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heliads · 4 months

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everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter Seventeen: Returning the Favor

Risa Ward escaped a shuttle destined for her certain, painful death. Connor Lassiter ran away from home before it was too late. Lev Calder was kidnapped. All of them were supposed to be dissected for parts, used to advance a declining galaxy, but as of right now, all of them are whole. Life will not stay the same way forever.

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Connor Lassiter stares at Death. Death stares back at Connor Lassiter.

Dorian Heartland is not an easy man to look at. Connor doesn’t like doing it, but taking his eyes off of this infernal creator for even one moment could offer Heartland a chance to take Connor’s pupils for his own, so he refuses to budge his gaze even one millimeter.

All this does, though, is to give Connor a good look at everything that makes Heartland so horrifically wrong. He can see in the stiffness of Risa’s posture, the flightiness of her breath, that she’s caught on to who this is too, although by this point that would almost be impossible to avoid. Dorian Heartland is like no other man Connor has ever met before, though that might be because Dorian Heartland is no longer made up of any of his original birth parts, nor the secondary parts that replaced him, nor the ones that swapped him out after that. Connor can’t even begin to fathom what iteration of lungs he must have inside someone else’s ribcage– is the fourth generation of blood pumping through his veins, perhaps? The fifth?

Connor wonders what parts Heartland will take from Connor as some sort of grisly hunting trophy. The eyes, maybe. Everyone likes the eyes. Snatching his heart would be a particularly satisfying touch, too. If Connor wasn’t so disgusted by the idea of harvesting someone else’s bits and pieces to keep himself intact, maybe he, too, could see the allure in holding Heartland’s brain in his head, clenching the pink matter between his knuckles and knowing that someone else’s entire life and soul was in his hands.

Well. His and Roland’s. Connor is no better than this grave robber. Even though the switching out of arms was unintentional, Connor still bears the limb and tattoo of another teenager. Does that make him any closer to Heartland? Will it spare him from Heartland’s punishment? No and no, but it does paint a rather more confusing portrait. It would be easier if Connor were totally blameless, of course, but no one in this galaxy ever is. The same chain that breaks our wrists will help us up one day, and then it will kill our best friend and worst enemy in turn. All Connor can do is hope to stay alive, but even now, that seems like one last possibility that’s slipped out of his reach.

Heartland smiles indulgently, taking in the startled looks on their faces. “Now, now. Don’t give yourselves an aneurysm trying to figure out how I tracked you down. I need all of your brain matter to be as functional as possible. You won’t believe the number of potential buyers who have been contacting me in the hopes of getting a piece from the two of you.”

“I’m trying extra hard now,” Connor says dryly.

Heartland has the nerve to roll his eyes like a petulant teenager. Connor wonders if that motion is uniquely Dorian, or if it’s from an actual AWOL who’s still not past his rebellious teenager phase even if he’s landed in the body of someone like Heartland. Regardless, the sudden movement makes Heartland’s whole face bulge unevenly as different sections of skin resist tension with varying rates of success, old and young parts making themselves known. For a moment, Connor swears he can see every piece of Heartland for what it is, can map every seam and stitch, and then the man’s face returns to neutral again and the effect is undone.

“Don’t be sulky, Connor, it does you no good.” Heartland admonishes him.

Connor folds his arms across his chest. “Oh, so you’re going to lecture me before you rip off my limbs? How charitable of you.”

“I’m not ripping off your limbs, that would be my expert team of surgeons,” Heartland clarifies. “Besides, ripping is entirely too gory of a description. Distribution is a perfectly reasonable procedure. The galaxy has ensured that it’s completely scientific, with as little pain to the distributes as possible. You simply must get your mind out of the gutter. Speak elegantly or don’t speak at all, Connor. I don’t want that tongue to be corrupted more than necessary.”

Beside him, Risa narrows her eyes at the man. “Was that little flower bed over there produced in the name of elegant speech, or did you just want an excuse for other people to talk about unwinding without putting words in your mouth?”

She jerks her chin towards a display somewhere beyond them. Connor thinks he remembers her coming from that direction when she’d run over to tell him that they had been caught. He wishes fleetingly that he had been closer, that he’d never suggested splitting up at all, that they had just put themselves first like every other soul in the galaxy seems wont to do, but the dreams evaporate in time, leaving him only the stark reality of having been caught in the pointless effort of trying to save lives.

Heartland chuckles, evidently remembering what Risa’s talking about. “Oh yes, the flowers. The last band of upstarts had the same reaction. I love it when we’re all on one page.”

Connor frowns, wondering if some other group of runaway unwinds had made it here before them to be the ‘band of upstarts’ Heartland referred to. He hadn’t seen anyone in the airspace above them when he landed, and certainly Connor would have heard if someone sprung Heartland’s trap a few standard hours ago, but then it occurs to him that Heartland isn’t mentioning events earlier that day at all.

No, Heartland is recollecting the last group of kids who tried to act as heroes for the galaxy. Connor hasn’t heard of any in a while, but even without the Collective’s propensity for propaganda whitewashing everything into blank silence, the last batch of would-be saviors would have been around decades ago. Heartland could be referring to infinite rounds of kids who didn’t want to die, all stretching back for centuries.

How many unwinds have stood in this exact spot? How many generations of children have tried to kill off Heartland or his policies but failed? Connor and Risa are far from the first, nor, judging by the fact that they’ve already been caught, will they be the last. This cycle will go on forever, as surely as a thousand suns rise and set across the galaxy, as certainly as the never ending rotation of fresh organs from the body of a child into the frame of an adult. Teenagers will rise out of obscurity, challenge the notion that the young should die for the wastefulness of the old, and then they will be struck down all because one man has cheated them of their last resource: time.

Of course Dorian Heartland wins every round. He has the luxury of knowing the full story every time. Heartland knows how the rebellions start, so he can crush them in their infancy. He knows how the last stragglers turn into martyrs, so he can lay expert traps and avoid their attempts to save their friends. Starkey’s little attack may have caught him off-guard, and Connor may have been able to run from him once, but now Heartland has had time to consider their strategies and plan accordingly. Dozens of Connors have tried to make a stand, and Heartland has killed them every time. What is Connor now but one more replacement? Heartland is swapping out another one of his parts: the rebel, the fighter, the loose end in his plans. He’s done it before. He’ll do it again.

Connor feels his stomach roll, low and heavy. He wants to scream and scream until the sickness leaves his body and goes into Heartland, until Dorian Heartland of old-Earth and always having enough remembers what it’s like to crave survival more than anything else.

Instead, he rocks back and forth on his heels twice, trying to force himself to stay under control. He’s got to stall so he has time to plan. Connor can hear slight rustling on the paths surrounding them. The other park visitors are conspicuously not looking their way, leading him to believe that they’ve been planted here to alert Heartland to their eventual presence without tipping off Connor and Risa that anything was wrong. That means everyone here will try to stop them if they run, plus more soldiers are likely on the way. There’s a clear opening somewhere behind Heartland, a path out of the park and into the surrounding streets, but they’d have to get past Heartland first.

In order to give himself an opportunity to conjure up an escape plan, though, Connor needs what he has always lacked: more time. He stares at Heartland, and asks, “How did you find us, then? Did you put a tracker in my blood while you had me in your hospital?”

Heartland scoffs. “And risk damaging the product like that? Certainly not. I will admit, you had me worried when you threw yourself from the window, but as it turns out, I didn’t have to worry. You wanted yourself intact as much as I did.”

Risa scowls protectively. “Don’t act as if you cared about his survival. You just want his pieces.”

Heartland turns to her with an affronted stare. Immediately, Connor wants to say something stupid so the man will focus on him instead. Nothing good comes of Heartland’s gaze, Connor can say that for certain.

“Oh, and you care so much more? Risa Megan Ward, abandoned to a State Home when you were a child. You value the Akron AWOL more than I do? Not just because his survival ensures that you’ll end up alive?”

Risa meets his gaze coolly. “You’re wrong,” she says simply. “I don’t have to prove a damn thing to you. Connor trusts me and I trust him.”

Her expression is completely certain, but Connor swears he still sees her relax microscopically when he adds on, “You can’t turn us against each other, Heartland. Save your tricks for someone who cares.”

Heartland just shrugs. “You’d be surprised how many battle-scarred partners in survival will abandon each other for the opportunity to live. It’s worked before.”

Not for us, Connor thinks decisively. Like every other AWOL before him, he believes at once that the two of them will be the first to actually make it work.

Dorian Heartland ignores this, unaware or perhaps simply not caring that yet another round of teenagers believes that they can save themselves. He’s seen it often enough that it probably doesn’t even register. “No, Connor, I couldn’t track you. I simply had to lay a trap. I was going to ransom your friends from the Graveyard so you’d come to me, but you beat me to it.”

Connor realizes he’s referring to the massacre at the harvest colony. “That wasn’t us,” he blurts out before registering belatedly that he probably shouldn’t give away more than Heartland expressly tells him.

Heartland, however, doesn’t seem surprised by this. “Oh, I know. My men arrived perhaps a few standard hours after you left. They checked the security holos and saw both the attack and your shocked reaction. I must admit, however, that I already guessed it wasn’t you. You two didn’t seem the type for tasteless bloodshed.”

“As opposed to the tasteful bloodshed of unwinding?” Connor fires back. He can see Risa eyeing the exits as well. She’s always been good at planning; so long as he keeps Heartland talking, he gives her more chances to save them. If there’s one thing Connor can do, though, it’s talk. This is fine. It has to be.

Heartland sighs. “You must let go of this unnatural fear of yours, Connor,” he chides. “You don’t run around screaming at cosmic pilots for transcending humanity by exposing people to the horrors of spaceflight, do you? Even though the risks from accidentally entering a wormhole or dying star are far more gruesome than a clinical distribution.”

Connor stares at him, bewildered. “Those aren’t even remotely the same thing. Get better metaphors.”

“If you insist,” Heartland remarks, looking vexingly unbothered by this, “I’ll tell my surgeons to have my next cranial implant come from a writer or a poet. Will that make you feel better?”

Connor wants to tell Heartland in no uncertain terms that something that would make him feel better would involve Connor’s fist going somewhere very nonclinical indeed, but Risa places a gentle hand on his arm, a quiet reminder to cool it, and he manages to swallow back the anger before it consumes him entirely.

“So,” Connor says, fighting the urge to scream, “The trap. It didn’t work.”

Heartland arches a brow dubiously. “Of course it did. You’re here.”

Connor shakes his head, exasperated yet again by the man’s wording. “No, no. The trap with the Graveyard kids. We’re going chronologically. It failed because everyone in the colony was taken.”

“Did it?” Heartland remarks. “Because I still have all of my distributes back with me.”

Too late, Connor realizes that he’s misread the situation again. “Starkey already came back here,” he whispers quietly. “You got them back.”

“Of course I did,” Heartland says mildly. “He fell for the same lie you did. Funny, no matter the technique– blood or bargaining– both of you dropped all of your good sense the moment you heard there were distributes about to die.”

Risa lets out a slow gasp. “You have everybody?”

Strangely enough, Heartland wavers slightly before he answers. “Yes.”

“No,” Connor guesses. “You don’t. Someone escaped. He’s got a big group, someone could have slipped through the cracks.”

At the bright flash of warning in Heartland’s eyes, Connor knows he’s struck it right. Risa grins. “Starkey got away didn’t he? Little starspawn always puts himself first.”

Heartland’s mood has gone sour, and when he starts to move forward, Connor knows that the time for monologuing is over. “It doesn’t matter. He can’t run far. I have you, I have his supporters. All of you will be in pieces by the end of the week. A few hours in between captures makes no difference to me.”

Connor grabs Risa’s hand, throwing himself forward towards the gap he’d seen earlier. Immediately, a few passersby try to block their passage, but they’re both running now, as fast as they can. Connor knocks into somebody as he hurtles back through the park, but he doesn’t check to see who it was. Anyone who isn’t Risa is an enemy now, and anyone in their path will be trampled on their way to freedom.

Something whistles over Connor’s shoulder and buries itself in a nearby synth-hedge. He recognizes the slim dart as he passes, calling out to Risa in between gasps for air, “They’re shooting tranqs at us! Be careful.”

“Always am,” Risa growls under her breath, pulling him around a tight corner.

The tall gate marking the entrance of the park is within sight, and Connor puts on an extra burst of speed, willing them to get there. They can lose the guards in the streets if they have to, but right now, with everyone so close behind them, there’s no way they could last forever.

As he thinks this, Connor hears a tranq gun fire somewhere behind them, plus the whistle as the dart flies through the air. A quiet thunk sounds, and since Connor can’t feel any pain, he assumes it’s another miss, right up until the point when Risa stumbles and starts to fall.

Immediately, he starts to panic. Connor catches her before she hits the ground. As he helps her up, his hands brush the dart sticking out of her shoulder. “No,” he mutters urgently. Connor needs Risa to be able to run. It’ll be tricky to carry her unconscious body as he sprints through the city, trying to shake the Juvey-cops, but Connor has made the last year or so banking on similar impossibilities. For Risa, he might as well stop distribution altogether while he’s at it.

Clutching Risa to him, Connor stumbles through the gate. They’ll get out, they have to. Risa’s body slides from his arms the second before he’s past the twin iron bar doors, though. Already over the threshold, he spins around to retrieve her, but the doors of the gate slam shut in his face. Belatedly, he realizes that Risa is the one who pulled herself free, and it is Risa now who is locking the gate between the two of them, making sure that no one else can get out. More specifically, she is ensuring that Connor cannot get her back.

Connor tugs desperately at the metal bars of the gate, but they don’t budge. Risa has grabbed a synth-vine from the ground and is knotting it around the handles, taking extra precautions to avoid them opening.

“No!” He screams, voice raw. “Don’t you do this to me, Risa. Don’t you leave me. You promised.”

Connor feels like a child begging for something he can’t have. You promised. But they had promised, both of them, they’d sworn they’d either make it out of this alive or die together. Yet here Risa is now, locking herself and the Juveys on the other side of a wall from him.

Risa tries to answer, but already, her words are slurring, her movements impeded as the tranq works its way through her system. “You– you can’tttt– get both of us outt,” she tells him. “Save yoursellllfff, Connnnnnor. Like you did for meee.”

Connor yells that he won’t do it, he won’t, but the Juveys are upon her already, dragging Risa’s unconscious body back from the doors. It’s too late to save her, and as a gate farther down the length of the park opens up, spilling out cops onto the street about half a block from Connor, he knows that he can’t waste her sacrifice, either.

So, hating himself with every step he takes away from her, Connor turns and runs down the street, pushing himself faster and faster. Connor swears that half of his life has been running at this point. He wonders if he’ll ever stop. He wonders if he will ever forgive himself for not being the one to sacrifice himself for Risa again. He wants to tell her that he wasn’t worth this, not at the cost of her, but she can’t hear him anymore.

Connor skids down a series of alleyways. There are guards everywhere, it feels like, breathing down his back and drawing closer to him with every step he takes. Connor pulls himself up a rickety fire escape so he can use the roofline to skirt over a high gate. After that, it’s easier to drop into a new set of alleys, to cling to the shadows, to shove a hand over his mouth to muffle the wild gasps for breath as the cops go thundering past. Connor’s good at hiding, but hiding won’t save anyone but himself.

Connor sags back against the grimy wall of the back alley as reality comes crashing in again. Risa is gone. The Deadmen who managed to escape their harvest colony when Starkey saved them have been captured once again. Connor is well and truly on his own. What can one boy do to save all of his friends from dying?

Heartland would tell him nothing. Connor’s brain is telling him nothing too, but his heart whispers a different story. He can’t give up hope, not now. Hundreds of AWOLs are counting on him to break them out. Even if it kills him, Connor can at least try.

He pokes his head out of the shadow, risking a glance into the relatively dim light of the alleyway. He doesn’t hear anything, nor see any crowds of Juvey-cops waiting on him, so he creeps out a little farther, taking careful, treacherous steps down the alley and into the sun again.

Connor emerges onto a quiet scene. He can see streets unfurling somewhere in the distance. In between them, an abandoned court for some sports game that was too expensive to make it over to the OH-10 sector. Connor pads onto the smooth ground. He can’t tell what material it is, just firm enough to make him feel like the ground is solid beneath his feet, but giving just enough that he won’t risk injury.

Is this what it means to live at the heart of Centerworld? Forget the synth-gardens and false flowers; they can create entire worlds for themselves, custom-tailor planets and star systems to fit their plans. No wonder Heartland could get away with rewriting his physical body. There is no limit to innovation here, and no limit to how much they’ll strip away from the outer systems to make that happen.

Connor makes it halfway across the court before someone calls his name.

“Connor. Long time, no see.”

The words make the hairs on the back of Connor’s neck stand up. He hasn’t heard that voice in a while, but he’d recognize it anywhere. Even from somewhere behind him in the creeping metal tunnels of the Graveyard. Even glitchy and broken up from a security holo. Even now, on a planet that belongs to neither of them.

Starkey.

Connor turns around slowly, hands raising from his sides to be ready for whatever trouble is about to come his way. “What do you want?”

Starkey chuckles. His hair has gotten brighter since Connor saw him last; lighter, closer to gold than red, like a fire that’s heightened to an inferno. Connor certainly feels as if he’s a bit of pitch and charcoal, crumbling away to ash. How is it fair that Starkey had time to sit around and re-dye the locks while Connor was hurling from star system to star system in an effort to save the people he holds dear? It’s impossible. This confrontation was not supposed to happen yet. Connor needs to direct all of his focus towards saving Risa. There is no room in his plan for tangling with Starkey.

Starkey, like usual, does not seem like he cares much about what Connor wants. “That’s rude, you know. I thought you’d have kinder words for an old friend.”

“We’re not friends,” Connor spits. “Not since you had your little show on that harvest colony.”

Starkey’s grin broadens, clearly delighted. “You saw that? I was wondering if you would. Do you have any constructive criticism? I mean, you’re the king for taking down Juveys, you did do it first, but I think I did mine with a bit more flavor. You were never willing to commit. You can’t save the unwinds without willing to do whatever it takes.”

“And butchery is whatever it takes?” Connor asks dryly. “Funny, I thought that’s what we were trying to stop in the first place.”

Starkey’s incandescent smile flicks out in a second. Connor still feels like the manic grin was creepier than the dead stare, though. At least now, Connor knows what’s coming. They’re not friends and they never have been. The sooner Starkey put away the adoring fan image, the better.

“Don’t tell me you miss the doctors who would have unwound us,” he hisses. “They wanted us in pieces, Connor. They would have taken your organs in a heartbeat, and they sure as sunfire wouldn’t be crying for you like you are for them. Niceness won’t get you anywhere. They don’t have a moral compass, so why should I?”

“It’s not just the distributors you have to win over, it’s the entire galaxy.” Connor tells him. “Can’t you see that? No one will agree to stop distribution if they’re terrified of us. We have to convince people in every single star system that we deserve saving, but so long as you’re bombing out harvest colonies, that’s not going to happen. You have to play the long game.”

Starkey’s eyes flash, and Connor is briefly reminded of the flare of the exploding engines back on the Graveyard right before the whole place went nuclear. “No, Connor, you’re the one who doesn’t get it. They’ll only respond to shows of force. If we stay quiet, we’re easy to ignore. Look, right now I’ll give you the opportunity to take it back. This is your chance for redemption. You’ve been afraid of getting your hands dirty for too long. I’ve never been scared. There are no shades of gray, just black and white. You’re with them or you’re with me. Pick who you want to be, Connor, but either way, you’re not walking out of here as anything but one of my men.”

Connor’s breath feels harsh in his lungs, grating against his ribcage. He can’t join Starkey, he can’t, but what if this is the only way? “One of your men? I wasn’t aware you had an army.”

Starkey’s lip curls. “We’re better than that. They’d follow me everywhere. See, I watched you, Connor. I watched you for a year in the Graveyard. I saw what you did. Those kids loved you, even though you didn’t deserve it. I couldn’t wrap my head around why they’d willingly devote themselves to someone who clearly wasn’t willing to go all the way, but then it hit me. Everyone loves a hero. So I made myself one.”

The dots are connecting in Connor’s head, but the picture they reveal is far more terrible than he’d ever envisioned. “That’s why you sent that message through Hayden’s radio frequency, isn’t it? It wasn’t an accident, you wanted the Juvey-cops to find us. You wanted a showdown.”

“Of course I did,” Starkey sneers. “I’d been planning it for weeks. No accident there. The second the Juveys were sighted, I directed all of my closest followers plus a few extra kids towards one of the shuttles that was still docked in the Graveyard. We got out before shots were even fired. After that, it was easy to track down the harvest colony. Once I swooped in and saved the day, they loved me more than they’ll ever love you. Best decision I ever made.”

Connor wants to kill him. “Sentencing hundreds of kids to distribution, destroying the Graveyard, killing the Admiral– that was the best decision you ever made? People died in the riots. Dozens have already been unwound. All so you could get some hero worship.”

Starkey just shrugs. “Every battle has its casualties. We’re still alive, aren’t we? I knew you would pull through anyway. I hate to say it, but I was counting on it. I always use you to spring the trap. I slipped up this time, I tried to free the kids first, but next time I’ll let you challenge that weirdo before me so I can get it right.”

“What do you mean, next time?” Connor asks, voice tightening. “Just what are you planning?”

Starkey spreads his arms theatrically. “I’m ending it. No more distribution. It was one thing to take out a harvest colony, but with the amount of explosives I’ve got on my ship, I could take out this whole damn city.”

Connor tenses up. “You’re not just targeting the distributors. You want to kill the civilians, too.”

Starkey chuckles remorselessly. “Of course I do. You think I give a damn about Centerworld? Look around you, Connor. Look how much they have that we don’t. This is what they deserve. It’s what we deserve. We’re going to bomb them to pieces. Maybe then they’ll have a deeper appreciation for what it’s like to be unwound.”

“No,” Connor breaks out. “You can’t. He captured Risa. I have to get her back first.”

Starkey lifts a shoulder. “I don’t care, I’m not stopping for one girl. Now come on. You’re either with me,” he says slowly, drifting closer to Connor again, “or you’re against me. Make your choice.”

Connor shakes his head. “I’m not joining you, Starkey. If you’ve been watching me this long, you know there’s no way I’d do anything to risk Risa. You killed my friends. You’re no better than the rest of them.”

Starkey’s face shuts down. “Actually, I was about to say the same thing about you.”

Connor sees the flash of Starkey’s hand to his belt right before the first shot rings out. Connor only just manages to drop to the ground and catch himself in a tight roll to the side. He hears the bullet whistle over his head and realizes that Starkey isn’t bothering with tranqs. Only one of them will be leaving this place alive, and since Starkey is the one with the gun, it isn’t looking great for Connor.

Another shot goes in the ground just a few inches from Connor’s head. He springs to his feet, racing towards the nearest exit. Already, the sound of gunfire is attracting attention: a few heads poke out of nearby windows, and Connor can see the distant silhouettes of passersby pointing out the two of them.

“Stop this,” Connor urges. “I’m not your enemy, you idiot. You’re going to get the Juveys on us again.”

“They’ll only find your body,” Starkey challenges, and fires again.

Swearing violently, Connor throws himself around a corner. The bullet hits the wall, sending forth a shower of sparks and loose debris.

“Come out, Connor, come out,” Starkey calls, his tone a mocking sing-song beat.

Obviously Connor is not about to do this, so he drifts further down the side of the wall. Starkey is just on the other side of him, about to fire again and end it for real, and then his eyes widen and his mouth goes slack with shock.

Too late, Connor peers past him and sees that Juvey-cops have broken into the scene. One is lowering a tranq gun. As Starkey slumps over, Connor can see the dart embedded in his back. Quickly, the cops rush over and restrain him, hauling the boy to his feet. Starkey tries to fight back, but the tranq is slowing him down and it’s easy for the Juvey-cops to get him under control.

Starkey locks eyes with Connor as they drag him away. All of a sudden, his jaw unhinges and he starts to scream at the top of his lungs, spittle flying from his mouth with the force of his yells. “Wait, stop! He’s the one you want, not me! Connor Lassiter is right in front of you. You can get the fucking Akron AWOL. Kill him! Kill Connor! He’s your enemy. He’s the one you want.”

Connor’s eyes widen, and he presses himself further into the shadows. Starkey redoubles his efforts to break free, writhing in the arms of the Juvey-cops even as they pull him farther from Connor. “Get Connor!” Starkey screams again. “You don’t even want me. I didn’t do anything to you. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault. Fuck the Juveys. Fuck Centerworld. I’m just a kid.”

Nausea threatens to black him out, and Connor has to press a hand against his mouth to bring himself under control. Starkey disappears down the street, but the rest of the Juveys don’t follow him out of the court. Instead, a few exchange glances, then start to head Connor’s way, evidently wanting to see what Starkey was talking about just in case.

Sunfire. Not what he wanted. Connor turns to run for what might be the hundredth time today, but he has no idea where to go. He’s out of the alleys now. All that’s left is the street lined with luxurious houses, and anyone watching from their gilded windows could tell the Juveys where Connor went. He starts moving anyway, a brisk walk turning into a jog, but there’s nowhere to hide out here.

So he thinks, at least, until a hand latches onto his and starts to drag him away. Connor’s first instinct is to fight, but then he realizes that this mysterious stranger is leading him farther from the cops, not towards them, and he slackens his grip. He doesn’t recognize the teenager, nor the one who joins them half a block down, nor the one at the door of a house who ushers them all through the door and into the relative safety of the building.

Connor does, however, recognize the blond tween who’s waiting for him inside. It’s been a long time since they crossed paths, but when Connor gapes at the boy in front of him, the name that rises to his lips is still the correct one:

“Lev?”

unwind tag list: @reinekes-fox, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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heliads · 6 months

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everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter Ten: Still Here

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At first, Risa can’t even think because of the screaming. She cries and shouts until her vocal chords are raw; past that, even, because when she looks up in a daze some time later, she wouldn’t be surprised if she’s lost the ability to speak altogether. This doesn’t hurt her as much as it should. Who would she speak to if not Connor?

Connor. Connor is gone. It’s been more than a year since she first met the boy, and she was kind of counting on the fact that she wouldn’t ever have to be without him. Connor is her one constant. When she’s on the run from the Juveys, when she’s hiding in the Graveyard, when any trouble comes her way, Risa has always had Connor. Always, until now.

Risa gives her grief one last moment to consume her, then forces herself to snap back to reality. Connor is tenacious. He’ll have found a way out. Connor will have tracked down another hidden escape pod or else made one himself out of spare parts. Maybe he’ll even have forced his way onto one of the Juvey-cop warships and masterminded his way into a one-man coup. He’ll come to her in command of a fully armed battalion, and brush it off as just a bit of fun in his free time.

The thought makes her laugh, and it is this last bit of hope that makes Risa surge forward and take hold of the controls once more. Yes, Connor will have found a way to survive, and he’ll find a way to her again. Until then, Risa must manage to make it out of this tiny escape pod and onto a planet so they can meet up, because they will, and then everything can be okay again.

Risa turns her attention back to the control panel before her. Admittedly, she’s not the best pilot, but escape pods were designed with the knowledge that most people using them had already managed to grievously mess up their original ship, so the layout is exceedingly clear. An infant could manage to make this work, so at this point, it’ll be more embarrassing than anything if Risa can’t figure it out.

In the chaos back on the dying Graveyard, they had set a destination in the navigation interface, but she doubts Connor remembers it. They hadn’t had the time to leisurely peruse their options for the best scenery and general tourism, after all. She’s fairly sure that Connor had just picked the first option that came up on the loading screen. Seeing as Risa still has no clue where they are, and thus has no preference to be sent anywhere else, she decides to stick with that for now.

Risa leans back in her seat, trying to get her bearings. The escape pod has rotated such that she can’t see the Graveyard anymore. Instead, the only sight around her is space, wide and desolate. Connor’s always had a fondness for it, she knows that, but to Risa the vision of that many stars just makes her think of all the places she could hide, all the people she wouldn’t know about. The galaxy is huge. What are the odds that Connor finds her again even if he does manage to make it off of the Graveyard in time?

The fear from earlier threatens to cascade over her again, but Risa puts herself on mental lockdown. She won’t think about it. She can’t. The only option is to assume that Connor survived. She’ll have time to grieve later, but she won’t have to.

A beeping from the nav panel draws her attention back from the precipice, and Risa’s stomach lurches when she realizes it’s flashing red in an alarm signal. Squinting at the fine print, she reads the warning in full, but what she sees only makes her stress heighten, fissuring into her brain like a needle. She had assumed that the rogue chunk of ceiling debris that had put an end to Connor’s escape pod back on the Graveyard had left her pod intact, but it must have clipped the pod after all because the readout indicates that her fuel tank has been steadily leaking this whole time. It’s already half empty now, and she’s definitely not halfway to her target planet, at least according to the live map on the nav readout.

Swearing softly, Risa pokes cautiously at the nav screen until she can find a menu. It’s not too late to change her destination, so she probes around until she finds another option that’s closer to her. It’s quite small, more like a moon than a full-blown planet. More than that, it’s not where Connor sent her, but it’s not like Risa has much of a choice at this point. She’s sure he’d prefer her to land on a different world than to run out of fuel in the middle of empty space and die out in the endless cold.

The pod flies. The fuel continues to drip out somewhere behind her. As both the journey and the power source come increasingly near to the end of the line, Risa grips the armrests of her seat, fingernails digging into the smooth silicate material. There’s absolutely nothing she can do now but sit and wait for either a semi-smooth landing or no landing at all, but the powerlessness does nothing to calm her nerves.

All this time, Risa has always had an option, something she could do: run away, choose Connor, flee to the Graveyard, find an escape pod, but now, in the face of yet another danger, Risa’s hands are tied. Either she dies or she doesn’t, but it won’t be by Risa’s actions. Some would call that a relief, but to Risa it just feels like a cop-out. Shouldn’t she always be able to do something? Dying from a power out of her control after everything she’s been through would be obscene.

She nears the small planet. As the pod enters the atmosphere, its surface starts to heat up. The torn edge of the fuel tank doesn’t take kindly to the sudden air compression. Sparks flare along the metal seams of the pod, sparks that lengthen into ribbons of white hot flame. Risa shuts her eyes and begs anything out there– the stars, the suns, even the Collective in all its self-righteous tyranny– that she will survive this. Her last moments cannot be in a tight metal coffin. Not when there’s nobody here beside her.

A click, a shudder, a jolt; Risa’s fingernails dig so hard into her palms that she’s certain they’ll bleed, but instead of tearing into pieces, the escape pod’s landing gear begins to move into place. The pod’s acceleration abruptly staggers when a parachute unfurls from the top. When Risa dares to crack open her eyes, she sees not the assumed inferno of her death but thick clouds gently drifting past her, which give way to long expanses of flat brown and gray land, like the grain of synth-lumber.

Risa was hoping that the tendrils of flame still playing upon the side of the pod would die out as the metal adjusted to the atmosphere, but no such luck. The second the escape pod touches down with far more shaking than Risa would like, she immediately unbuckles her harness and slams the button for the exit hatch until it creaks open. What lies before her is an empty clearing of barren ground, surrounded on all sides by the rocky fingers of a few occasional stone outcroppings. Not exactly hospitable, but better than the pod.

