The Lying Planet Page 7

  And I’m not about to open their door to look in on them. Just by some slim, horrible chance they’re awake.

  Waves of both relief and disappointment wash through me. With a shaky sigh, I return to my room to fall back asleep.

  …

  I spend most of Restday doing anything but resting. This is the day I tell Harrel my crazy news, and while I don’t think he’ll turn me in to the Board, I hope he believes me. I ride my hoverbike from gardens to cattle compound to sheep pens, like an agitated yar-fly. In the henhouse, even Gizmo’s gentle clucking doesn’t soothe me. At home, Rachel and Tammi are baking butternut cookies with Mom, so I stay out of the kitchen. My mind is such a wound-up mess by the time afternoon rolls around, I can barely steer my hoverbike to the dairy to meet Harrel.

  I dock my bike under a tree, shake the tension from my arms, and head for the back of the compound to the huge barn where the dairy cows are milked. The powerful stench of the place fills my nose. Harrel is there along with Misty, Sean, and three others who do their normal chores even on Restday. He’s helping shovel manure into a cart, his thick arm muscles flexing, his legs braced and sturdy as tree trunks. I walk up as he wipes sweat from his forehead and leans the shovel against the irathon-fiber sides of a stall.

  “Hi, Jay,” Misty says from the other side of Harrel, trying not to smirk but failing. “Couldn’t stay away from this place, huh?”

  I grunt as Harrel and Sean nod to me. Mucking out stalls for Misty’s mother, the dairy supervisor, isn’t something I sign up for often. “I’ll leave that wonderful-smelling chore to you, Misty, since you’re happy to do it at least a dozen times every week.”

  She slops another shovelful into the cart. “Oh, yeah. I do it all for the good of the community. As Mom always says: Today’s cow pies—tomorrow’s fertilizer.”

  Their chuckles ripple out. Sean’s is the loudest. For a tall, skinny guy, he packs a huge laugh.

  “Hey, I’m borrowing Harrel for a minute,” I say when they wind down. “We’ll feed and water the worrels while we’re out there.”

  “We’ll save some muck for you, Andrews!” Sean calls to Harrel as we retreat.

  Harrel sheds his gloves by the barn door, and I nab a bucket of feed from an outbuilding by the worrel enclosure. He’s grinning to himself. I assume he works here mostly to help out Misty. He’s had a secret crush on her for as long as I can remember.

  “Doing well with our sweet blond friend?” I ask.

  “Maybe,” Harrel says, unlatching the worrel gate. The big fowls strut and preen their shimmery bronze wings. “She’s smiling at me more. It doesn’t hurt to stay on the good side of her mother by mucking out the barn, either. Anyway, what’s this major problem you have?”

  “It’s, uh, something terrible about our parents. I told Aubrie, but she didn’t want to listen. So then I told Peyton and Leonard.” While Harrel fills the water trough, I grab a handful of grain from the bucket and scatter it wide. The worrels go nuts, darting and pecking and warbling. At least they can’t fly away, with the pungent fiber mantles they have draped over their shoulders to make them docile and unable to use their wings.

  “Quick, give it to me straight,” Harrel says.

  A typical Harrel response. I do as he says and lay it out in stark plainness, from Blake’s ceremony to shape-shifting aliens. When I finish, Harrel’s shoulders are taut and his jaw is clenched.

  “That’s insane, all right,” he says. “Have you checked it out a second time to make sure?”

  “I will tonight. Peyton and Leonard, too. I’m going to try to make an imprintus image. Then we’re meeting tomorrow in the courtyard before sessions.”

  “Well, don’t tell anyone else this crazy stuff without proof. Especially Misty—it’ll just freak her out for nothing. I want to confirm it first. I’ll skip my pill and see what I can find out.”

  I dust my hands together and brush the powder from the worrel feed off my uniform. He’s a guy of action, jumping in with no hesitation. And of course he’d think of protecting Misty before anything else. “Don’t take unnecessary risks, man. By the way, thanks for not turning me in for mental health counseling or reporting me to Farrow.”

  He snorts. “I told you I wouldn’t, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t think about it.”

  “You mutant pus-worm.”

