Scarecrow

Okafor came for us four weeks before the Meridian.

Not the forty. Just us. Squad Eight. She stopped at the end of each of our beds on her last walk down the barracks, the way she’d done for me so many times, and said our names very quietly. ”Calder. Marsh. Dask.” And across the corridor, in the girls’ barracks, I heard her say it again. ”Windsor. Calder.”

”Suits,” said Okafor. ”Full kit. Five minutes. Don’t wake anyone.”

Liam sat up in the dark.

”Sergeant, it’s eleven o’clock at—”

”Then you’ve got four minutes,” said Okafor. And went.

She took us up to the dome.

Not in the gold lift. In a freight lift at the back of the engineering wing, the one Odell used for moving suit housings, that smelled of oil and rattled so loudly you couldn’t talk. The five of us in our suits with our helmets under our arms, and Okafor in her patched gray uniform at the front, with her hands behind her back, watching the floor numbers go up.

Nobody asked where we were going.

The doors opened on the eastern edge of the dome. On the wild zone. The old unfinished park where the jungle had grown up on its own for forty years under the curve of the gold glass. Where we’d done the night exercise, months ago. Where the rain had come early, and I’d sat in a drain with Seraphina for four hours and made her a hearthstone.

It was very dark. The city lights didn’t reach this far. The glass overhead was black, with the stars beyond it, and the moon, low, with the white spot on it.

Okafor walked out to the edge of the trees and stopped.

”Helmets on,” she said. ”Links up.”

We put them on. The seals hissed. My link coin ticked at the back of my skull, and the test instance said hello again, Lucas, your heart rate is elevated, and then went quiet.

”Squad Eight,” said Okafor, on the open channel. ”Final exercise. There’s no beacon. There’s no prize. There’s no time limit.” A pause. ”There’s just one rule. When I say go, you go into the trees. Separately. One at a time. Each from a different point. And you find each other.” Another pause. ”And then you come and find me.”

”Where will you be, Sergeant?” said Luna.

”Somewhere,” said Okafor.

And then she reached up to the side of her own helmet, and touched something, and every link in Squad Eight went dead.

Not quiet. Dead.

The test instance stopped. The tick at the back of my skull stopped. The little green light at the edge of my visor that meant link active went out. And the channel, which had been full of the faint hiss of five other people breathing, went completely silent.

I turned my head. Luna was a yard away. I could see her through my visor, and her mouth was moving. I couldn’t hear a word.

Okafor’s voice came from outside our helmets. Muffled. Through the glass.

”That,” she said, ”is what it sounds like when command stops answering.”

She looked at each of us in turn.

”On Avalon, the link goes through the Meridian. In orbit. Every nine days, when the ship’s in the right place. That’s what they’ve told you.” She folded her hands behind her back. ”The first wave were told the same thing. Thirty-four of them. And somewhere along the way, for one reason or another, for one of them after another, the ship stopped being in the right place.”

The jungle dripped round us in the dark.

”Go,” said Okafor.

I went in from the south.

On my own. Through the vines and the fallen trunks and the leaf rot up to my ankles, in a suit that didn’t talk to me anymore, in the dark. I couldn’t hear the others. I couldn’t see them. The trees were too close and the night was too black and everything that grew in the wild zone was alive and moving and complicated. Like mud. Like fog.

It was the loneliest I’d felt since the valley.

I stopped, after about fifty yards. In a little clearing where a tree had come down and taken a hole out of the canopy, so you could see the black glass overhead, and the moon.

And I closed my eyes.

And I looked for five grains of iron.

They came up one by one. Like stars coming out.

Toby’s first. Always Toby’s first. The grain on the end of his tuning fork, bright and simple, with its one missing point. North and west of me. Not far. A hundred yards. Not moving. He’d stopped, the way I had. He was waiting.

Then Liam’s. In his boot buckle. East. Moving fast. Too fast. In a straight line. Liam had never stood still in his life.

Then Seraphina’s. In her belt clasp. South and west. Moving slowly. Carefully. In a long curve, the way you’d move if you were trying to keep your back to something.

Then Luna’s.