Dizzy from the shaky landing, Risa stumbles over the mouth of the hatch, head spinning. Peeking out the door, Risa’s heart chills when she realizes that the flames are almost at the cracked fuel container. She has to get away in case it explodes, but walking feels impossible. Risa makes it out of the pod, the landscape swimming before her, and immediately trips on the uneven ground. She struggles to pick herself up, but the fabric and ropes of the parachute have tangled on the ground in front of her, and Risa just can’t figure out how to liberate her ankles from the mess of cloth.

Tugging fruitlessly at the material, Risa’s gaze is jerked away when she spots movement at the corner of her eyes, more than just the black dots swimming in front of her vision with each unsteady breath she draws. She pulls harder at the ropes, but the knots around her legs refuse to come undone.

The shadow in her peripheral vision lengthens into the silhouette of a person. Frantic, Risa tries to stand again, but she falls again before she can get higher than her knees. The figure surges forward and Risa flinches away, certain it’s going to kill her. It stops a few feet away, cocking its head in confusion and what Risa swears is indignance. The way it moves is strange, a little too quick and unpredictable to be fully human. It looks like a person, certainly, but there is something about it that most certainly isn’t right, something that Risa’s addled brain can’t quite piece together at the moment.

It crawls forward on its hands and knees, but slow and deliberate, as if keen to prove it’s not a threat. It raises its hands in surrender, and when Risa doesn’t move anymore, it flicks out a knife and starts to saw at the web of ropes from the parachute. Risa holds deathly still, all too aware that one false move could liberate her legs not just from the clutch of the material but the rest of her body, but the humanoid doesn’t hurt her, not in the slightest. Once she’s free, it puts away the blade with an odd flicking motion, and Risa realizes belatedly that the knife wasn’t a knife at all, but somehow a part of its finger.

Risa coughs, trying to clear her dusty, aching throat. “Who– who are–”

She’s interrupted by the shrieking of collapsing metal from the pod, and both she and the figure turn in unison to watch the fuel container finally give in to the relentless surge of the fire. The figure’s eyes widen, and it lunges forward, grabbing Risa in its arms before sprinting away. It moves fast, too fast, and picks her up as if she were no trouble at all. They’re across the clearing in what feels like a matter of seconds, and the creature huddles behind the cover of a rock face, Risa still cradled in its embrace. She draws one shaky, terrified breath, and then an explosion booms across the space they’d just crossed, shaking the rocks with the force of its fury.

Well, Risa thinks wryly, There goes my future as an escape pod pilot. She wants to think more about the implications of losing her only way out, but for some reason thoughts are very difficult to form right now. The edges of her vision are fuzzy and getting fuzzier. The thing in front of her frowns, starts to position its mouth as if it wants to ask her something, but Risa never gets to figure out if it can. Instead, she’s dropping deep into endless blackness, and Risa Ward feels no more.

She is not dead. That would be unfair. After everything, Risa will not die of exhaustion or trauma from a damaged escape pod or even the destruction of an explosion so nearby. It takes her a while to wake up, though. Her body needs the rest, and wants to cling to unconsciousness for as long as it can before forcing itself to face reality once more. Still, it takes some time before her eyes open completely. There is still much to do, many things to learn, and plenty of ground to cross.

When Risa comes to, she is not alone. It takes her a moment to realize that this is abnormal. She has been placed on her back on smooth ground, and is being watched by a person leaning against a rocky overhang. No, not a person; Risa remembers now, and more than that, she’s able to recognize why this being had unsettled her before the explosion. It’s not that the creature before her isn’t human, it is. Just not completely human.

The figure eyeing her with the same placid gaze is a conglomeration of parts. Many are from humans. Different humans, but humans nonetheless. Both of its eyes are different colors, different shapes. The hands folded neatly in its laps are host to fingers of a variety of shapes. They don’t all line up neatly. The hair on its head switches from burnished copper to dark brown to thick curls. The seams of the different pieces are smooth, practically nonexistent, even where– even where the flesh ends and the metal begins. The figure isn’t just made up of different people, it’s also made up of different materials, flesh and bone but also smooth polymers and curving metal plates. It makes this humanoid a–

“Cyborg” Risa says, surprising herself, “You’re a cyborg.” An amalgamation of living pieces and metal. It might even be made of redistributed limbs, parts of unlucky ferals that ended up in creatures like this instead of supposedly extending the greater life of the universe or whatever lie the Collective likes to push.

Most people would be annoyed if she called them out like that. Instead, the figure just inclines its head in one steady, sedate motion. “Yes,” it says, “I am a cyborg. Android. Robot. Gizmo. Gadget. Not all of those at once, of course, but they’re roughly correct. Almost certain. Not quite true. You can call me what you please.”

Risa sits up a little, frowning at the torrent of words that pour from the cyborg’s mouth. “Do you have a name?”

It tilts its head to the side, considering this. A string of small lights on a metal panel near its left temple turns a deep yellow, almost gold. “I have been called Camus Comprix.”

Risa arches her brow. “You have been called that? Were you involved in the decision?”

Something that could objectively be called a smile graces the cyborg’s face. Its lips turn up, but there is no warmth in the expression. “I was made in a laboratory. Not all decisions involving me, involved me.” It pauses, making the lights by its temple flash a pensive orange, then adds on, a little hastily, “Although I have sometimes thought of myself as Cam.”

“Cam,” Risa repeats, “I like it.”

Cam flashes her a grin of perfectly even teeth. “What is your name? Common practice dictates that questions someone asks should be asked back to them. It is as if we only want to know about others what we most want them to know about ourselves.”

“Or they just want something to call you,” Risa comments.

The lights on Cam’s temple turn green. “Or that.”

He looks at her inquisitively, and Risa remembers to actually answer the question. “My name is Risa. Risa Ward.”

“Ward,” Cam muses. “Patient. Protege. Dependent. Who do you depend on, Risa Ward? You came down in a pod. Do you not depend on anyone anymore?”

His manner of questioning is far more forward than anyone Risa’s met. She has the brief, involuntary thought that if Cam was ever allowed in a room with Hayden, they would be able to draw out anyone’s secrets in mere moments, but the accompanying agony of thinking of any friend she can’t see face to face makes her quickly tuck the idea back away in the darker crevices of her mind.

“I try not to, but that doesn’t always work out for me,” Risa admits. “I’m looking for a friend of mine, actually. We were both on this big star cruiser together but it– I had to leave. I don’t know when he’s coming, but he will be. I need to meet him.”

Cam’s gaze turns from quizzical to piercing. “This was close by, wasn’t it? Local. Nearby. I detected many ships going towards a cruiser just a few standard hours ago.”

Risa leans forward, unable to hide her desperation. “You can sense ships up there?”

Cam nods. “Telescopic lenses. I can see what happened. Spot it. Sight it. That’s how I knew to come find your pod. You were one of the last ones that left, and the only one that came over here. So far, at least.”

Risa’s fingers knit together. “Can you see all of the pods? Did any leave after me?”

As a cyborg, even with all of his organic parts, a being like Camus Comprix will never entirely be able to replicate human emotion. Still, the expression that flickers onto his face reminds Risa a little too much of regret.

“None left after you,” Cam tells her. “If any pods were left, they were not able to escape the inferno that consumed the cruiser.”

He looks as if he’d like to add on several more adjectives about the explosion, but bites his tongue so as to not release the stream of synonyms into the air, clearly out of respect for Risa.

It wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t hold them back, anyway. Risa can hardly hear a word he says afterwards. She’s reeling in shock and deep, grave agony. The Graveyard blew up. She had thought that the Juvey-cops would have left it intact so they could search the place more thoroughly, but the cruiser had been in the process of tearing itself to pieces when her pod launched. It would have been simple for any one of the complex systems to misfire and put the rusting skeleton out of its misery.

Although it seems foolish, Risa can’t help a brief twinge of loss for the ship. That’s yet another home she’s lost, never to see again. Her med bay, kept carefully organized for so many months, is so much space dust now. Every corridor she learned by heart, every secret room she explored with Connor. Her bunk, her desk. It’s all gone now.

More engulfing than the loss of the Graveyard, though, is the loss of Connor. Connor Lassiter is a lot of things, capable of infinitely many daring tasks and expert close calls, but an explosion like that– the Juveys would be lucky if they got out of the danger zone, and they were on fully stocked warships. Connor just had his skin and bone.

Risa is still vaguely aware of Cam somewhere in front of her, watching her closely, so she slowly folds all of her grief back into her heart, tucking it away until the rocks and stones around her come back into focus again. At some point, Risa will be alone again, and then she can let the grief consume her as she pleases. Until then, she’ll just have to keep going.

Roughly wiping the tears from her face, Risa straightens up. “The cruiser is gone, then. Fine. I need somewhere else to go than just this clearing. Is there a city nearby? I didn’t see one when I landed.”

Despite his smooth exterior, Risa swears Cam freezes in place. “There is,” he says at last, “But– it’s not– There are no humans on this planet, Risa. It was never designed with people in mind.”

At first, the thought doesn’t even register. “It’s all natural? That’s impossible. I thought the Collective wiped out all wildlife generations ago.”

The lights at Cam’s temple burn a low, dark red. Anger, maybe, or even the faintest pinpricks of shame. “They did. This small of a moon, though, it would never take to settlers. Not enough space. This town’s not big enough for the two of us. They built the labs instead. They made us, but we didn’t pay off the way they hoped. No cash cow. Didn’t make a killing. No bread on our table. They packed up and moved on. Now we’re all that’s left.”

Risa’s starting to put the pieces together. “Wait, so there are more of you? More cyborgs? And when the scientists who made you changed their minds about what they wanted, they just abandoned you on this moon?”

“Eureka,” Cam says glumly.

Risa blows out a low breath. “That’s terrible. Are they at least sending supplies?”

The raw skepticism on Cam’s face tells Risa all she needs to know. “So the city–”

“It’s nothing,” Cam supplies. “Rusting buildings. Everything is falling to pieces. I’ve maintained myself the best over the years, so I take care of the rest when I can. It won’t last forever, though. Already, they’re falling apart. It’s certainly no place for a human to stay.”

Risa feels a swarm of guilt press against her throat. “What about you, then? There’s nothing here. You can’t hold out forever.”

Cam’s eyes are unsettlingly empty. She hadn’t realized how hard he was trying to keep up his expressions, to stay human, until he let it go. “I shut down. Lights off. Case closed.”

They drift into uneasy silence for a while, musing on that, and then Cam stands up abruptly, his knees and joints flexing seamlessly like they ran on gears instead of muscles. Which, being unable to guess at his innards, Risa reckons they might.

“I will take you to the city,” he announces. “A few of the labs are still intact. None of us like going in there, so they’re in pretty good condition. You might be able to send a signal there.”

Risa nods, taking the hand he offers so she can stand as well. “You’re willing to do that for a stranger?”

“You are not a stranger anymore, Risa Ward,” Cam informs her. The lights at his temple blink a lovely emerald green. “You are my friend.”

The journey is tedious. At this point, Risa’s starting to think that the scientists who abandoned Cam and the rest of the cyborgs must have designed this planet in a lab, too. The ground is perfectly flat, everything coated with a thin film of dust that clings to her shoes with each step she takes. Occasional rock formations pepper the landscape, but for the most part, it’s all the same. In the distance, Risa can make out the skyline of what must be the city Cam was referring to. It’ll probably take at least an hour of walking to reach it, but the air is cool and she’s got interesting company, so the time won’t drag.

Cam asks about how Risa came to be in the pod, and she ends up telling him everything. At first, she had wondered if that was the best idea, but it’s obvious that he would have no way of getting her in trouble for it. Since Cam is pretty much the only thing keeping her alive at this point, she figures a bit of small talk can’t hurt.

It is somewhat fascinating to get to spill her life story like this. Risa’s been around the same people for a year now, give or take the slow rotation of kids in the Graveyard as some age out and others are brought in. Her circle of friends already knows who she is, so she’s never had to explain herself.

Cam, however, is a fresh start, a clean slate. He has no idea who she’s supposed to be, only who she is right now. In a way, it’s kind of nice to be able to decide who she is again. Risa is more than just the smart one, the one who makes the plans. And she’ll prove it now, by making such colossally stupid mistakes that no one would ever think about connecting the past Risa with whatever she is right now.

Cam doesn’t know about her inner turmoil, though. He just knows that she’s Risa, and she’s got plenty of new stories to tell that he hasn’t heard yet, so right now she’s, like, the greatest thing ever. He seems particularly delighted by the idea of the Graveyard, and keeps asking about just how many people were there, just what it was like to wake up in the morning and be surrounded by all that noise. When she describes the gentle din of laughter and conversation that used to fill the halls during break hours, Cam actually closes his eyes and inhales deeply, like he could travel there just by breathing in her words, a figurative file transfer.

“But it’s gone now,” Cam mumbles, brow furrowed. “It blew up this morning.”

“Yes,” Risa whispers. Its absence still haunts her like a phantom limb.

“I can see why you were upset.” Cam tells her. “It sounds like an excellent place to be. So many friends. Allies. Compatriots. All with their own stories to tell about escaping distribution.”

Risa nods. “I am sad to leave it, and not just because it was how I stayed alive. But there’s also–”

“Connor,” Cam supplies. The topmost light in the string by his temple burns scarlet before quickly clearing again.

“Connor,” Risa repeats. Even saying his name hurts. She’s fully aware of the fact that she could go to this city of cyborgs to send out a signal only to be picked up by the Juveys, but even the remote possibility that Connor might hear her is enough.

Cam is silent for a while. “You have other friends than Connor, yes? You will try to reach them, too?”

“I will,” Risa concedes. “Hayden’s probably listening, if he made it out. But Connor is the one I want to find the most.”

The corner of Cam’s mouth flickers into a disappointed frown, and he says no more on the subject. They talk about the city, the lab building they’re trying to find, but the reverence with which Cam had spoken of the Graveyard is gone.

As they draw closer to the city, Risa starts to spot more and more evidence of its decay. They pass the first body about ten minutes out from the border, but a few more appear as they draw ever nearer. Just as Cam said, every slumped figure belongs to a cyborg. Some seem as if they’ve fallen just that morning. Others show signs of having given out quite some time ago, the rotting chunks of mismatched flesh completely erased to reveal solid metal and polymer structures beneath their multicolored skin.

Cam looks away when they pass each one. It occurs to Risa that this is probably like stumbling upon the bodies of his friends. “How many cyborgs are here?”

“The records indicate somewhere around a hundred,” Cam recites. “I have no idea if that number is true. Many of us spread out when the scientists left, though most stayed in the city proper. The rest could be anywhere on the planet. I know the ones who let me help, but many would rather no one saw them go to pieces.”

The shadows of the city fall upon Risa’s feet, and she cranes her neck to stare at the crumbling buildings. There are a few skyscrapers in the very center, but the exteriors are in poor condition. The rest of the buildings around the base of the towering structures are far worse for wear, as if every available material has been harvested long ago. Risa can see houses with missing front doors and broken windows like gap teeth. Everything that hasn’t been nailed down was taken away a long time ago to maintain cyborgs that still corrode by the day.

Cam takes her on a looping, backstreets way to the center. “It’s best if we stay out of sight as much as possible,” he tells her. “It’s too dangerous to go by night, but I don’t know how the rest of us would take to the sight of a human. Keep close to me.”

She follows him down narrow alleys, occasionally hovering in the shadows of a building while they wait for a cyborg or two to pass by before skirting around an intersection. They do their best to move quietly, but Risa swears she can still feel eyes watching her as they plunge further into the rotting city.

Once, they turn a corner to find a cyborg sitting on the ground, leaning against a wall and staring directly at them. Its hair is long and greasy, falling in many-hued sections far past its shoulders. Both of its feet are metal, although the left one is missing several toes, so Risa cannot tell for sure if they were once flesh or merely metal that got lost over the years. She has the absurd mental image of an arguing husband and wife from one of those sitcoms some of the faculty members loved to watch back at the StaHo– Honey, have you seen my toes? I swear I put them right here– and has to bite her lip to avoid hysterical laughter.

The cyborg watches them go, but doesn’t make a move. Even still, they pick up the pace, and don’t let up until several blocks are between them and the metal-footed cyborg. The sun is still relatively high in the sky overhead, albeit sinking more quickly than Risa would like, but the streets still seem gray and uninviting. Everything seems faded and worn, like old holos of neighborhoods that have long since been demolished.

Waiting under a tattered storefront awning for a pair of cyborgs to limp past the street beyond, Risa pivots in a slow half circle to get a better look at her surroundings. There’s a large poster on the wall of a nearby building, and she squints to get a better look. She’s actually seen this before, she thinks, or at least a holo-copy of it in one of her classes in the State Home. It’s an old political design from the early days of the Collective, featuring a man in an old-timey suit holding a test tube and grinning proudly. The text reads, Saving Our Worlds– And Our Neighborhoods!

Risa had to analyze variations of that image plenty of times in history classes, so she’s able to identify the man pictured as Dorian Heartland, the guy who created the Proactive Citizenry. He was a huge supporter of distribution, so obviously he’s not her favorite historical figure, but the guy had a chokehold on the up-and-coming Collective. Without him spreading his pro-distribution propaganda, especially with his massive financial backing, there’s no way distribution would have caught on as fervently as it did.

“Why do you have that sort of stuff out here?” Risa asks in a low whisper, jerking her thumb towards the poster.

Cam follows her line of sight and shrugs, both shoulders rising exactly the same distance in one perfectly orchestrated move. “The Collective payroll made this city. They might just want us to remember their beliefs.”

She wants to ask more about just what that might entail, but he’s already moving on, gesturing for her to stay close, so she brushes it off and keeps going. They’ve got more pressing issues to deal with than the all-encompassing spread of Collective propaganda, namely getting Risa off of this planet before someone or something finds out she’s not supposed to be there.

Risa almost thinks that they might make it to the lab buildings without incident when Cam makes a detour away from the skyscrapers when they’re just a few blocks away.

“What are you doing?” She hisses as they twist farther down sidestreets.

“There’s someone I need to see first,” Cam whispers back. “Trust me, it won’t take long.”

It’s not as if Risa has any other great prospects at the moment, so she fights the urge to scream or run and goes after him. After glancing around to make sure they aren’t being followed, Cam pulls her into a ramshackle building that, according to the long-dead neon sign on the front, was once a beauty parlor.

“Do you want to get your nails done?” She asks Cam, bewildered.

He just chuckles. “I’m seeing a friend. Although I’m sure she’d love to give you a manicure if you asked. She’s very eager to practice her craft.”

Cam shuts the door behind them, reaching somewhere to the side to turn on the lights, which only flicker on with great reluctance. “Audrey?” He calls. “It’s Cam, and I’ve brought a friend.”

There’s a shuffling sound from one of the back rooms, and while the owner of the sound comes over, Risa takes the time to study the building they’re in. This is indeed a beauty parlor, albeit a very dilapidated version. There are old, cracked mirrors in front of high chairs, each one supported by a desk containing broken hair curlers, dusty makeup brushes, and other basic supplies. A cabinet at the close end of the room does indeed hold rows of nail polishes, but judging by the rather volatile smell coming from some of the broken lids, Risa isn’t sure that she trusts her fingers anywhere near the shades.

“Why is there a beauty parlor here?” Risa whispers to Cam. “No offense, but it doesn’t really match the vibe of the rest of the city.”

“Appearances are very important,” Cam mumbles back. “They wanted us to feel like we were real people.”

The last sentence is muttered with undisguised disgust. How infuriating, to be placed in a mock city by your creators like dress-up dolls only to be abandoned the second they were interested in better toys. No amount of hair dye nor dried-up mascara will disguise the fact that this is no real place to live.

The owner of the shop bustles in at last. Her ear-to-ear grin is only highlighted by the lurid pink of her lipstick. Her hair has been carefully teased into a big updo, although it’s starting to deflate unevenly, giving Risa the impression that the cyborg is slowly tilting over. Her entire left arm is replaced with robotic pieces, and even the metal parts change color and texture from shoulder to wrist, matching the patchwork of skin tones on the rest of the cyborg’s body.

“Camus,” the cyborg says reverently, “You’re back! Oh, I knew you couldn’t stay away forever. What can I get for you, sweetheart?”

Cam chuckles as she wraps him in a hug. The cyborg’s metal joints creak alarmingly, but neither of them pay it any attention. “I’m not here for me, Audrey. I wanted to introduce you to a friend.”

Risa’s eyes widen as the sheer force of Audrey’s cheer is directed towards her. “It’s nice to meet you,” she begins smoothly, but she’s interrupted by Audey eagerly beaming towards her.

“Oh, what a dear! Cam, if anyone else in this whole city came up to me with a human girl I’d be absolutely dumbfounded, but this makes complete sense. You’re just quick like that, my boy. Always on top of the trends.”

Risa frowns, not aware that finding a human who crash-landed on your planet was considered a popular trend. Cam looks as if he’s trying not to laugh, and quickly steers Audrey’s attention back to him by speaking up. “Actually, I was hoping you could do us a quick favor. This is Risa. She needs to meet up with some of her friends, but she’s on the run. You wouldn’t be able to help disguise her a little bit, would you?”

Audrey claps her hands together. “A project! I love it. How much can I do?”

“Very little,” Risa rushes to say. “I’m perfectly fine the way I am. I just don’t want to be immediately recognized, that’s all.”

A disappointed frown tugs Audrey’s fuschia lips down into a depressed crescent. “Are you sure? I would love to do a full makeover. It’s been so long since I had a willing customer.”

From the way she’s eyeing Risa, it’s unclear whether that means there haven’t been customers or that there haven’t been victims. Either way, Risa’s not entirely thrilled with it. She sends a pleading look towards Cam, but he just smiles placatingly. “This is a good thing, Risa. If the Juvey-cops are after you like you say, you need a disguise. Camouflage. To go incognito.”

Audrey nods, her head jerking up and down like a puppet on a string. “Very true, Cam. Very true. I’ll go get my things, sweetheart. You’ll be thrilled with the final look, I guarantee it.”

As Audrey disappears into the back of the shop again, Risa turns to Cam. “This is why we’re here? You wanted me to get a disguise?”

“That, and I wanted to say goodbye,” Cam says. His face is quiet, but the lights at his temple are a soft, somber blue. “I’m not coming back to the city when you leave.”

“You’re coming with us,” Risa says, trying not to sound surprised. “No, that makes perfect sense. I couldn’t just abandon you after you helped me like this.”

“I’m not coming with you,” Cam specifies. “I’m just going offworld.”

Risa frowns. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“All of the cyborgs in this city have tags embedded subcutaneously,” Cam says conversationally. “I believe I removed mine, but I can never be sure. I will not risk your endeavor by allowing them to track me while I travel with you. All I ask is for one pod so I can make my way in the worlds. I would like to see the galaxy. I can be a tourist. A traveler. An adventurer.”

Risa nods. “Of course. Anything.”

Cam turns to her with the most hopeful expression when she says this that Risa, for the first time all day, is quite grateful to see Audrey hurrying back into the room, arms laden with supplies. Risa takes the excuse of helping to take some of the products from Audrey to escape the soft, naked longing in Cam’s eyes, and when they’re finished setting everything out, Cam has managed to focus again.

Risa is steered into one of the high styling chairs under the room. Every time she moves, dust is sent showering to the floor beneath her, but Audrey seems not to notice. She bustles around Risa, peering at her face from a position so close that Risa can feel the cyborg’s breath hot on her cheeks. If the proximity weren’t unsettling enough, the fact that each inhale and exhale, no matter when Audrey is moving or speaking, is exactly the same duration, only adds fuel to the fire.

“I think I’ll touch up your hair,” Audrey announces at last. “Lighten it up a little, at least. You’d be surprised what a change of color and texture can do to transform somebody. And then we’ll probably do a pigment injection, too. Just in case.”

Risa freezes. “A what?”

“Pigment injection,” Audrey says crisply, picking up a syringe from the pile of goods she’s assembled and waving it happily at Risa. “It’ll change your eye color. Loads of people have it done.”

Risa wants to ask whether that means actual human beings or cyborgs, because the difference is quite important to her. The syringe looks nasty, with the tip bearing at least a dozen miniscule needles arranged in a circle.

She swallows faintly. “What about if we just do the hair?”

“Nonsense,” Audrey says breezily. “You want to be disguised, don’t you? This’ll work like a charm.”

Risa glances at Cam for backup, but he’s wandered off to the far side of the salon, peering with great interest at a panel of old styling holos. So much for sticking by her no matter what.

Audrey hovers right in front of her, flesh and metal fingers curled so tightly around the handle of a hairbrush that Risa is stunned it hasn’t snapped off yet. “Can I start then, dearie? Can I start?”

Risa nods, but Audrey remains in place, practically vibrating from tension. “Yes,” Risa says, when it becomes clear that Audrey is waiting for approval, “You can start. Go ahead.”

The cyborg sags forward in relief. “Thank you, dearie. Thank you.”

And so begins the strangest makeover of Risa’s life. Technically, it’s the only makeover of Risa’s life, but even without prior experience Risa knows this is uncommon. All of Audrey’s tools bear the marks of age; the brushes are all missing bristles, the combs have teeth knocked out of them like they’ve lost a fight, and even the blow dryer has to be whacked repeatedly against the table before it turns on all the way.

Audrey’s hands shake the whole time, no matter how the cyborg tries to contain herself. At first, Risa is afraid for her hair, but it becomes clear that even with the loss of motor control, Audrey’s makeover skills are nothing to doubt. Even still, receiving the pigment injection takes more than a little bit of trust on Risa’s end.

At the end, though, Audrey wheels Risa’s chair around to face one of the cracked mirrors and Risa is greeted with the sight of a figure that logically has to be Risa but seems like a different girl altogether. The reflection’s hair is lighter, closer to auburn, and falls in highlighted curls past her shoulders. Her eyes are green, but not piercing. The shade oddly reminds Risa of the lights on Cam’s temple when he’s pleased about something, which is a comparison she probably shouldn’t have made, but she can’t help it.

Audrey is poised by Risa’s shoulder, grinning hopefully. “What do you think?”

“It’s lovely,” Risa says honestly. “You’re excellent at this.”

Audrey beams proudly. “Oh, you’re too sweet. I can tell why you and Cam get along.”

Upon hearing his name, Cam wanders back over to rejoin the group. He stares at Risa’s changed countenance, mumbling the expected compliments to Audrey’s labor when asked but refusing to look away. Risa feels her cheeks heat up and breaks the staring contest first by gazing pointedly at the ground until he turns away.

Audrey claps her hands together, sending a low metallic thunk through the quiet salon. “That was so much fun! Cam, dear, you’re next. What’ll it be?”

Cam laughs, the sound clipped and punctual. “I don’t need anything, Audrey. I think we’ll be on our way now, actually.”

Audrey’s face falls. “Really? I can’t convince you to stay any longer? At least tell me you’ll be back soon. I miss your company whenever you’re out.”

The cyborg’s hands sag by her sides, and Risa can’t help but feel a rush of compassion for her. Looking at Audrey in the middle of this desiccating salon, she’s forcefully reminded again of an abandoned dollhouse. Audrey has been placed here with her disintegrating tools and products, a stylist with no clients on a planet with no escape. At some point, the last of her mechanical parts will fail her, and then the salon owner will join the salon in the empty ashes of what had once been a grand experiment.

Cam’s smile is only a smile in name, his eyes bleak and despairing. “Of course, Audrey. I’ll be back soon. Don’t wait up.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Audrey assures him, “I’ll just tend to the other clients, then.”

The worst part is that she’s not even sarcastic, but genuinely hopeful that there will soon be others. It hasn’t occurred to her yet that no one else is coming. It hasn’t occurred to her that no one ever will.

Cam takes one last despairing look around him, then ushers Risa out of the salon and into the cold air of the city once more. Even when they’re out of Audrey’s lonely clutches, though, the grief on Cam’s face refuses to lessen.

“She’s been getting worse as of late, but Audrey has always been a good friend to me,” he whispers. Cam glances back at the shop behind them a few times as they go, like he’s trying to convince himself not to return.

“And she’ll still be your friend,” Risa says soothingly. “No one would blame you for wanting to leave. If she knew, she would be happy for you.”

Cam’s expression drops. “Would she?”

Risa can’t answer that, so she waits for them to cross the street before changing the subject. “So, how did Audrey come to be in charge of the salon? Are there other stylists in the area? How’s the competition?”

Cam doesn’t laugh, but the lights at his temple shift from desolate gray to a lighter yellow. “No one else, just Audrey. We were all put here with a task in mind. There’s a doctor, a teacher, a baker. They made the streets and shops and made cyborgs for each task. They wanted to make a real town, and that needs a lot of different types of people.”

Risa glances around at the shuttered windows and locked doors. “I can see that. Where’s your place?”

“I don’t have one,” Cam says coldly. “This isn’t my home.”

Risa frowns. “I don’t get it. If you take care of the others like this, and you’ve got friends like Audrey, why wouldn’t you stay in the city all the time?”

Cam’s face twists. “They don’t like me as much,” he admits. “Said I was too different. Too human.” From the way he says it, Risa can tell it’s not a good thing. “They let me visit in short intervals, but they always get uneasy when I stay too long. I think I remind them too much of the scientists.”

What a terrible fate. Not human enough for the scientists to stay. Too human for the other cyborgs to want him around. Constantly bouncing back and forth between the city and the outskirts, allowed to stay only to help but never to linger. No wonder he wants to leave; Risa is surprised he even takes care of the others despite them consistently rejecting him. That shows his humanity more than anything.

“Well,” she says slowly, “It’s a good thing we’re getting out of here, isn’t it?”

Cam’s lips start to prick up again. “It is.”

They make it to the lab buildings at last. Cam shows her how to sneak in through a back entrance. Although most of the other structures in the area have been pillaged for spare parts, the lab complex is almost pristine save for a thick layer of dust covering anything. Cam tells her that the other cyborgs are afraid of what happened within these walls, which keeps out intruders. It’s a good sign for the two of them, although there’s no guarantee that anything in here actually works.

They search the building methodically for some sort of comms center, anything that might be capable of producing a transmission that could travel beyond the reaches of this star system. It takes at least an hour or two, but eventually they track down a room filled with banks of equipment. Risa’s no expert on communication systems, but after all the time she’s spent around Hayden, her knowledge is at least passable, and that’s good enough for her.

Risa pauses before she begins her transmission. “How do I know this won’t just bring the Juvey-cops down on our heads? They’re probably scouring the galaxy for kids from the Graveyard.”

Cam tilts his head to the side, considering this. “You said that your friend Hayden did a lot of work with communications. Did he have a channel he used? A signal, just for him? If you know the code, we can put it in and send transmissions only on its line. Connor could pick it up too if he remembers it.”

“That’s a good idea,” Risa muses. It takes her a little bit to remember Hayden’s signal, but she manages to plug in the necessary codes soon enough. After that, all that’s left to do is record.

