The Lying Planet Page 12

  The faces of Mom and Dad march past my inner eye. “I don’t think I could kill any of them. Not while they looked human, anyway.”

  “Not even Farrow?” Leonard asks.

  “Okay, maybe Farrow.”

  We burst into cackles.

  After taking a swig of magic cider, Leonard gazes at a dreamy point off in the distance. “Farrow, Farrow, you’re one ugly cuss,” he croons.

  Peyton giggles and wipes brew from her lips. “Farrow, Farrow, you want to eat us,” she sings.

  “Your turn, Jay,” Leonard says, right before producing another hearty belch.

  I search for words, my brain fuzzy but loose, incredibly loose. “Um, how about…Farrow, Farrow, now who can you trust?”

  “That doesn’t really rhyme.” Peyton laughs anyway.

  “Close enough.”

  “One last line, folks.” Leonard thrusts his cup into the air. “Farrow, Farrow, your whole life’s a bust!” he belts out.

  We crack up, snorting and hooting. I marvel at my cup. Amazing how hilarious this brew makes everything.

  After another hour of goofing around, I sober the party up by sharing my banishment idea with Leonard. When he finishes having his meltdown and blows his nose on his shirt, I climb over hay bales, brush off my clothes, and make my way home. My legs wobble as I walk. My head floats above my shoulders. The sky is amazingly wide, with Liberty’s double moons looking like chunks of white cheese hung in space by unseen hands.

  A beautiful evening. Too bad it has to be ruined by thoughts of reality.

  With a sigh, I jam my hands into my pockets. My fingertips touch my seeder tool and my dwelling’s entry device, and my breathing skids into a faster beat. Ah…I could do some major damage with the seeder to help me get banished, a direct defiant act against Commander Farrow. Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.

  When I reach the main road, I aim for a dead-end street ringed by oversized two-level dwellings. Except for a woman striding up an opposite unit’s front pavement, the street is empty. The woman slips into her dwelling. I hurry to the trim plushgrass of Farrow’s unit, smiling as I see his UHV settled on the pavement.

  Perfect.

  Every night, weather cooperating, some energetic kiss-up washes the commander’s vehicle before our leader lovingly stashes it into his docking hangar for the night. I know the routine. I’ve done the washing enough times myself.

  From the way the vehicle gleams in the moonlight, the washing is finished. I glance at the unit. A couple of upper-level windows give off a muted illumination, smothered by drawn blinds. Farrow is home, although I don’t know about his wife, who supervises the conception lab. She stays in Fort Hope a lot, mostly appearing in Sanctuary twice a month to hand out babies after the ceremonies.

  It doesn’t matter. Neither of the alien pair is outside, and I need to act fast before Farrow puts his precious vehicle away.

  I pull out my seeder tool. It usually pokes holes and measures depth for planting seeds, but tonight it’s sharp enough for something else. I slide back the cap. Starting with the driver’s side, I score a long wavy line from the rear of the vehicle all the way to the driver’s door. The scratch glints, blatantly silver-white against the black of the dura-coating. The pure joy of this rebellious act makes my already-giddy head dance.

  I pause to listen for noises. It’s quiet except for the croaking of pond-hoppers, so I scratch the seeder across the hood and the front passenger door in large zigzagging strokes. Beautiful. I add a circling flourish by the back fender, pocket my seeder tool, and the deed is done. I’m about to trot away, when a thud comes from inside the docking hangar.

  The hangar door buzzes up like a gaping mouth to accept the UHV. There’s no time to run or hide. I pocket my seeder tool as a harsh voice penetrates the night air.

  “Who’s there—and what are you doing near my vehicle?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alarm charges through my body. I struggle to think of an excuse for being at the scene of an obvious crime. Commander Farrow looms at the front of the UHV, his body dark and rigid.

  “Speak up, boy.” He squints. “Mr. Lawton, is that you?”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, my voice shaking. “I’m afraid I have bad news. Your vehicle has been vandalized.” I point at the section by his leg.

  The commander gives a loud exclamation and bends to examine the damage.