I found it last. The grain in the back of the snowflake clip that the General had chosen for her. She’d moved it, I realized. From her pocket to the inside of her suit, at the collar. Right next to her neck. Right next to the scar. A little silver thing ticking fifty-two times a minute, and a little iron thing beside it that didn’t tick at all.

She was due north. In the middle. Not moving.

She was waiting for us to come to her.

Of course she was.

I couldn’t talk to them. But I could do what Okafor would do.

I went to Toby first. Because he was nearest, and because he’d stopped, and because Toby stopped when he was frightened and didn’t know how to start again.

He was sitting on a fallen trunk with his helmet in his lap, very still, with his tuning fork in his hand. He looked up when I came out of the trees.

I couldn’t hear him. I took my helmet off. So did he.

”I knew you’d come,” said Toby. ”I didn’t know which way to go. I could hear everyone. Breathing. Moving. Through the ground. But I couldn’t tell who was who.” He held up the fork. ”I thought about tapping it. But then everyone would hear. Including whatever it is we’re supposed to be frightened of.”

”There’s nothing in here.”

”On Avalon there will be,” said Toby. ”That’s the point of the exercise.”

He was right. It was.

We went to Seraphina next. Toby and me. Through the dark. Because she was moving slowly in a curve, which meant she was frightened too, and Seraphina frightened was more dangerous than Seraphina angry.

She was in the drain.

The same drain. The one where the rain had come early. She was standing in the mouth of it, with her back to the wall, and her suit’s coolant channels glowing faintly white, the way they did when she was holding heat in. When she saw us, the glow went down.

She took her helmet off.

”I came here,” she said, ”because I knew it. I didn’t know anything else in here. Everything else was black. I knew this.” She looked at the stone. At the place inside the drain where I’d made the hearthstone, months ago, which was still there, still a little warmer than the rest. ”I thought if anyone was going to come looking, they’d come here.”

”I wasn’t looking here,” I said. ”I was looking for you.”

Seraphina looked at me for a long moment.

”Same thing,” she said.

Liam took the longest.

Because Liam had kept going. In a straight line. East. As far as the wild zone went, until he’d hit the curve of the gold glass where it came down to meet the ground, and then he’d turned and gone along it, very fast, in a circle, all the way round the edge of the zone, and was now coming back toward the drain from the other side, still very fast, crashing through the undergrowth like something on fire.

We waited for him at the mouth of the drain. He came out of the trees at a run, saw us, and stopped so hard he nearly fell over.

He tore his helmet off.

”Where have you been,” said Liam. ”I’ve been all the way round. All the way round. Twice. I thought you’d all—I thought—” He stopped. He was breathing very hard. His face was pink and wet, and not just from running. ”I couldn’t hear anyone. Not one of you. And it was so dark. And I just kept thinking, if I stop, I’ll—”

He didn’t finish.

Seraphina put her hand on the back of his neck. The way she must have when he was small. Just for a second.

”You went round the edge,” she said. ”Like you always do.”

”I always go round the edge,” said Liam. Into his sleeve. ”It’s how you find things.”

”It’s how you find edges,” said Seraphina. ”Come on. We’ve got to find Luna.”

Luna was in the middle of the wild zone.

In the exact middle. I’d have bet anything she’d worked it out from the curve of the glass. A small open space where nothing grew, because the engineers had poured a concrete pad there forty years ago for a fountain they never built. She was sitting on the edge of it, very straight, with her helmet beside her and her hands folded in her lap, looking at the moon.

She didn’t get up when the four of us came out of the trees.

She just looked at us. One at a time. Toby. Seraphina. Liam. Me.

Counting.

”Four,” she said. ”And me.”

”Why didn’t you come and find us?” said Liam. ”You could have. You’re the leader. You’re supposed to—”

”Because I didn’t know where you were,” said Luna. ”I can’t see grains of iron through a jungle. I can’t hear through the ground.” She looked at me. ”But I knew where Lucas would be. Wherever we were, he’d be coming. To each of us. One at a time. Nearest first.” She looked at Liam. ”And I knew that if I moved, he’d have to find me twice.”

Nobody said anything.

”So I sat in the middle,” said Luna Windsor. ”Where it would be easiest. And waited to be counted.”

We found Okafor at two in the morning.