Risa raises the receiver to her lips, breathes out slowly, and presses a button to start. “Hey, Connor. This is Risa. If you can hear me– well, you’re alive, and that’s a relief. I made it out, but I’m stuck on a planet somewhere near the Graveyard. My pod was damaged and I can’t leave, but I can’t stay here, either. I don’t know your situation, but I need you, Connor. I’m on–”

She pauses for a moment, turning to Cam, who’s doing his best to seem as if he isn’t hovering on her every word. “Where are we, again?”

“Molokai,” he supplies. “Outer edge of the H-I star sector.”

Risa flashes him a grateful smile, which Cam eagerly reciprocates, then repeats the name into the receiver. “I’m on Molokai. Find me, Connor. Please.”

Risa stalls on the line, trying to think of something, anything else to say, but the words don’t come. She has no use for long, extended sentences. Either Connor is out there somewhere, alive and able to find her, or she’ll never see him again. Regardless, one more paragraph from her isn’t going to affect either of them all that much.

She presses the button to end the transmission with one trembling finger. Wherever he is, she hopes that Connor can hear her. Maybe he’s coming. Maybe, after all of this time, she can still have him. Only time will tell.

a/n sorry again for the delay, hope you enjoy this chapter! aaa i have been waiting to write about cam FOREVER i was looking forward to this since like chapter three lmao

unwind tag list: @schroedingers-kater, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

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heliads · 4 months

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everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter Nineteen: Call Up the Cavalry

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Connor fears that this might be the moment at which he finally goes mad.

He’s undergone enough to make the snap happen, at least. How much bending can a mind take before it breaks? How many separations, how much running, how much death and chaos can one teenage boy undergo before he starts to lose himself? Connor wouldn’t be surprised if this is all a hallucination cooked up by a brain that doesn’t want to separate itself from its familiar skull.

However, just why Connor would hallucinate this tithe of all people, he can’t understand. He stands there, blinking at the blond kid, until the figure of Lev Calder sighs, cracks a grin, and says, “Hey, Connor. Long time, no see.”

This, truly, is how Connor knows this has got to be fake. “Since when have you been friendly?” Connor asks doubtfully.

One of the teenagers next to Connor chokes out a laugh. “Lev, I thought you said you were friends with this guy.”

“I am,” Lev says, flashing the stranger a dour glare so severe that Connor is immediately thrust into more than a year of memories. Yes, that’s Lev alright. No one can cast judgment quite like a boy who’s worn tithing whites all his life.

Lev clears his throat pretentiously and motions for Connor to continue into the house. “Surprised to see me?”

“Surprised would be an understatement,” Connor remarks. “Do I have a concussion or something?”

Lev grins again. “I would make a terrible figment of your imagination, but that’s beside the point. No, Connor, you’re not dreaming. I should hope not, it’s taken ages to track you down. Hasn’t anyone told you to stop moving around all the time?”

“Yeah, the Proactive Citizenry,” Connor says wryly. “The two of you can argue over custody claims for me.”

Lev’s face tightens. “Trust me, there’s nothing I’d like to do more than poke a fight with the PC. They’re no friends of ours.”

Connor arches a disbelieving brow. “Really? Because the last time I saw you, you couldn’t get to a harvest colony fast enough. I seem to remember you arguing with Risa and I in an effort to turn the ship around when we saved your ungrateful ass.”

It’s difficult to keep the bite out of his words. Even though it’s been more than a year, Connor still hasn’t forgiven the kid for the stunt he pulled back in the boundary checkpoint leaving the OH-10 sector. When Lev had sounded the alarm, Connor and Risa had been forced to go on the run again, requiring the help of a sympathetic checkpoint worker for them to escape undetected. Even so, they’d barely made it out alive, and no thanks to Lev.

One of Lev’s friends doesn’t seem to take kindly to Connor’s hostility. He starts to move towards Connor, but Lev waves him off with a small gesture of his hand. Connor watches all this with faint curiosity– since when has the short tithe been able to inspire this kind of loyalty– but doesn’t say a word.

Lev picks up on his lingering irritation. “I wouldn’t blame you for being annoyed with me for how things ended in OH-10. None of us do,” he says smoothly, aiming a pointed glare at his vocal friend before carrying on. “I was a different kid back then. I didn’t know the importance of staying alive. I thought distribution was saving the world. Then I learned otherwise.”

Connor sits forward in his seat, unable to disguise his curiosity. “What changed your mind?”

Lev smiles softly. “Actually, I started having second thoughts the moment I turned you guys in. I couldn’t shake the guilt I felt, thinking that I had sent you guys to your deaths. I slipped away in the chaos when the checkpoint cops were trying to find you, and ended up hitching a ride on a mass transit shuttle. It was going to the farthest reaches of the galaxy, which I figured would be a good way to start clearing my head. Along the way, I met up with these guys. They call themselves the Chancefolk.”

Connor glances at the assembled group. None of them seem to be from the same place, all different heights and builds, different complexions, but the same haunted look in their eyes. Whatever they’ve been through, it’s been just as long and winding a road to walk as Connor’s.

“The Chancefolk?” Connor repeats. “I’ve never heard that name before.”

“I would be surprised if you had,” Lev tells him. “The Chancefolk are the native people of the galaxy. The group you see before you is only a small fraction of their true number.”

Connor turns to face him, startled. “I thought the Collective wiped out all of the native species from the worlds they conquered. People, plants, animals, everything.”

“Think again,” says a woman from the back. “The Collective would love you to believe that they’re the supreme authority on everything, but they couldn’t be more wrong. They miscalculated and mishandled the galaxy, but we’ve been maintaining the worlds all along. There are pockets of us in every system if you know where to look. We may keep our heads low, but that doesn’t mean we can’t look around and see where we need to be.”

Connor nods slowly. “I can’t believe none of us ever knew about you.”

“The Collective’s got a pretty good propaganda blanket across the galaxy, but I have a feeling that times are changing,” Lev tells him. “For one thing, you’ve got a friend who’s pushing that boundary.”

Connor breaks into a grin despite himself. “Don’t tell me you’ve been tuning in to Radio Free Hayden? Even in your outer rim hideaway?”

Lev chuckles. For a moment, he looks younger again, more like the boy Connor remembers meeting, and then promptly abducting, all that time ago at the beginning of it all. “Of course we did. That’s how I knew you and Risa were still alive, actually. I turned to his frequency one day and heard the three of you joking around like you’d never had a care in the world.”

The smile lingers on Lev’s face for a moment longer, but then his expression sobers again. “Speaking of Risa, where is she? From the way you two used to talk on that radio show, I thought you were joined at the hip, but you showed up here by yourself. Did something happen?”

A wave of grief washes over Connor again, even stronger from its absence. “Something bad. We were ambushed by the PC. She sacrificed herself so I could get away.”

Lev closes his eyes momentarily in grief. “I’ll pray for her. In the meantime, what do you say we break her out of there? We were planning a raid anyway. I think it’s time to show the PC that they’re not nearly as strong as they think they are.”

Connor nods excitedly. “I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do. In the meantime, there are a few things you guys should know about the PC before we draft a plan.”

The Chancefolk draw closer as Connor tells them about Dorian Heartland. He sees the outrage in their expressions, the pain and agony of knowing that their centuries-old foe is still alive. Judging by the steely resolve in their eyes, though, Heartland’s over-extended life may not continue for that much longer. Not if Connor has anything to say about it.

In the end, they walk away from that meeting with a plan. To take on Heartland and the PC, they’ll need an army. However, between the Chancefolk scattered across the galaxy and a fair number of personal friends that Connor and Risa have made along the way, they’re halfway there, and that’s not a bad start. First, though, they’ll need someone capable of uniting the worlds behind their cause, and he’s imprisoned in a harvest colony waiting to die.

“You’re certain this is going to work?” Connor asks for the tenth time. They’re approaching the exterior of the harvest complex now, nearing a service entrance at the back with weapons drawn, but even though they’ve been through the plan many times, all Connor can imagine are possible avenues of error.

“It’ll be fine,” Lev assures him yet again. “Listen, you saved my life when we first met, even if I didn’t appreciate it then. Let me help you out now. I’ve been owing you that favor for a while.”

“Don’t I know it,” Connor mutters under his breath, but he shuts up and lets himself believe in the idea that this might work.

Una Jacali, one of Lev’s closest friends among the Chancefolk, is leading the expedition. She looks as if she might be ready to assassinate Dorian Heartland herself using nothing more than her bare hands and raw anger should they accidentally cross paths. Connor never thought he’d say this, but he actually feels bad for the guy. Having someone as unbreakable as Una on your tail can’t be good.

Una signals to them, counting down from three with a free hand. When she lowers her hand, the explosives they’ve placed on the far side of the harvest complex go up in a fiery rage, drawing the attention of all nearby cops far away from them. The group sneaks through the service entrance and into the shadowy halls. Una and Connor fire at guards when they need to, but their path to the harvest colony is surprisingly clear, likely thanks to the inferno distraction still sending wailing klaxons through the complex.

“They’ll all be in the dorms thanks to the alarm,” Lev tells them. “We should head there now.”

“Remember, Hayden is our first priority,” Connor urges them. “Get everyone out, of course, but we have to make sure he’s safe.”

“Or at least his voice box,” Una supplies. “He can be shot in the leg and be fine.”

Connor shoots her a dour look. “The whole body needs to be fine, Una. He’s our friend.”

Una doesn’t acknowledge this with anything more than a raised eyebrow, which makes Lev clap a hand to his mouth in an attempt to silence his bout of laughter. “We hear you, Connor,” the former tithe says when he manages to get himself under control. “Hayden Upchurch won’t be harmed.”

Connor would appreciate a little more confidence on that front than just the word of Lev, but then again, the boy’s done this well in getting them thus far, he might as well have a little more faith. If anything, the religious upbringing in the younger boy would appreciate some good honest hope.

The group of rescuers breaks into the central portion of the harvest complex when the service corridor ends. Immediately, shots break out as several guards notice them. Evidently not every soldier had been sent to check out the disturbance.

“Go on,” Una urges Connor and Lev. “We’ll hold them off.”

Connor shouts his thanks, then takes off towards the dorms, Lev just behind them. Surprisingly, Lev manages to keep up, even despite his shorter stature. “Since when did you learn to run this quickly?” Connor asks, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.

Lev chuckles. “A lot happened in the Outer Rim. I’ll have to tell you sometime, but the stories would take a while.”

There’s a dark glint in Lev’s eyes, one Connor doesn’t quite recognize from the short window of time they’d spent together a lifetime ago on the stolen shuttle of a Juvey-cop. Connor makes a mental note to sit Lev down once they get out of here and ask him just what in sunfire happened in the year since they last saw each other.

That is, of course, assuming they do get out of here. It is not lost on Connor that Heartland brought all the AWOLs from the Graveyard here to trap Connor once and for all. Although Connor and Risa already sprung that trap in the synth-park, there’s no telling if Heartland had a backup scheme that could be playing out right now. All Connor can do is keep running, and hope to all the heavenly bodies that this, at last, is something the immortal murderer didn’t see coming.

The two of them reach the door to the dorms. A quick blast from Connor’s gun sears through the lock, and he kicks it open. The door surges forward on its hinges, and hasn’t even opened all the way before Connor sprints through it. Kids are everywhere inside– sitting in the corner, talking in quiet voices, poking their heads out of doors, all of them staring at Connor with these wide eyes. It occurs to him that they might be afraid of him. When did he become something worth their terror?

Then a girl near him stands up with a start. “Connor?”

He recognizes her vaguely from the Graveyard, and although they never personally met, Connor seizes this opportunity to get back control of the situation. “Yes,” he says as loudly as he can, “It’s me, Connor Lassiter. From the Graveyard. I’m here to get you guys to safety. There are some men and women outside, they’ll help you to our shuttle.”

Too afraid to believe their good luck, no one moves at first. Connor takes a few more steps inside. “Come on, hurry. Unless you guys want to wait around and get distributed?”

That does it. The girl who’d spoken to Connor earlier hastens to the door, pokes her head out, then quickly waves to the rest of the distributes to get going. “He’s right, none of the guards can get us. Hurry, everybody.”

The teenagers follow the girl, pouring out of the dorms in a shouting, cheering wave of kids. Connor can’t help a smile as he watches the life spark back into their eyes. They’ve got a shot again, and he helped to give it to them. Maybe, just maybe, he can finally make up for what he’s done. He can reverse the tides. Little by little, Connor Lassiter can get back into the good graces of the universe.

Connor pushes further into the crowd, checking each face as he passes for Hayden or, with pitifully shrinking hope, Risa. He doesn’t really think Risa will be here, if he was in the mood for being honest with himself. She’s too important a prisoner for Heartland to just toss her in here with the rest. Still, it would make his rescue attempt very efficient if he could get both Risa and Hayden out of here in only one shot. He’ll have to suggest to Heartland that he re-organize his method of exterminating teenagers so Connor is best served by it.

The ridiculousness of that thought makes Connor smirk to himself as he wades further inside. It’s a little difficult to get through as everyone inside does their damndest to get out as fast as they can. Painfully, it reminds Connor of the mass stampede inside the doomed Graveyard when they had been found out.

Just like back then, too, Connor looks up across the crowd to find someone lingering on the outskirts, someone blond and tall who makes eye contact with Connor and breaks into this wild, bright grin that Connor hasn’t seen except in his nightmares in a very long time.

Immediately, Connor throws himself against the crowd until he’s in front of the boy. For a moment, he just stares, and then he wraps his arms around his friend, squeezing him until he almost thinks he’s forced the air from the other boy’s lungs.

“Hayden,” he says emphatically.

Hayden Upchurch, because of course it is he, hugs Connor back so hard that he picks Connor off of the ground entirely before letting him back down again. “Connor! Suns, I heard a few of the religious kids talking about how they got guardian angels when they died, but I didn’t think I’d get such a heroic one. I’ve got a poster of you up on my wall, do you want to see it?”

Connor chokes out a laugh, eliciting a proud grin from Hayden when they finally break apart. “Yeah, I totally believe that the PC let you have an Akron AWOL poster in their harvest colony. That’s such a bad joke, man.”

Hayden snorts. “They only allowed me to put it up because I promised I’d get them a signed copy. Do you carry a pen with you, or should I get one of my own? You know I have to honor my promises.”

Connor just grins. “How about you keep your promise to shoot those starspawn in the legs if you ever saw them again?”

“That sounds good to me, too,” Hayden assures him. “Now come on, I want to get out of here. I don't fancy the idea of spending any more time, even in these fine living conditions.”

Connor casts one last glance over Hayden’s shoulder, but the throngs of AWOLs have already started to disperse, and he doesn’t see a particular brunette girl anywhere. “Hayden– you haven’t seen–”

He can’t quite get the words out, but Hayden, careful as ever, figures out what he’s trying to say. He puts a sympathetic hand on Connor’s shoulder, gently but firmly steering him out of the dorms. “No, Connor. Risa isn’t here. I’ve been looking out for both of you in case either of you turned up, you know that, but she never showed. I’m sorry, man.”

“No problem,” Connor says with a heavy heart. “I didn’t really think she’d end up here, anyway.”

“The two of you split?” Hayden asks, surprised. “I thought you were together forever.”

Connor shoots him a questionable frown. “What in the stars are you talking about?”

Hayden chuckles, even as stray gunfire from the cops rakes towards them. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. The two of you were practically joined at the hip. It used to drive me crazy in the Graveyard, actually. Jeevan and I had a bet going on how long it would take the two of you to finally spill your lovesick little guts. Speaking of which, how long did it take?”

Hayden spares one quick glance at Connor’s face as the two of them run towards the exit and winces. “Don’t tell me you never said a thing. Connor, you’ve been leading that poor girl on for months.”

“It’s not that,” Connor protests. “And come on, seriously? A bet? I didn’t even realize I liked her until just recently.”

At the entrance to the service hallway, Lev joins them just early enough to hear the end of the conversation. “You’re talking about Risa, right? How they act like they’re supposed to be together forever?”

“Yes,” Hayden says emphatically. “Thank you.”

Connor sputters. “That’s absurd. Lev, Risa and I were arguing like crazy when you were there. Don’t join Hayden’s side, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You should absolutely join Hayden’s side,” Hayden says. “Hayden is always right.”

“He’s right about this,” Lev says as they race down the corridor. Then, to Hayden, “It’s the way they look at each other, right? They can’t stop staring. At first, I thought he had an eye problem or something.”

“Hey,” Connor complains, but Hayden just throws up his arms in victory.

“Exactly! The staring thing! Suns, they were hopeless. You’d think they got married years ago.”

“Can we please focus on getting out of here without dying?” Connor begs.

Were they anywhere but here, he’s certain he would have been ignored, but the rapid gunfire of Juvey-cops can derail any conversation. “Fine, but we’re definitely talking about this later,” Hayden warns.

“I’ll do my best to miss it,” Connor grumbles under his breath. Maybe he should have insisted that Lev stay back at the house, or told him that he wouldn’t ever get along with Hayden so he shouldn’t bother trying. Anything to avoid whatever surreal hell this is.

It takes a while to get all of the Graveyard AWOLs back to the house Lev’s friends are using as their hideout. The journey isn’t totally smooth, either: two Chancefolk and three distributes get shot as they’re running. Although the wounds aren’t life-threatening, every person with an injury is out of the final rescue, and Connor needs every single soul he can get so they’re not totally outnumbered.

Once back inside, Connor and Lev sit Hayden down to explain their plan. At the end, Hayden stares at both of them, obviously baffled. “I’m sorry, you want me to do another radio show? And that’s going to save the galaxy?”

Lev nods. “You would be surprised how many people can be saved just by hearing one voice. Or how many already have. You’re well known in the groups of people protecting AWOLs. What you need is to reach everybody else. Sound the alarm so they know it’s time to come out of hiding.”

Hayden shakes his head in disbelief. “This plan makes no sense. If the galaxy can hear me, so can the Proactive Citizenry. They’ll know we’re coming, and they way outnumber us, especially if we tell them when and where we’re attacking.”

“They already know we’re going to attack,” Connor assures him. “They knew that the second they took Risa. The only thing they’re not expecting is how many people are going to show up. If they hear your broadcast, fine. Heartland is assuming that everyone is going to brush it off again like they have all this time.”

“And we’re sure that they won’t just brush it off again?” Hayden asks, clearly dubious.

“I’m sure,” Lev answers. “I’ve been traveling all over the world since Connor convinced me to abandon my tithing. I’ve seen a lot of people in a lot of places, but everywhere, they’re starting to wonder if distribution is really the right way to go. We’ve got a serious chance now of changing their minds.”

Connor nods in agreement. “That’s the problem with Heartland, he’s gotten overconfident. He assumes that things will be the same way they’ve always been, but that’s not the case anymore. Times are changing, even if he hasn’t realized it yet. The time of distribution is over. We get to live again.”

Hayden whistles under his breath. “Damn, nice speech. Are we sure you’re not the one who should be making this broadcast?”

Connor chuckles. “Trust me, man, you’re the one with the star power. It’s your show, we’re all just along for the ride.”

Hayden’s bright spark of a grin shines again. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a better thing. Out of curiosity, how in sunfire is my broadcast reaching the entire galaxy? I mean, my old signal barely made it a few star systems over. There’s no way I can reach everybody on my old tech, plus it was all blown up when the Graveyard went nuclear. Unless the two of you went scavenger hunting around that wreck, we need more comms equipment.”

“Consider that settled,” Lev says. “I’ve got some stuff from an anonymous donor, really nice gear. They’ll be able to hear you from Centerworld all the way to the outer reaches.”

Hayden rubs his hands together excitedly. “In that case, I think it’s time for a show.”

Lev takes the two of them to the room where they’ve been storing the comms gear. He informs them that the Chancefolk have been using this place as a home base for technology and missions operations, hence why so much equipment has been stored up. Hayden’s eyes light up when he sees the new gear, and can’t contain his excitement as he rattles off all the specs of this top-notch equipment. Several times, he has to be reminded that he’s not just here to sightsee, but actually record something.

At last, after some quick tune-ups and test runs, Hayden finds his old frequency and starts to talk. He planned out a loose script with them beforehand, mainly just a few talking points, but they’re more than happy to let Hayden run wild with whatever he comes up with. So long as it gets to the main conclusion in the end, of course.

“I’m not dead,” Hayden announces dramatically to the microphone, “That may come as a surprise to some of you, given the recent lapse in broadcasts, but Radio Free Hayden is still alive, and so am I. So are runaway distributes across the galaxy, or so I hear. Personally, I have Connor Lassiter to thank for my survival. We’re still alive. AWOLs, if you’re listening, I hope you’re still out there, still whole. I’m glad to be back, but I need something from you.”

Hayden takes a deep breath before continuing. “The Collective wants your pieces. All we did was live, and yet total strangers are perfectly willing to tear us apart just because our parents and State Homes gave the say-so. I know this is wrong, and so do you, listeners. However, for once we’ve got a chance to fight back. I need you all to come to Dandrich-IV. Yes, in Centerworld. We’re making a stand against the Collective, and that means we have to go to their home base. I’ll relay the coordinates in time, but I need everyone to show up and be willing to fight. I’m sure all of you remember Risa Ward, a good friend of mine and Connor’s. We need to save her life, listeners, just as she saved your lives by proving that AWOLs could exist out there in the open sky. She’s our friend, and she’s your friend. Let’s get her back.”

Hayden sends a nervous glance Connor’s way, but Connor just responds with a single thumbs up. Hayden’s doing great, now he has to send it home. “We were never meant to survive for long, you know. The Graveyard proved otherwise. Connor and Risa and I, we did our best to show you that we’re real kids, worthy of living even if someone decided otherwise. I know that we deserve to live. We all know it. The Collective is trying to make you think that the fate of the galaxy depends on all of us dying for the cause, but that’s not true.”

“There is nothing any of us can do. We are children. We are kids. As a species, it takes us years to be able to tie our own shoelaces. We’re not even able to drive a hovercar until almost a fifth of our life has gone by. Why, then, is it that the burden of fixing an entire society falls to us? Maybe it’s because we’re the only ones left to care. We’re going to die anyway, listeners. We might as well die doing something worthwhile. Follow me to Dandrich-IV. We’re going to make a stand. We will be heard. And if we lose our lives out there, at least it’s more living than we would have done if we’d been distributed at the start.”

Connor’s heart is pounding in his chest. Surrounded by his equipment, Hayden’s lip curls. “Besides, our enemy won’t understand what it’s like to fear for his life. Did you know that the head of the Proactive Citizenry hasn’t been honoring his promise to only give distributed parts back to the galaxy? The CEO of the PC is a man named Dorian Heartland. If that name sounds familiar, it’s because he’s been around since old-Earth days. He’s been cheating death by swapping out his own rotting parts with fresh ones from kids. To all the adult listeners out there, do you think your children deserve to die so some rich guy out there can have eternal life? To the new generation, do you want your life to go to some man who’s already had more than his fair share of lifetimes?”

“We’re taking back our lives, listeners. We’re winning the war. I want to see you at the gates of the PC. I want you to make a change that generations after us will remember. I’m sending you the coordinates now. If you believe in life, I’ll meet you there. One last time, I’m signing off with everyone’s favorite tune. And remember– the truth will keep you whole.”

With that, Hayden decisively presses the button to end his recording. The grainy beats of some old-Earth song fills the room. Hayden closes his eyes, basking in the sound, his chest rising and falling dramatically. Connor, too, feels as if he’s undergone some great physical exertion, and all he was doing was listening.

When the last bars of the song fade from Connor’s ears, he breathes out unsteadily, not sure what to do in the face of this sudden stillness. “That was incredible,” he says.

Hayden cracks a tired grin. “Thanks. Good to know I haven’t lost my touch.”

Lev shakes his head in awe. “Not a chance. Man, if you hadn’t been slated for distribution– if you could have lived a normal life– you would have made a killing as an actor or something. You’ve got a knack for speeches.”

Hayden’s face twists. “A lot would have happened if we’d had normal lives. You’d still be with your families. I’d be with mine. They had a lot of rich actor friends. Maybe they would have sent me into that life. Who knows.”

Connor’s heart sinks at the grief plainly written on Hayden’s face. “A lot would have changed if we were never supposed to be distributed. We probably never would have met. I’d be a completely different person.”

“So would I,” Lev echoes hollowly.

“So would I,” Hayden repeats, his voice distant and toneless. All of a sudden, his head snaps up, and he makes eye contact with both of them in a row, quick and fierce. “I’m glad we met. I didn’t want to die, obviously, but I’m glad to have you guys. And Risa, and Jeevan, and everybody else. I wouldn’t trade this life for anything, but I do want to end the circumstances that brought us together. It doesn’t mean I like you guys any less, just that–”

His voice breaks off unevenly, but Connor can fill in the gaps. “Just that no one else should have to die even though we lived.”

“Exactly,” Hayden says.

Lev nods slowly. “We’ve got a chance to turn things around. All we have to do is wait and see how many people heard your signal.”

Although he hates to break the tentative peace that’s settled over them, Connor still has to ask: “What if nobody comes?”

Lev looks at him with grim determination. “Then we go in alone, and save Risa or die trying. We won’t hide in the shadows anymore. And if we die in there, then our blood is on the hands of everyone who didn’t participate. Maybe that’ll move them even more than Hayden’s speech.”

The back of Connor’s throat is raw like acid, but he makes a sound of agreement. Lev is right. Whatever happens from here on out, Connor will still go into Dorian Heartland’s center, and he will find Risa. Maybe he’ll have an army at his back, maybe he’ll only have a couple of friends. But Risa will be found, and for once, Heartland won’t have the last laugh. That, at least, he can guarantee.

They allow themselves a couple of standard hours for everyone to show up. As it turns out, they don’t have to wait that long. Within half an hour, ships are already starting to tune up. Voices are popping up on Hayden’s frequency, different people chartering trips together or announcing that they’ll be meeting Hayden on Dandrich-IV. It occurs to Connor, listening to all of these strangers he’s never met saying that they’ll follow him to death or salvation, that he may have started a revolution, or at least helped build a spark into a blaze.

If this inferno consumes them all, at least Connor’s last hours will have been something bright, something beautiful. He’s had an awful lot of time to run and hide. At some point, he has to turn that restless energy into a fight. Now is the time.

He’s interrupted from his reverie by Lev running into the room. The younger boy can hardly manage a word, too excited by something outside. He gestures for Connor to follow, and Connor doesn’t need any extra encouragement, breaking into a run as the two boys hurry from the room.

Lev leads Connor to the door of the house, then pushes it open. Connor stands for a moment on the threshold, blinking in the light, staring in abject astonishment at all of the faces looking expectantly at him. Some are strangers. There are adults and children, bodies young and old. Some bear the wounds of previous fights. Others wear clothes so nice Connor is certain that they must have come from Centerworld itself. All in all, there are dozens of people scattered around the road leading to their hideout, maybe even hundreds, and more arrive by the minute.

“So many people,” he chokes out in a daze.

Hayden emerges from the house by his side, holding up a hand to wave to the gathered crowds with a dazzling grin. “Turns out a lot more people believe in the cause than you think. Still having trouble believing that we’ll win?”

“Not anymore,” Connor manages. “I mean, I didn’t even know that many strangers knew who I was.”

“They’re not just strangers,” Lev corrects.

And, looking out at the throngs of people, Connor realizes that he’s right. Shading his eyes from the sun, he recognizes Bam, Mai, Diego, and the rest of the group that had saved him when Heartland first tried to get to Connor. He leaves his friends at the doorstep, weaving through the crowds until he’s in front of them.

“You guys came,” he says in a daze.

Bam nods impatiently, although she can’t seem to hide a proud grin. “You kept your promise.”

“Plus, someone wanted to meet her hero,” Mai adds. Bam elbows her in the ribs, but the embarrassment on the girl’s face shows some truth to the statement.

“Go talk to him,” Connor encourages. “Hayden always likes meeting new people.”

He doesn’t stick around to see if Bam goes or not, distracted by another face in the crowds.

At first, he can’t quite place the old woman in the security uniform, but then she sighs deeply at the confusion on his face and the name instantly comes back to him. “Sonia?” Connor asks in astonishment. It’s the woman who rescued him and Risa at the OH-10 boundary checkpoint.

“Don’t look so surprised, boy,” Sonia says irritably. “I saved you once before, I assumed I’d have to do it again. Didn’t expect this sort of support, though.”

For once, the perpetual glower on her face lightens into a half smile. “I’m proud, Connor Lassiter. This change is a long time coming.”

“It is,” Connor agrees. Another figure emerging from the crowd calls his attention yet again, and he heads past Sonia to come to a stop in front of one particular cyborg that Connor never thought he’d see again.

At first, all of Connor’s systems go on high alert. Then, before Connor can even ask what in sunfire he’s doing here, Cam holds up a mechanical hand and answers the unspoken question, “I’m here for Risa, not for you. Trust me. She saved my life by getting me off the planet. I need to return the favor, and for real this time. In all honesty. To be completely genuine.”

Connor chuckles. “I think we’re in agreement there.”

He spins in a slow circle, still surprised by all of these faces smiling at him, ready to go to war so that he and every other teenager there can live. When he stops moving, another person has replaced Cam.

Connor’s heart lurches in his throat. “Grace,” he says. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Grace Skinner taps her fingers together, her expression as practical as ever. “I didn’t know either,” she answers honestly. “I think it’s good, though. That man has to pay for what he did to Argie. He killed my brother. I want to be part of the group that kills him. It’s only fair.”

“That sounds good to me,” Connor admits. “And Grace– I’m sorry. Even still.”

“I know,” she tells him. “Let’s get our revenge, then.”

A careful smile rises to Connor’s lips. This emotion coasting over him in waves isn’t happiness, not exactly, but it feels pretty damn good, too. Looking around at all of these people, the Chancefolk talking to Lev, the crowds of old friends from the Graveyard, the AWOLs and adults who have united under this one banner, Connor realizes that he’s finally got his army. The only thing left, then, is to get his girl.

Dorian Heartland has no idea what’s about to hit him.

unwind tag list: @locke-writes, @reinekes-fox, @sirofreak

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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heliads · 4 months

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everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter Sixteen: Heavy is the Head

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Connor isn’t doing well.

He’s trying to hide it, of course. Sometimes Risa swears that half of Connor’s ill-stolen life is spent running or hiding or trying to pretend he’s something that he isn’t. She loves him, she does, but she hates this too. Connor will drive himself into the ground trying to take responsibility for crimes he didn’t commit. He’s got a good heart, a heart that Risa has carved out a place to hide inside, but it’s getting awfully cramped in there with every other hopeless crusade he pioneers.

Seeing Starkey burn down the harvest colony was the nail in the coffin. Risa has told him that wasn’t his fault about a dozen times, and is running out of new ways to put it, but the repetition doesn’t matter. Connor thinks he’s seen enough. He believes Starkey was trying to send him a message or something by killing that one guard like he did, but even if the tether hadn’t been used, Connor would have felt the blow to his conscience anyway.