  “It goes all the way to this back door.” I hurry to the other side as he strides to check it, keeping my distance in case I smell like hard cider. “Both sides have been badly scored. I’m sorry. I think I could’ve prevented this.”

  “How do you figure that?” Commander Farrow straightens to meet my eye over the top of the vehicle.

  “At training sessions today I was at my locker pod, and I overheard some guys laughing about how they should mark up your UHV. By the time I closed my locker, I couldn’t tell who’d been talking. I thought it might’ve been a tasteless joke, anyway. I kind of forgot about it until about fifteen minutes ago, when I decided to hike over here and warn you, on the chance they might be serious. Looks like they were.”

  “I appreciate the effort.” Commander Farrow’s voice is flint-edged. “If you hear anything more about who did this, let me know. I want these perpetrators caught and punished. With limited dura-coating available, this is reckless vandalism.”

  I wipe sweaty palms on my pants. “Yes, sir. Do you want me to round up a sander from the supply station tomorrow to refinish the surface?”

  “No, I’ll need to get this taken care of in the morning, and you’ll be in sessions.”

  A strident female voice rings out. “Is everything all right, Commander?”

  As Commander Farrow turns toward the neighbor, I blurt, “Gotta go, sir. I’m really sorry this happened.”

  He waves me away, and I rush off. When I reach the main road, a freakishly wide grin breaks out across my face, and my walk turns into a swagger. What a scorchin’ victory! Like a true rebel, I damaged our alien leader’s transportation and escaped without a mark. This should go a long way toward getting me banished.

  The evening suddenly looks even more beautiful than it did before.

  “Farrow, Farrow, now who can you trust?” I sing under my breath, while the sounds of the fiddlewings in a nearby field flare into a glorious, chirping chorus.

  …

  I jerk awake the next morning to a sharp tapping on my bedroom door. I groan. My body feels thick, while my head pounds like thunder echoing in a cave.

  “Jay?” Mom’s muffled, concerned voice says. “Aren’t you up yet? Rachel and Tammi have already had their breakfast.”

  Torch it all, I overslept. Springing upright, I call, “Sorry, I was studying. I’ll be there in a minute after my shower.”

  I snatch clean clothes and stagger down the hall. In the shower, I scrub away incriminating alcohol odors from my body, but I can’t wash away the groggy fatigue and the pounding in my head. Or the guilt that haunts me. Did I really drink alcohol, invent silly songs, and vandalize the commander’s UHV last night? Those things and the lies to cover them are necessary for my banishment plan…but I just don’t feel like myself anymore.

  Last night I was lucky Mom and Dad accepted my apology for being out late. I had to talk fast and not let them get close enough to smell me, but the tale of my rescue attempt of Farrow’s UHV gave me a good excuse. The bad thing was that I missed saying good night to Rachel and Tammi. They were already tucked into bed and under the influence of their pills. Another bad thing was that the pill Dad forced on me dissolved a little under my tongue before I could spit it out. Between that and the brew, I conked out almost before my head hit the pillow.

  Still feeling gross after I get dressed, I walk into the kitchen. Rachel squeezes me good morning before she flits from the room. Mom and Dad have finished their wheat cereal and human broth, and Tammi is carrying dishes to the sanitizer.

  Mom glances at me. “You’ll have to flash
wave your scrambled eggs, dear, or eat them cold. No time for fruit, I’m afraid. Hurry, or you’ll miss the transport.”

  I try not to shudder at her use of the word “dear.” I slide my plate into the flashwave oven and notice that the broth powder bin sits on the counter, two-thirds full, with the lid resting beside it.

  Murderers. There’s proof of their deceit and betrayal sitting right here every day in the kitchen. They smile while they secretly grind up my friends and calmly sip them in a broth each morning and night. Does this broth powder already contain the remains of Nash Redmond? Or what’s left of Ritta, who got a Testing score of fifty-seven?

  These aliens slaughtered my brother and made him into food. They killed Chad like he was a farm animal raised to be butchered. My big brother, who taught me how to read and whispered ghost stories across our darkened bedroom. Chad, who played helioball with me and raced me to the transport stop every morning. And a whole galaxy of other things that’ll never be anything more than memories.

