CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

MARA

The gardens became her sanctuary.

If she worked hard enough, the ache in her muscles overcame the ache in her heart. If she snapped enough prickly fruit from trees, she wouldn’t have to remember the feel of his skin under her fingertips. If she smelled enough fertilizer, she wouldn’t have to smell his scent every time she inhaled.

If Mara could throw herself far enough into her work, she wouldn’t have to toss and turn in her bed every night, longing for something she couldn’t — and shouldn’t — have.

She picked the last few remaining fruit and dropped the basket off at the sorting window, where the fruit would be taken in for cleaning and distribution. Not all the food the gardens produced went to the kitchen. Some went to the work ships as provisions, some went to the bowels of the ship for the mechanical crew, and some were freeze-dried for storage.

Cook, his basket full of fruit today, patted her back as she collected an empty basket. “You are a hard worker, Mara. I am sure Gymari misses your hands in her crew.”

The loneliness welled up inside her. Since moving to the garden, Gymari’s crew had treated her like a stranger. Polite, but distant. Instead of joining in their nightly Caster game, Mara collapsed onto her bed and slept, only stirring to rise for the morning shift. Sometimes Luall greeted her, but it was no longer the same.

Mara tamped her emotions back down. “Thank you, Cook.”

“How are those fruit trees looking?”

“Healthy, thankfully.” Over the past few days, other plants near the infected seedlings had begun to wilt. “How are the seedlings doing?”

“I have not had a chance to check on them yet.” Cook hitched his basket higher. “I will go once I have dropped off this basket.”

A holler of greeting from the door made Cook turn. Mara peered over his shoulder, and she froze. Clez stood in the doorway. They hadn’t seen each other since the incident in the bathroom, and Clez’s bed remained empty every night. Clez stepped forward, dragging a flat dolly covered in bright red cannisters the size of beer kegs.

“Ah,” said Cook. “That will be the fungicide Syrek ordered.”

Clez peered around the garden. When her eyes landed on Mara, they narrowed to slits. She bared her teeth in a snarl. The hatred in her glare made Mara step back. When she said she would kill me, she wasn’t kidding.

“Will you help me spray down the plants?” Cook asked.

“I-I can’t,” Mara said. “I mean, shouldn’t someone go check on the seedlings?”

Cook frowned. “I believe they are a lost cause.”

“Checking on them would be a smart move,” Mara said, backing away. “I mean, if they are healthy, then we won’t need to spray the garden, right? And that saves us some fungicide.”

Conceding to her point, Cook ambled off to collect the fungicide. Mara hurried away, feeling the heat of Clez’s glare between her shoulder blades as she made her way across the garden.

The seedlings affected with blight had been moved into an isolation room. Mara entered and sighed in relief when the first door shut behind her, closing her off from Clez’s view. She waited for the air in the lock to cycle, and then stepped through the second door, into the room where the infected partitions sat.

Her mouth twisted when she saw that nearly a dozen partitions crowded the room. The blight, or whatever it was, had spread. She walked to the nearest row of plants and scanned their leaves for the tell-tale tinge of brown. The leaves remained crisp and green.

Strange. Maybe this partition was moved here by accident?

She made her way through the room to find the original seedlings. To her surprise, the seedlings had regained their color. The once-drooping leaves stood tall, and several of the plants now sported new buds.

“These plants are healthy,” Mara muttered. “How?”

She hurried back through the air lock, tapping her foot impatiently for the cleaning cycle, then hurried to the far wall where the seedlings had originated. To her shock, the new plants in this corner drooped.

“This makes no sense.” She touched a plant and watched it flop over. She looked around and spotted the vent above her head. “Unless…”

Realization dawned. She spun around, and spotted Cook and Clez offloading cannisters. She hurried to them, swallowing back her discomfort at being near Clez. “Cook!”

The old man looked up. “What is it, Mara?”

“It’s not blight,” Mara said. “It’s… I don’t know. Not blight. Something else.”

Cook tilted his head. “I do not follow.”

“Nothing about her makes sense,” Clez muttered. She kept hauling cannisters.

“The plants in the isolation are flourishing. It’s not the plants, but something around them. They were situated right under a vent. Maybe something from the pipes made them wilt?”

Cook straightened. “This is a possibility. If it is the vent, then the plants closest to it would be affected.”

Mara nodded in triumph. “And they were! But they recovered in the isolation room, when they were away from the airflow.”

Cook’s next words were drowned out by the blare of sirens. Clez clapped her hands over her ears, dropping a cannister, which hissed as the seal snapped on impact. Cook cursed, but he stared at the speakers wailing in ceiling above them.

“What’s happening?” Mara had to yell to be heard over the noise.

“Emergency,” Cook said.

The sirens shut off, and an automated voice intoned a recorded message, “This is a mandatory evacuation of your section due to critical systems failure. Please proceed to a safe location.” The sirens started up again, and Cook bustled away, shouting orders to the gardeners. He grabbed the nearest partition and began dragging it toward the isolation room.

The gardens became a blur of activity. A few workers rushed to help Cook, but most of the crew began streaming toward the doors, dropping their baskets in their hurry. Several doors began to slam shut, and panicked shouting rose above the wail of sirens. The workers streamed toward the remaining doors.

“Screw this,” shouted Clez. She bolted for the door through which she had entered, leaving behind her delivery.