After all, it is Connor’s significantly more brutal alias, the king of unwinds, the Akron AWOL, that got Starkey hooked on this idea of violently liberating distributes like this. A very long time ago, so far away in space and time it could have been a wholly separate boy in a wholly separate galaxy, Connor Lassiter tried to run away from home and ended up tranquilizing a Juvey-cop with his own gun before stealing the officer’s ship. The story was warped across an entire universe, and then it reached a boy named Mason Michael Starkey whose only goal was to find a way to make the whole galaxy remember his name.

Starkey succeeded. Connor will always remember that it was his fault first for wanting to survive and having the terrible luck of being celebrated for it. Connor has gone sickly silent ever since they arrived at that harvest colony, and now Risa doesn’t know how to get the Connor she knew back.

Truth be told, she doesn’t think he’s going to come back unless they can find a way out of this whole mess. Storming the harvest camp and liberating their allies from the Graveyard was supposed to be the final chapter in this affair. It would be difficult to survive on their own, of course, several hundred Deadmen do not a secure future make, but they would find a way. They wouldn’t be alone anymore, and then they would grow up and age out of distribution. Risa was supposed to have her future with him. Now she’s not even sure he wants their past.

It’s exhausting, to put it simply. Every day, they’re constantly pulled from one corner of the galaxy to the next. They escape the exploding Graveyard only to be split up. They find each other only to pivot to save their friends. They attempt to break into a harvest colony and discover that an even more twisted villain has the Deadmen. Heartland is still out there somewhere, and Starkey is holding their friends in the belly of his stolen ship, and it feels like so long as Risa and Connor are alive they will never be able to rest. This was supposed to be the end. This was supposed to be the end.

And, Risa is starting to realize, it never will be. There will always be one more mountain to cross, one more impossible feat to pull off. They’re kids. Just kids. Kids who were meant to die. Kids who have no choice but to survive. Survival has never been anything but a bloody, brutal thing, but for once Risa wishes it were easy. Hasn’t she done enough? Haven’t both of them done enough? At one point do they get to rest?

Never, maybe. Never at all.

A shadow in the door; Risa looks up to find Connor looking at her uncertainly from the threshold. Wordlessly, she holds out a hand to him, and he crosses over at last to join her. They sit together on a bench along the wall. Connor presses a soft kiss to her temple, then whispers against the still air, “Do you think they’re safe with him?”

His voice is doubtful. It cuts her a little inside, wondering how long it will take him to sound secure again. She doesn’t know what he said to Grace Skinner to explain how her brother died, but the gloom in his eyes when he came back to her could have spawned any ghost.

“He’s not going to hurt any AWOLs,” Risa tells him. “He’s not stupid. The whole point of his little crusade is that he’s protecting the distributes. None of them are going to die.”

Connor shakes his head. “That’s not the only way he can hurt them. I mean, do we think he’s cut out for leadership? How can Starkey possibly keep all of them safe?”

Risa blows out a quiet breath. “If some of the older kids from the Graveyard are there, they’ll be able to watch out for the younger ones even if Starkey doesn’t manage it. Hayden could.”

“Hayden could,” Connor agrees. “Plus some of the nav kids for sure. Yeah, you’re right. They can do it.”

“Don’t worry about them,” Risa urges. “They’ll be fine. To be honest, you should worry about us. Heartland’s been quiet ever since you escaped. I don’t like that. One man has the power of the entire Collective on his side and he just lets us go? No way.”

Connor frowns, his lips pressed together as he considers this. “He didn’t have a tracker on me, I checked before I stole a ship. Odds are he’s just waiting for us to slip up. To be honest, he doesn’t need to capture us to further his message. If Starkey pulls something like this again, Heartland will have all the anti-AWOL propaganda he needs. All he needs to do is frame us like insane killers and the whole galaxy will be up in arms against us.”

Risa shudders, realizing he’s right. “We need to shut down Starkey, then.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Connor insists. “We need to find him first, though. He’ll have to go somewhere to refuel. We need to check nearby spaceports and see if any ships big enough to transport a couple hundred kids have passed through. In fact, they might even get caught at a boundary checkpoint. Let’s check some records and see what we come up with.”

This seems like trying to find a needle in a synth-haystack, but Connor’s got some light back in his eyes, and Risa isn’t willing to shoot down this idea if it means he’ll slump back into nothingness again. So, she heads to the ship holodeck, and the two of them start to painstakingly sift through reports on the comings and goings of large shuttles within several units of their current star sector.

Suns, it’s slow going. Risa swears half their time on this new, ill-gotten starship has been spent combing the galaxy in search of distributes who will never end up found. Risa pores over news holos and headlines for several standard hours. At last, though, it’s Connor who leaps to his feet excitedly when he comes across a report of another mass distribution on a nearby planet.

“Look at this,” he tells her. “It’s got to be more Deadmen. I mean, the Graveyard was massive, right? It would make sense that they had to split everyone into two groups, there’s no way everyone could fit on just one colony.”

Risa’s heart leaps at the same time Connor’s does, but she coaxes her hope back down from that high place with great reluctance. Something about this feels off. It was too easy, and if there’s one thing she’s learned from continually charting new courses across the universe, it’s that nothing is ever easy.

“It’s on a planet, though, not a colony,” Risa points out. “Isn’t that strange?”

Connor waves this concern away, starting to pace back and forth across the floor. “After Starkey’s horror show at that one harvest colony, I wouldn’t be surprised that the Collective tried to distribute the rest someplace with a little more security. It’ll be tougher getting in, of course, but we’ve got to give it a shot.”

Risa swivels over to where Connor had been standing, and hesitantly scrolls through the article he had found. “This seems unusual.”

“Unwinding is unusual,” Connor argues. “Come on, Risa. Our friends are there. We have to save them.”

“I’m not saying we won’t save them,” Risa snaps back, feeling oddly defensive, “but we have to give this more thought. What if this is how they catch us? They know we’re trying to find our friends. Suns, even Starkey could have done this if he threatened someone in communications. We have no proof that this is real.”

Connor bounds over to her again, seizing her hands to his and holding them to his lips as if in prayer. “We are together on a massive starship that is totally empty. We are capable of making one hyperspace jump that will put us in that very star system. We have friends who need us, Risa, and we have the opportunity to keep them whole. Why shouldn’t we leap at the chance?”

“What if it’s a trap?” Risa asks desperately. Connor wants this more than anything, she knows it like she’s reading his mind, but she needs him to understand that this might not be the total victory he hopes it is.

“Then we spring it,” Connor says, suddenly giddy. “We spring it and we get away anyway, maybe even with a few new AWOLs in tow. We show the galaxy that Starkey’s mass murder isn’t how all unwinds think. We win, Risa. We win. Isn’t this what we’ve always wanted?”

What we’ve wanted is to stay alive, Risa wants to tell him. What we’ve wanted is to avoid obvious traps and take life one day at a time. That’s survival. That’s what we’ve always wanted.

Instead, she forces an unsteady smile, and says, “I’d follow you anywhere. You know that.”

“I do,” he says, and kisses her. Risa tries to forget her worries with the gentle pressure of his hand against her cheek. It almost, almost works.

Connor charts a new course. Risa watches and worries from the door to the cockpit. She tells herself that it’s fine and it isn’t, but what more can she do? Since her issues have been avoided in the face of wild, desperate hope, the only thing to do is pivot and try to save them from themselves anyway. She pulls up maps of the planet they’ll be attacking, figuring out exactly where they need to land and what buildings will serve as the harvest location. Anything and everything to avoid the seemingly inevitable.

The site of the latest mass distribution is on a planet called Dandrich-IV. It’s nice, actually, pretty far into Centerworld, the core of the grand sprawl of the galaxy. This means that Collective presence is going to be off the charts, another fact that makes Risa uneasy. Still, Connor just takes this as a sign that this endeavor will be real. After all, the Deadmen are now highly prized property. They wouldn’t be shunted off to another backwater colony.

All too quickly, the Unwind converges on Dandrich-IV. They land a short distance from the supposed location, using the cover of some tall synth-oaks to hide their ship. According to Risa’s research, the Chop Shop and other distribution buildings are in a complex about a ten minute walk from their current location. To get there, they’ll have to navigate a bustling city full of wealthy Centerworld families. Worse still, they’ll have to look normal while they do it.

Risa and Connor stroll down the sidewalk, doing their best to blend in. Their clothes aren’t exactly typical of the luxury common around here, bearing too many signs of having survived a couple of long interstellar voyages, but there’s not a lot they can do about that. Connor uses his fake grounds license to buy them jackets that they can sling on over their clothes, plus caps they pull low over their eyes to hide their faces. Hopefully that’ll do something.

It’s as good of a disguise as they can hope to get around here. Even after a successful purchase, they still attract several dirty looks from shop owners. Seems like solo teenagers are suspicious customers no matter where in the galaxy you end up. The familiar routine should comfort Risa, but instead she’s just reminded of the terrible stakes awaiting them should they mess up.

Risa guides them across the street to the entrance of a nice park. No gates bar their entrance, no tall fences keep out ruffians; here, apparently, polite behavior is expected to the point of trusting anyone.

“Nice place,” Connor mumbles, staring at the topiary.

Risa nods incredulously. The whole point of this park is somewhat pointless– everyone here knows everything from the individual blades of grass to the vibrant flower bushes are fake, produced somewhere in a lab and shipped over here– but the effect is marvelous. Risa doesn’t think she’s seen this much green in her whole life. The synth-wildlife budget for the OH-10 State Home grounds wasn’t exactly extensive.

They walk further inside, following a curving path that carries them past lines of meticulous synth-trees and even a few stone fountains spitting tall columns of water into the air. Around them, wealthy families preen and pose, showing off the glories of their laboratory flora to whoever’s in sight. It’s like nothing Risa has ever seen before. Secretly, she has to admit she’s glad that she and Connor got to Dandrich-IV before Starkey; he’d probably burn the whole place to the ground out of spite.

“Let’s amble a little more,” she whispers to Connor. “I don’t want to attract attention.”

“Good idea,” Connor returns. “What if we split up so they stop staring? I’ll go pretend to look at some of the statues and pretend I’m working on a school project or something.”

Risa agrees with this and watches him wander off, trying not to act as if the thought of not being side by side with him freaks her out completely. Splitting up is always a bad idea, but they stick out like a sore thumb in the midst of all this faux greenery. One individual teenager attracts less attention than two. All Risa has to do is smile and walk and act as if none of this is new to her.

Risa meanders down a side path, taking in the displays. One flowerbed in particular attracts her attention, and Risa comes to a stop in front of it. It’s a strange design, but since when have the aesthetic tastes of the rich and famous ever made sense to her? There used to be this one girl at the StaHo who had an obsession with these mansion mags that were occasionally downloaded to the State Home holodeck. Risa remembers that girl spending hours flipping through holos depicting the interior of some of the nicer Centerworld estates, remarking on anything from the patterned wallpaper to expensive footstools.

The girl had loved those houses, but Risa couldn’t believe the elites would spend their money on such terrible designs. She’d come up with her own dream place to stay someday, of course, somewhere with big windows and absolutely no other orphans. Funnily enough, it hadn’t involved a spaceship in the middle of the cosmos holding only her and one other boy, but if Risa had to pick a dream future now, she can’t imagine anything but that. Time changes all of us. Sometimes for the worse, yes, but sometimes for the better, too. Risa isn’t alone anymore. That one fact is worth more than a thousand fortunes.

Risa tilts her head to the side, considering the flowerbed. According to the placard below it, the design was just approved in the last few days and submitted by some anonymous wealthy donor. It must make for a very interesting garden if bits and pieces here and there are constantly swapped out. Since everything is lab-grown, the visitors wouldn’t have to wait for the right seasons or temperatures. They could have a new display every day so long as the designers installed the right part in time.

Risa likes this design, though. As she’s looking at it, someone walks up to her, smiling gently. At first, she panics, thinking she’s been recognized, but then she notices they’re wearing a uniform with a logo on the breast pocket labeled with the name of the garden, and she relaxes a little.

“Do you like the flowers?” The gardener asks. “Put them in myself just a short while ago. Lovely things, I think.”

“Yes,” Risa mumbles, “Very lovely. Nice colors.”

It sounds basic to her ears, but she has no idea what else to say to this stranger. The State Home didn’t exactly train her on how to talk about gardens.

However, when the man immediately breaks into a wide grin, she can guess that it was taken the right way. “I quite think so too. The designer specifically chose a few plants they had in mind that would just make those colors pop. A certain D.H., I believe. Didn’t leave us anything but his initials. It’s a right shame if you ask me, I hope he will submit more ideas in the future.”

Alarm bells are going off in Risa’s head, but for a moment, she can’t imagine why. “Did the designer say anything else about the flowers?” She asks politely.

The gardener shakes his head. “Oh, no, nothing much. Only that he hoped these flowers would help everyone unwind a little. Great message, if you ask me.”

Risa flinches involuntarily. Technically, she knows the word ‘unwind’ has two meanings, but she’s only ever heard the bloodier definition in so long that she almost forgot it could mean something else. It must be simply a mistake on her end to assume something gruesome, but as Risa looks back at the bright, lurid flowers, she can’t help but feel fear creep back up on her. Under this new context, the colors seem grotesque somehow; the red of blood, the white of bone.

“To unwind?” She asks faintly. The gardener nods and says something else, Risa thinks, but she’s so far beyond thinking of mere flowers that she can’t pay attention.

Suns. Wait. Only one person would put together a display like this, just asking to be noticed. Only one person would require a filthy word like that in the middle of this beautiful place. Only one person would play games like this and make a mockery of their own lives. Only one person, and she and Connor have just walked into his embrace.

Risa turns around abruptly, racing back to Connor, who’s still ambling slowly through the garden walkways. He looks up when he sees her, though, startled out of some reverie.

Connor opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, but Risa doesn’t give him the chance. “We have to go. Now. They’re here, they’re–”

Halfway through her panicked words, Risa realizes that Connor is staring at her with wide eyes. No, not at her. At something just over her shoulder. Risa turns slowly to see a man who could only ever be Dorian Heartland strolling out from behind the cover of a particularly tall row of synth-trees. His unsettling, mismatched eyes pass over her fleetingly to settle on Connor with an expression of great satisfaction. “Hello, son.”

“I’m not your son,” Connor says reflexively.

Heartland tuts reproachfully. “Technically, you are. You belong to all of us. You’re parts of my universe, Connor, and that means I can refer to you however I please.”

Risa stares at him uncomprehendingly. Connor had repeated descriptions of his encounter with the villainous man many times, but even those heated explanations could not come close to fully encapsulating the horror that is Dorian Heartland. Even without hearing that the man was fully made from separate pieces, Risa can tell that something is deeply wrong with him. His voice seems to be woven together from many different inflections, forced through lips that don’t belong to the tongue nor the voice box that forms each syllable.

He has the air of a man who knows everything about them, who could predict their escape opportunities and has already shut down each and every avenue they could hope to run to. This man has seen many other teenagers who thought they could be the ones to save the galaxy, and he has killed all of them. Dorian Heartland has centuries of experience in shutting down rebellious young upstarts.

Risa and Connor thought they could outsmart him– why? You cannot outthink time. You cannot outrun someone who has already chased off Fate. All they could hope to do was keep to the outskirts of Heartland’s time and patience such that he would get bored of him, yet they’ve already messed that up and been found out. All their planning has come to this, a showdown in a glimmering false garden that, just like the rest of their stretched-thin galaxy, was brought to fruition by a collection of parts that calls itself Dorian Heartland.

This, Risa decides, is the end. For her, at least. Maybe she can buy time for Connor to get away, but somehow she doubts that’s possible. After all, she recalls gloomily, they’ve both sworn that they would be together forever. Even in death. Even in distribution. Even in this.

unwind tag list: @reinekes-fox, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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heliads · 4 months

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Can I request an unwind fic where Connor is the one who gets taken from the Graveyard by Roberta (for propaganda reasons not because Cam likes him) and Rise goes and saves him? I feel like we need more powerful Risa fics! She is badass!

'made it back to you' - connor lassiter x risa ward

masterlist

They had thought it would be smart to take Connor.

That’s what he’s been able to gather, at least. The Proactive Citizenry was willing to incur the risk of abducting one (1) unwind for Propaganda Purposes, and they figured they might as well shoot for the moon and chose Connor Lassiter, Akron AWOL, resident voicebox of a surprisingly large percentage of the unwind community. On paper, it was a brilliant idea.

Connor, however, is not quite the boy people think he is. He doesn’t really like cooperating, especially not with people who’ve kidnapped him from the only home that was willing to accept him as an enemy of the unwinding state. Really, the PC should have figured that out from day one.

Instead, they’re continually learning that lesson with each hour that passes. They gave him a nice room with lovely locked doors and impeccably sealed windows. He’s kept in relative comfort, albeit far beyond the reach of anyone and everyone who could possibly help him. And, to make matters worse, they’re insisting that Connor will film propaganda videos insisting that unwinding is done for the right reasons.

Bullshit. Obviously, he’s not going to do this. The first time Roberta Griswold appeared in Connor’s lux jail cell and asked him to recite a few lines for media purposes, he laughed in her face and told her there wasn’t a chance in hell that he’d actually do it. Roberta had the nerve to act surprised, like she genuinely couldn’t fathom why Connor wouldn’t be in favor of stripping teenagers for parts.

She’d tried to reason with him a little, but sorry, no amount of carefully prepared logical fallacies will make up for the fact that unwinding is a terrible thing to do. Connor’s not falling for it. He’s already had plenty of time to debate everything under the sun about unwinding with Hayden and Lev at various times in his life, so Connor is actually quite well prepared for Roberta’s line of reasoning. Who knew that kidnapping a tithe would come in handy?

Roberta was persistent, though. Day after day, she kept coming in, waving that stupid little form he’s supposed to sign to agree to the PC’s demands. Connor had tried to be civil, knowing that any slip up would of course be televised to show how crazy and violent unwinds can be, but after a week he got sick of it and launched a pillow at her head.

He’d been on lockdown after that. No visits, not even doctors, not even Roberta. Clearly, they’re trying to shame him for the loss of control, but honestly, it had felt really good to watch the mass of fabric and feathers collide dully with Roberta’s bleached-blonde skull. When Connor dreams of paradise, it involves soft projectiles thrown at hard-headed sadists.

Connor hadn’t anticipated the Punishment, though. He’d expected consequences ranging anywhere from nameless threats to medieval-type shit like iron maidens (not the band) or thumb screws. Connor doesn’t even know what the hell a thumb screw is. It sounds painful, though, and involves body parts, so honestly it seems pretty well up the Proactive Citizenry’s alley.

Instead of getting beaten around, however, they did him one worse: they sent in the freak. Camus Comprix. Christ. Connor’s seen the guy around, he lurks in hallways like he’s not ever sure of where to go or what to go. His posture vaguely reminds Connor of kids getting their portraits taken during school picture days. Like Cam has been forced into a starched-stiff shirt and told to straighten up a little, put his shoulders back– no, a little more, a little more, now tilt your head to the side slightly– and he’s spending all of his waking hours waiting around for the camera to click.

It’s weird as hell, is what it is, and now Connor has to deal with it. Honestly, he’s not sure if Cam’s sudden presence in Connor’s quarters is meant to be difficult for Connor or Cam, or maybe both. Killing two birds in one stone, you get to shame both your lab-grown boy and the unpleasant one you kidnapped in one go. If Connor ever gets out of here and takes up a position with the FBI, he’d suggest this as a certified interrogation method. Simply take your uncooperative prisoner and lock them in a room with a rewind who thinks he’s witty. You’ll have your answers in no time.

They both hate each other’s guts, that much is certain. Apparently, Cam had been angling to get Risa in here instead, suggesting that she’d be far easier to work with than Connor. He’s got to assume that the PC is wishing they’d followed Cam’s guidance instead. As it turns out, Connor also wants Risa. That’s one thing they’ve got in common, at least.

It’ll be the only thing. Cam visits Connor in scheduled one-hour visits, such as right now. The lock on Connor’s door clicks open, revealing the sullen myriad of expressions on Camus Comprix’s many segments of face.

“Why, Cam,” Connor says flatly. “It’s such an honor to be in your presence. I didn’t expect the pleasure of your company today.”

Cam fixes him with a stormy glare. “Ridiculous. Hogwash. Balderdash.”

Connor can’t help a pleased smirk. “What, you don’t think that your company is a pleasure? You should really work on positive self talk, Comprix. Surely one of the voices in your head has an ego.”

Cam looks like he wants to spit on Connor’s shoes. “I am the only one in my head, and I think that you’re insufferable. Also, that you knew I was coming. I arrive here every day. It’s a routine. Typical. Humdrum.”

“Sarcasm, my friend,” Connor smiles. “They can’t plug that into you in a lab, I guess.”

Cam’s face sours even more than usual. “You can try to convince yourself that you’re nothing like me, but it won’t work. We are the same.”

Connor should know better, but he falls for the taunt anyway. “We’re nothing alike. You’re a lab rat, I’m a real boy.”

Cam arches a brow. “Completely? I can't help but notice that one of your arms doesn’t match the other.”

Instinctively, Connor thrusts his right arm behind his back and out of view. He doesn’t have to look to remember the shark tattoo swimming ominously across the forearm that doesn’t belong to him. Connor didn’t ask for an unwind’s arm after his own was lost in the explosion of the Happy Jack Chop Shop, and he especially didn’t ask for the replacement to come from Roland, one of his all-time rivals. However, he fears that Cam might have plenty of good responses to Connor declaring that he didn’t ask for unwind parts.

Instead, he just glares at the rewind. “That’s only one part of me that I hate. You’re full of pieces that aren’t yours.”

Cam just shrugs, taking a seat on one of Connor’s chairs. Connor feels as if the tide of the argument has switched over from Connor’s side to Cam’s, but he doesn’t know how to get it back. “Say what you want to make yourself feel better,” Cam tells him, “We all know the truth. Who knows, maybe the doctors put a bit more realism in me than you.”

“Shut up,” Connor hisses. “Or I’ll hit you like I did Roberta.”

Cam perks up even despite the threat. “You hit Roberta?”

“With a pillow,” Connor amends. “Maybe I’ll hit you with a brick.”

So much for fighting the ‘violent AWOL’ accusations. Connor’s already reverting back to old-school threats and intimidation tactics. However, seeing as he’s essentially a prisoner, even in a far nicer cell than a juvenile detention facility, Connor feels that it’s his hard-earned right to mouth off a little.

Cam just rolls his eyes. “Then they might actually kill you off. Goodness knows they want to.”

Connor grins, proud of himself. “Excellent to know that I haven’t lost my natural sense of charm yet. It’s not a hostage situation unless my captors get sick of me within a few weeks.”

Cam frowns. “I’m not sure that’s something you should enjoy.”

“And what,” Connor drawls, “This is? Collaborating with the enemy? No thanks.”

Cam looks as if he’d quite like to debate the intricacies of just what ‘the enemy’ could be, but they’re interrupted by the door of Connor’s cell being flung open. In walks Roberta, looking slightly more frazzled than Connor is used to seeing her. Strands of her blonde hair are starting to escape from their usual tight knot, and she’s not even bothering to hide her derisive stare with a pleasant grin, which indicates to Connor that he’s probably outstayed his welcome. Not, of course, that he was ever really welcome at all, but this isn’t a good sign.

Connor refuses to handle this appropriately, opting instead to goad Roberta even further. “But, Doc, I’m supposed to have at least half an hour more with my best buddy over here. You can’t split us up, I can hardly bear the separation.”

This earns him matching glares from both Cam and Roberta. Connor can’t help but wonder if the doctors in charge of rewinding programmed that particular expression into Cam, too, having so much experience receiving it from Roberta.

“Enough,” Roberta says, her voice clipped. “This is a waste. We had hoped you would cooperate on your own, but if you won’t, we’ll turn to other measures. Just remember that we didn’t want to do this. You forced our hand.”

Connor leans back a little. “Wait, what are you talking about?” Maybe he wasn’t wrong to include medieval torture among the housewarming gifts offered up by the PC.

Roberta says nothing, just steps away from the door. Three guards come in, all in military fatigues, and drag Connor to his feet. He’s forced out of the room and down the surrounding corridors. Just before he clears the threshold of his room, he can hear Cam’s voice raised slightly, asking Roberta what’s going on. Roberta, in turn, seems much kinder when speaking to Cam, her voice lilting and gentle like she’s lecturing a pet rabbit or dog. Must be nice to be someone’s pet project. The forced responsibility of someone having to take care of you is more than Connor’s had in a while.

Connor is rudely accompanied to a room down a few halls. He recognizes this place, more so the dozen or so cameras and lights that have been set up facing a chair in the center of the room. Connor is shoved down into this seat, with one guard on each side and behind him, keeping him in place.

Roberta shows up moments later, closing the door with an audible shove. “No more games,” she says directly. “We know where the Graveyard is. We have planes with advanced military capabilities. We will bomb that place to a ruin unless you film the interviews we want.”

Connor rears back. “What the hell?”

Roberta, seemingly anticipating this response, holds up a laptop screen in front of him. On it, Connor watches, horrified, as surveillance footage plays of the Graveyard. It’s shot from a shaky, hazy camera, maybe a drone or something. Connor’s first, desperate hope is that it’s old footage, or staged, but then he sees Risa’s wheelchair roll underneath the shade of a parked plane to talk to someone. Hayden, maybe. Or any number of their friends. Her hair is slightly longer than the last time he’s seen her. Yes, this is recent. Recent enough for this threat to have value.

“You can’t do this,” Connor says stupidly. Of course she can. They’re the fucking PC, and they can do anything from tearing teenagers to ribbons to bombing supposedly abandoned airplane hangars. This is all within her control.

“We didn’t want to,” Roberta says snippily. “It will be a waste of resources and a PR nightmare. However, we need your testimony more. Cooperate and they live. It’s as simple as that.”

This, of course, is a lie. Nothing about this is simple. If Connor does what she asks, he’ll be selling out all his friends. They have no idea that they’re being watched, nor that their lives are on the line. All they’ll know is that the supposedly great Akron AWOL turned them all in for a good night’s sleep and some new clothes. They’ll hate him forever, and they’ll never know that he was just doing it to save them.

“You’ll bomb them anyway, no matter what I do,” Connor forces out. “Even if I film the videos. You’d never let a loose end like that sit. They’ll die anyway, and so will I.”

“They won’t,” Roberta pledges. “We’re the sane ones, Connor. We keep our word. If you sign the contract, we won’t touch them. You can even go back to the Graveyard if you want, although I have a feeling that you won’t get as warm a welcome as you might like. All you have to do is talk.”

“I’ll be lying. Everyone will know it.” Connor says. It’s the last defense he has. All of his arguments are slipping away in the face of this vast and indescribable horror. They’d probably show him the bombing, too, make him watch live as all of his friends are consumed by the explosions. Risa. He’d watch Risa die. Connor hates himself more than anything for even thinking about agreeing to do this, but losing everyone just like that would cut a deeper wound than he’s ever experienced.

Roberta just smiles, kind and sincere. This is probably the look she gives Cam when he argues with her about having to spend time with Connor. “No, they won’t. You’ll make sure they believe it.”

Wordlessly, she offers Connor a pen and the contract. The guards let go of Connor’s arms. They don’t even have to be in the room anymore. Nothing matters, because Connor can’t do a single damn thing so long as they’ve got the Graveyard. Hell, they don’t even have to lock the doors. Connor will jail himself until the day he dies, just to keep them alive.

He signs. Roberta smiles. “See, that wasn’t too tricky, was it? All you have to do is find a way to see eye to eye.”

He meets her gaze hatefully. Connor had thought that he couldn’t hate anyone more than Roland, more than the Juvey-cops who tried to bring him in, but this raw madness in the back of his throat is far, far worse. He wants to rip her to pieces. He wants to– he wants to unwind her.

Connor appears on the news that night. He is smiling and dressed in a new suit. It fits him perfectly. The news reporter asks him about being the Akron AWOL, and if he has any advice for teenagers grappling with the possibility of being unwound. Connor looks directly into the camera and tells these unknown kids to just go along with it. Everything happens for a reason, he says. Unwinding is better than you think. I wish I could be unwound right now.

Only the last part is true.

Roberta chides him about that afterwards. No need to go overboard, she says. Still, she’s pleased, and why shouldn’t she be? The nation’s hottest topic, the most dangerous unwind, is in her pocket. At last, she’s found the way to pull Connor’s strings to perfection. As it turns out, the only thing she had to do was threaten to bomb a couple hundred children. Easy for someone without a heart.

Connor makes more videos. He despises himself more thoroughly than he ever has before. He wonders if Risa is out there somewhere, watching them all, wondering what became of him. He wonders if she hates him too now, if every single kid sees his broadcasts and curses his name. Connor understands at last why the PC wanted him. If you lose faith in your hero, you lose faith in the cause. Connor is nobody’s hero, not anymore. He is a traitor and a coward, and worst of all, he still thinks that the Graveyard will be bombed when the PC tires of him and puts him to rest.

The agony builds in his stomach as the weeks go by. Roberta has been briefing him ceaselessly in preparation for an upcoming news report. It’s quite likely the biggest deal of all of the videos so far, on one of the most popular news sources. It will be live, so Connor cannot afford a single slipup. She’s already reminded him several times of the consequences should Connor disobey. He knows.

He knows.

Connor arrives at the news show headquarters an hour in advance. He shakes the hands of several important journalists and celebrities, and they all nod their heads and say wow, he’s so well behaved for someone who once was a criminal. Connor wants to ask what his crime was, other than living, but Roberta is staring daggers into his back so Connor knows not to screw up before his big performance. He’s pretty used to ignoring hateful glares by now, anyway. Now that Connor’s the new big thing, Cam has somewhat faded out of the limelight. They still see each other, but the mandatory visits aren’t really enforced anymore. Instead, Connor gets to sit with his thoughts, which is both better and far, far worse.

The interview begins. When Connor walks onto the stage, he gets a round of applause that lasts two full minutes. He wants to scream at the audience to shut up– nothing he’s doing here is worth that sort of appreciation. News flash: selling your soul isn’t supposed to be a good thing.

He doesn’t say this. He follows the script. The interview takes twenty minutes, and at the end, the host flashes him a smile of perfectly straight, white teeth and asks if he’s got anything else to add. Connor stares at the jaws, wonders if they belonged to someone else first, and says, “Yes, I do.”

Connor looks directly at the camera. “When I first found out I was going to be unwound, I was terrified. I thought it was the end for me. I even ran away.”

He pauses a bit, to let the audience react appropriately. Ripples of shaking heads and disappointed glance rock through the crowds. Once they settle down, Connor continues. “I met up with bigger crowds of AWOLs who all thought the same thing. We were trying to escape our natural fates, and if I could say one thing to them right now, I would tell them–”

His voice cuts off. Connor feels like he’s choking up, only no tears are coming out. Instead, he feels more composed than he has in months. “I would tell them that they were right,” he declares. “They were right to want to live. We’re just kids, and we don’t deserve to die because our parents don’t like us. All unwinds deserve to live. I hope they keep running and they never get caught, even if I was.”

