The rest of the townspeople remained where they were.
Dr. Erland planted his hands on his hips and glared up at Cinder. “You have much explaining to do. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you, watching the—”
“I need your help!” she said, stumbling toward him. “My friend … he’s dying … he needs a doctor … I don’t know what to do.”
He scowled, then his attention caught on something over Cinder’s shoulder. The Lunar guard emerged at the edge of the ship, shirtless and covered in blood and straining to support Wolf’s body.
“What—he’s—”
“A Lunar guard,” said Cinder. “And Wolf is one of her soldiers. It’s a long story, and I’ll explain later, but can you help him? He was shot twice, he’s lost a lot of blood.…”
Dr. Erland raised an eyebrow. Cinder could tell he wasn’t at all thrilled with the company she was keeping.
“Please.”
Harrumphing, he gestured at some of the onlookers and called out a few names. Three men stepped forward. “Bring him to the hotel,” he said. “Gently.” With a sigh, he set about redoing the buttons on his shirt. “Follow me, Miss Linh. You can help prepare the tools.”
Fifteen
“I suppose it’s too much to hope that we landed ourselves near any sort of civilization,” Thorne said, tilting his head to one side.
Cress picked her way through the debris to the nearest window. “I’m not sure we want to be near civilization. You’re a wanted criminal in three Earthen countries, and one of the most recognizable men on Earth.”
“I am pretty famous now, aren’t I?” Grinning, he waved a hand at her. “I guess it doesn’t matter what we want. What do you see out there?”
Standing on tiptoes, Cress peered into the brightness. As her eyes adjusted to the glare, they widened, trying to take it all in.
All at once, it dawned on her. She was on Earth. On Earth.
She’d seen pictures, of course. Thousands and thousands of photographs and vids—cities and lakes and forests and mountains, every landscape imaginable. But she had never thought the sky could be so impossibly blue, or that the land could hold so many hues of gold, or could glitter like a sea of diamonds, or could roll and swell like a breathing creature.
For one moment, the reality of it all poured into her body and overflowed.
“Cress?”
“It’s beautiful out there.”
A hesitation, before, “Could you be more specific?”
“The sky is this gorgeous, intense blue color.” She pressed her fingers to the glass and traced the wavy hills on the horizon.
“Oh, good. You’ve really narrowed it down for me.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just…” She tried to stamp down the rush of emotion. “I think we’re in a desert.”
“Cactuses and tumbleweeds?”
“No. Just a lot of sand. It’s kind of orangish-gold, with hints of pink, and I can see tiny clouds of it floating above the ground, like … like smoke.”
“Piled up in lots of hills?”
“Yes, exactly! And it’s beautiful.”
Thorne snorted. “If this is how you feel about a desert, I can’t wait until you see your first real tree. Your mind will explode.”
She beamed out at the world. Trees.
“That explains the heat then,” Thorne said. Cress, in her thin cotton dress, hadn’t noticed before, but the temperature did seem to be rising. The controls must have been reset in the fall, or perhaps destroyed altogether. “A desert would not have been my first choice. Do you see anything useful? Palm trees? Watering holes? A pair of camels out for a stroll?”
She looked again, noting how a pattern of ripples had been carved into the landscape, repeating for eternity. “No. There’s nothing else.”
“All right, here’s what I need you to do.” Thorne ticked off on his fingers. “First, find some way to contact the Rampion. The sooner we can get back on my ship, the better. Second, let’s see if we can get that door open. We’re going to be baked alive if the temperature keeps rising like this.”
Cress studied the mess of screens and cords on the floor. “The satellite was never installed with external communication abilities. The only chance we had of contacting your crew was the D-COMM chip that Sybil took. And even if we did have some way of contacting them, we won’t be able to give exact coordinates unless the satellite positioning system is functioning, and even then—”
Thorne held up a hand. “One thing at a time. We have to let them know that we’re not dead, and check that they’re all right too. I think they’re capable of handling two measly Lunars, but it would put my mind at ease to be sure.” He shrugged. “Once they know to start looking for us, maybe Cinder can whip up a giant metal detector or something.”
Cress scanned the wreckage. “I’m not sure anything is salvageable. The screens are all destroyed, and judging from the loss of temperature regulation, the generator is—oh, no. Little Cress!” She wailed and kicked her way to the main databoard that had housed her younger self. It was crushed on one side, bits of wire and plastic dangling from the shell. “Oh, Little Cress…”
“Um, who’s Little Cress?”
She sniffed. “Me. When I was ten. She lived in the computer and kept me company and now she’s dead.” She squeezed the databoard against her chest. “Poor, sweet Little Cress.”
After a long silence, Thorne cleared his throat. “Scarlet did warn me about this. Do we need to bury Little Cress before we can move on? Want me to say a few words for her?”
Cress glanced up, and though his expression was sympathetic, she thought he was probably mocking her. “I’m not crazy. I know she’s just a computer. It’s just … I programmed her myself, and she was the only friend I had. That’s all.”
“Hey, I’m not judging. I’m familiar with IT-relations. Just wait until you meet our spaceship. She’s a riot.” His expression became thoughtful. “Speaking of spaceships, what about that other pod, the one the guard docked with?”
“Oh, I’d forgotten about that!” She tucked the databoard beneath its slanted desk and tripped over to the other entryway. The satellite sat at an angle, with the second entry near the lower end of the slope, and she had to clear away countless bits of plastic and broken equipment before she could get to the control screen. The screen itself was down—she couldn’t get a flicker of power out of it—so she opened the panel that housed the manual override locks instead. A series of gears and handles had been set into the wall over the door, and while Cress had known they were there for years, she’d never given them much thought before.
The devices were stuck from years of neglect and it took all her strength to pull on the handle, planting one foot on the wall to gain leverage. Finally it snapped down and the doors sprang open, leaving a gap.
Hearing her struggle, Thorne got up and trudged toward her, carefully kicking debris out of his way. He kept his hands outstretched until he bumped into her and together they pried open the door.
The docking hatch was in worse shape than the satellite. Almost an entire wall had been sheared off and piles of sand had already begun to blow in between the cracks. Wires and clamps dangled from the shattered wall panels and Cress could smell smoke and the bitter scent of burned plastic. The podship had been shoved up into the corridor, crumpling the far end of the hatch like an accordion. The docking clamp had been rammed straight through the ship’s cockpit control panel, filling the glass with hairline fractures.
“Please tell me it looks better than it smells,” said Thorne, hanging on to the door frame.