  My eyes sting. A mindless frenzy rises up inside me. With a deep inhale, I dive for Tammi’s small body. “Gotcha, critter!”

  She squeals in high-pitched laughter as I pick her up, twirl her, and step toward the counter. One of her kicking feet hits the powder bin and sends it hurtling to the floor.

  Bull’s-eye. It lands with a crash.

  Dad goes shock-eyed while Mom screams. I stop swinging Tammi as Mom sinks to the floor, both her hands outstretched. More than half of the powder is scattered across the tiles in a gritty, brown spill.

  Mom snatches up the rolling, almost-empty bin. “What have you two done?”

  I set Tammi on her feet and pat her toward the hall. She runs off, bursting into tears.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s my fault. Please don’t get mad at Tammi. I’ll help clean up.”

  “No. Just get out of here and go to sessions.” Mom’s eyes flash like a dangerous beast’s. I’ve never seen her this angry. “Now. I mean it.”

  My appetite gone, I leave my breakfast while Dad reaches for the broom and dustpan. I collect my sisters and rush them and their packs out the front door, hoping Tammi won’t get in trouble. The spilled broth will help lower my score, but I’ll have to be more careful about how I do things from now on.

  At the hoverbus stop, I stroke Tammi’s hair while she sobs into my ribs. I wish I could tell her the truth about why I dumped the bin.

  Rachel points down the road. “Here comes the transport.”

  Crouching beside Tammi, I brush tears from her round cheeks. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll get the lecture, since it was my fault. Go to sessions and have fun, okay?”

  Tammi inhales a wobbly breath. “Okay.”

  I watch my sisters board and then wave to them as the bus whirs away. One street over, I wait for the secondary education transport with four other morning session students.

  Aubrie arrives in a few minutes, with a broad smile. “Ready to ace the biology exam?”

  I shrug. “I guess.”

  Her smile falters. “You okay?”

  “Skirmish at home. Mom’s majorly ticked. And I have a whomping headache.”

  “Aw, I’m sorry.” She slips her arm through the bend in mine and rests her head against my shoulder. The sweet smell of her shampoo makes my queasy stomach pitch.

  The bus drops us off at the training compound. My first two sessions pass in a headachy haze, and I don’t feel much better by the time biology rolls around. There, Leonard shadows Aubrie and me through the door.

  “Hey, secret agent man,” he says with a dark snicker. “You look like the wrong side of a mudworm this morning. How ya feeling?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  The snicker turns into a cackle. “Welcome to a whole new world.”

  Aubrie frowns as Leonard crosses the room to his desk. “What did he mean by that?”

  “Nothing.” I sit, cringing at the sharpness of her gaze.

  She lowers her voice. “I hope you haven’t been hanging out with him. Or Peyton.”

  “I don’t see what difference it makes.”

  “You know your mom said—”

  “I should be able to hang out with anyone I want,” I say, my words clipped. I concentrate on the trainer’s instructions when the session begins, ignoring the vibes of surprise and irritation coming from across the aisle. I know I need to be careful of offending her, but I’m not in the mood to hear her pushy reminders. If she’d trust me enough to believe what’s going on in Sanctuary, I wouldn’t have to explain a thing.

  Numbered datafilm sheets to use for our exam file down the row. Feeling nauseous from my headache, I take a film and pass the rest back. Forget brew drinking—I hate the aftereffects. I’ll find less torturous ways to get banished.

  Such as failing this exam? I squint. The questions on the front display screen swarm together like a horde of yellow cellopedes. I can always blame a low score on having a headache or being upset about the broth. I could even blame it on being worried about my ceremony. Indirectly, those are all true reasons. If I don’t do this kind of public thing too much, Aubrie will never know.

  Lifting my stylus, I begin the process of getting the first bad grade of my entire life.

  …

  That evening at the Nebula, technoguitar chords and my friends’ laughter drift into my ears. Aubrie sits next to me, and our empty bowls are stacked on the table. Thankfully, the ache in my skull has faded to a faint throbbing. As I expected, Mom and Dad gave me a lecture when I reached the gardens after sessions. Since the broth spill was an “accident,” I just got scolded about horseplay in the kitchen, followed by a reminder about the importance of food resources. They topped it off by telling me they were able to sweep up most of the powder and dump it back into its bin.

