“No,” said Aleph. “I cannot let you out. Pandora must be protected.”
“Then your Basante is going to die. Which is more important, Aleph? Work it out fast.”
“You would do this?”
“Aleph—” began the woman holding Chena.
“I am doing this,” whispered Chena, a fierce pride flooding through her along with the fear, and the anger, and so many other emotions she couldn’t name them all.
“I cannot let your brother die, Thea,” said Aleph. “The environment lock is open.”
Chena tore herself out of Thea’s startled grip and ran. She flung herself down the straight corridor, ignoring the stares and the exclamations as she hurtled passed.
“Amanitin,” she murmured as she ran. Amanitin was the active poison in mushrooms such as the death cap and destroying angel. “Four grams, administered in water. That’s what he’s got in him.” The atrium opened around her, and there was the environment lock. There were people staring. Let them stare. The lock opened for her approach.
“Where?” demanded Aleph. “Where?”
The word echoed through the lobby, and Chena just laughed. The door opened for her.
“Work it out!” she shouted to the startled faces and Aleph’s angry, empty voice. “You think you know everything! Work it out!”
Chena dove out into the darkness.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Escape
The environment lock slammed shut, trapping the hem of her trousers. Chena sprawled facedown in the mud. She rolled over, yanking on her pants until they ripped. Abruptly free, she snatched up her pack and ran into the marsh, throwing herself flat on her stomach as soon as she reached the reeds.
They’d be out in seconds. How could she have been so stupid? She had to make a scene, had to let them all know how clever she was. Chena struggled with the pack straps. I’m going to be dead and dissected, right alongside Basante. Worse, that’s what I’m going to wish I was.
She glanced backward. Were those shapes moving behind her? Were those lanterns? Scanners focusing in on her body’s heat? She only had the camouflage suit half out of the pack. Did the cy-bugs see her? She glanced toward the marsh, made a wish, and dove in.
Birds, thousands and millions of birds, roared into the air with a cacophony of cries and the flapping of wings, making enough noise to fill the whole wide world. They churned the air with their wings and split it open with their calls. Hidden behind this living curtain, Chena yanked the camouflage’s parka over her head and ducked down into the swamp until only her head and the hand holding her pack were above water. She groped in the pack and found her bottle of scent concealer by touch. She smeared the goop over her face, pulled the veil into place, and hunkered down until cold water touched her chin.
After what felt like both a hundred years and five seconds, the birds’ noise died away. The marsh and the air around it stilled. The frogs began to chirrup, peep, and croak again. The insects buzzed and danced. They swarmed around Chena in their usual cloud, but not too close.
She didn’t smell like anything interesting, after all. No, nothing interesting here.
She was hidden from the cameras, but what about from the careful figures picking through the reeds? Aleph had called out the hothousers themselves. Basante must really be dead. She’d done it. She’d killed him, and now they were searching their precious, pristine world for her. She could just make out their full-body clean suits, and their eyes covered with night-vision gear.
She started to shake and clenched her teeth. She was camouflaged. They could not see her. It was impossible. As long as she was smart and stayed still and kept calm, they would not see her. They’d have to step on her. That was a million to one. All she had to do was stay right here, wait until they passed, then she could follow them out.
Splash, splash.
Two of them waded into her pool of the marsh. Chena cringed and bit down on her lip so hard she tasted blood. They were spreading out, coming closer. They had helmets on and she couldn’t hear their voices. Had they seen her? They walked in a straight line. They had to have seen her. She was gone. Pretty soon, she would wish she was dead. What could they see? She was all covered up. Concealed, completely, she…
But her pack wasn’t.
A scream erupted in Chena’s mind, followed fast by a desperate plan. She clutched her bottle of scent concealer in one hand and slipped beneath the water, abandoning her pack. The water was thick with centuries of muck, but her hands found the reeds and pulled her forward, toward the searchers, but not into them. Past them. If she had her bearings, she’d just swim right past them, through the foul, brown water full of who knew what, with her burning lungs and clogged eyes, just a little farther to make sure, and the reeds biting into her callused palms, and she was going to burst, and this had to be far enough, she couldn’t see, couldn’t think, couldn’t go any farther, just a little farther, have to breathe, have to breathe, have to breathe …