’s my father, now standing to one side of the Commander, and looking her in the eye. “They stay where they are, or I cut you in half.” He’s got mother’s technology in his palm. What she used to kill that family. And I think he just took it out of his hair.
Commander Faye seems to know exactly what my father has and what it can do. She keeps her eyes on the weapon and raises a hand. “Hold that, Finchley.”
And then Beck comes. He’s loose from the shackles that were on his wrists, and now he’s got Faye’s arms back, using them to bind hers. “Hold, Finchley!” she yells again. She’s watching that weapon. I’m watching Sampson Archiva.
Beck forces the Commander to her knees while the other Knowing flow past them, slow and elegant, seating themselves in a circle around the tower, hands in laps. Closing their eyes, caching. Rapt. Thorne Councilman is the only one who looks a little unsure. My mother stays where she is. The sky is lightening, a rosy orange.
“Daughter,” says Sampson, “do what you came to do.”
Then Lian approaches my father. She strokes one painted fingernail down his cheek. “What good does this do?” she whispers. “The deed is done. Come sit with me, and cache.”