  Not what I wanted to hear.

  “Hey,” Sean says to our group. “Did you hear how Commander Farrow’s UHV got all scratched up last night?”

  “I don’t know why anyone would mess up a beautiful vehicle like that,” Misty says.

  I struggle to look concerned and swap a tense look with Harrel. He really needs to quit stalling and agree to let us tell everyone about the aliens and the banishment plan. He can’t protect Misty forever.

  Sean shakes his head. “You’d think after Blake and Shelly flunked at the last ceremony, no one would do things like that.”

  “Depends on what else this person has done,” Misty says. “Scraping a UHV is bad, but it won’t get anyone banished. I bet it takes a lot to end up with a flunking score. Look how long Mick ran around doing stupid things.”

  A bolt of panic shoots through me. True. Mick was a jerk almost his entire life. What exactly did Blake do to cancel out the responsible things he did? How long did he do his secret activity in the woods? I might not have enough time left to sabotage my score. And if I can’t fail my Testing, I won’t be alive to help anyone else. Rachel and Tammi included.

  There’s too much at stake. I need more information, and I know who has it. Easing Aubrie from my side, I grab the stack of empty bowls. “Be right back.” I cross the dining area and enter the kitchen.

  Konrad is untying his apron, apparently done for the evening. He glares. “Use the bin out there for dirty dishes, Lawton. That’s what it’s for.”

  “I know.” I clank the bowls onto the counter. “I want to talk to you.”

  Konrad grunts. “The feeling isn’t mutual.”

  “Too bad.” I take note of where Peyton’s father stands talking to an older girl at the other end of the kitchen. A couple of other workers scour pots and pans at the sinks. I glare back at Konrad. “Tell me what Blake did to get banished. No messing around this time.”

  “I told you, I don’t know what he did.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “And you’re full of it. Blast off, man.”

  I move closer, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides. “Tell me. Last chance, Zemik.”

  “Or what?” Konrad lau
ghs, hanging up his apron. “You’ll thrash me with cruel looks or lecture me to death about how I should be more helpful and dependable?”

  Pressure builds inside my chest and shoots down my arms. Time is running out. I’m not about to let this sneering punk decide the fate of the entire safe zone.

  “I’ll do more than that, you little piece of dung.” I grab the front of his shirt and drag him sideways into a nearby pantry. With my free hand, I shove the door closed.

  “Listen up,” I say between gritted teeth, my face pushed up against his. “You’re going to tell me what I want to know, or I’m going to beat it out of you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Konrad’s eyes bug, then narrow into slits. He struggles to loosen my fist from his shirt, but I hold on tight.

  “Let go,” he says. “Dad and Farrow are gonna combust when they hear about this.”

  “I don’t give a flying rodent pellet what your dad or Farrow think. I want to know why Blake was out in the woods and how long he was doing it.”

  “How the double freakin’ moons should I know?”

  I slug Konrad in the face. He yells and slugs me in the stomach, clawing at my arm. I whoosh out a grunt and launch my fist again. With a squelch, his nose springs a bloody leak. Konrad howls. His knees sag.

  “Tell me or I’ll keep pounding,” I say.

  “He was meeting someone in the woods!” The blood from his nose spatters his shirt and my hand.

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. A girl, I think—he went off every couple of weeks, looking all soupy-eyed, combing his hair and stuff. It started last summer. Although he only did the hair combing the first few months, and after that he had a different look in his eye. Less soupy, more serious.”

  I frown. “Was he seeing Aubrie?”

  “Not a chance, idiot. She’s too much of a straight arrow. Blake said he’d never have a chance as long as you were with her. That’s why he hated your stinkin’ guts.”

  I believe him. Aubrie might have feelings for the guy, based on her extreme reaction to his banishment, but if she truly wanted him this past year, she would’ve broken up with me first. I shove Konrad away as the pantry door bursts open. I spin to see Peyton’s father standing in the doorway, the kitchen help hovering behind him.