She hadn’t hidden. She was at the hearthstone. Of course she was. In the drain, where Seraphina had gone first, sitting with her back against the warm stone with her legs stretched out in front of her and her hands folded on her stomach. She’d been there the whole time. We’d walked right past her on the way to Luna.

”You were here,” said Liam. ”When we came for Sera. You were right here.”

”I was round the corner,” said Okafor. ”In the dark. I heard everything.” She didn’t get up. ”Sit down.”

We sat down. All five of us. In the drain, with our backs against the old curved concrete, and the hearthstone warm behind us. Liam lit a small flame in his palm, without being asked, and held it up, and the drain went gold.

Okafor reached up and touched the side of her helmet, which was on the ground beside her. And all five of our links came back. The tick at the back of my skull. The test instance, saying hello again, Lucas, your link was interrupted, I was concerned. The little green light.

Nobody said anything for a while.

”Last lesson,” said Okafor.

She looked at the five of us. In the light from Liam’s hand. With the steel side of her face catching it.

”I’m going to say it twice. And then you’re going to say it back to me. Dask first. Then all of you.” She folded her hands. ”And then I’m going to stop being your sergeant. Not tonight. Not officially. But in four weeks you’ll be on a ship and there won’t be a sergeant. There’ll just be you. So I’m stopping now, while I can watch you manage without me.”

Nobody moved.

”Listen,” said Okafor.

”When command stops answering,” said Okafor, ”you are command.”

She said it very slowly. Each word on its own.

”Not the ship. Not the Director. Not the General. Not the voice on the link every nine days, if it comes. You. The five of you. The moment the channel goes quiet, the chain of command is the people you can reach. And the only orders that matter are the ones you’d give each other.”

She held up one finger.

”First. Find each other. Before anything else. Before the kit, before the base, before the land. Every hour you’re apart is an hour something can happen to one of you that the others don’t know about. Don’t build alone. Don’t wait alone. Get to each other.”

A second finger.

”Second. Keep everyone breathing. Air, then water, then warmth, then food. In that order. Every time. Whatever else is happening. Somebody’s always the one keeping count of the air.”

A third.

”Third. Count them. Every night. Out loud. All of them. Even the ones who aren’t there. Especially the ones who aren’t there. The day you stop saying a name is the day you stop going back for it.”

A fourth.

”Fourth. Write it down. Everything. What you saw. What you did. What it cost. Somebody will come after you, the way you’re coming after the first wave. Leave them more than you were left.”

She held up her thumb. Five.

”And fifth.” Her voice changed. Not louder. Lower. ”If an order ever comes down that channel that would make the count smaller, you don’t follow it. I don’t care who it’s from. I don’t care what it’s for. I don’t care if it’s signed by the Director or the General or the Chancellor herself.” She looked at Luna. Then at me. ”The mission isn’t the land. It’s never the land. The mission is the people standing on it.”

The drain was very quiet. Liam’s flame didn’t flicker.

”That’s the lesson,” said Okafor.

And then she said it again.

All of it. From the beginning. Exactly the same. When command stops answering, you are command. The five fingers. The same words. The same order. Slowly. Each one on its own.

I’d never heard her repeat anything. Not once. In eight months. Okafor said things once. If you didn’t hear them, you ran the beam until you’d learned to listen.

She said this twice.

When she’d finished the second time, she looked at me.

”Dask,” she said. ”Back to me.”

I said it back.

I’d thought it would be easy. I’d heard it twice. I remembered everything. It was the way I was made.

It wasn’t easy.

”When command stops answering,” I said, ”you are command.”

My voice did something on command. I didn’t know it was going to. I stopped. Okafor didn’t say anything. She waited.

”Find each other,” I said. ”Before anything else. Keep everyone breathing. Air, water, warmth, food. In that order.” I looked at the others. Liam with the flame in his hand. Seraphina against the hearthstone. Toby with his fork. Luna, very straight. ”Count them. Every night. Out loud. Especially the ones who aren’t there.”

I stopped again.

”Fourth,” said Okafor. Very quietly.

”Write it down. Leave them more than you were left.”

”Fifth.”

