“Someone’s coming,” he says.
We’re already holding hands, and I yank on his to pull him behind the striped trunk of the nearest ogwe. We’re dead center in the main dome: if someone catches us here, there will be no excuses. I have no idea what the punishment would be, but I imagine it would jeopardize our internships in some way. We crouch behind the tree, barely breathing. I’m sharply aware of the feeling of Rondo’s hand in my hand. I squeeze it, hard, to make myself focus on the voices we hear and not his skin.
I hear at least three people, all speaking just above a whisper. They’re coming down the path from the main entrance. They will either pass us for the commune, when they will surely see us, or continue over to the lab doors, and we’ll go unnoticed. I pray they’re feeling studious.
The voices draw nearer, and Rondo presses his shoulder tightly against mine, trying to make us disappear. His arm feels hard through our skinsuits. I look at him in the dark and find his eyes already on my face. Focus, I tell myself as the voices loom nearer still. It’s easy to hold my breath while staring at Rondo.
“Don’t take all the credit,” one voice says. “I’ve been on this assignment a lot longer.”
The response is too soft to hear. The voices go away to our right, toward the labs. I’m on the side of the tree closest to them, and I force myself to break Rondo’s gaze to curl my neck around the trunk. I do it slowly, inching, peeking at the group of whisperers. At first I think they’re all whitecoats: a group of four walking slowly to the lab door, which is still guarded by gray-suited N’Terrans with buzzguns. But there’s something strange about one member of the walking group, the one in the center. He’s not wearing white, for one thing, but besides that, he’s tall—too tall. Much taller than anyone I’ve seen in N’Terra, and more muscular, his arms long and bare. I squint my eyes in the moonlight. Spots. He has spots on what must be his skinsuit, a complex pattern expanding over his body all the way up the back of his neck. I can’t see his face, and I don’t want to risk sticking my head farther out from the tree to catch a glimpse. My head is buzzing, but I can’t focus on the smell of ogwe to make it fade. The spotted man is nearing the doors of the lab.
“Do you see that . . . ?” I whisper to Rondo.
“What is it?” He’s on the other side of the tree, the angle and my body blocking his view.
But then the lab’s entrance slides open, and my father appears in the doorway, tall and broad and facing the spotted man head-on. He pauses for what seems a long moment, staring up at the man’s face, before he raises his arm, leveling his hand at the man’s chest. I only realize he holds a tranq gun when it fires, the zip unmistakable as the dart leaves the barrel. I clap my hand over my mouth to keep the sound that bubbles in my throat silent. Then the man with spots is lost in the shadows, his body falling sideways, caught by the whitecoats that surround him.
In the dim light, something slides from the falling man’s hand, dropping to the soil. The whitecoats don’t seem to notice: they carry him through the door, followed by the guards with buzzguns, leaving my father standing alone outside the entrance. He scans the dome, and then disappears into the Zoo.
CHAPTER 5
There’s something shining on the ground. It’s on the path where the man with spots had crumpled: a small thing, lit up and sparkling.
“You see that?” I whisper, nudging Rondo. All thoughts of kissing him have vaporized.
“I don’t see anything,” he says. He’s finally come around to my side of the tree trunk, too late to see the spotted man or my father. “It’s too dark.”
“He dropped something,” I breathe.
“Who did? Tell me what you saw.”
The door is unattended; the shining object lies there unseen.
“I’m going to get it,” I say, and leap out from behind the tree.
“Octavia, hold up!”
He snatches at my arm, but I wrench away and dash toward the lab door. I try to crouch as I run, making for an awkward pace, but if the door opens abruptly, I need to be as low to the ground as possible so I can drop if necessary.
I can see the object now that I’m closer. It’s not glowing: just shining, the moonlight through the dome gleaming down and reflecting off its surface. As I get nearer, I slow down, suddenly afraid. I have no idea what it is or what it might do. Rondo hisses my name from where he hides behind the tree, and it spurs me into action.
I trot the last few steps to the lab doors and seize the shining object. I don’t pause to inspect it. The door could open at any second, revealing buzzguns or my father. I hold the thing in my hand—round, an orb—and sprint back to the ogwe, Rondo’s face blending with the shadows and the bark. I’m positive that the sound of my breath combined with my footsteps is so loud it will signal the guards to return, and my ears strain for the mechanical sigh of the doors. I skid to a halt by the tree and throw myself behind its trunk. Rondo starts to admonish me.
“You really are a genius,” he snaps. “If the guards caught you, you’d never—”
But then we do hear the doors sigh open, my pulse freezing, and he falls silent. I press my finger to my lips, as much for him as for myself. I peek around the tree again, trying to imagine my skin melting into it, disappearing into the safety of its wood.
It’s not my father. It’s the two guards, back again from helping to carry the spotted man’s body. They hold their buzzguns across their chests, conversing in low tones. I strain my ears to hear what they might be saying, but they’re too far away. Behind the tree, my legs quiver from dwindling adrenaline and my palm sweats against the smooth, round object.
“We need to go,” Rondo whispers, tugging on my arm.
I turn slowly away. Part of me wants to march back up to the door and confront the guards, demand to know who that man was and why my father tranquilized him. But the thought of my father standing there in the shadows, tranq gun raised, sends a shiver up my spine. I don’t recognize the person he’s becoming. I follow Rondo through the trees, creeping slowly and avoiding branches and twigs.
The two sets of doors that lead back into the commune open for us with barely a whisper. We slide through, trying to be shadows. I don’t think either of us breathes until we are back in the commune on the hill, looking down at the white ’wams, some of their round windows still illuminated with soft gold lights. It’s beautiful, but looking out over the familiar scene leaves me with a heavy feeling in my chest. Somehow it all looks different, barely recognizable. I wonder if my mother would believe me if I told her what I’ve seen. Maybe she already knows.
“What did you find?” Rondo says softly. “By the doors?”