Roberta is standing up, marching towards him through the shocked and upset crowd. Her eyes spell danger, but Connor keeps on going recklessly. “They’re going to bomb the Graveyard, Risa. They’re going to kill you all. You have to get everyone to safety. I’ve been trying to buy you time, but it’s no use. They know where you are. Get everyone out. Fight unwinding until you die. All of us are free.”

Hands clamp down on Connor’s shoulders. He fights his way out of the grip at once, but more guards are appearing from the wings, muscling him away. Still, Connor shouts at the camera, telling everyone he can to run and never look back. It takes several minutes to get him away, and he hopes to everything holy that it was enough time to evacuate the Graveyard.

He’s locked into a dressing room backstage. Roberta bursts in moments later. She looks completely furious. “You stupid boy. You stupid, stupid boy. Do you know what you’ve done?”

“Exactly what I wanted to,” Connor grins. “I took a stand.”

“No, you’ve killed your friends,” Roberta hisses. She whips out her phone and calls somebody, looking Connor directly in the eyes while she tells them to carry out the strike.

Roberta hangs up victoriously, but Connor refuses to be cowed. “I hope you’re happy,” Roberta tells him. “They’re all dead because of you.”

“It’s not just about the Graveyard,” he says. “That’s been under threat for years. We were always going to die. But unwinds across the country will know that they still have hope, and that’s worth it to me. Try explaining that to your investors.”

Roberta’s face turns a mottled purple. “Clearly, we have no more use for you. You may not be able to be unwound, but that doesn’t mean you get to leave. I’ll have you in a cell until you rot.”

Connor’s past the point of caring about himself, though. “I’ll look forward to getting a break from your sermons, then.”

She might kill him here and now, honestly. It takes all of Roberta’s self-control to direct the guards to take Connor away and back to the PC facility. He’s shoved into his room, the door locked behind him. This might be the end of it for him, but Connor’s conscience feels lighter than it has in a very long time. If he dies here, at least it’ll be knowing that his friends believe in him again. Hopefully.

It occurs to Connor, a few hours into his new exile in the old room, that maybe he hadn’t given Risa and the others enough to get clear of the Graveyard after all. He’d known that he would have to tell them eventually, and a broadcast as popular as this was his best shot, but the Graveyard is big and unwinds are obstinate. Maybe there were still some kids inside when the bombing was ordered. Maybe he hadn’t done enough. Maybe Risa had died anyway.

The thought tears up Connor. He feels as if he’s swallowed acid or something, like his organs are physically ripping to pieces underneath his skin, worn away like time and rain against the Grand Canyon. Connor is a thousand empty hollows, and they can only be filled by the simple knowledge that the people he cares about are okay.

Time passes. It could be hours or days, Connor can’t really tell. The grief and guilt takes him out of reality. Connor swears he can hear sounds down the hall, but it could be anything from an overly loud air conditioning unit to the guards getting bored of only watching plain walls. Connor hasn’t really tried to escape. There’s nowhere for him to go.

Outside, the sounds get louder. Connor frowns, pushing himself up to stand. It almost sounds like people are arguing, plus a few distant thuds. Okay, not the AC. Maybe Roberta’s throwing a fit and finally started tossing around a few punches? Not likely, but what else could it be?

Connor slowly walks over to the door, pressing his ear against the smooth wood. It really does sound like the noises are getting closer, almost right outside– He backs up immediately, practically tripping over himself in an effort to get away. It’s good timing on his end too, because he’s hardly cleared the area before his door caves in. Connor chokes on the dust and smoke from the outside hall. Raising an arm to shield his eyes from the debris, he glances through the hole in what had once been his secure door and sees–

Risa.

Connor feels his breath catch in his chest, and not just because of the chaos with the door. “Risa?” He asks slowly.

She smiles at him. “Surprise.”

Connor takes a few tremulous steps forward, his shoes crunching on splinters of wood beneath him. She’s still in her wheelchair, but holding a large gun that she must have used to knock down the door. “Don’t point that thing at me,” he jokes, but his voice goes weak with relief and he doesn’t sound half as cool as he means to.

He’ll have to save the coolness factor for Risa. Further down the hall, Connor catches glimpses of other unwinds chasing off the guards. “You broke me out?” He asks, unable to believe his eyes.

“Of course we did,” Risa says. “What, did you think we’d just leave you there after you went to all that trouble to warn us about the attack? Not a chance.”

The attack. The sheer shock of seeing Risa had thrown that from his mind, but the memories came back full force. He reaches out desperately to take her free hand, begging her to understand him. “Risa. I didn’t want to say all those things, but they made me. Told me they’d blow you all to pieces if I didn’t support unwinding. I didn’t want to, not at all, but they said they’d kill you. You have to know that it wasn’t my choice.”

Risa just smiles. “I know, Connor. You looked so uncomfortable during all the broadcasts that we suspected something was up. Plus, the last one made it pretty clear that you didn’t believe all that bullshit.”

At last, Connor feels capable of cracking a smile. “Bullshit, huh? And here I thought I was doing a great acting job.”

Risa snorts. “Well, there might not be any Oscars in your future, but that doesn’t mean you’ll live out the rest of your days with only the PC as your company. What do you say we get out of here?”

“I’d like that a lot,” Connor says, voice thick with relief. Then, glancing at Risa– “Do you want me to take the gun? To make it easier to travel?”

Risa gives him a disbelieving glance. “Don’t be ridiculous. The gun stays with me.”

Connor raises his hands in mock surrender. “That is absolutely fine by me.”

“Good,” Risa grins, and they head back out of the twisting corridors. The other unwinds fall in line as they go, hurrying out of the complex.

As they escape out into the bright sunshine, Connor has to ask, “How did you know where to get me? And which room was mine?”

“Funny story,” Risa remarks offhandedly, “As we were breaking in, we met some strange guy named Camus Comprix. He told us where to go.”

“Cam helped you?” Connor asks, flabbergasted.

“Well, he had to be encouraged through threats of violence,” Risa admits, “but honestly, I think he was glad to be rid of you. That’s what he told me, at least. Also, he wanted to keep his kneecaps.”

Connor laughs. “Both of those are great reasons.”

There’s a helicopter waiting for them; Risa and Connor get inside, plus the unwinds who’d come with them. Connor vaguely recognizes the pilot from the Graveyard.

“So,” Connor asks, still unsettled by the realization that he might finally be free, “Where are we going, if not the Graveyard?”

“We’ve got a new place in order,” Risa says. “Don’t worry.”

An unwind by Connor’s shoulder breaks out into barking laughter. “Yeah, she’s whipped us all into shape. Got us out of the Graveyard before the place went nuclear, plus set up the new location. Most organized person I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

“That sounds about right,” Connor says, letting out a low whistle. Risa smiles at him when he says it, and Connor can’t help but smile back. He’s out of the clutches of the Proactive Citizenry. His friends are alright. Most importantly, he’s back with Risa. For the first time in a while, it occurs to Connor that he might be on the up and up again. He likes the feeling.

requested by @bopeisdope, i hope you enjoy!!

unwind tag list: @reinekes-fox, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#connor lassiter #connor lassiter imagines #connor lassiter oneshot #connor lassiter fanfic #risa ward #risa ward imagines #risa ward oneshot #risa ward fanfic #conrisa #conrisa fanfic #unwind #unwind imagines #unwind oneshot #unwind fanfic #unwind dystology #unwind dystology imagines #unwind dystology oneshot #unwind dystology fanfic

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heliads · 8 months

Text

everything is blue • conrisa space au masterlist

the series is complete!

series spotify playlist

Chapter One: Some Run

Chapter Two: Some Flee

Chapter Three: Some Are Taken Away

Chapter Four: Friends in Dangerous Places

Chapter Five: A Treacherous Road to Safety

Chapter Six: First Day of Many

Chapter Seven: Which is Worse, Death or Distribution?

Chapter Eight: Time Must Pass

Chapter Nine: Stay Whole

Chapter Ten: Still Here

Chapter Eleven: I Still Miss You Most of All

Chapter Twelve: It's You Again

Chapter Thirteen: And Suddenly I Was a Lilac Sky

Chapter Fourteen: Dancing in the Moonlight

Chapter Fifteen: This Is Your Legacy

Chapter Sixteen: Heavy is the Head

Chapter Seventeen: Returning the Favor

Chapter Eighteen: So Die the Kids Worth Saving

Chapter Nineteen: Call Up the Cavalry

Chapter Twenty: The Final Call

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heliads · 3 months

Text

everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter Twenty: The Final Call

series spotify playlist

previous / series masterlist

The nurse in charge of Risa’s last rites is surprisingly cavalier about the whole affair. Probably because she’s been too busy flirting with one of the guards outside to really care about Risa’s personal feelings regarding her own imminent demise. Once the nurse got over the lingering remains of a boy named Starkey still encrusted on Risa’s skin and clothes, she started ignoring Risa entirely. It’s as if Risa is nothing more than a beating heart and breathing lungs.

Then again, to the workers of the Proactive Citizenry, that’s all she’s ever been, ever since her distribution order was signed by the OH-10 State Home. More than a year ago, Risa Ward was marked for death, and now she’s finally about to face her fate. Funny, she really thought she could escape it. Guess it just goes to show that no one can avoid their path, not forever. Not Starkey. Not even Risa.

The nurse cranes her neck to glance at the soldier standing guard just outside the door of Risa’s holding room, and blushes saccharinely. Risa fights the urge to roll her eyes and asks dourly, “How’s the sweetheart?”

“Charming,” the nurse gushes, then remembers that she probably isn’t supposed to be talking to the sacrificial lamb and shuts up.

Risa snorts. “Yeah, I just love it when my future boyfriends are supportive of killing kids. It really brings out the best in both of us.”

The nurse’s eyes narrow, and she deliberately wraps the cuff too tightly around Risa’s arm when checking her blood pressure. “It’s not murder,” she says, “Murder is what you just did to that boy. This is distribution. It’s different.”

Usually, Risa would like nothing better than to engage in a fascinating debate on the true meanings of distribution, but all of a sudden it strikes her that the whole thing would be pointless. Risa is going to be dismembered regardless of whether or not she can argue with one of the Proactive Citizenry’s many nameless nurses. She’d just be wasting her breath, as if that isn’t also going to be taken away from her in a matter of hours.

The nurse smirks slightly when Risa goes silent, evidently assuming that she’s won. In a way, Risa supposes she has. Everyone in the PC has won. All this time, Risa’s been running around the galaxy in an attempt to escape this, yet here she is, having her vitals checked in preparation for the one problem she couldn’t solve, the one trap she couldn’t help but fall for.

The nurse enters something into the records, then unwraps the cuff from Risa’s arm and places it back in her basket of essentials. Her hand moves towards another device, but stalls halfway there when she gets a message, no doubt from her complicit boyfriend out in the hall. The nurse’s face flushes a happy pink when she opens the message, but quickly her smile fades, replaced by an unnerved, tight-lipped stare.

“What is it?” Risa asks, unable to resist.

The nurse shakes her head tightly. “Nothing you’ll have to be concerned with, I can assure you. Your operation will continue as scheduled.”

Risa groans. “Just tell me what’s going on. Like you said, I’ll be distributed anyway. What if my cranial matter is damaged because I’m dying of curiosity when you slice me up?”

She’s not entirely sure if that’s a thing or not, but evidently the nurse isn’t willing to risk her job like that, so the woman sighs and answers Risa. “Apparently, some contraband radio broadcast went out a few hours ago while that boy was being distributed. It told all listeners to meet up here to protest distribution. Ridiculous, I can assure you, but it’s got some of the stockholders worried. The guards have all been placed on high alert, so be confident in the fact that the PC will hold strong.”

Inside, Risa’s heart leaps. The broadcast the nurse was talking about has to be Radio Free Hayden, which means that Connor is still alive and somehow managed to get the Graveyard AWOLs to safety. No one else would have the means of uniting that many people.

If Hayden’s calling the galaxy to arms, that means they must have a plan. Admittedly, Risa would have appreciated it if they could have rescued her first, then maybe sent out the broadcast later, but perhaps it’s harder to break into the PC headquarters than she thinks. Or maybe that’s just the terror in her talking, trying to dissuade her from thinking that Connor and her friends will have enough time to break her out before Risa gets split into a thousand different vials. If they fail, this time there will be no one there to shatter the pieces and put her to rest.

Risa’s lip curls. “I don’t know. I’d tell your little boyfriend that he’ll get slaughtered with the rest when they come to save me. Don’t you know what the Akron AWOL does to Juvey-cops?”

The nurse rears back. “Don’t talk like that, young lady.”

Risa eyes her maniacally. “You already know it’s true,” she says in a sing-song voice. “Even if we lose, they’ll still get to him. Do you think you could still love your boyfriend if he had unwind parts?”

The nurse jams a syringe into Risa’s arm. Risa hisses in pain, but the nurse doesn’t seem particularly bothered by it. Suns, the nurse is even pleased by prospect of throwing Risa off. “Nothing will happen to Heyward. Don’t be absurd.”

“Tell Heyward to watch his back, or we’ll take it back,” Risa grins.

“Sick, all of you,” the nurse spits. “This is why we distribute kids.”

Risa’s stomach twists. “Every one of us is more deserving to live than you.”

The nurse’s lips thin to the point where they look as if they’ve been stitched shut. She doesn’t answer Risa, instead opting to tighten the restraints keeping her in place, just in case. The nurse takes a few more readings, all the while glancing frantically towards her small holo display whenever a new message from Heyward pings in. For someone who insists that Hayden’s broadcast was nothing more than a scare tactic, the nurse looks awfully worried.

As if catching her looking, the nurse grits her teeth and mutters again, “Nothing is going to happen.”

Just as she says this, Risa starts to hear voices out in the hall, shouts of surprise and confusion. Around the same time, the ground shakes. Risa lurches forward in her seat, kept in place by the restraints and only able to loll around like a doll with its strings cut.

“That doesn’t feel like nothing, does it?” Risa asks, pushing herself back into a sitting position.

The door flies open. A young man in soldier’s fatigues stands in the door, eyes wide like a startled synth-rabbit. “Time to go,” he shouts to the nurse, who wastes no time in abandoning Risa to run to the guard.

This must be the illustrious Heyward of the nurse’s giggles and blushes, but Risa quickly realizes that he isn’t here on official business. “Wait!” She shouts desperately as the pair head to the door, “Aren’t you going to take me with you?”

The nurse doesn’t spare so much as a backward glance towards Risa, shutting the door behind her with a loud click. Risa screams again, a guttural, twisting yell, and thrashes against her restraints to no avail. The building rocks again. Risa doesn’t know what’s going on out there, but it feels as if the whole PC complex is about to be ripped from its foundations. Normally, Risa would have no problem with this, but there is the small issue that she’s still inside it, and if Connor is coming to get her, she would like him to retrieve her, not just her corpse.

The door flies open again. Risa looks to it eagerly– could the AWOLs be inside already, are the defenses here that bad– but instead, she’s just greeted by the sight of four armed guards. They undo the restraints on her chair and start to yank her into the hallway. Risa’s feet give out beneath her when the walls shake again, but other than a slight stumble, the soldiers carry on.

“Wait,” Risa says, suddenly frantic, “Where are you taking me?”

“Last minute distribution,” one of the guards grunts out. “Orders from higher up.”

No. Risa puts her entire body weight into the sole task of trying to get free. She twists and writhes and claws at the guards, hoping to slow them down or otherwise break away, but their grip remains firm. She is carried down the corridor regardless of her attempts.

When they turn around a corner, Risa realizes that she remembers this particular hallway from earlier that day. The door at the far end is marred slightly, its surface blotted by bloody handprints. Risa’s handprints. This is the room where Starkey was distributed, and soon, Risa will face that same fate within those same walls.

As they draw closer, Risa starts screaming again, the words scraping her throat as they’re forced out. No, no, NO, NO. Vividly, forcefully, Risa cannot help but remember Starkey’s last moments outside of the machine, how he had begged and pleaded with her to kill him or otherwise save him from distribution, how his words had lost all sense at the end until the only thing out of his mouth was loud, horrified gibberish. She’s there now, fully mad, absolutely terrified of what is about to befall her.

The force of her screams brings tears to Risa’s eyes, and then she’s sobbing in earnest, tripping over the sound of her begging for her own life. She doesn’t want to die. She doesn’t want to die.

(No one listens).

They’re at the door now. One of the guards pauses, reaching in his pocket for the key. Risa stares at the dried blood and gore on the surface before her. They’re here. Connor is too late. Stars, she hopes he forgives himself for it, that he won’t spend the rest of his life wondering if there were moments he wasted that, if used properly, would have led him to her in time. She’s wondering this now, and remembering a long-ago conversation with a blond boy named Hayden Upchurch, back when she was safe with friends and thought she might live to die of natural causes, if she would ever die at all.

The boy had asked her a question.

Which is better?

In front of her, the key clicks in the lock.

Death?

The guards ready themselves to pull her inside. She’s screaming again.

Or distribution?

Risa makes a choice right now. Dying is better than this. Dying is better than this. She screams once again, gutturally, and stamps her foot down hard on the shoe of the guard who’s attempting to open the door. Risa’s ears are ringing to the point where she can’t hear anything but the tumultuous beat of her heart against her temples.

And– it’s funny, really, what the power of a stressful situation can do to you. Risa didn’t think she was that strong, but the second she slams her foot against the guard’s ankle, he crumples and falls like a stone. He doesn’t move, just lies there on the ground, pulling Risa down somewhat with him. The guard doesn’t land on the ground immediately, supported as he is by the dense web of arms of the other soldiers. Risa pauses in her escape efforts momentarily, staring with confusion at why this guard has suddenly gone silent. The soldier’s head lolls to the side, and then she sees his empty eyes, the perfect circle of red leaking out from the back of his neck.

The other guards see it at the same time, and start shouting in surprise. They wheel around, dragging Risa with them. She blinks stupidly at the people rushing towards her down the hallway. They’re too young to be soldiers, but they’ve got guns, big ones. They aim at the soldiers around Risa. She flings her hands in front of her face instinctively, as if that’ll do any good to stop real bullets, but she isn’t hurt. The other guards either get killed or take off running, leaving Risa’s attackers to run after them, all except one, who takes her in his arms like she’s a dying synth-dove, and whispers tenderly, “Risa?”

She blinks, and then the face comes into focus. Connor. Suns. Risa chokes and flings her arms around him. Connor holds her close, tighter than he ever has before. She thinks it’s a better embrace even than when they had been separated across the worlds and he had found her in the avenging path of an angry cyborg. One of his hands rises to cradle her head all too carefully, and when he finally leans away, he can’t stop looking at her, eyes raking her body over and over again. There’s a horrified expression on his face, a sick and twisted guilt, and it takes Risa a moment to realize why before she remembers that she’s still covered with the debris of a boy named Mason Michael Starkey.

“No,” she says quickly, “It’s not my blood, Connor. I’m fine, I promise. Look at me. I’m fine.”

Connor breathes out slowly. “But– there’s so much of it–”

He raises a shaking hand to trace at Risa’s cheek, her throat. Risa can feel the uneven stickiness of dried blood on her skin. She must look a fright, but the only thing that matters now is convincing Connor that she’s still alive.

“They unwound Starkey,” she chokes out. “I smashed the pieces so they couldn’t use him. I killed him, Connor. I killed him. Starkey wanted me to save him and I couldn’t.”

It’s strange. Risa hasn’t cried about Starkey since he came out of the distribution machine. When the nurse had expressed discomfort about Risa’s condition, Risa had been proud of what she had done. Once she’s face to face with Connor again, though, all Risa can think about is the horrible, horrible thing she had been forced to do. Sunfire, it must be all he can see when he looks at her. There is no Risa anymore, just some creature in her skin, covered in the gore of what had once been a living, breathing boy.

She waits for him to let go, to take several steps back, to run from her as you would any other monster. Instead, Connor holds her close again, and whispers against her ear, “It wasn’t your fault. None of this was your fault.”

Risa is shaking and she can’t seem to stop. “No, you don’t understand. I pressed the button. I did it. All Heartland had to do was stand there and watch. Starkey was begging me to help, and I couldn’t do it.”

If she tries hard enough, Risa thinks that she might be able to float away into the vast and unknowable sky. Her soul could leave this terrible, exhausted frame and find somewhere else to stay, somewhere she wouldn’t have to think about everything that she has done. She could, maybe, except Connor is holding on to her tight, keeping her back on the ground like a tether. She couldn’t leave him if she tried.

“I know you, Risa,” Connor says softly. “I know that you’ve saved my life about a thousand times. I know that I fell in love with the kindest girl I ever met. I know that girl wouldn’t do something like that unless she had no choice. I know that this wasn’t your fault, and I know that we’re going to get out of here now. Is that okay with you?”

Slowly, carefully, Risa pieces herself back together enough to answer in a shallow voice, “Yes.”

Connor smiles. “That’s my girl. Come on, the others will help us out.”

Risa lets Connor lead her carefully back the way they’d come. “I’m confused. How were you possibly able to get in here? Heartland must have a small army of Juvey-cops just in case you tried something like this.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Connor says. For some reason, he’s grinning. “I had to get a large army, just in case.”

Risa frowns at him. “You have an army?”

Connor’s grin broadens. “Wait and see.”

He pulls her to a stop in front of a large window. They look out at the chaos surrounding the PC complex. At first, Risa doesn’t understand what she’s looking at. She can see the Juvey-cops immersed in fights across the area around them, but she doesn’t recognize any of their opponents at first glance.

“Who are those people?” She asks, craning her neck to see farther.

“Everybody,” Connor answers, a trace of raw wonder in his voice. “Bankers and scientists and regular, ordinary, every-day people from across the galaxy. They all heard Hayden’s distress call and showed up. There are hundreds of them, and more show up by the minute. Some of them you might recognize, though. Sonia from the boundary checkpoint. Your best friend Cam from Molokai. Suns, even Lev.”

Risa’s jaw actually drops. “You can’t be serious. Lev Calder is here? The tithe?”

“The tithe,” Connor confirms, halfway to a laugh. “Trust me, I had the exact same reaction.”

Risa shakes her head in disbelief. “I can’t imagine how he found you again.”

“You can ask him once we get out of here,” Connor promises her. “My plan was just to get you and then leave.”

Risa nods, but before she can say anything, a voice from down the hall tells them, “You won’t be doing either of those things, Lassiter.”

Risa bites back a scream. Slowly, they both turn around to see Dorian Heartland walking towards them. How is it that he always shows up when they least want to see him?

Connor grabs her arm, tugging her back down the corridor and away from Heartland. She follows him, but the door slams shut in front of their faces before they can make it out. When they pivot and try a different direction, the doors shut again.

Behind them, Heartland clicks his tongue disapprovingly. He holds up a small remote in his hand. “Security systems. You have to love them. When you run a building full of AWOLs, you have to be able to shut down sections of the complex whenever you want.”

Connor pushes Risa behind him. “Let us go, Heartland. You’ve lost.”

Heartland cocks his head to the side. “Have I? Yes, you’ve amassed quite a cult following, but those always die down over time. They’ll lose interest and we’ll be right back where we started.”

“They won’t forget this,” Connor vows. “Look around you. The galaxy is up in arms because of who you are and what you’ve done to us. No one is willing to settle anymore.”

Heartland sighs. “Yes, I must admit that your little exposé of my true identity was vexing, but I can come up with a suitable lie to hide it again. Do you think you’re the only people to attempt to reveal me over the years? I’ve had plenty of practice with making ends meet. I’ll get a new face and it’ll be like none of this ever matters.”

Risa actually snarls at him, her anger coiling white-hot in her throat. “No, you won’t. The hounds are at your door, Heartland. Your time is up.”

Heartland sniffs. “Is it?”

He pulls a gun from his waistband and aims it at Risa. His grip is perfectly steady, and Risa has no doubt that he has centuries of experience that would give him impeccable aim. She drops to the floor at once, tugging Connor down with her. The shot goes right over her ear, cracking the glass of the window. It’s a long drop down to the ground, where the only salvation would be Juvey-cops frothing at the mouth at the thought of re-capturing them.

Not a good end for Risa, then. But– an idea occurs to her. She locks eyes with Connor. “The window,” she says unsteadily.

His eyebrows lift, and she sees that he understands. They stand up shakily, each drifting slightly to the side such that their shadows seem to cut off Heartland like dark pincers.

Heartland laughs bitterly. “You won’t get another window escape, Connor Lassiter. I’ll shoot you before you manage to get that thing open, and there’s nothing to throw and break the glass here.”

“You’re right,” Connor drawls. “The only thing to break the glass is you.”

Heartland’s eyes widen. For a moment, Risa looks into the gaze of an old-Earth man and she swears she sees fear, real fear. It takes a lot to shatter a monument, to reintroduce terror into a man who thinks he’s past such base humanity.

When she and Connor lunge at Heartland, she sees it again. Heartland fires blindly at both of them, but his aim is off when he’s no longer careful and assured of himself. The bullet pings uselessly against the glass, fracturing it further. Risa’s hands connect with the man’s torso and she digs her fingers into the fabric of his clothes. His gun is next to her, and she rips it out of his hand with such brutal force that she thinks she takes some skin off his palm with it. The gun clatters to the ground behind the downed Heartland.

Risa’s fingernails are tinged with blood. Not hers. Not Starkey’s, either. Heartland’s head hits the floor with an audible thunk, but he doesn’t stay there for long. Risa and Connor force him up again, dragging the man down the hall and towards the window. He fights against their hold, but this time the momentum is in their favor, and they make traction before Heartland can shake them.

Risa sees the scene as if in slow motion. One of her hands is behind Heartland’s skull, digging into the snug skin with such force that she can feel the seams of different forced donors beneath her fingertips. The other is on his arm, pulling him forward even as he attempts to fight his way free of them. Connor’s stance mimics hers, except his hand is on Heartland’s throat instead, leaving bloody red crescents as Heartland’s diaphragm rattles for breath. Around them, soldiers and AWOLs streak past, fighting battles intense and totally independent of their own. Somehow, the three of them traverse on, interfered by no one. For Heartland’s claims of a loyal workforce, none of his guards stop to help their boss.

Or perhaps they simply don’t care. Right now, there are no age-old monoliths of distribution glory to be seen. Only an old man forced to his knees by two kids. They say the passage of the torch from generation to generation isn’t always easy. Sometimes, the old ones don’t want to give up control. Sometimes, the kids have to force the change themselves.

Heartland’s breath is fogging up the glass before Risa even knows what’s happening. His mismatched forehead leans against the window. “Please,” he says unsteadily. “You don’t know what you’re doing. We can reach an agreement.”

“No more agreements,” Connor hisses.

“Please,” Heartland insists. “You don’t– you can’t–”

A sick sense of victory taints Risa’s tongue. “Every AWOL begs for life before you unwind them. You never listened to them, why should we listen to you?”

“You children,” Heartland says, licking cracked and bloody lips, “So uncivilized.”

Risa and Connor shove in unison. The window has taken several bullet beatings by now. It doesn’t take much for the glass to break, and the full weight of Dorian Heartland is enough by far. The panes shatter around him as he falls through space. For a moment, he hangs there effortlessly, twisting midair to reach back to them for any sort of salvation, diamonds of glass collapsing around him like the rings of a planet.

Then he falls, and falls ugly and beaten. His body crumples on the ground below. Everyone fighting outside turns to stop and stare. Heartland starts to claw his way up, gaze still fixed single-mindedly on Risa and Connor up above him like a wounded synth-dog.

The first AWOL to reach him steps down hard on Heartland’s hand, sending him back down to the ground once more. Another teenager joins in, then another, then another. Heartland is engulfed in a swarm of tearing, kicking, beating AWOLs in a matter of moments. Risa catches one last glimpse of Heartland’s asymmetrical eyes glaring hatefully up at her, and then even that sliver of skin is gone, replaced instead by the mass of people. There’s one low, choking scream of agony, and then Dorian Heartland goes silent.

The teenagers don’t clear out for a while, and when they do, the lump of flesh on the ground is unrecognizable as a man, let alone a distribution magnate.

“They took back their pieces,” Connor says under his breath.

Risa feels a twisted sort of satisfaction cloud her judgment. “Good,” she says.

Turning away from the grisly scene below them, Risa notices that some of the doors have opened up again. “Guess Heartland’s remote got damaged in the fall. I think we can leave now.”

Connor sighs, an exhalation of something far more grave and terrible than just breath. “I would like to leave.”

They depart together. They’ve collected injuries throughout this whole affair, and limping slightly, they emerge into the bright sunlight of their long-awaited freedom. Risa lets her eyes close against the harsh glare, and when she opens them, a blond boy is walking towards her.

“Hayden,” Risa says gratefully.

Hayden extends an arm, pulling her in for a quick hug before releasing her to Connor’s waiting hand again. “It’s good to see you, Risa. Glad you haven’t been distributed.”

“Right back at you,” Risa says. “Thanks for calling up an army for my rescue mission.”

“Connor insisted,” Hayden replies gallantly. “But of course, I could hardly pass up a chance to do another good speech.”

“I’m sure you couldn’t,” Risa says fondly.

Hayden cracks a grin, then turns upon hearing his name called and heads over to a girl several paces away. She’s got a deep glower, but it fades slightly when Hayden says something to her, probably one of his classic jokes.

“That’s Bam,” Connor supplies. “They’re hitting it off, actually.”

“Are they, or is Hayden just wearing her down with bad jokes and sentimentality until she caves?” Risa asks doubtfully.

Connor chuckles quietly. “Hey, it’s been known to pay off before.”

She looks over at him and smiles. “I suppose it has.”

Risa leans against Connor, resting her head against his shoulder. For the first time in a very long time, she realizes that she’s got nothing more to fear, no immediate concerns.

“What happens to us?” She asks.

Connor hums slightly, thinking. “I don’t know. That’s the best part, I guess. We get to decide.”

Risa likes the idea of that. As it turns out, they’ve got plenty of time to decide.

The fight is not over. It never will be. No one will ever stop looking for reasons to provoke each other, not until the last of the stars burn out, not until all of the ships and outposts and starfights are gone. First blood will continue to be drawn, but for once, it will not be the problem of two runaways from the OH-10 sector. Wars will be waged, and they will be safe. Those battles are not their story. They’re finally out of the books, but not for terrible reasons. Just because they’ve finally found peace.

Some people would say that peace doesn’t make for good stories. Connor and Risa would disagree. For once, their worries will be mundane. If a day goes badly, it’ll be because of something small. Maybe the galaxy doesn’t want to hear about the pitfalls of normalcy anymore, but Connor and Risa do. And they’ll do it as they have done everything since their lives started over again, how they’ll go on living for years and years to come: together.

With Dorian Heartland out of the picture, the Proactive Citizenry lost momentum, and, over time, significant chunks of its influence. Legislators across the galaxy were severely pressured to do something about distribution, and although the Collective initially didn’t seem inclined to change it, the sheer force of the galaxy is something no one anticipated. Laws were passed dropping the age of distribution, and then, eventually, it fell off the map altogether.

