right? That wasn’t just a hallucination, it couldn’t have been. But they haven’t sounded any alarms—”
“UV light sources?” Russ barked.
“Oh—oh yeah, we have a small cache over here. We’ve only used the lights a few times. They’re not heavy-duty or anything, but we don’t see much action here… I mean, we didn’t used to…”
Russ was already rifling through the store, hefting what looked like a lamp and propping it against the wall. After a few moments of dithering, the guard rallied enough to pitch in as well.
“What communication systems are in place?” Russ knelt to study the lamp.
“Landline. We’re a civilian patrol. We’re supposed to keep vigil on the wall at night and report anything out of the ordinary to the regular soldiers at the gates.”
“Have you reported in?”
“No, but I’m sure someone else—”
“Make the call,” Russ interrupted.
The young man went for a phone in the corner, dialing hesitantly. Abby listened to him stutter through an introduction and wondered if it might actually be possible that some people had missed the spaceship’s passage overhead. Perhaps a few had mistaken the engines’ distant roar as the sound of a generator, as Uther initially had.
In any case, the guard seemed to have contacted a very disbelieving superior. “No, sir. Yes, sir. I saw it with my own eyes—”
Shrugging off Cam’s restraining arm, Abby walked to the side of the tower and surveyed the supposedly safer human-inhabited side of the wall. With the chaos dying down, people were gravitating in various directions. Some walked deliberately toward the wall, weapons in hand; others seemed to be mere onlookers drawn to the action out of sheer curiosity.
Cam’s arm snaked around her waist again, and she let him draw her to the opposite side of the tower. The night air was cool but not uncomfortably so, with a hint of summer’s end carried on the edge of the northerly breeze. Abby stared into the darkness. There was no evidence of humans outside the wall, no nearby tents or other temporary structures, no vehicles parked at its bottom containing travelers who’d eschewed the safety of a City for some reason or another. She raised her eyes to the horizon, then to the stars.
A few years ago, she and Callum had scavenged an old, battered library book on astronomy. Since electricity was heavily rationed, stargazing was easy, even in the middle of a City. Right now she could see the Big Dipper and Cygnus.
The Barks, with their translucent skin and sharp-edged teeth, had originated somewhere beyond the constellations humans had dreamed about for centuries.
“Hey. You okay?” Cam drew her close.
“Do you think the Barks came up with their own constellations?” she blurted.
“Nope. They don’t strike me as thinkers. They have a kind of hive-mind thing going, or a strong pack instinct, like very intelligent dogs.”
“Yeah, I guess they’re not the type of creature to envision gods and goddesses in the sky.” Abby shrugged.
“Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven/Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels,” Cam quoted.
When she looked up, their gazes tangled. “What’s that from?” she whispered.
“Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Evangeline . I memorized it when I was a teenager because the words…well, they resonated with me. So did the poem’s premise.” His eyes left hers to search the night again, but he’d instilled in her an absurd kind of hope. If words written so long ago could live on, couldn’t humans?
“Sir, if we could get some backup over here—” The young guard was cut off for the umpteenth time. He paused with a frown, then rallied. “No, sir. No signs yet, but the ship was flying low, and it must have touched down nearby.”
“Provisions on this particular wall are goddamn sketchy at best.” Russ grimaced as he came to stand next to them. “A few UV lights, a couple lasers, a set of flash bombs.
“UV light sources?” Russ barked.
“Oh—oh yeah, we have a small cache over here. We’ve only used the lights a few times. They’re not heavy-duty or anything, but we don’t see much action here… I mean, we didn’t used to…”
Russ was already rifling through the store, hefting what looked like a lamp and propping it against the wall. After a few moments of dithering, the guard rallied enough to pitch in as well.
“What communication systems are in place?” Russ knelt to study the lamp.
“Landline. We’re a civilian patrol. We’re supposed to keep vigil on the wall at night and report anything out of the ordinary to the regular soldiers at the gates.”
“Have you reported in?”
“No, but I’m sure someone else—”
“Make the call,” Russ interrupted.
The young man went for a phone in the corner, dialing hesitantly. Abby listened to him stutter through an introduction and wondered if it might actually be possible that some people had missed the spaceship’s passage overhead. Perhaps a few had mistaken the engines’ distant roar as the sound of a generator, as Uther initially had.
In any case, the guard seemed to have contacted a very disbelieving superior. “No, sir. Yes, sir. I saw it with my own eyes—”
Shrugging off Cam’s restraining arm, Abby walked to the side of the tower and surveyed the supposedly safer human-inhabited side of the wall. With the chaos dying down, people were gravitating in various directions. Some walked deliberately toward the wall, weapons in hand; others seemed to be mere onlookers drawn to the action out of sheer curiosity.
Cam’s arm snaked around her waist again, and she let him draw her to the opposite side of the tower. The night air was cool but not uncomfortably so, with a hint of summer’s end carried on the edge of the northerly breeze. Abby stared into the darkness. There was no evidence of humans outside the wall, no nearby tents or other temporary structures, no vehicles parked at its bottom containing travelers who’d eschewed the safety of a City for some reason or another. She raised her eyes to the horizon, then to the stars.
A few years ago, she and Callum had scavenged an old, battered library book on astronomy. Since electricity was heavily rationed, stargazing was easy, even in the middle of a City. Right now she could see the Big Dipper and Cygnus.
The Barks, with their translucent skin and sharp-edged teeth, had originated somewhere beyond the constellations humans had dreamed about for centuries.
“Hey. You okay?” Cam drew her close.
“Do you think the Barks came up with their own constellations?” she blurted.
“Nope. They don’t strike me as thinkers. They have a kind of hive-mind thing going, or a strong pack instinct, like very intelligent dogs.”
“Yeah, I guess they’re not the type of creature to envision gods and goddesses in the sky.” Abby shrugged.
“Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven/Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels,” Cam quoted.
When she looked up, their gazes tangled. “What’s that from?” she whispered.
“Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Evangeline . I memorized it when I was a teenager because the words…well, they resonated with me. So did the poem’s premise.” His eyes left hers to search the night again, but he’d instilled in her an absurd kind of hope. If words written so long ago could live on, couldn’t humans?
“Sir, if we could get some backup over here—” The young guard was cut off for the umpteenth time. He paused with a frown, then rallied. “No, sir. No signs yet, but the ship was flying low, and it must have touched down nearby.”
“Provisions on this particular wall are goddamn sketchy at best.” Russ grimaced as he came to stand next to them. “A few UV lights, a couple lasers, a set of flash bombs.
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