  “Skitterbug.”

  I fist-bump him and leave the compound, a monstrous load taken off my shoulders. It’s good he wants to check things out on his own, since I’m not sure I can capture a decent imprintus for proof.

  In the evening after dinner at home, I palm my pill after Mom hands it to me, and a minute later I flush it down the toilet. Then I wait in my bed as darkness falls and time passes. My door creaks open. Dad murmurs about how they’re free to talk. I give them time to get settled, shuddering as their dying-snake noises slither into my ears.

  I’m not asleep. This is real.

  I snatch up my imprintus slate, slip from my room, and ease down the hall. One quick peek tells me there are definitely alien beings in my lounge room. Fanged, lobster-bodied ones. I lean against the wall and force myself to stay quiet.

  Mom is talking, her voice hollow. “After twenty-five years, I still have visions of the flames, the burned wreckage, the blood. I hear the dying screams of our brothers and sisters. Will it ever go away, Tim?”

  “Maybe not.” Dad’s voice is so low and overlaid with the slushing noises I barely make out the words. “But at least we’re alive. We’re the lucky ones.”

  Mom sounds like she’s sobbing now as Dad continues to say soothing things. I peek to make sure they’re not looking my way, and then lift the protective cover from the imprintus. Counting to the heartbeats that slam through my body, I hold it up facing the light and my fake parents. One—one thousand—two—one thousand—three—

  My fingertips and the slate feel much too exposed, even with the rest of me behind the wall. I barely breathe. If they look my way, I’m caught. The split second I reach five, I slip sideways down the hall and back into my room. I press the cover back onto the slate, to keep it from fading faster than three weeks, and shove it back inside my kogawood box. I hope when I check it in the morning it’s a good image, clear enough to prove I’ve recorded alien existence. Tomorrow I’ll verify what Harrel, Peyton, and Leonard discovered, and we’ll make a plan of action.

  …

  The next morning I nab my pack from my locker pod and reach the education compound courtyard. Peyton is already waiting there, her dark brown eyes round and expectant, her purple pants snug on her hips. Nice. Not that I really should be noticing, but she doesn’t look as tomboyish today. It looks like she used autocutters to clip the bottom edge of her pink shirt into a long fringe. Between the intriguing slivers of brown skin peeking out through that fringe, and knowing the world is filled with alien creatures, my mind is officially shot.

  I concentrate on her face instead. “Hey. You seen Leonard?”

  “Not yet.” Peyton’s eyes lock with mine, and she lowers her voice. “Did you see anything the last two nights?”

  I pat the back pocket of my pants, but the courtyard is too crowded to show her my proof. “Enough to verify it’s real with a decent imprintus, plus I heard Mom talking about the War. What about you?”

  “My parents had gone to bed, but they left their door open. Two ugly bumpy shapes were lying there, breathing. I couldn’t tell details, but I saw the silhouette of a long, hairy ear. Horrible. I thought you said these monsters were like lobsters with vermal snouts. What’s up with the ears? Where are their antennae?”

  “No lobster antennae. They have tufted ears. I forgot to tell you that part.”

  Peyton swallows hard. “So it’s real. I saw the exact same thing you did.”

  I stare at her, certain the dread I see in her eyes is mirrored in my own.

  On our left, a girl yells, “Hey, Aubrie! Did you get the answer to number five on the tech assignment?”

  The respons
e comes from somewhere behind me. “Yep. I’ll show you what I got.”

  I spin around. Aubrie strolls across the courtyard, her hair flowing around her. She sees me and starts to smile, but then stops as she catches sight of Peyton beside me. In a span of microseconds, her eyes widen and squinch, and her gaze skitters away. She flicks her hair behind her shoulder and takes off.

  My smile disintegrates. What’s up with her? She’s the one who’s been avoiding me, and she doesn’t usually care if I talk to other girls. Unless Peyton is somehow an exception. After two whole years, is she still stuck on that stupid Harvest Equinox party? She knows I chose her back then, even though I started out with Peyton at the beginning of the night. It shouldn’t matter. Peyton and I have never been more than good friends. Muttering, I turn back to find Peyton studying me.