This is significantly helped by one formerly contraband and now supposedly historical broadcast entitled Radio Free Hayden. Hayden and Bam poked around the PC complex after Heartland’s death and ended up finding evidence of the Proactive Citizenry working in concert with the Collective to hide scientific progress regarding organ synthesis technology. Turns out, there actually isn’t a need for distribution outside of political control, and hasn’t been for a while.

Once that information was leaked, and a subsequent uproar was kicked up, distribution was obsolete almost immediately. Information never passes quickly through space when you want it, but the universe made an exception this time. Some things are important, like our children. When they’ve gone this far for their right to live, who are we to take it away again?

The galaxy is changing. The Chancefolk are returning to their homes in greater numbers. The veil of Collective propaganda is starting to slip from our eyes, and soon, it will disappear entirely. We have a lot to learn as a species. The galaxy holds many secrets that we’ve overlooked in our mad spree to conquer all of it. Slowly, carefully, we must retrace our steps, and look for the small details that hold the greatest of importance, the most enchanting of lessons.

As for Connor and Risa? Well. Their story is over. It’s a good thing, for once. They’re free. Free of the Proactive Citizenry, free of distribution, free of Dorian Heartland. Free of fear.

And, also, free of us.

a/n: the space au has ended!! thank you all so so much for reading, this ended up being wayyyy longer than i expected but i truly had so much fun writing it + interacting with everybody about it. please feel free to ask questions about worldbuilding/yell at me for creating too much drama, i would be delighted to hear from you. over 103,000 words later, it's been a lovely time. xoxo lisa

unwind tags: @reinekes-fox, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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heliads · 8 months

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everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter One: Some Run

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Connor Lassiter has only existed in these worlds for sixteen turns around his system’s sun, and yet his time is already over. It’s funny, really. If he was going to be taken apart, he was really hoping that he’d be able to make it to seventeen. It always seemed like a good year. Or maybe that’s just because seventeen is when you can start the training process to get your cosmic license, and although Connor never breathed a word of it to anyone, he’s always been angling to make it past the atmosphere, even just once.

Now, it looks like he’ll get his wish to leave his birth planet behind, but that’s the only good part about all of this. Connor will never be able to explore deep space, he’ll never chase down settlements on rogue moons, and he’ll never so much as see a binary sunrise, because Connor Lassiter is going to die, and worst of all, no one in this system or any other will fight it.

Even Connor can’t believe it’s really happening. Sure, he’s had this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that his home has stopped being his for quite some time now, but he always assumed he could do something to pull himself out of it. Yeah, he mouthed off in class, and only ever turned up at home after curfew, long past when he was supposed to, but none of those are grounds for this, right? Right?

Not according to his parents, because they’re the ones who have gone and signed away his grounds license. Horrific. Connor found the proof of it by accident, aimlessly scrolling through his parents’ hololibrary in search of something interesting to read or watch. Instead of a new show, though, Connor had accidentally clicked on the tab for his parents’ private work files.

Connor usually never bothers checking that stuff– who cares about interplanetary taxes and star system loans, anyway– but just as he’d been about to go back to the entertainment folder, he’d spotted his name on a file that read: Destined for Distribution, and then he’d known.

There’s an old saying about how it takes a lunar colony to raise a child, but sometimes even the proverbial interstellar village isn’t enough. Sometimes you can’t force your offspring to be what you want. The governments of the worlds puzzled over such a dilemma for a long time– if you can’t shape the young generation, after all, you risk losing control of all of humanity forever– and after a series of Heartland Wars and internal disputes, they came up with a solution: distribution.

Space travel is a relatively new problem in the history of humanity, but they’ve already managed to mess it up. Those in charge at the start of it all wanted new flights, new discoveries, to take over every planet they saw regardless of who lived there and the downfalls of having to carry on a society in every direction.

After sinking their claws into every star system they could reach, the tension of frenetic interstellar improvement slackened, and what was left was a hastily constructed dystopia, prone to falling apart under the slightest of scuffles. We’re kind of a terrible species, humans, all things considered. We don’t wait until we’ve solved world peace before we take our problems to other planetary systems. Instead, we spread out our grievances until everyone in all the worlds has to suffer as much as we did.

The problem with fast-paced space exploration is that the early adventurers burned through resources just as quickly as they did back on planet Earth, which is now barely more than a clod of ash and dust. To make up for the demands without having to change their tactics, the centralized government sent out a mandate to all its territories: why not solve two problems in one? Get rid of the teenage crisis by using their resources in a better way. Distribute what the ferals would take up to those who could actually use it.

There’s no way the idea of distribution should have taken on as strongly as it did. Maybe it wasn’t as inhumane in the beginning as they did now, maybe it literally was just about giving away food and clothing and shelter. Now, though? Distribution doesn’t just represent physical objects. It means that the actual bits and pieces of you, the bloody matter and bleached bones that are currently in the body of a child marked for distribution, will be spun apart into individual fragments and given away.

There’s the idea that there’s only so much space left in space, so to speak, so if you’re no longer needed, your pieces will get distributed to those who need it more. That’s how our glorious society keeps growing, no longer out but in.

Every bit of you will be gone, destined for some better purpose. Some would say that’s poetic. Connor, who is slated to be killed in just this fashion, would call it gruesome. However, no one really cares about the thoughts of someone marked for distribution, and they’re certainly not going to start now. Hell, they haven’t been listening to him for years. Why change?

As Connor swiped through the distribution forms signed in triplicate according to some tradition from a long dead planet, he was chillingly reminded of how easy it was to get rid of him. Every person born on any planet within the Collective’s reach is given a grounds license when they draw their first breath. When it’s decided that they no longer deserve the air in their lungs, the Collective takes back the air and lungs both. Your grounds license is revoked, and from that moment forward, you cease to exist in any way that matters.

After that, you’re sent for distribution. By turning in the forms to confiscate your grounds license, your parents essentially send the Juvey-cops after you. Most kids don’t find out they’re going to get distributed until the Juveys show up at their house and take them away. They’ll have just enough time for a few cries of outrage before getting packaged into a shuttle and spirited to a nearby lunar colony so the doctors can cut you to ribbons. Delightful.

If, on the off chance, you actually do manage to find out that you’re going to get torn to pieces in the name of an equal and fair government, such as Connor, you have a chance to run. He’ll try, of course, but even as he makes his final preparations to kick-AWOL, some disheartening voice in the back of his head tells him that he probably isn’t going to make it very far. You can’t do anything without a grounds license. Not easily, of course. In all honesty, it’s probably just a matter of time until the Juvey-cops catch up to him.

Of course he’s going to run, though. Connor Lassiter is not the type to sit around and wait for his death to come to him. He’ll run until they strip away his very legs. Until then, he can grab a go bag, walk around his house one last time, and then leave in the dead of night before anyone thinks to catch him.

Connor hovers one last second over the threshold of his open door. After this, his fate is up in the air. He could get caught within moments, or he could somehow find a way to stick it out until his eighteenth birthday and survive to tell the tale. The only way he’ll know the answer to that story is if he leaves now.

Connor pushes the air from his lungs and goes. The door shuts quietly behind him, and Connor Lassiter officially disappears. From now on, it’s all up to him. His best plan is to head towards a nearby interstellar transport depot, hope he can find some absentminded pilot who won’t notice some kid sneaking into the back of his starlight frigate, and take him away from this planet. Once he’s offworld, he’ll be able to breathe a little easier. There’s no way they’ll be able to find one kid in a trillion if he finds a far enough system, right?

Until then, Connor will have to keep his head low. Juvey-cops aren’t the only thugs with guns who can cause him trouble. A crop of creeps called parts pirates have sprung up, and if it wasn’t terrible enough to have your limbs hacked off by trained professionals, imagine all that happening by the hands of black market dealers. At that point, Connor would rather just turn himself in, even though that’s a possibility more remote than anything. They say it’s within their rights to take the groundsless off the streets, so whatever the parts pirates do along the way is just another obstacle he’ll have to avoid.

As if he’s got a ton of great choices, though. Connor’s going to be unwound. That term’s been discouraged by the Collective ever since the idea of distribution picked up steam– it’s discourteous to the victims of distribution, apparently, and casts a pall on the whole process– but, like, they’re taking Connor’s organs, so he feels like he can call it whatever he wants. Fuck. He’s an Unwind. Why should they care what gory words he uses to describe it? They can dry their tears with his skin grafts.

Connor makes it to the transport depot by foot about an hour and a half later. Not a bad time, all things considered, but his veins are still thrumming with an unearthly need to get away by the time the rows of landing zones come into view. It takes some difficulty to hop the fence on the back end, but it’s old and no one really bothers checking here anyway. No one turns up to a depot like this unless you’re low on fuel or maglev boots before your next trip out of the star system.

Or, of course, unless you’re Connor Lassiter and you’re going to die. Connor hits the ground and nearly takes a spill before managing to right himself just in time. It would not do to break an ankle or something before he can even get onto a ship. Injuries would only slow him down, and the Juveys would have plenty of time to wait for his unwinding while the bone mended.

Connor slinks between rows of sleeping cruisers. He’ll have to pick his ticket to freedom carefully. A lot of the old interstellar war vets took to transportation jobs once they were out of the line of duty, apparently they like having a low-stress profession while still getting to see the stars, but they’ll aim at any unwanted visitors with the same reflexes as back in their soldier days.

No, Connor’s better off hitching a ride with a newbie or someone else who’s checked out enough to forget to do a once-over of their cargo bay. He finds the perfect place down a few rows– an old cargo boat, HBY-300s class. Old as anything, and, judging by the pervasive rust stains, not well looked after. Connor can’t see any lights on in the pilot’s seat, so he hurries up the landing ramp and immediately trips the security system.

He doesn’t even see it coming, which is not great for his chances, obviously. He should have assumed there would be something like this, but Connor has been jittery for days now, and at some point his guard, already low, just gave up on him. Lights flash on and the beeping voice of a security AI announces him as ConNor LasSiter, AWOL.

Too late, Connor spots the notice of registration fastened on the side of the ship, how it’s under the ownership of a former Juvey-cop. Probably one still missing the old glory days of hunting down kids who kicked-AWOL, judging by the overeager defense mechanisms. The guy spends his days ferrying shipments from one corner of the galaxy to another, and in his downtime, he picks up escaped Unwinds. How patriotic of him to fulfill such an important civic duty.

Connor swears under his breath, immediately turning tail and sprinting out of the ship. Lights start to click on across the depot’s hangar bay, and the telltale siren of things gone badly begins to echo across the empty space. Connor can hear the sounds of people starting to rush towards the ships, and he cuts an increasingly narrow diagonal across the shipyard, trying to stay out of the path of search beams.

After hauling ass back over the fence, which seems twice as difficult to climb now that he’s in danger, Connor hurtles across plain cement, aiming for the untamed forest across the road. It’s so wild in there that it would be impossible for low flying craft to find him which, judging by the increasing din of engines coming his way, is a necessity right now.

He didn’t think they’d be able to find him so fast, but maybe one of his parents stopped by his room already and figured out he was gone. They could have called the Juvey-cops and had them here by now, especially with Mr. Reliving the Glory Days of Police Work back there already getting a facial scan on him. Connor thought he had been smart by ditching any tech so they couldn’t track him, but he’s forgotten one crucial thing about the life of an AWOL: you don’t just have to be smart, you have to be lucky. Looks like Connor’s days of finding four leaf synth-clovers are behind him.

Out of the depot’s floodlights, the ground under Connor’s feet quickly transitions from concrete to grass. The sudden softness making him stumble. As Connor straightens back up, he has to fling an arm in front of his face to protect himself from a sudden, powerful wind coursing down around him. The grass, illuminated out of nowhere by twin blinding beams, is bent flat to the ground from the force of an engine. The engine of a small shuttle, as it turns out. A Juvey-cop’s shuttle, which has found him.

Connor can see the reflection of his eyes, wide as dinner plates, on the shiny surface of the shuttle. He looks terrified, and a bit insane, which all things considered isn’t the least realistic depiction of him. Connor’s brain is a mess. He thought he’d have a little more time until the law enforcement found him. Looks like his period of staying undercover has come and gone.

The shuttle jerks to a landing in front of him, and a man begins to come down the landing ramp, tranq gun in his hands. Connor freezes for a moment, then drags himself to attention as the man gets closer. Once he’s far enough down that Connor can read the name stitched into the pocket of his uniform– Officer J.T. Nelson– Connor gets himself together and runs, rolling under the nose of the craft to the small space underneath the belly of the ship. This clearly disorients the Juvey-cop, whose footsteps abruptly come to a halt on the metal walkway before continuing again, albeit this time slower.

“Come on out, kid,” the guy shouts, “There’s nowhere you can go.”

Connor’s not about to just turn himself in after everything, though, so he creeps further underneath the ship and around the back. The cop follows him, tucking the tranq gun into his belt so he can use his hands to help himself crouch under the lower parts of the ship in search of Connor.

“You can’t hide under here,” Officer Nelson calls, voice echoing off of the metal curves of the shuttle, “I’ll just crush you when I take off again.”

This is probably true but, as Nelson starts to stalk further around the perimeter of the shuttle, Connor gets an idea as to how he might be able to escape this little encounter. It’s a terrible idea, to be sure, and will probably get him killed if he does it wrong, but it’s not like he has any other options at the moment.

So, Connor stays deathly quiet, heart hammering in his chest as he stays pressed flat to the lower wing of the shuttle, and he waits for Nelson to walk closer. The officer indulges, drawing nearby, and Connor reaches out a trembling hand and pulls the tranq gun from the officer’s belt, just like that. Easy. The guy doesn’t even notice.

Connor eases himself out of his hiding place once Nelson has doubled back the other way, then sprints towards the landing ramp of the ship. He makes it halfway up before Nelson reacts to the sound of his heels thundering up the metal incline and bolts back towards the entrance of the shuttle.

“Get back here!” Nelson makes it to the base of the ramp just as Connor reaches the top.

As the Juvey-cop starts to race up the landing ramp, Connor looks around wildly. His eyes land on a button near the ramp entry and he slams his palm onto it. Thankfully, the button does what Connor had hoped for and the ramp begins to fold up towards the shuttle again, unfortunately with Nelson still scrambling for purchase on the surface. Connor can’t risk the guy getting close enough for Connor to shove him off, so he looks at the tranq gun in his hands and figures out the next best thing.

Nelson reaches the same conclusion as Connor at about the same time. “Don’t you dare, kid,” he begins to shout, but Connor’s finger is already on the trigger.

The Juvey-cop jerks back with the impact of the tranquilizing dart, and he has enough time to snarl out a swear before his limp body falls backwards off of the ramp and into the grassy dirt a few feet below. The landing ramp fastens to the wall of the shuttle with a dull click, and Connor rocks back onto his heels, unable to believe what he’s just done.

He can’t stay in here forever. At some point, that cop is going to wake up, probably with reinforcements, and they’ll smoke him out or something. Then again, as the background roar of the engine reminds Connor of its presence, he realizes that he might not have to leave after all. The Juvey-cop was stupid enough to leave his ship on when he left to pursue Connor, so maybe– maybe he could just stay here after all.

Stars, maybe he could go. Up to space. Juvey-cop shuttles were designed with both ground and space capabilities in mind. He might not be able to set record hyperspace flights in this thing, but he’ll at least be able to crawl to a neighboring planet and ditch the shuttle before hitching a ride on a cruiser like his original plan.

Connor shuffles towards the pilot’s seat in the cockpit and is greeted by the sight of dozens of glowing switches and buttons, all beeping and blinking up at him. He takes a seat, staring, and then tentatively pulls up on the yoke. The shuttle lunges forward and up a little bit, sending Connor sprawling to the side until he manages to fall into the pilot’s chair once more and strap himself in.

After managing to stabilize himself and the shuttle, Connor regards the instrument panel with renewed focus. He’s never been able to get his cosmic license, and that’s damn near out of the question now that he doesn’t even have a grounds license, but he’d had a friend of a friend once who’d known a thing or two about how to fly a spacecraft.

There was this older guy named Carson Shepherd who used to hang around the parking lot after school got out for the day. He’d sit and swap drinks with some of Connor’s friends. The guy had graduated a year or two ago, and it was anyone’s guess how he’d managed to make it to eighteen without getting his grounds license revoked. Carson had flung himself into the life of a military boeuf and wouldn’t let anyone forget it, either. He wouldn’t stop talking about how he was going to run air strafe runs on distant planets, which Connor only listened to because he’d occasionally talk about how to fly a ship.

Stuff like that was mainly brought up as a bragging point, of course, but Connor was starstruck-crazy for anything space related, so he’d tuned in as much as he could bear. Now, Connor wracks his mind for any tidbit of information Carson had given away. He needs to disengage the landing gear, he needs to get himself airborne before people start looking.

He flips a few switches and is rewarded with a grinding sound somewhere below him. A red light flickers off, and is replaced with a green one when Connor shifts the engine into a mode for takeoff. Pulling on the yoke again, this time slower, Connor is able to drag the shuttle up and up until the tops of the trees are waving below him.

He shouts once in triumph, then again, more loudly, when a readout on the dashboard offers to turn on automatic steering. Connor presses ‘accept’ as quickly as he can, then inputs a destination. Odds are, there’s a tracking beacon somewhere on this ship, so he can’t take it anywhere in the worlds, but if he swaps to another planet in the system, he can transfer to another ship that can take him far away from here.

The nav readout offers him a few choices within the same sector, OH-10, as Connor. He’s on Akron-C right now, home planet that will be home no longer, but Connor presses the button for the small moon just one orbit over, OH-10-XXIII. It’s a small lunar body, hardly anything there at all except for a State Home and some religious communities. No one would look for him there, and by the time they did, he’d be long gone.

Connor hovers by the pilot seat for a few moments longer, just in case something goes wrong, but when no warning lights flash and the air remains devoid of sirens, he accepts that he might actually have made a good decision and sinks back into his own skin, tension finally starting to melt away.

Connor watches the ship carry him up and away from the planet that had once been his own. He has no idea if he’ll ever return; if he’ll even want to, for that matter. Instead, he fixes his eyes on the ever broadening expanse of space, and lets the bright pinpricks of stars take over his mind.

Connor Lassiter is finally offworld.

unwind tag list: @schroedingers-kater, @locke-writes

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heliads · 6 months

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everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter Eleven: I Still Miss You Most of All

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Connor Lassiter should not be alive.

He is aware of this before he even opens his eyes, before he even wakes up at all. The knowledge is lurking somewhere in his mind without Connor being able to vocalize why it’s true. He doesn’t remember the explosion, not at first. That comes later, with the realization that he will never be wholly Connor again.

Other than the yawning maw of the terrible truth that he should have died many standard hours ago, Connor wakes to dead silence punctuated occasionally with the expensive sort of beeping only heard in nice medical zones. There’s a certain clarity to the mechanical chatter that you don’t get in haphazardly patched together med bays like the ones on the Graveyard. Connor can’t describe it with words, but he’d know it when he hears it, and he knows it now. There’s something to the fact that nothing whines or groans with exhaustion, maybe, like everything is new and actually works the way it’s supposed to. When you’re used to listening to your world collapse around you, anything that’s properly functional stands out like a sore thumb.

Connor wakes up, dreamy and relaxed. He is calm for once in his life. A voice in the back of his head tells him that isn’t right, but he shuts it out for now. Connor has been stressed for years. Can’t he have one moment to himself?

Already, though, the peace is draining away from him, collecting in puddles on this perfectly polished floor and slipping through invisible holes between the tiles. There is no grime in this room. Everything is bright and clean, and the linens covering his body are pristine white. Connor hasn’t seen something that’s actually pure white in months. Everything in the Graveyard accumulates dust and rust so quickly that it’s no use trying. It doesn’t matter how many times you wash your clothes, they’ll wear out soon enough anyway. Might as well save the effort for something that matters, like not dying.

The Graveyard. For some reason, the name of the place strikes an odd chord somewhere in Connor’s mind. He should be there now, shouldn’t he? He wasn’t supposed to leave it for a while, at least another year, but now he’s in this chamber of expensive lighting and legitimate medical equipment, so obviously something’s gone wrong there. This could be Death, but Connor doubts he’d have to deal with medical infrastructure after his heart ceased to beat.

He has the brief, horrible thought that maybe he’s been unwound and this is just some part of his brain waking up in another kid’s head, but then a nurse in crisp scrubs walks through the door and greets him with a resounding, “Good to see you awake, Connor,” so maybe he’s still himself after all.

Connor squints at her. “What’s going on?”

The nurse smiles placidly. “You’ve just woken up, of course. We’ll need to run a few tests, but after that you should be cleared to go.”

Connor frowns. “Go where?”

Her smile doesn’t waver for a second, even despite Connor’s outpouring of questions. “To meet our boss, of course. He’s been waiting for a while, but of course you can’t be blamed for your tardiness. Truthfully, we weren’t even sure if you were going to wake up at all.”

Somewhere between his ribs, Connor’s heart begins to hammer. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I wake up? Who are you?”

“Connor,” the nurse says sweetly, laying a hand on his shoulder in a gesture that’s probably meant to be comforting but comes across more like a prison warden keeping her inmate in line, “You survived an explosion that decimated an entire star cruiser. No one would blame you for succumbing to the blast.”

As she says it, the memories come back in a rush. It’s not like he’d been suffering from amnesia, more like he’d been willfully trying not to think about all of the horrors he’d just experienced. Images flash through his mind in one fatal string: the Juveys, boarding the ship, the screaming of the Deadmen as they were dragged off to their fates, Risa, climbing into an escape pod, Connor’s own pod destroyed in a shrieking of metal come undone. Roland, chasing him down. The fight in the engine room and the resulting inferno.

Nothing makes sense after the explosion. Connor remembers Roland yelling in surprise, the sudden upheaval as the ground beneath his feet was shot away, and then falling, falling without respite. For what could either have been half a second or perhaps an eon, Connor’s mind had been a mess of confusion, like he was hearing not just his own panicked thoughts but Roland’s terrified inner monologue as well, but then everything had sorted out and Connor was just Connor, unconscious in the burning wreck of the Graveyard, utterly alone and waiting to die.

Except he hadn’t died and he had woken up here. Connor doesn’t remember getting picked up, but he hadn’t remembered a lot after losing consciousness, which is often how unconsciousness works in the first place. Another thing that Connor doesn’t remember is what happened to Risa, and that troubles him even more than whatever happened to him. What if her pod was engulfed in the blast? What if she’d come that close to getting out alive just for the Graveyard to pull her back into death?

Connor would never forgive himself. Although the explosion in the engine room wasn’t necessarily his fault– he distinctly remembers yelling at Roland to stop shooting wildly, after all– but he was still there, and that puts enough blood on his hands to paint everything in red.

Connor needs to see her. It’s an urge akin to dying of thirst, he craves the sight of her more than anything else. If he dies here and now, at least he could see her one more time before he goes. He misses her like a chopped off limb. If this is where their stories diverge, Connor thinks he will nurse this wound until he can do nothing else. He’ll lose his mind gnawing at the stump of where there was once something bright and beautiful, a girl who knew him better than anyone else and still wanted him at the end of the worlds.

Maybe she’s here. Maybe this is where they put all the victims of the explosion. “Where is she?” Connor asks, voice thick and dry.

The nurse cocks her head to the side. “Where is who?”

Connor opens his mouth to answer, but it occurs to him that, if these people aren’t one hundred percent on his side, he probably shouldn’t give them any more reasons to look for Risa, so he snaps his jaws shut again. It won’t matter anyway, they already knew Connor and Risa ran away together back at the start of it all. Even if they both die from this, their names will always be spoken together in the same breath, two halves of the same story. Connor likes that far more than he would care to admit. It only makes sense that she would be a part of him forever.

The nurse is still looking at him quizzically, so Connor starts talking again to distract her from his slip up. “So, I can leave after you declare me fit or something?”

The nurse shakes her head. “You’ll have to talk to the man in charge, of course.”

Connor nods impatiently, “Yes, but after that, I can go?”

The nurse laughs as if he’s told a funny joke, although Connor isn’t sure that he has. “Oh, no. You’re still to be distributed, of course. We’re not going to let one conversation get in the way of that.”

Connor immediately tenses up and starts to catalog all the ways he could get out of here. His body still feels a little tired, but that’s nothing. The door is at the far end of the white, shiny room, and although this nurse is between him and the exit, Connor is fairly certain he could knock her down if he needed to.

“You’re going to distribute me?” He asks, trying to buy time while he thinks of an escape plan.

“Why wouldn’t we?” The nurse queries, seemingly oblivious to the obvious answer. “Distribution benefits the galaxy, Connor. Surely you don’t think just one life is more important than all of us in the grand scheme of things. Besides, I thought you would have seen the importance of distribution by now, especially considering your arm.”

Connor’s frantic search of the room comes to an abrupt stop. “What do you mean, considering my arm?” He asks slowly.

The nurse gestures to his right arm, which up until now has been comfortably hidden beneath the pristine white linens. “It was replaced in the explosion. Funny how that works.”

Cautiously, carefully, as if expecting to see a monster instead of a limb, Connor reaches out his left arm to pull the sheets away from his right side. Immediately, he has to clap his good hand to his mouth to stifle a scream. There is still an arm attached to his right shoulder, yes, but it isn’t his. The skin is darker, the muscles stronger in unfamiliar places. And, most pressingly of all, there is the tattoo of a shark inked into the skin of the forearm that is not Connor’s. Which means, of course, that this is Roland’s arm on Connor’s body.

Connor presses himself back against the bed, trying to swallow back the wave of nausea that crests over him. He’s heard rumors of things like this happening, of course, freak accidents out in the farthest reaches of space that ended up with two people accidentally swapping parts, but he always assumed they were just ghost stories fabricated to scare students out of making hyperspace jumps without correctly calculating their trajectories. He never thought it would actually happen to him, nor that, of all the donors, he would end up with the arm of someone who wanted to kill him. Who tried to kill him, and was shooting at Connor until his very last breath.

As if thinking along the same lines, the fingers on Connor’s stolen right arm twitch a little, forming a fist before relaxing again. Connor does not remember ever commanding the digits to move, which means that some part of Roland is still in control. The doctors saw the arm swap, obviously, but how do they know for certain that Connor’s brain wasn’t affected? What if there are still bits and pieces of Roland left in Connor’s head, never to return to normal again? When Connor thinks of Risa, when he thinks of hurting someone, will it be his own choice or Roland somehow, poisoning his mind?

Fighting back bile, Connor asks the nurse, “Can you put it back? My arm, I mean. Can you give me back my arm?”

The nurse chuckles. “That would be incredibly difficult. The donor is in a, ah, precarious position right now. The explosion decimated his body so much that even we couldn’t use it. So no, you can’t have your arm back.”

Something in Connor feels a strange sense of sick joy that these people, whoever they are, wouldn’t be able to use the rest of Roland as distributed material. He may have died, but he got out without giving in, and that’s more than most ferals can say. Again, Connor isn’t wholly certain if the thought is his or Roland’s, but regardless of the source, he gets the feeling that they’re both in agreement over this.

While Connor is at war with himself, the nurse stands, checking a few readouts on a holopad before gesturing for him to stand. “You seem in fine condition, so we’ll take you to meet the boss. He’s right down the hall. I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting for long.”

Connor eyes her closely, but the woman gives nothing away. It’s probably smart to run now, but Connor is, admittedly, a little curious to see just who’s in charge around here. There are no logos anywhere, no clue as to where he is, so getting some answers would be nice.

The second the nurse escorts Connor out of the med room, he’s greeted with the sight of at least a dozen soldiers loitering in the hall outside. So much for trying to run away. Trying to instill a sense of false bravado into his voice, Connor asks casually, “All this security for me? Gee, I’m honored you think so much of me.”

The nearest soldier glares but says nothing. So much for getting a reaction. Committed to the cause now, Connor steps in front of him, grins, and says, “Nice socks, idiot.”

The soldier glances down at his boots, confused, thus breaking his cold demeanor for what he eventually realizes is just a little trick on Connor’s end. Connor flashes him a jaunty smirk, which makes the glare return to the soldier’s face in full force. One small victory is enough for Connor, though, and he heads down the hall to his fate with his spirits high.

The nurse leads him to a door, and knocks once before ushering him inside. The door shuts tight behind him, leaving Connor with no choice but to face the man waiting for him.

They stare at each other for a long moment. Something about the guy fills Connor with a sickly sort of dread, although for the life of him, he cannot explain why. He looks a little young for someone to be treated with this sort of respect, more like mid-thirties instead of in his fifties or sixties, but this, again, feels wrong.

As the man leans forward to get a better look at Connor, the harsh lighting overhead reveals details of his face that hadn’t been visible at first glance. Although great care has obviously been taken to ensure that each surgery was as smooth as possible, evidence of many new pieces of flesh still reveal themselves under the bright lights. The cheekbones are a little too high for his facial structure, his eyes are too bright for a man of this age, and his skin is impossibly tight and smooth. Connor has seen many rich parents with a lot of work done, but this guy beats them all out. Connor can’t imagine how many kids must have been put under the knife to keep this man looking fresh, but they probably could have filled the whole damn Graveyard.

“Who are you?” Connor hisses.

The man smiles. “Honestly, Connor, I was hoping you’d piece that together a little sooner. Here, I’ll give you a hint: you’re speaking to the head of the Proactive Citizenry.”

Alarm bells go off in Connor’s head. Of all the people to want Connor in pieces, the PC has got to be at the top of the list. They’ve hated Connor ever since he stole that Juvey-cop’s ship what feels like a lifetime ago. Hayden, Connor, and Risa have listened in to Centerworld radio frequencies on countless nights, laughing themselves senseless over the vitriol of the pro-distribution propaganda aimed at Connor. It’s not so funny anymore, though, when Connor is in the belly of the synth-beast with no friends left to protect him.

“So, you’re the CEO or something?” Connor asks. “Fascinating. Do you meet with all of the kids you’re about to distribute? Do you like to know our tragic backstories before you steal our parts?”

The man scoffs. “We’re not stealing, Connor, we’re taking what we’re owed. And no, I’m not the CEO. Try again.”

Connor squints at him. Maybe the guy’s older than he thought. “You’re the, uh, father of the CEO? Grandfather?”

The man rolls his eyes. “Don’t be silly, Connor. I am PC. I started it.”

Connor shakes his head. “No, that’s impossible. Proactive Citizenry is old-Earth ancient. It was made when humans first started exploring the galaxy. There’s no way even your great-grandparents could have started it.”

It’s unthinkable. Connor hasn’t brushed up on his history in a while, so he doesn’t remember the exact name of Proactive Citizenry’s creator, but it can’t be this guy. That was centuries ago. Whoever started this whole mess is long dead, their bones withered away to ash.

Unless.

Unless, of course, they found a way to stay around. Maybe the creator’s original bones are ash, but who’s to say that they couldn’t just swap them out, piece by piece? Donor by donor? Distribute by distribute?

Connor draws in a sharp, horrified breath, and the man nods, looking pleased. “You get it now, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes. I always liked the eyes, I must say. That was the part I hated getting rid of the most. I held onto my original pair for as long as I could, but they gave out in the end. Everything does. No matter what anyone tries, Connor Lassiter, resistance will get you nowhere. Even if you’re the Akron AWOL.”

