The Extinction Trials(41)

Not having her memories was a bit like being out on this ship at sea: lost and unmoored, with no bearing points to guide her. It was an unsettling feeling that defied words. But she did have one anchor out here, and she stared at him then, standing tall on the boat’s deck, confident, a lighthouse in the darkness.

Owen stared back at her, and a small smile tugged at his lips. Maya knew he was trying to read her expression, to get some idea of what she was thinking.

In a way, they shared that unique connection: a mental limitation that wasn’t obvious but always evident to them. For Owen, it was being in the dark about what people were feeling or thinking. For Maya, it was being in the dark about her past.

In a sense, they were in the dark together. Even though she hadn’t known him for long, Maya felt a strong bond to Owen. It wasn’t just that he had been the one to wake her and pull her out of that tube in the station. It was deeper than that. A feeling she got—one she couldn’t describe. She didn’t mind being in the darkness with him. It felt more manageable with him in her life.

And she wondered: did she have an Owen in her life before the Fall? Or was this new?

More than that, she wondered if he felt the same way. In that moment, she got a glimpse of what life might be like for him, of constantly wondering what people were thinking.

She would have to sort that out soon. She sensed that their time on the boat might be the only opportunity. What lay ahead was uncertain, and she wanted to know where she stood with him before they reached the shore.

Alister stood and paced toward the cockpit. For a moment, Maya thought he might be about to type in the coordinates to The Colony and change the boat’s destination.

Instead, he turned back and eyed Owen. “What exactly are you proposing?”

Owen held his hands out. “Simply that we share our stories. See if we can piece together what’s going on here. And after that, we’ll make the call on where to go next. The Colony or the Escape Hatch.”

Maya felt a sudden wave of nervousness. Since she couldn’t remember her own story, she would be the weakest member, with the least to contribute. As if on cue, a headache faded in.

Alister leaned against the double chair in the cockpit and crossed his arms. “Okay. But let’s make it quick. We all know what we need to do here.”

“I’ll go first,” Owen said.

Maya expected him to begin telling his story, but he walked toward the stairs and descended below deck. He returned with the large envelope with his name on it that they had found in Station 17’s command center.

Owen held up the brown envelope. “They left each of us one of these. Except for Alister.”

The older man inhaled sharply. Maya couldn’t tell if he was insulted or annoyed. He didn’t like that Owen highlighted this fact, that there had been no envelope for him. Maya again had the feeling that his lack of an envelope was an important clue. But what did it mean?

Owen reached into his envelope. “The question is, why give us these envelopes? We don’t seem to need the items to survive. Or do we? I think the items they gave us are clues of some kind. Or items meant to help us. Understanding them—and what they mean to us—could be crucial.”

Owen pulled his hand out of the envelope and showed the group a fireman’s service pin. It was small and round, the kind that could be pinned to a lapel. He held it out and walked around the main deck, the wind tugging at his hair, the sun burning bright in the sky behind him.

In the center of the pin was a fireman’s helmet, a ladder, and something Maya couldn’t make out. Around the perimeter were three phrases: The Thin Red Line was stamped at the top, Service on the left, and Integrity on the right. At the bottom was a small banner that said 10 YEARS.

“How wonderful for you,” Alister said. “Let’s all show off our trophies and service pins while the world goes down the drain.”

Owen let the pin drop to his side and stared at Alister. For a moment, Maya half expected Owen to punch the older man. He seemed to be gathering his breath, suppressing the urge.

Alister shifted uncomfortably.

“It isn’t my pin,” Owen said quietly. “I have one like it. And a fifteen-year pin. But I got this one thirty years ago, and it changed my life.”

He crossed his arms and took a deep breath. “When I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut. I dreamed of exploring space.” He smiled. “In fact, I would have done anything to be in space. Asteroid mining. Shuttle mechanic. You name it. I wanted to wear that suit and float in the darkness and wake up every morning knowing there was danger and wonder and something new. I had this vision of making discoveries that could change everything.”

His smile transformed, becoming somber. “It was probably the right career for me. As a kid, I was at the top percentage for my height, and I was physically strong. Had good instincts. Excelled at sports. And I was good at spatial ordering and puzzle-solving—pattern recognition.”

“As we’ve seen,” Maya said.

“Correct. But I had a big limitation: reading people. Body language. Facial expressions. It’s still a problem for me. In space, it wouldn’t have mattered. Maybe that was part of the allure for me. In space, you mostly read computer readouts.”

Owen held the pin up and studied it, watching it glint in the midday sun. “It’s funny how you see your life as a kid. And how it can change in an instant.