  “Um, are you and Aubrie still together?” she asks.

  “Of course we are,” I snap. I’m not going to assume what we have is totally dead already.

  Peyton’s dark lashes sweep downward as she studies her boots. “Sure, none of my business. Did you tell her about the monster creatures yet?”

  “Yeah. She didn’t believe me.”

  “It does sound messed up. I only half believed you two days ago, and I’m not sure I’m on board even after what I saw.” She nods her head toward the double doors. “There’s Leonard.”

  “About time.” I turn and notice the courtyard population has thinned to a handful of girls and guys gathering up their packs. Aubrie is gone, and sessions will start in a few minutes. I don’t see Harrel, but he gets to first session early to help mark attendance reports.

  Leonard scuttles up, his teeth chattering. “It’s true, it’s true,” he wheezes. “Freaking spit, it’s true!”

  Chapter Eight

  “What did you see?” I ask Leonard. Peyton moves toward me, bumping into my shoulder as we huddle near him. I try not to think about how close she is.

  “I did it last night,” Leonard says. “After about an hour, I snuck down the hall to the kitchen. I saw them sitting there with their smelly broth. They didn’t see me, but I got a good look at their faces—if you wanna call those things faces. Like you said, Jay. Black beady eyes that don’t blink. Long teeth like vermal fangs. Their voices sounded demonic, man. Human words came out of their mouths at the same time those wet gravel sounds came out of vent holes in their lobster throats.”

  My breakfast pitches in my stomach. “I hadn’t noticed the vent holes.”

  “Gross,” Peyton whispers.

  “Wait. There’s more.”

  Peyton shrinks back. “Yeah?”

  “Those things pretending to be my mom and dad were talking about not being able to have offspring,” Leonard says, his scratchy voice wobbling. “They called them larvae.”

  “Disgusting.” My mouth goes dry. “Sounds more like bugs than lobsters. Is that why they use us for their children, since they can’t have any of their own?”

  Leonard’s skinny shoulders bunch up. “I guess. They said something about us fulfilling their ‘nurturing urge.’ But Mom was still grouching about human kids like me acting up, how she wished she’d never come to this planet. She also wished they hadn’t connected their life forces to a human shape. Dad said something about being stranded for twenty-five miserable years.”

  “Then…they really are aliens and not human mutations,” Peyton says with a freaked-looking frown. “And twenty-five years ago is exactly when the safe zones started up.”

  I grit my teeth. “That’s why they built the conception lab. To grow kids that way because they’re not human.”

  “Yeah. I bet it has nothing to do with being sterile from their exposure to genomide dust during the War,” Peyton says. “That’s another colossal lie they’ve been telling us.”

  Man. So many lies… “Sounds like their human camouflage is bonded to them somehow,” I say. “Could be why their slushy alien voices overlay their human ones when they talk. And why they feel solid when we touch them.”

  “I’m not gonna touch them ever again,” Peyton mutters. “I never liked it when Mom got into a hugging mood anyway. It was always right after she chewed me out for something.”

  “What did you guys see or hear?” Leonard asks.

  “We both saw tufted ears and crustacean bodies,” I say. Since the courtyard is now empty, I whip out my imprintus and give them a quick look at the clear, horrible image I captured there. Mom is sitting in her alien form, top spiny legs held up to her nightmare face. Dad leans over her in profile, his mouth open with fangs in clear view. “This is our proof to show other people. Oh, and I told Harrel yesterday. He planned to check it out last night, too.”

  The zone tower starts gonging to signal the start of our sessions. Peyton’s face is still shell-shocked from the imprintus, and Leonard looks sick to his stomach.

  “What’ll we do now?” he wails. “I can’t face my parents, pretending nothing’s wrong. I had a hard enough time living with them when I thought they were human.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, pocketing the alien image. “Let’s just get to our sessions.”

  Peyton squints, almost a wince. “I can’t think of class work with this crazy stuff in my brain. I’m heading out.”

  “Me, too,” Leonard says.

  With a gruff noise, I spin away and hike across the courtyard. I won’t be able to concentrate either, but I’m not about to ditch training. There are too many consequences for that. I can’t lose my freedom to investigate, and I’m not risking losing privileges or Testing points.