Connor feels like he might throw up. “You’re the one who created the PC? You must be centuries old. There’s no way you could have kept swapping out dead body parts that long, you’d have to give out at some point.”

“Maybe if you didn’t have the money for it,” the man muses, “But that has never been a problem for me. The Heartlands have always been blessed with wealth. Any problem can be solved if you just give people a good enough reason to solve it. Money often does the trick.”

The Heartlands. That does it. Mental gears click into place, and Connor remembers the guy’s name at last. “You’re Dorian Heartland. The original supporter of distribution.”

Heartland spreads his hands indulgently, as if expecting applause. “There you go. See, maybe I’ll be able to turn a profit from your brain matter after all.”

Connor stares at him unthinkingly. “You want my brain?”

“I want all of you,” Heartland says soothingly. “That’s how distribution is meant to work, remember? No part wasted. I would love one of your eyes for myself, though. Mine are starting to get a little foggy, and I only take parts from the best characters. Having the irises of the Akron AWOL, now, that would be something. I am made of history, Connor Lassiter. Both the successes and the failures. It’s a reminder to all of my people that they can join me in two ways: under my empire, or under my knife.”

Connor’s stomach roils. “Those aren’t all just feral parts, then. You’ve had adults unwound.”

Heartland tsks. “Naughty word, Connor. Unwinding. We’ve made it a professional process, there’s no need to degrade it like that. But yes, you’re right. The parts still work, even when they’re not young. I am made of many men and women. Do you remember that cop whose ship you stole? I have one of his ears so I could hear you in a crowd and know it was you, just in case. There was a parts pirate once who thought he could outdo me, a man named Divan. I have a good chunk of his brain, now there was a man who could do business. Another pirate was a little too brutal for my tastes– the Burmese Dah Zey, I’m certain you’ve heard of him before. These are his hands. And then, a woman named Roberta Griswold– I told her to make cyborgs a thing, and she let me down. Now her lungs keep me breathing.”

Heartland takes a deep gulp of air, chest heaving with the passion of all the people he's dismembered. Connor wants to yell at him to shut up, but some horrified part of him is fascinated by all the names, all the sick ends, and he stays silent.

“Part of my heart belongs to a useless boy named Argent Skinner. You probably don’t remember Argent, actually. He was really obsessed with you, you know.” Heartland’s voice is wheedling, like a teenager teasing a friend about a schoolgirl crush. It sets Connor’s teeth on edge. “You didn’t even notice him. He worked at the boundary checkpoint where you slipped under the radar. He was going to track you down while you were passing through his little station and take you with him, but you managed to give him the slip. That made him so angry that he came to the PC. I took that anger and I made it glorious. I made it me.”

Connor’s right arm twitches at his side, the foreign fingers curling into a tight fist. He wants to slam it into Heartland’s nose, hear the bones crack and watch the blood gush forth. Connor’s been in fights back when he was still in school, and he’s definitely been angry before, but nothing like this. This rage consumes him, but it isn’t Connor’s. Judging by the way the arm with the shark tattoo keeps jerking forward like it has plans of its own, Connor would wager a guess that it’s Roland bursting forth again, wanting to make his vengeance known.

Heartland follows Connor’s line of vision and his lips curl into something almost akin to a smile. “See, Connor? I’m not the only one with borrowed pieces. You’re just like me.”

Connor shakes his head frantically. “I’m nothing like you. I didn’t want this. You did.”

Heartland tilts his head to the side, acknowledging this. “True, I did want it. I wanted it better than anyone else, too. Even when Centerworld started losing steam for distribution, I wanted it still. I had to step in a few times to convince them to keep it up, but they got there in the end.”

Connor feels like screaming. He kind of wants to, except he’s afraid that if he shouts too loudly Heartland will come to admire his vocal chords and decide to take those, too. He has a twisted mental image of Risa hearing his voice from the shadows and running towards it only for Heartland to emerge, smiling as coldly as her as he is at Connor right now.

“This has all been a lie, then. Everything about distribution being used to further the life of the galaxy. It was never about the galaxy, was it? It was only about protecting you. Your life.” Connor chokes out.

Heartland nods, extending his hands in a theatrical gesture. “I don’t care about the rest of them. Why should I? I made the distribution project work in the first place. They didn’t help, why should they reap the rewards? It’s about equal labor for equal pay, and they didn’t contribute one thing. Now they will. I mean, don’t you hate it when slackers get all the privileges that you had to fight for?”

Connor’s throat is tight. “Why are you telling me all of this? Why are you even talking to me at all? Does monologuing make you live longer, too?”

Heartland chuckles. “No, no. I just want you to understand. I hate to say it, Connor, but your little adventure has caught on across the galaxy. I want you to release a holo saying that you condone any attempts to avoid distribution, that you’ve learned your lesson and it’s better for everyone to follow the rules. Once you prove you’re with us, the little hero of the ferals will be forgotten, and no one else will be inspired by your misguided attempt to run. It’s as easy as that, boy. Five minutes of your time, that’s all I need.”

Connor’s brow furrows. “So you want me to go against literally everything I believe, and then what? You let me go?”

Heartland’s borrowed eyes dance with mirth. “No, no. You misunderstand me. This is not a deal we’re making, this is an order. You will make the speech, and then you will be distributed. I do not trust you to live in any world. I want all loose ends tied up, and that involves you.”

Connor’s stomach does a slow roll. “If you’re going to kill me anyway, why the sunfire would I help you? Usually, when someone wants something, they have to give a little first. Thought you’d know about that from all your high profile business bullshit.”

“Watch your mouth, Connor, or I’ll take your tongue first,” Heartland says chidingly. “This isn’t business. This is me extracting use from a useless bit of biological matter. I don’t need you alive. I don’t even need you to want to do this. I have ways of making you comply.”

Connor takes an involuntary step back. He tries the door behind him, but it’s locked; Connor didn’t even hear the pin slide into place. He must have been too distracted staring at the monstrosity before him.

Heartland smirks. “There’s nowhere to run, Connor. Nowhere to go. Your only option is me.”

The man sinks back into his chair, not even bothering to block Connor. And why should he? They’re high up in some kind of office building, several stories off the ground. There are no other doors except the locked one behind him. According to Heartland, there really is no way out.

Heartland, though, has had several centuries worth of comfortable, cozy life. Heartland has not had to risk himself in a very long time. Heartland has no idea the distance a feral would go to survive, because he has not had to fight tooth and nail for so much as one more day alive. Connor, however, has, and Connor will never go out like this. As long as there is any way out, Connor will take it. Even if that way out involves the window overlooking a drop at least five stories to the ground.

Connor launches himself towards the glass pane. Of all the ideas he’s had, this is probably the worst, but it’s that or get distributed, so no hurt feelings there. He grabs an office chair as he goes, slamming it through the window and breaking it instantly.

Heartland’s face goes waxy. “Lassiter, be serious. You cannot possibly–”

Connor silences him with a glare. “Never tell me what I can’t do. Don’t you know ferals never follow the rules?”

And with that terrible bit of drama, Connor throws himself from the window. He turns as he falls, catching hold of the narrow lip. He’s not strong enough to hold himself from this forever, but he doesn’t have to be. All he needs is to slow his fall bit by bit, piece by piece, by dropping from ledge to ledge until he’s on the ground. An awning stretching over a few windows catches him for a while, letting him roll to a stop before crawling to the next ledge, and so on and so forth until he’s halfway down the side of the building.

Victory practically within his grasp, Connor makes the incredibly stupid decision to look down, and immediately regrets it. The ground, although closer to him than when he’d first leapt out of the building, seems lightyears away. Connor’s feet loll perilously over the precipice, and he has to snap his eyes shut so he doesn’t lose it completely. It’s not about making it to the bottom. All he has to do is find the next window ledge. Connor reaches out with trembling fingers and it’s within his grasp, then he can awkwardly shuffle his body down and over. Then the next ledge, and the next. He can do this.

Eyes still shut, Connor stretches out a foot to find the next ledge, but his legs refuse to go any lower. Risking another glimpse down, Connor realizes that he’s actually on the ground. He shades his eyes with his hand, staring up at the building he’s just escaped. Heartland may have centuries of knowledge over Connor, but the man has no idea how to handle a mad runaway. Funny, except he’s definitely sending reinforcements to track down Connor right now, so he’s got to get a move on.

Right on cue, the doors to the building burst open and a swarm of soldiers flood out. Connor turns and runs into the city around him, not caring where he’s headed so long as it takes him away. He has absolutely no idea what planet he’s on, let alone what system, but that doesn’t matter. Connor always knows how to run, regardless of his exact position in the galaxy.

He takes an abrupt turn down some alleyways, hoping the tight quarters will shake at least a few of the soldiers as they scramble for position. Connor whips around corners left and right, but his mad dash comes to a sudden halt when he comes face to face with a dead end. Swearing under his breath, Connor doubles back, but the soldiers are bearing down on him and there’s nowhere to go. The walls are high and slick with something that’s hopefully just oil, so Connor can’t climb his way out of this one.

Well, he’s never backed down from a fight, has he? Connor swallows hard, glancing around for something he can use as a weapon. There’s no way he can fight off all of these soldiers, but maybe he can try, at least. There’s no way he’s going down without giving it his all.

Just before Connor can pick up an unwieldy piece of metal pipe and hope for the best, a door swings open to his left and a voice hisses at him, “Quick! In here!”

Connor has no other options, so he lunges for the door, which slams behind him just as the soldiers round the corner. Connor is immediately plunged into darkness, but he can just make out the snap of a lock into place.

A handheld light flicks on; harsh and fluorescent, probably an old industrial bulb. That design is common in outer territories, but Connor didn’t expect to find anything so cheaply made here. He hadn’t been able to get a good glimpse of the city due to the fact that he was running for his life, but the brief snippets of the cityscape he had caught seemed polished and very, very expensive.

The light doesn’t just reveal income, though, it also draws into focus several faces all clustered around Connor. They seem to be of various ages, but all are teenagers and, judging by the slightly haunted look in their eyes that Connor saw most fiercely in the Graveyard, all are kids running from distribution.

One of the younger boys stares unabashedly at Connor. “So, it’s true. You’re actually the Akron AWOL.”

An older girl with bright streaks of pink in her hair glares at the boy who had spoken. “Shut up, Emby. You promised you’d be cool about this.”

“I am,” Emby protests, “I’m just asking, that’s all. No need to get defensive, Mai.”

Connor chuckles in spite of himself. After hearing Heartland’s little sermon, he wasn’t entirely sure that he would ever be able to laugh again, but the easy banter broke through his defenses before he realized what was happening. Painfully, it also reminds him of the Graveyard, all the conversations he’ll never hear again.

“He’s fine,” Connor assures Mai. “And yes, I’m Connor. You’re, uh, Emby?”

“That’s what they call me,” the younger boy assures him with an audibly congested sniff. “Mai came up with the nickname. Short for mouth-breather. She said it’s right on the money.”

“You don’t have to directly quote me every single time,” Mai grumbles.

Connor smirks, then turns to the other teenagers still standing around him. “Who are the rest of you?”

“Diego,” another boy announces himself. His eyes flash, giving the impression of cleverness. Clever enough to not get involved in Mai and Emby’s squabbling, at least, which gives him some credit.

An older boy introduces himself as Vincent. The harsh light from the bulb shines off of countless piercings all over his face; Connor has no idea what piercing shop would have agreed to give a teenager that many studs, everyone knows that giving tattoos or piercings to AWOLs is just damaging the merchandise, but Connor himself is standing here with someone else’s ink, so maybe he shouldn’t be so quick to judge. Seeing as Vincent is idling rather close to Mai, Connor immediately suspects them of being together, and his theory is proven correct when their hands brush together in a move that’s probably not nearly as slick as they think it is.

Two more teenagers introduce themselves as Blaine and Bam, respectively. Both of them seem vaguely unapproachable, but that energy kind of extends to the whole group save Emby. It makes sense, though; if you want to survive on your own in the underbelly of a city like this, you’ve got to be able to cut off anyone at a moment’s notice. These kids are used to living off the skin of their teeth, although this doesn’t explain why they risked their necks to get Connor to safety.

Connor folds his arms across his chest. “Why am I here?”

Bam scoffs. “Would you like it better if we dumped you back out there for the soldiers to find you?”

Connor arches a brow. “If that’s your attitude, why did you save me in the first place? Suns, how’d you even know I was here?”

Blaine flashes Connor a sharp grin that’s about as warm as light reflecting off of a scalpel. “We keep close watch of everyone in this city. Dozens of Juvey-cops converged on one building out of nowhere. When the Juveys made that mass arrest on some unclaimed cruiser two days ago, we all waited for the news that Connor Lassiter had been caught, but it never came out. There’s no way they’d pass up a chance to brag about getting you at last, so we put two and two together and figured out you’d have to be here. We’ve been keeping an eye out in case you managed to run, but we didn’t think you’d be lucky enough to run right by us.”

“That’s a great coincidence for me, then,” Connor says, still not entirely believing it.

Diego snorts. “He left out the part where we hacked into the citywide security cams months ago. We tracked you the second you left and hurried over so we could catch you before it was too late. Coincidence is for cowards.”

This earns him an irate glare from Mai. “Feel free to spill any more of our secrets while you’re at it, Diego. I’m sure caution means nothing when it comes to the starloving Akron AWOL.”

Diego just chuckles, which Connor has to respect, because Mai looks like she wants to tear the boy to shreds. “He’s not going to trust us unless we give him a reason, obviously. Look at him. He’s already thinking about running.”

This is, admittedly, true. Like Connor thought at the start, then. Diego is the smart one. Well, if they’ve got access to every sec-cam in the city, maybe they’re all the smart ones. That would explain how they survive down here, certainly.

Connor does his best to look as casual as he can. “You want something from me, obviously, or you wouldn’t have bothered to save me. How about we cut to the chase and you tell me what that is?”

Bam shrugs. “We want you gone. Sooner you’re offworld, the better. We don’t want the Juveys nosing in on our operation. Plus, we’ve got friends at some of the distribution colonies. Figured you’d be inclined to at least pretend to help.”

Connor frowns. “What friends? Maybe I know them.”

Bam actually looks a little chagrined at this. “Well, I don’t know him personally. But, uh, we tuned in to his radio show. Thought it was great. He convinced us to try and rescue AWOLs if we found them. That’s how we got Emby and Vince. He’s a friend of yours, actually. We want you to save Hayden Upchurch.”

Connor feels his shoulders sag in relief. “Hayden’s alive?”

“For now,” Bam mumbles. “He’s in a colony somewhere, so time is ticking. It feels wrong that he should die when he’s done so much for us.”

Connor can’t help a wicked grin. “So you’re a fan, huh? I’ll have to tell Hayden that he’s got admirers across the systems.”

Bam slugs him in the shoulder, which, ow. “Shut up, Lassiter. Just do it.”

Connor rubs his aching arm. “Alright, alright. I’ve got no problems with that. Say, how do you know where he is? Have they been announcing where the kids from the Graveyard went?”

He tries to keep the obvious longing from his voice, but clearly he doesn’t do such a good job of it, because Emby pipes up loudly, “You’re looking for Risa Ward, aren’t you? Is she, like, your girlfriend?”

This immediately earns the younger boy swats on the head from Mai and Bam at the same time. “She’s not my girlfriend,” Connor hastens to say, which only makes him feel more like an idiot instead of less.

His cheeks heat up while he forces out the words, so he’s pretty sure that no one believes him at all. It’s not Connor’s fault if he got distracted by the idea. It seems nice, after all. Having Risa be his girlfriend. It would probably be cool. If, you know, Connor had any idea where she was, or if she was still whole.

Mai’s visibly smirking now. “Relax, she’s still alive. Actually, we caught a transmission yesterday that you’ll probably want to hear.”

Confused, Connor follows her to a corner of their little hideaway, where he’s presented with an absolute abomination of a radio unit. It’s been patched together from the wrecks of several old computing systems, practically a distribution project in its own right, but it turns on when Mai presses a few buttons. She has to knock it on the side a couple of times before the control panel turns on, but then Mai selects a past broadcast and Connor doesn’t care about anything anymore, because he hears his own name crackling out of the system, and best of all, it’s Risa who says it.

The voice is grainy and heavily distorted, but Connor would know her anywhere. “Hey, Connor,” Risa’s recording begins, “This is Risa. If you can hear me– well, you’re alive, and that’s a relief.”

Connor feels as if he’s falling forever. Maybe he did slip when he was trying to climb down from Heartland’s building after all, and maybe this is just a hallucination his brain has cooked up to distract himself from a slow, painful death at the bottom of a skyscraper. If this is what death brings him– Risa talking to him at last, wanting him there with her like he wants her– then maybe he’ll accept it after all.

Connor mentally shakes himself, trying to focus again. Risa keeps talking, heedless of Connor’s mental distraction. “I made it out, but I’m stuck on a planet somewhere near the Graveyard. My pod was damaged and I can’t leave, but I can’t stay here, either. I don’t know your situation, but I need you, Connor. I’m on–”

A break in the recording. Connor leans forward instinctively, terrified he’s missed something, but then he hears faint sounds in the background and realizes that Risa must be talking to someone else in the room. She asks a question, and the voice that answers her is distinctly male, which makes Connor irrationally angry. He does his best to calm down, though. Risa is stranded. She can’t help it if there’s some guy with her. She’s still talking to him, trying to reach him against the odds.

A rush of static and Risa’s voice appears again. “I’m on Molokai. Find me, Connor. Please.”

The transmission ends and the room fills with silence, but Connor stays there still, swaying slightly, hoping that she’ll say something, anything more. He would listen to her describe the weather or the flight over to Molokai in her escape pod, even the boring things, just so long as he could have one more moment with her voice in his ears. He misses her desperately, he realizes. More than the Graveyard, more than anyone he’d met on that doomed cruiser. It’s been him and Risa for so long that he’s almost forgotten how to be by himself again, despite the fact that every other year of his life was just that.

The quiet persists, and Connor comes to the understanding that the others must be waiting for him to say something. “Well,” he says awkwardly, “I need to get to Risa. You don’t have a ship that I could borrow, by any chance, do you?”

Mai beams triumphantly. “I was hoping you would ask. We don’t have a ship of our own, but we have something better.”

Connor turns to her curiously. “And what’s that?”

“A way to get into any ship,” Vincent answers him. “Any ship, any building, anywhere. We figured out how to make fake grounds licenses, but these hack the system every time. It doesn’t know how to handle your license, so it just bypasses every security barrier on instinct. It’ll let you in any door. You can walk right up to a shipyard and take whatever you want. That’s how we’ve stayed undercover so long, we’ve all got new licenses. We have a few extra just in case, you can take one.”

Connor eyes him cautiously. “You’re just going to give me one? Free of charge? That’s awfully nice of you.”

“We’re not terrible people,” Blaine snorts. “We just expect you to uphold your end of the bargain. Get to Risa, then get to the colony. Pick a ship big enough to hold the kids you save. We have friends who don’t want to get distributed, and more than Bam’s celebrity crush.”

This earns him a vengeful kick to the knees from Bam, but Connor’s the one who feels like his legs have been knocked out from under him. “You want me to storm a distribution colony?”

“We want you to repay the favor we’re giving you now,” Mai clarifies. “You owe us, Lassiter. Don’t die with the debt.”

Connor nods slowly. “I’ll try. You’re not the only one who doesn’t want their friends in pieces.”

“You’d better mean that,” Blaine threatens, but he allows Diego to open a carefully locked box and pull out a holopad.

“This is your new identity,” Diego announces. “You’re now Elvis Robert Mullard, a Juvey-cop who recently celebrated his nineteenth birthday. Congratulations.”

He flicks through a few holoscreens, snapping a quick photo of Connor which probably looks terrible so he can enter it into their prepared false license registration. Connor frowns. “What about the real Elvis Mullard? Won’t he be mad that I’m stealing his life?”

Diego shakes his head. “Elvis died in the Graveyard explosion. I’d say rest in peace, but he wanted us in pieces, so actually I hope it was, like, super painful for him. Now you get his license and we all live happily ever after.”

Connor nods uncomfortably. “I’m fine with that.”

“Good,” Diego says crisply, “Because from here on out, you are Elvis Mullard. Forever.”

He swipes up on his holopad, and a blue band of light appears around Connor’s left wrist, flashing fast-paced streams of text before disappearing again.

“So that’s it?” Connor asks, staring at the place above his hand where the hologram had just been.

“That’s it,” Diego confirms. “You’re a new man. How does it feel?”

“The exact same,” Connor mumbles.

Blaine chuckles. “Well, you did nothing. Not yet, at least. Remember your end of the bargain.”

“I’m going to,” Connor assures him.

Bam eyes him suspiciously. “You’d better. Anyway, you need to get going before they send reinforcements down on all of us. The shipyard’s just a couple of blocks from here. Steal any one you like, get to Molokai, then repay your debt. If we think you’re backing out, we can cancel your license and set the cops on your ass in a heartbeat. Just remember that.”

Connor holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not going to back out. Jeez. Trust a guy, will you?”

This earns him six blank stares, and Connor sighs. “Fine, fine. I’ll save them. I promise.”

Emby waves as Connor heads to the door. “It was nice to meet you, Connor!”

Somehow, Connor finds it within himself to grin. “It was great to meet you too, Emby. Don’t let the rest of these killjoys get you down.”

“I won’t,” Emby pledges.

Connor breaks into a broad grin, letting that be the last the shady group sees of him, then heads back out into the street. The soldiers have evidently attempted to retrace their steps to find Connor, because the alleyway is long deserted.

Connor stands for a moment in the dull darkness. Somewhere above him, a small, one-man starship screams up to the atmosphere. Connor tracks it with his eyes until it’s gone. In that ship could be a Juvey-cop ready to sentence another feral to death, or a flight student taking off on their first solo trip. Or maybe it’s holding a boy, a boy like Connor, utterly alone again but this time bolstered by the knowledge that he will not be that way forever. He will find Risa. He will find his friends. And then, at the end of the galaxy, they will rest in the knowledge that they outsmarted a man older than distribution itself. There is still time for everything to go according to plan.

a/n: at last, the dorian heartland easter eggs make sense.

unwind tag list: @schroedingers-kater, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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heliads · 5 months

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everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter Twelve: It's You Again

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Risa stays in that comms room for hours. Cam gets twitchier the longer they linger, like he expects one of his fellow creations to pop out of the shadows and grab them both. He was the one who said nobody ever came up here, wasn’t he? Risa can keep an eye on the security cams outside to make sure nobody tests that theory. Although only half of them really work and still more are smudged or cracked, she at least has this way of telling who’s inside. Then again, maybe Cam is less worried about someone from his planet entering the laboratory complexes and more concerned with the threat of someone offworld.

Risa doesn’t care. When her legs grow weary from standing for so long, she takes a seat against a wall, leaning back against the dusty, crumbling structure for a bit of a break. Always, she stays within reach of the comms units, just in case Connor reaches out again. Just in case he gives any indication that he has heard her, or is still alive at all.

She tries to remind herself that this is all just conjecture. He could still be coming. Maybe he heard her but has no way of speaking back. Maybe he was so overcome with the need to be with her that he threw himself into travel preparations without remembering that conversations usually go both ways, although that’s doubtful. Or, worst of all, maybe he just heard and prioritized his own safety over coming to get her.

No, no. Impossible. The only time Connor has been willing to give her up was the first day they met. Now, if he found her stowing away on his ship, he’d smile at her like he always does and tell her that if she wanted a prime traveling experience, she should just ask. Connor has always been hers. It does his presence in her mind a disservice to remember him as anything less.

Across the room, Cam coughs pointedly, although she assumes that the filtration in his respiratory systems are strong enough that he would never suffer from something so simple as a bit of dust down the wrong pipe. “We should probably get going.”

Risa turns only her head to look at him. “Why? He might reach out, I want to be here when he does.”

Cam gives her a sympathetic look. “It’s been hours, Risa. The signal would have reached the farthest spans of the galaxy by now. Either he heard us or he didn’t, but we have to stay alive.”

Risa shrugs listlessly. “If you’re getting worried, you can leave. I’ll stay to monitor the place.”

Cam makes an annoyed sound deep in the back of his throat. “No, I’m not going without you.”

Risa nods mechanically, turning back to face the comms unit once more. “Right, right. You’re heading out when we do.”

“It’s not just for an escape plan,” Cam says heatedly.

Risa has a feeling that she knows exactly what his motive is, which makes her wish that the ground would rise up and swallow her whole. Choosing to ignore that particular urge, she says, “If you’re concerned about safety, wouldn’t this be the best place to stay? No one else is in here. I can’t go out in the streets as freely as you, remember?”

Cam hums, considering this. The string of lights on his temple glow gold, reflecting over the buttons on the instrument panels before them. “You need food and water. I can go scout out for supplies.”

Risa flashes him a thumbs up. “That would be great, thanks.”

Cam looks vaguely put out that she didn’t protest further, but he drops it soon enough. As he leaves the room, she catches him carefully curling his fingers into a fist before tentatively raising his thumb in the gesture she had just done. She wonders if no cyborg had ever done it before. Was anything here ever casually good enough to warrant a gesture to celebrate it?

Risa watches him from the sec-cams as Cam goes methodically from room to room, checking empty boxes in search of nutrient supplements or something delicious like that. Everything here is probably stale beyond belief, but it would be edible at least. He’s not wrong to suggest that they look for supplies; if Connor manages to get his hands on a shuttle, there’s no guarantee that it would have any kind of food or drink on it.

Risa stands up with a grimace, stretching her strained muscles one by one. The rocky landing in the escape pod left her cramped and weary. Although walking to the city had been a good chance to work her limbs back into a functioning state, she’s been motionless for so long that all of that progress had been eradicated.

Risa raises one arm then tugs it over her head with her free hand, leaning slightly to deepen the stretch. She lets out a pained hiss when her muscles protest, but sticks with it anyway. She can’t afford injury, not now. Not ever, really. Not until she turns eighteen and all of this hellishness goes away.

The door creaks open slightly, and seconds later a pair of hands appear on her shoulders, helping her move further. Risa flinches like she’s been punched and the physical contact disappears instantly. When she turns around, Cam is looking at her with guilty, haunted eyes.

“Sorry,” Risa mumbles to excuse herself, “Didn’t realize you’d come back in.”

He nods a little too quickly. “I found some nutrient bars in one of the storage closets, they should be fit for consumption. Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just a little beaten up.” Risa tells him.

Cam arches a brow. “I can tell. Your muscles are stiff.”

She tries not to react too harshly to his words. Camus Comprix is not the sort of boy who should know what her muscles feel like bunched up underneath her skin like a live wire. He has saved her, yes, brought her to this crumbling city and given her a way to call for rescue, but that does not give him the right to meddle with her mind like this.

Risa certainly does not owe him the sensation of her flesh under his metal fingertips, each whorl and groove of the discerning pads carved by the scientists who left him here to die. Risa is not here to bring him back to life. She is here for herself. Call that selfish, call that greedy, fine. Risa will never hate herself for wanting to survive. It is not her fault if Cam has mistakenly factored her into his own survival as well.

Cam’s eyes watch her blankly. “Any response?”

“Not yet,” she admits. “Give it time.”

“Risa,” he says gently.

“No,” she answers firmly. “No. Don’t start with that. He’s coming.”

All this time, Risa’s been wavering, but in the face of Cam’s questioning, her mind locks down. Of course Connor will come. Who is Cam to wonder if he will or not?

Cam gives her a troubled stare. “You don’t know that.”

“And you don’t know him,” Risa returns. “I do. Better than anyone.”

“Better than anyone?” Cam questions. “Even his family?”

“They gave him up. I never did,” Risa says harshly.

Cam opens his mouth as if he’d like to say something to that, but she glares at him so fiercely that he snaps his jaws shut again. “I’ll take another lap around the complex,” he says at last.

Risa watches him go. Her hands have curled into tight fists at her sides, and it takes considerable effort to convince her fingers to release one by one. She knows Cam is probably right to question the inevitability of Connor showing up here, but Risa can’t accept that right now.

Maybe it’s the lack of food or water getting to her, or even the repercussions of the escape pod explosion, but Risa’s head is starting to swim, making her question everything. Why is Cam so insistent on getting her to agree with him? What about Connor’s arrival freaks him out so much? She thought Cam would have wanted to escape this dying planet just as much as she does, but what if that isn’t the case?

After all, Cam had seemed quite reluctant to leave Audrey and the rest of the cyborgs behind. He could have changed his mind while she was recording her message to Connor. What if Cam isn’t searching for supplies at all, but making sure no one can reach them? The cyborg could be barricading entrances or intentionally crossing wires such that no signal could reach her. What if Connor has been trying to talk to her all this time but Risa had no way of knowing?

She stands shakily. Risa has no idea where Cam is right now– on one of the upper levels, maybe, or somewhere down below. The sec-cam feeds aren’t labeled with the exact location. If she left now, and stuck to the shadows, she might be able to make it to the ground floor again without ever running into him. It would be tricky to hide from Cam and the rest of the cyborgs, but this isn’t the first time Risa’s been on the run. She could do it. All Risa has to do is survive until Connor shows up and takes her away from this place.

Risa steals one last beseeching look at the comms unit, then makes up her mind. Cam has been acting strangely ever since they got here. He could just have a lot of bad memories associated with this place, but Risa can’t afford to take risks. She still can’t shake the feeling of his hands on her shoulders, keeping her in place. This could be Risa’s last chance to escape from his grasp– Cam has been keen on never letting her out of his sight. Strange, isn’t it, his fascination with a girl he’s never met before? She’s the first human he’s seen since the scientists left. Maybe he wants to keep her around like a pretty doll to pose.

Risa is nobody’s toy. She steals from the room, keeping her back pressed against the wall as she creeps back out into the web of corridors. This is fine until she reaches a crossroads. Risa can’t hear anyone, but that’s no guarantee. Cam has a way of moving with unnatural stealth, he could be on the opposite side of the wall from her, just waiting for Risa to come out. Peeking around the corner, Risa’s quick scan reveals an empty room, so she surges forward to repeat the process again.

She only makes it halfway through the floor before she starts hearing the sound of footsteps echoing across the uninhabited complex. Quickly, she presses herself into an empty storage closet. Moments later, Cam comes bounding across the room she’d just vacated.

He calls out the closer he gets to the comms room. “Risa, I saw a ship coming through one of the windows. I don’t recognize the exterior, it might be Juvies. We need to hide.”

Risa’s eyes widen in the shadows of the storage closet. Cam claims it’s a Juvey-cop ship, but how does he know for certain? What if it’s Connor at last, and Cam is intentionally trying to steer her away?

The second Cam leaves the room, Risa eases out of the closet, scurrying down the hall as quietly as she can. Somewhere behind her, Cam is opening the door to the comms room, and moments later his voice rings out, surprised: “Risa? Where are you?”

The door to the stairs is just down the hall. If Risa can make it there, she can head out. Connor is waiting for her somewhere in this city, she just has to find him.