Mara took three steps before she caught herself. She bit her lip and looked back at Cook and the workers, valiantly trying to rescue their plants.

While Mara lacked scientific knowledge, she knew a critical systems failure meant the garden would be uninhabitable. The plants would die, as would anyone left in the room once all the doors shut.

I should run.

But if she ran, who would help Cook? Who would save the plants? The plants Haven counted on. Picking fruit, sweeping up leaves and scooping fertilizer weren’t glamorous jobs, but while she worked in the garden, she provided for herself and for Haven. If she didn’t work on the sanitation crew, she wouldn’t eat, but if she didn’t work on the garden crew, nobody would eat.

Mara made her choice.

She bolted for the nearest partition and began dragging it away. Her arms ached, and her heels dug into the ground as she moved the partition inch by inch. Bene Laupe, the gangly alien she followed down a corridor once, loped up and seized the other side of her partition. Together, they hauled it to the isolation room.

“Will this help?” she asked Bene Laupe.

“I do not know,” he replied. “But a snood in a rainstorm is better than no roof.”

There was no time for her to fathom whether or not the idiom translated properly. When they stepped back outside into the garden, heat assaulted them, making sweat prickle on Mara’s forehead. They hauled away the next partition. Across the garden, a door slammed shut without warning, making Mara jump.

“They’re shutting it down section by section,” said Cook, bustling past. “That’s the last one the two of you are moving. Time to evacuate.”

“Yes, Cook,” said Bene Laupe.

“What about you?” Mara called, but Cook hobbled away.

Beside them, the team pushing a row of toron pods abandoned their partition, choosing to race away. Mara watched them go as she heaved, and they ducked past the red fungicide cannisters to leave the gardens.

They were halfway to the isolation room when the siren shut off. In the eerie silence, Mara turned to Bene Laupe with a confused expression. The alien shook his head. “This is not good.”

“Run! Run!”

The scream erupted from the far side of the room. Gardeners burst out from behind the partitions, racing toward the delivery doors. Behind them, the flowers began to wither, and droop. Leaves fell from the vines. Bene Laupe backed away, his eyes huge.

“Wait!” Mara called, but he turned and fled.

There’s brave, and there’s stupid, Mara declared. Don’t be stupid.

She followed Bene Laupe. The distance to the door seemed to grow longer as the rising heat behind them choked the air from Mara’s lungs. Her muscles grew fatigued, but she pressed on.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a familiar figure slumped against a jukkad tree. Cook. She veered and screamed for Bene Laupe. When he saw their crew leader, he followed Mara.

To Mara’s relief, Cook breathed. They hauled the elderly alien to his feet and half dragged, half carried him the rest of the way to the door. Mara’s head grew thick, and her thoughts foggy.

As they rounded the delivery cart, Mara blinked. Is the heat making me hallucinate?

Clez stood beside the cart, holding a cannister of fungicide. When she spied Mara, she extended her hand. “Help me, human!”

Mara shrugged Cook’s weight onto Bene Laupe’s shoulder. “Get him out of here and find him medical attention.”

When she reached Clez, she grabbed the handle of the dolly. “Do we have to get these out of here?”

Clez nodded, and her fingers fidgeted with the cannister. She stared at the last stragglers fleeing the garden, then turned back to Mara. “You the last one?”

Mara’s muscles felt rubbery, but she tugged at the dolly. “I hope so.”

“Good.”

Clez swung the cannister, aiming for Mara’s forehead. Mara reacted in time, ducking her head, and the cannister struck her across the shoulder. Her foot twisted, and she tumbled back onto her back. Clez threw the cannister at her and ran for the door.

For a moment, Mara lay stunned on the floor. The heat grew more intense, and she rolled to her hands and knees, coughing. Her tongue felt like parchment as she crawled for the door. Through sweat-blurred eyes, she saw the door descending, cutting off her only route to safety.

“Wait,” she croaked out.

The last few feet stretched out, but Mara scrambled forward, and rolled, ducking under the door as it clanged shut. Cool air washed over her, as she lay gasping on the floor.

“Quick,” said Bene Laupe, crouching over her. “Get water!”

Cool hands pressed against her face and shoulders, and she was lifted to a sitting position against a wall. She hissed as a hand bumped her injured shoulder. That’s gonna bruise. A damp cloth on her forehead felt like bliss.

Bene Laupe offered her a drink of water and watched as she drank. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Even with the water, her throat felt raw. “Cook?”

“He is breathing for now, but he is old.” The alien’s mouth was set in a grim line. “We are taking him to the medics. Do you wish to come along?”

Mara shook her head, and handed back the canteen. “I think I’ll sit for a bit.”

The alien returned the bottle. “If you feel unwell, come to the medical bay.”

“I will,” Mara replied. Despite her throbbing head, she gave Bene Laupe a warm smile. “Thank you.”

As the corridor emptied, Mara found herself alone. She took stock of her body, which trembled from adrenalin. Later, she would crash, but right now, her nerves buzzed.

Did that really happen? Did Clez seriously try to kill me? A chill crossed her body at the memory of Clez’s hatred. She did. She tried to kill me.

The silence suddenly became suffocating. The last place she wanted to be was somewhere without witnesses. Mara stood, and keeping her hand pressed to the wall, she staggered her way back to more occupied areas of Haven.

Deep down inside, she knew her fears were real.

Clez would try again.

And next time, Mara might not be able to walk away.