  I burst into the empty halls and break into a full-out sprint toward my English session, my boots squeaking as I round corners. By the time I get there, everyone is already seated.

  “Mr. Lawton, one minute late,” the trainer says, her voice dry. “There’s a first.”

  Someone snickers, and a couple of girls giggle. Puffing, I slip into my seat in the row across from Aubrie. She looks down at her desk.

  The class begins, but my nerves won’t settle. The trainer’s instructions on proper verb usage fade almost before they reach my ears. Aliens. We’re being raised in a zone full of aliens. Aliens who look like a more colorful version of the grayscale image in my back pocket. We’ve been fed a careful framework of lies our entire lives. Did these beasts travel to Liberty after the settlers destroyed each other in the Genomide War, or did they cause the War and set up the safe zones?

  I have a feeling they caused it.

  Harrel sits four seats ahead of me, and I study the back of his head, wishing he’d turn around and let me know he’s discovered this terrible secret along with me. The trainer drones on. I imagine multiple sets of legs sticking out from her chunky torso, spiny and segmented. In my mind, her square teeth grow sharper, pointed. Ratty ear tufts spring from the sides of the head. Argh, I can’t stand it—

  Loud throat clearing penetrates my thoughts.

  “I asked you a question, Mr. Lawton,” the trainer says with a deep frown.

  I jerk into attention. “Sorry, what?”

  “Are you ill today?” comes the impatient response.

  “Yes.” I swallow. “I do feel off. What was the question?”

  The trainer sniffs and raps her stylus on the session display screen. “I asked whether you could conjugate this verb.”

  I recite in automatic mode until I finish, and then my head sinks to my desk while the trainer moves on to her next victim. Out my side vision, I see Aubrie sneak a worried glance at me. Yeah, I’m losing it. I want to run, get as far away from Sanctuary as I can. But how can I leave, and where would I go? It’s dangerous outside the safe zones… I don’t want to end up like Mick. It’d be a long, risky trek over the mountains to Promise City, where it might be safer. But I can’t stay here, stuck for the next two weeks until my ceremony.

  When English ends, Aubrie strolls to our human behavior session with Misty. I walk behind them with Harrel. I can almost sense the wall that separates me from Aubrie.
Like if I reached out toward her, I’d bash my knuckles on an invisible barrier. I need her now, need her to believe what I saw is real. Especially since Peyton and Leonard just bolted off like a pair of spooked calves. I don’t see how we can plan anything when they’re off skipping sessions.

  Next to me, Harrel makes eye contact, and I raise my eyebrows.

  “Yes,” is all he says. His expression tells me the rest. The world has changed for him, too. His eyes are troubled, clouded by the disturbing thing he’s discovered.

  We reach the training room. Shelly’s desk stands vacant. Blake’s, too.

  Banished. Their seats won’t be filled until the next tier of students moves up in the fall.

  I turn in my homework and avoid looking at Aubrie’s stony expression next to me. I endure that session, then biology and technology. Does it matter whether I can conjugate verbs, identify the gallbladder of a pond-hopper, or explain how an ion propulsion engine works? The trainers always talk about “expanding young minds” and cultivating “brain enrichment.” I’m not sure that’s important anymore.

  After a numb lunch with Harrel and a couple of other friends, I make it through our terraform session. When we’re dismissed at 13:00 noon, Harrel leans close to me in the halls.

  “I’m not telling Misty or our other friends any of this yet,” he says. “Not until we have a good plan and more info. We need more info, Jay.”

  “I made an imprintus to show people when we’re ready, but how do we get more info?” I ask. “More nighttime eavesdropping could be risky.”

  “Let’s look for clues in the database. Tonight after dinner.”

  “Sounds good.” A sketchy plan is better than none at all.

  We leave the training compound, and he heads off to catch a transport to the dairy. I notice Aubrie rushing away, already a block ahead of me. A queasy ball expands under my ribs like it’s been detonated. Two years of studying and hanging out with her, laughing and kissing, dancing at the Nebula—blown to microscopic dust in the time it took to have one short Testing ceremony.