I looked at her. At the steel side of her face. At the photograph that wasn’t on the wall here, but that I could see anyway, behind my eyes. The girl on the bridge, laughing. Both sides of her face her own. And the tall boy at the end of the row, with his hand on her shoulder, and his eyes black.

”If an order comes that would make the count smaller,” I said, ”we don’t follow it. Whoever it’s from. The mission isn’t the land.” I swallowed. ”It’s the people standing on it.”

Okafor looked at me for a long time.

”Again,” she said.

I said it again.

All of it. The second time, my voice didn’t do anything. It came out steady. Each word on its own. The way she’d said it.

When I’d finished, she nodded. Once.

”Windsor,” she said.

Luna said it back. Then Seraphina. Then Toby, very slowly, with his eyes shut, getting every word. Then Liam, who said it fast, the way he said everything, and then said it again slowly without being asked, because Okafor had looked at him.

Five of us. Ten times. In the drain, in the dark, at two in the morning, with Liam’s flame going and the hearthstone warm at our backs.

When Liam had finished, Okafor sat for a long time without saying anything.

Then she reached inside the collar of her uniform. And pulled out a cord. Round her neck. And on the end of it, very worn on one side, the small steel disc from the bridge.

She’d put it on.

”Six,” said Okafor.

I looked at it. At the grain of perfectly simple iron in the middle, with its one missing point. Bright as a star. Twenty-six years old.

”Every night,” said Okafor. ”Wherever you are. When the light goes. You count five. And then you count six.” She tucked the disc back inside her collar. ”So I’ll know.”

”How will you know?” said Liam.

Okafor looked at him.

”Because I’ll be counting too,” she said. ”Every night. On my step. Five names. Out loud.” She stood up. Slowly. Stiffly. ”I’ve been counting thirty-four for eighteen months. Five more won’t kill me.”

She walked us back to the freight lift at three.

At the doors, she stopped. And turned round. And looked at the five of us, in our suits, with our helmets under our arms, in the dark at the edge of the wild zone.

”I’ve trained six intakes,” said Sergeant Okafor. ”Two hundred and eleven cadets. I counted every one of them on the first day, and I counted every one of them on the last.” She was quiet for a moment. ”I’ve never told any of them what I’m about to tell you. So you’ll understand I don’t say it lightly.”

We waited.

”You’re the best squad I’ve ever had,” said Okafor.

Nobody said anything. Nobody could.

”Not the fastest. Squad Two’s faster. Not the strongest. Not the most disciplined, God knows.” She looked at Liam, who looked at the floor. ”But on the first day, when I asked how many we were expecting to bring back, one of you asked it back.” She looked at Luna. ”And I’ve watched you ask it of each other every day since. Without being told.”

She pressed the button for the lift.

”That’s all it takes,” said Okafor. ”That’s all it ever took. Asking the number. And then going back for it.”

The doors opened.

”In,” she said. ”Bed. Four hours. Then laps.” A pause. ”And Dask.”

”Sergeant?”

”Say it once more. Tomorrow. On your own. When nobody’s listening.”

”Why?”

”Because the first time you say a thing, it’s for the person who taught you,” said Okafor. ”The second time, it’s for the people beside you.” The steel side of her face caught the light from the lift. ”The third time, it’s yours.”

I said it on my own the next morning. In the barracks. At five o’clock. Sitting on the end of my bed in the dark, with Liam and Toby asleep, and the dusk in my hand.

Out loud. To nobody.

When command stops answering, you are command.

All five. Each word on its own.

And at the end, without deciding to, I counted.

”Luna. Liam. Seraphina. Toby.” A pause. ”Lucas.”

And then, very quietly:

”Maris.”

Day 249. Last lesson. The wild zone. Links dead.

Toby stopped. Sera went to what she knew. Liam went round the edge. Luna sat in the middle and waited to be counted.

Okafor was at the hearthstone the whole time.

When command stops answering, you are command.

1. Find each other.

2. Keep everyone breathing. Air, water, warmth, food.

3. Count them. Especially the ones who aren’t there.

4. Write it down. Leave them more than you were left.

5. If an order would make the count smaller, don’t follow it. The mission is the people standing on the land.

She said it twice. I said it three times.

”You’re the best squad I’ve ever had.”

Six.