Cam’s voice sounds again behind her, this time closer. “Risa? Did you hear something?”

Sunfire. Risa flings herself into a nearby room, slowly daring to glance out through the crack in the door. Cam appears at the far end of the hall, checking from room to room to find her again. He moves with methodical sureness, each step the same length. His head swivels on his neck, nothing escaping his gaze.

With a chill, Risa remembers him saying something about having telescopic lenses. That was just what Cam freely admitted to her, though. Who knows what other modifications he has? Heat sensing wouldn’t be too difficult, either. She’s got to run before he gets the chance to check her room.

Peering out again, Risa counts how many seconds Cam spends in the hallway versus how much time he spends investigating each room. When she’s sure she’s got it right, she waits for him to enter a new door before lunging into the hallway again. One, two, three… The stairwell isn’t quite close enough. Unwilling to risk it, Risa ducks into another room just as Cam materializes again.

She can just see his silhouette down the hall, he cranes his head curiously towards the end. “Risa? Is that you?”

He starts to walk towards the stairwell, ignoring several unchecked doors behind him in favor of getting closer to her. Risa wants to scream. She claps a hand over her mouth to silence her breathing, not wanting a single sound to give her away. She’s afraid he’ll find her door immediately, but then he shrugs, confused, and goes to a different room a few paces away. The second he turns away, she runs again. This time, the stairwell is within reach, and she flings open the door, shutting it as quietly as she can behind her.

Risa flings herself against the wall, heart pounding. There’s a small window in the door of the stairwell, but so long as she stays perfectly still here against the walls, he can’t see her. Only problem is, she can’t spy on him now without putting her face to the window. She has no way of telling whether he’s in a room or not, and she’s lost count of the precious seconds he spends in each chamber since she made it inside.

Risa gives herself several deep breaths, then plucks up her courage to stare through the window. All it takes is one half step, a pivot from the wall to the transparent panel, and–

Suns, suns, Cam is standing in the middle of the hallway. Her sudden movement makes him look up, and then he sees her through the window. He starts forward immediately. “Risa, come back–”

She flinches away, leaning forward only to lock the door from the inside before taking to the stairs immediately. Her legs go as fast as she can force them, but she’s certain it won’t be fast enough. She remembers how he had run when her pod had exploded, how he’d cleared so much ground in just a matter of moments. He’ll have trouble with the door for a little while, but it won’t take him much time, and then he’ll be upon her.

Loud rattling from the door echoes through the stairwell. Risa is down one floor, but it’s not enough of a lead, not yet. “Risa, let me in,” Cam calls, his voice muffled by the door. “I’m not trying to hurt you, I swear. We’re a team, remember? We’re both trying to get out of here alive.”

She doesn’t answer him, only tries to move even faster. The only team she’s on is the bond between her and Connor. That is the only team that matters. Not her and anyone from the State Home. Not any of the other kids in the Graveyard med bay. Not even her and Cam. He may have guided her through this city, he may have helped to disguise her, but if she cannot trust his motives, she’ll never trust him again. The only person she can ever trust is Connor. Risa knows this, she has always known this. The crash distracted her, but she’ll never forget that again. It’s Connor or no one at all.

There’s a fierce clanging and scraping from above, and then a resulting metal thud that must be the door, liberated of its hinges, falling to the ground. She’s two floors down now, only one left to go, but Cam is thundering down the stairs, moving far faster than she is.

“I’m not your enemy,” he shouts down to her, “Risa, I’ve saved your life.”

“Then let me go!” She calls back, still intent on hurrying down the stairs.

“I need you so I can live, too!” He yells. “Remember? All I ever wanted is to get off this planet.”

It doesn’t make sense, though, not really. There’s a reason none of the cyborgs liked him all that well, and it’s probably not just because he reminded them a little too much of the scientists. Maybe he unsettled them, too. It was very coincidental that he just happened to find her, that he just happened to know where to get a functioning comms unit. What if Cam was just using her to draw other survivors down here?

The stairwell goes abruptly silent from Cam’s juddering footfalls, and then the walkway shudders with an impact. He’s jumped down a story to land right in front of her. Risa freezes in place, terrified; he’s in between her and the rest of the stairs. The door leading to the exit is right in front of her, so close but unreachable now.

Cam holds up his hands. Despite the mad rush, he’s not even breathing heavily, each breath still exactly the same cadence as before. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Risa,” he says calmly. “You have to trust me.”

“I don’t have to trust anyone,” Risa says fiercely. “Why are you doing this? It’s not just kindness, you can’t fool me anymore. If you only ever acted with kindness, the rest of the cyborgs wouldn’t have cast you out. They sensed something about you. Well, I’m sensing it now, too.”

Cam pauses for a moment, and then this shark-like smile slowly spreads onto his face. “That’s a little bit dramatic, don’t you think? They don’t think I’m dangerous, Risa. They just realized that I would do anything to survive. Seeing as the rest of them have given up on ever getting out of here, they didn’t like that much. So yeah, I’m keeping you close, but you promised me a way out. Who wouldn’t?”

“And if I can’t get you that way out,” Risa says slowly. “What’s your plan then? Would you swap out your rotting organic parts with some of mine?”

Cam meets her gaze steadily. “Anything to survive, like I said. I know you think the same way. Are you telling me you wouldn’t do the same if you could?”

Risa shudders. “Never. I would never take someone else’s parts. I’d rather just die. I see why they said you reminded them of the scientists. You’re just as cruel as all of them.”

Genuine hurt flashes onto Cam’s face, and he stumbles back slightly, forced out of control by the devastation of Risa’s claim. She takes advantage of this brief moment of unsteadiness to surge past Cam and down the remaining stairs. She throws the door open, hurling herself into the quickly onsetting darkness of the open air. The rest of the cyborgs had given the lab complex a wide berth, so she won’t run into any of them immediately.

Risa has no idea where the ship Cam sighted could have landed. It might not be Connor after all, but she’s willing to take that risk. There’s a brief spot of movement somewhere in her peripheral vision, and she switches directions at once. Risa is operating on blind faith alone, a bright feeling somewhere in her heart. Please, let it be him. Connor had once claimed that he could find her anywhere if he really wanted to, that he could spot her among the craziest crowds. If anyone in all the stars and suns is listening, she prays that he was right.

The door of the lab complex slams open again behind her. Cam must be almost upon her, but then the flicker of movement solidifies into a figure. Risa nearly sobs because she knows who that is, and even if Cam is right on her heels, she’s going to be okay now. Suddenly, Risa isn’t running from Cam anymore, she’s running to the figure, to Connor. Connor, who has seen her too and is sprinting towards her. Connor, who is opening up his arms so she can slot right in like the perfect key in an unbreakable lock. Risa has no home left, no right to live, but right now, she is okay at last. She’s with Connor again, and everything makes sense again.

Connor curls one arm protectively around her. His head flies up and he points something at Cam, who’s caught up to them both. Connor is holding some kind of gun– whether real or just a tranq, Risa can’t tell, but it makes Cam freeze in place.

“I don’t know who you are, but you’d better back off,” Connor tells him tightly.

Cam raises his hands in surrender. “I’ve been keeping Risa alive. Shooting me would be a mistake.”

Connor never takes his eyes off of Cam, but he can tell from the way his arm wavers slightly that he’s questioning this. Risa answers the unspoken query. “He won’t bother us so long as we get him off the planet. I don’t know how you got here, but does your ship have an extra escape pod?”

Connor nods. “He can take that so long as he doesn’t try anything. That's alright with you?”

This last part is directed to Cam, who inclines his head gravely. “All I want is to get out of here. Trust me.”

“I don’t,” Connor answers simply. “You go first. We’ll follow.”

“I don’t know where your ship is,” Cam argues.

Connor’s eyes remain cold. “I’ll give you directions. Start walking.”

Cam doesn’t look pleased about this, but he’s not foolish enough to mess with his only way out of here, so he starts marching down the street. Risa and Connor begin walking after him after a second’s delay. Risa doesn’t really want to let him go, but she wants to remain on this planet even less, so she sacrifices proximity for a few minutes longer. Connor doesn’t let her go completely, opting instead to keep his left hand firmly interlocked with her right. Strangely enough, he’s wearing a jacket with long sleeves despite it being fairly warm on this planet. He refuses to roll up the sleeves, and he keeps his right arm away from her at all times. Maybe he’s injured or something and doesn’t want her to worry. It doesn’t matter, she’ll take a look when they’re alone.

Connor directs Cam back to his shuttle, which is parked nearby. It’s larger than Risa expected, starting to grow beyond simple shuttle-class to something that might even be described as a frigate. It’s also really nice, the paint mostly intact and all systems blinking in unison.

She shoots Connor a sideways glance. “Where the stars did you get something in this condition? Did you rob some plasma tycoon’s personal shipyard?”

Connor cracks a grin. “Always assuming the worst of me. Maybe I got a nice summer job or something.”

Risa snorts. “Yes, and the pay you got from one day of working that job was enough to pay for something like this.”

Connor momentarily takes his gaze off of Cam to wink at her. “Of course it was. If you don’t believe that it’s mine, I’ll prove it right now.”

In front of Risa’s disbelieving eyes, Connor goes up to the ship and holds out his left wrist expectantly by the entrance ramp. A blue light scanner flashes over his arm, then beeps and opens the hatch. Risa stares uncomprehendingly. Somehow, Connor has managed to get himself a grounds license and a ship to boot. Just what in the sunfire has he been up to?

Cam moves to board the ship, but Connor cuts him off with a wave of his gun. “Not so fast. Surely you aren’t flying with us.”

Risa shakes her head. “He said he would be fine with just an escape pod. That’s still true, right, Cam?”

Cam fixes a pleasant smile onto his face, but the effect is somewhat lessened by the red lights blinking angrily on his temple. “Of course it would be fine. Shall I get the pod now?”

Connor keeps his gun trained on Cam. “Risa, you go ahead and disengage the pod. They’re located on the left bay, right near the entrance hatch. I’ll keep an eye on your friend.”

Risa nods, hurrying on board. The pods are nearby just as promised, and they have similar control panels to the one she was just on, so she’s able to tap a few buttons and get one of the pods to remove itself from the side of the ship. It thunks down to the planet surface, but should still be perfectly usable.

She returns to the hatch entrance. “The pod is yours, Cam. Take it wherever you like.”

He looks unblinkingly up at her. “Thank you for upholding your end of the deal.”

Risa nods. “And– thank you for saving me.” The words stick in her throat, but she forces them out anyway. Regardless of his motives, Cam kept her alive. She can’t deny that.

Cam accepts this with a gentle incline of his head. “We make a good team.”

Connor looks like he’s strongly against that, but he settles for waiting until Cam locks himself inside his pod before letting out a strong sigh of relief. Connor closes up the escape hatch once they’ve both boarded his ship, and there’s a tenuous moment of silence before they can look at each other again.

For a moment, Risa just wants to take in the sight of him. They’ve only been separated for a day or two, but it feels like they’ve been parted for centuries. They hover opposite each other, and then Connor tosses his gun on the ground and stumbles forward to take her in his arms, and she knows, she knows– the fight is over. They’ve made their way back together again. Across the galaxy, at the ends of the worlds, this is what safety feels like. It will always, always be Connor.

“You found me,” she breathes, the words slightly muffled from speaking into his shoulder but true nonetheless.

“Yeah,” he says. “Of course I did. I always do, don’t I?”

Risa laughs and tries not to weep. Never again will she take his presence for granted. Each day, each moment that they get together, will forever be a quiet victory.

Connor pulls away slightly so he can get a good look at her, his left hand rising up so he can gently turn her head side to side, examining for injuries. “You’re alright?” He asks cautiously. “That robot didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“Cyborg,” Risa corrects, smiling. “And no, he didn’t. I thought he would, but he didn’t. I’m okay. You are too?”

The ghost of some terrible memory flits briefly across Connor’s face, but he manages to push it away again when he looks back at her. “I got here, didn’t I? Everything’s fine.”

Risa looks at him suspiciously. “We’ll talk more later. Right now, we should get off this planet.”

“That sounds great to me,” Connor says.

He leads her to the cockpit. The interior is a mess of blinking panels and countless switches that remind Risa a little of all the broken parts in Audrey’s shop. Connor goes through the rhythm of getting them airborne, pressing buttons and adjusting levers until the streets disappear beneath them.

Risa watches the decaying city fall away and wonders how long it will take until the last of the cyborgs are rust and bone. She doubts anyone had heard of the cyborg project while it was going on, and no one will ever hear of it again. She is the only human who has seen the city and spoken to its occupants while they were still running. She forces her eyes to stay open, committing the world to memory. When this planet is so much dust and ash, Risa will remember what it was like, and then it will only exist in her mind and Cam’s. Cam has a twisted picture of it, though. Risa will recollect it completely.

The streets disappear, then the city itself vanishes into endless plains and they enter the atmosphere. The planet becomes a marble in the vastness of space, and then it’s gone, one bright speck in a sea of millions. The stars swallow them whole.

Risa leans back in her chair, smiling gently at Connor. “Well? Where to?”

“Anywhere,” Connor breathes. “Anywhere we want.”

The possibilities are endless. But, then again– so are they.

happy thanksgiving everybody!

unwind tag list: @schroedingers-kater, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

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heliads · 4 months

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everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter Fifteen: This Is Your Legacy

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Connor thought that the death of the Graveyard was the last he’d see of smoke and fire like this. It was a stupid thought, certainly, but when you’re watching the truest home you’ve had in a while collapse in shrieking metal and imploding engines, you don’t think that you’ll walk into another place that’s been similarly torn to ribbons. Not for a while, at least.

Yet here Connor is now, picking his way through the ruins of what had once been a harvest colony with Risa not far behind him. He wants to focus on her instead of the destruction, and his mind keeps randomly flickering to the moment he’d kissed her whenever he loses focus for more than a second, but the horror of what happened here keeps dragging him back to reality again. Because, after all, despite how awful it is to see these decimated buildings, worse still is the knowledge is that it used to hold human beings who were Connor’s friends.

There are bodies on the ground, but Connor genuinely cannot tell if they are people he knows or not. He doesn’t think so, at least, but no one wants to look at corpses and recognize them. He forces himself to peer closer at one of them, and realizes with a shudder of relief that it’s wearing the torn and burned uniform of a harvest colony employee. In fact, most all of the bodies littering the area wear the same neutral uniforms.

Connor stands up slowly, frowning. “Are all of the people who died here working for the harvest colony?”

Risa, who had fallen behind a little to inspect a man slumped against a far wall, hastens over to him. “I think so. Strange.”

Connor looks around him, trying to make some sense of the rampant destruction. “Who could be behind this? Juvey-cops wouldn’t attack harvest colony employees, plus they’d never attack one of their own colonies in the first place. The Admiral’s death would have sent a message to any of his friends that public opposition of distribution is a no-go. Who would have done something like this?”

“I have no idea,” Risa answers him. “You don’t think the AWOLs who gave you that grounds license–”

Her voice trails off uncertainly, and Connor shakes his head to confirm her questions. “No, I don’t think it was them. No way they’d bomb the place after telling me to go save their friends. Plus, I think they’re more than content to stay in the tunnels of that city and pick off the rich.”

“Can’t say I blame them,” Risa mumbles under her breath. “It’s certainly a more painless way to stay alive.”

Connor sighs. “Who, then?”

The question goes unanswered. The destruction of the colony is wild and deep. It’s like someone went in blasting without a single plan except to vanquish everything in sight. It’s a strange rescue policy for someone trying to save the distributes inside, but who else would attack a harvest colony? Usually, the more avant-garde distribution protesters do stuff like make thought-provoking artwork or wave signs outside government buildings asking officials how they’d like to be sold for parts. They’ve certainly never taken a flamethrower to everything in sight.

Connor and Risa wend their way further inside. They’re almost across the main courtyard by now, and all that’s left is a score of buildings.

“These are all probably either dorms, administrative offices, or Chop Shops,” Risa notes. “Should we just go door by door and see if we can make sense of anything?”

Connor shrugs. It’s not like he has any better ideas, but even this sees somewhat pointless. It’s clear that whatever came through here and razed the place wouldn’t have skipped an office or two by accident, but what else can they do? Maybe searching will provide some clues.

As they stand and think, Connor realizes that he hears something more than just the rustle of broken glass. Quickly, he presses a finger to his lips, drawing Risa into the shadows of a building just as one of the doors opens and a girl emerges. She seems to be a few years older than them, maybe in her early twenties, and her head turns waveringly from side to side as if she were looking for someone. Judging from the way her hands constantly knot at the hem of her shirt, she seems too anxious to be the one who blew this place to bits, but Connor isn’t keen on making any hasty decisions just yet.

Unfortunately, his plan to stick to the darkness of the ruined buildings until the girl passes by is ruined when one of his slow steps backwards crunches some debris under his feet. Instantly, the girl looks towards him, and her steps hasten as she heads their way.

A bright smile appeared on the girl’s face the second she heard the noise, although the delight of her expression saps immediately once she makes out Connor’s face. “Oh,” she says unhappily, “I thought you were someone else.”

She scans Connor for a second longer, as if expecting him to magically transform into the person of her dreams.

“Sorry,” Connor says, confused, not entirely sure why he’s apologizing but also not sure what else to tell her in response to this statement, “Are you expecting someone to be here?”

The girl nods emphatically, causing a strand or two of dark hair to come loose from her ponytail. “I’m looking for my brother,” she tells them matter-of-factly. “His name is Argent. I haven’t seen him in a while. You don’t know if he was here, do you? He wasn’t supposed to be distributed, but Argie always had a knack for ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time. I heard people talking about this place on that comms channel– you know, the one that used to have the radio show for AWOLs? Anyway, I was hoping he was here. Have you seen him around?”

Connor doesn’t remember anyone by that name from his time in the Graveyard. In the brief time he spent researching this place in an attempt to find out where his friends had been sent, he recalled hearing that the Juvenile Authority had completely emptied out this distribution colony to make space for everyone from the Graveyard– some kind of ‘you live together, you die together too’ posturing. This Argent fellow could have been one of the earlier residents, but one second thought, the name sounds familiar. He thinks he heard it earlier, but can’t quite remember when–

It hits him like a knife to the throat a second later. Heartland. The catalog of all the men and women who died to keep stretching out his already bloated lifespan. Oh, suns, this girl knew Argent but she has no idea the grisly fate that befell him.

“Sorry,” he chokes out at last, “I don’t think so.”

The girl’s face falls immediately. “Really? Not even the smallest of ideas about where he might be?”

Risa shakes her head sympathetically. “If he wasn’t on the Graveyard with us, we wouldn’t have any idea where he ended up. That’s probably a good thing though, right?”

It isn’t. Connor knows the truth, but he can’t say it.

Unaware of this, the girl brightens up at once. “I think you’re right about that. I’m Grace, by the way. Grace Skinner.”

Oh, this is Argent’s sister. Worse, worse. Connor can’t fathom the idea of his brother out there somewhere in the galaxy, searching for him in case he ended up in pieces. He can’t fathom a family so dedicated to the ones they love, and it turns his stomach even more.

Risa glances curiously at him, then steps forward and addresses Grace again. “You wouldn’t happen to have any idea what happened here, would you? We came to get our friends to safety but this whole place is a pile of rubble with none of them in sight.”

Grace frowns thoughtfully. “I’m not too sure about that either. It wasn’t me, clearly. I would never do something like that.”

Connor glances at her. “You’re not prone to violence?”

“Well, no,” Grace admits, “but this attack was a mess. If I was in charge, I would organize it much more efficiently. Now come on, if there’s one place we can go to find answers, it’s the security station. They might have surveillance camera records.”

Grace executes a crisp spin and marches off in search of the sec-station. Connor and Risa exchange wary looks, but since they’re short on other options, they decide to follow Grace. This might be a trap, but at least Connor’s death would be efficient as Grace has decreed.

“I was just on my way to check the tapes myself,” Grace tells them calmly. “You can learn a lot from things like that. I used to watch surveillance holos of old chess games all the time, even of myself. It’s important to know your opponents.”

Risa’s eyes widen disbelievingly, but she does her best to play it off. “Do you like chess, Grace?” She asks politely.

“I’m excellent at it,” Grace informs them. “Lots of practice. We’re from a backwater planet, there isn’t much to do. Argie gets sick of me beating him all the time, so the holos come in handy.”

“I can imagine,” Connor says, one brow raised. Risa elbows him in the side when Grace isn’t looking, and mouths play nice. To prove his obvious moral superiority and inherent maturity, Connor sticks out his tongue at her. She rolls her eyes, but he hopes it’s done fondly.

“I think this is the security building,” Grace announces, “It suffered the second most damage.”

“Why would that matter?” Connor asks.

Grace gives him a withering look, making it clear she thinks he’s some kind of idiot. “If you were attacking a harvest colony, you’d target the Chop Shop, right? After that, you’ll gun for the guards. The Chop Shop isn’t even standing, and this building’s hardly any better off, so it must be here.”

Even despite the damage, Grace tugs fruitlessly at the door. “It must be locked from the inside,” she reports. “If you boost me up on your shoulders, I can climb through one of the broken windows and open it up for you.”

Risa eyes her dubiously. “How do we know you won’t just leave us standing outside?”

Grace returns her gaze coolly. “Because I don’t plan on spending the rest of my life in there, obviously. Also, that would be pointless. I want backup in case any soldiers survive. I need to make it out of here alive so I can find my brother.”

“Lovely,” Connor says, but helps her crawl onto his shoulders accordingly. They watch Grace slip through the shards of the broken window, then wait in the sudden stillness, hoping she’ll make good on her promise to not abandon them.

The second Grace is out of earshot, Risa turns to Connor. “Everything alright? You look a little queasy. This much death getting to you?”

Connor watches the broken hollow of the window guiltily, but Grace doesn’t seem like she’s hovering there awaiting a confession, so he drops his voice and whispers to Risa, “Her brother is dead. Heartland mentioned his name among the people he distributed to keep living. Argent Skinner tried to find us while we were leaving the OH-10 system or something, but he went to Heartland when he failed.”

Risa’s eyes widen. “Why didn’t you tell her?”

Connor feels as if his entire body has hollowed out. He is a ghost blowing in the smoke of all the fires that have died out here, nothing more to him than the skin and bones that have already been promised to a hundred clients across the galaxy. “Tell her what? That he was so caught up in his own hero worship that he abandoned his sister for a monster who stole his organs? This girl is searching the galaxy for someone who didn’t want her. How do we break that news?”

Risa lets out a low breath. “I don’t know.”

Of course she doesn’t. Neither of them do. There is no guidebook for how to inform people that they’ve traveled across the galaxy for a young man who has already died. Just like Connor had no idea what to do other than follow his heart when he picked up on Risa’s message telling him to meet her at Molokai. Just like Risa had no holo to guide her when she had to fend for herself on a planet of cyborgs.

Sometimes, all you can do is hope. Connor and Risa were lucky enough to find the people they were searching for, but Grace wasn’t. How is that fair? Connor can answer that right now– it isn’t, nothing is, but there’s nothing anyone can do about that. All they can do is keep moving and hope they find something along the way to make the treacherous journey worth their while.

A shuffling sound, a scraping of metal, and the door creaks open. Grace stands across the empty threshold, absentmindedly brushing grime off of her hands, although the gesture only serves to smear the metallic dirt on her hands and make the stains worse.

“Let’s go,” she tells them.

Neither Connor nor Risa have any problems with obeying, so they follow Grace inside. The inside of the security station is just as badly off as the exterior. A few times, they pass bodies propped up in doors. One’s got his hand on his belt, like he was reaching for a gun when he was shot down.

Connor peers at the body as they pass it. Risa regards him with a raised brow. “Envious that you didn’t get to be the one to do it?”

“No,” he says, “Just– all of these bodies have been shot, right? Who’s got the budget to arm a small militia and send them out to burn a harvest colony down?”

The question makes them all go silent for a while. Eventually, Grace speaks up. “Maybe there’s a politician or heiress somewhere with a ton of money who can’t do anything publicly about distribution. They could have hired a hit squad or something.”

Connor shakes his head. “Can’t be. The Admiral seemed to think that he was the only one against it.”

“The Admiral?” Grace asks, squinting.

Risa waves a hand dismissively. “Rich guy with a ton of money who couldn’t do anything publicly about distribution. He was hiding a bunch of distributes until the Juvies found him out and brutally murdered him.”

“Oh,” Grace says. “Maybe not a rich guy who did this, then. They’d probably prefer to keep themselves alive than the rest of us.”

“Grace,” Connor says stoically, “I think that’s the truest thing you’ve said all this time.”

She brightens immediately. “I always say true things. You should listen more.”

Connor chokes out a laugh. Even though he isn’t expecting it, it still feels good to laugh, to smile, to remember that there’s more out there in the world than bombed out buildings and corpses of guards that Connor still has to double-check to make sure they aren’t his friends. Risa reaches over to take his hand and he squeezes back twice. If he doesn’t look at her, he can almost pretend that she thinks it’s the same as it was before he got the new arm.

Grace pokes her head in a nearby doorway, then beckons them inside. “Look, this is the cams console. They’ve got to have holos of what happened in here.”

The three of them cluster by the main console. “Do you know how to use this?” Connor asks.

Grace nods, pressing a trio of buttons along the edge. The holodeck comes to life with a mechanical whir, revealing a startup menu of glowing light. Grace pages through it at almost superhuman speed, hardly reading each title before moving on. At last, she selects an option, and opens a smaller menu. These she flips through more slowly, giving Connor time to scan the titles and realize they’re locations.

“What are you looking for?” He asks.

“Not what,” Grace clarifies, “Where. What place do you think is most important to see first? Here? Out in the courtyard?”

“What about near the gate?” Risa suggests. “I want to see how they got in.”

Grace nods. “Good idea.”

She selects the camera near the entrance gate. Instantly, the menu disappears, replaced with a grainy three-dimensional representation of the entrance gate. Connor recognizes it from when they came in, but this time, it’s actually in one piece.

A shuttle lands. They watch as a security guard attempts to reach it through the comms, and, upon failing, send out a pair of soldiers to go investigate. These hapless guys have hardly reached the ship’s entrance hatch before it flies open, revealing several figures who immediately begin shooting. Once the soldiers fall, about a dozen or so silhouettes hurry out, firing at the remaining guards before launching grenades at the entrance gate. The metal doesn’t last long under the onslaught, and once it’s open, the figures force their way through.

Risa takes a half step closer, squinting at the figures. “That’s weird, they don’t move like soldiers. They look too young. Are they– are they kids?”

A sickening feeling is making its way into the pit of Connor’s stomach. “Can you rewind the holo to when they passed underneath the camera, then pause it?”

Grace nods and does as asked. The video reverses and the figures seemingly walk backwards, freezing in place between the shuttle and the gate. The twisted sensation in Connor’s stomach rises to his lungs, wrapping around them like he’s drowning in oil.

“Can you zoom in on the guy in the back?” Connor asks slowly.

He’s hoping he’s wrong. All of the attackers in the holo– they are teenagers, Risa was right about that– are wearing dark clothes, most of them with their hoods pulled up. One of them at the back, though, has pulled down his hood, bearing his face to the world as if he wants to be seen, as if he delights in the idea that anyone could connect his name to this grisly crime. He’s got red hair that stands out against his dark clothes, and although Connor does not want it, he thinks he knows the boy.

Grace manipulates the holo. It takes a second, and then it clarifies, and the three of them stare upon the face of a teenage boy. He is scowling up at the camera, the edges of his mouth twisted up into a dark, hungry smirk. He looks exactly the type of person to force his way inside a harvest colony and kill every adult inside. Connor has seen this boy before, and so it is with absolute, awful certainty that he says–

“Starkey.”

Risa’s hand flies to her mouth. “Suns, it is.”

Grace frowns. “Who’s Starkey?”

Connor wants to throw up. “A boy from the Graveyard. We think he brought the Juveys on us by accident by sending out a broadcast to the whole galaxy. I didn’t realize he got away.”

Risa’s eyes are wide. “He knew about the broadcast before us, obviously. He had a little cult following, didn’t he? What if he got them together earlier to make sure they were safe? There was probably a shuttle or two on the Graveyard that wasn’t in use. He would have had plenty of time to get everyone on board and escape in the chaos.”

“Right before leaving the rest of us for dead,” Connor confirms in a grave whisper. Stars, he hated that kid already, but now it’s so much worse. Roland’s hand curls into a fist at his side, the fingers so tight that the fingernails cut copper crescents into the skin of the palm. Connor can’t help but agree with that sentiment.

“Let’s see where he went,” Grace suggests. She exits the scene, returning to the camera menu to select the courtyard camera.

What they see there is a repeat of the massacre at the gate. Starkey and his goons storm in, shooting all the guards in sight before heading for the Chop Shop. Minutes later, he returns, dozens of clearly thrilled kids in tow. Connor squints at the footage, trying to see if he can find anyone he knows, but there are too many blond heads to determine Hayden amongst their ranks.

Newly freed distributes in tow, Starkey marches on the security station. Since he’s already freed the kids of the harvest colony, he could just leave now without risking further losses, but Connor realizes with a slow lurch of his stomach that freeing these kids was never Starkey’s end goal. He’s after a bloodbath because of the message it sends. Connor won’t have to check if there are any survivors left in the colony, Starkey will have ensured that none lasted. He didn’t even need to leave any alive as messengers, he knew full well the security holos would do that job for him. No wonder he keeps grinning at every camera he passes.

“Can you switch to the security station holos?” Connor asks. He doesn’t really want to see what happened here, but he feels like he must.

Grace assents, switching the display to the center room of the security station. This camera isn’t directly by the door, giving them a painfully slow sense of twisted impatience as they hear the distant rattle of gunfire approach this room. Gunfire, if that wasn’t obvious enough already by the dead bodies. Not tranqs. Whoever armed a bunch of fired-up kids gave them real guns. Suns, Connor might lose the last bit of hope for humanity he didn’t even know he was still guarding.

In the holo, the door to the central room is kicked open. About half a dozen soldiers are inside; some have been frantically calling out for backup on the station comms unit, but they go silent now. There’s no need to get help, they’ll be dead before it arrives.

AWOLs rush into the room, filing off to the sides so Starkey has enough space to stalk melodramatically inside. Five of the guards are killed, leaving one alive. Strange, Connor didn’t think Starkey approved of witnesses. However, even this strange bit of mercy is quickly washed away when Starkey raises his gun to shoot out the guy’s knees, sending the soldier plummeting to the ground.

Starkey pauses a moment, turning around to face the crowd of onlooking distributes and spreads his arms wide. “See? This is what we can do. I came here to save the day and I’ll be damned if I didn’t do it. We don’t have to hide around, we can get whatever we want.”

Even through the translucence of the holo, Connor can still spot the bright spark in Starkey’s eyes as an idea occurs to him. “Speaking of which,” Starkey says slowly, “there’s something we still need.”

Vid-Starkey turns to the guard, who’s still sprawled almost motionless on the ground, and worst of all, he smiles. “Have you ever heard that old-Earth phrase, coughing up a lung?” A pause. Starkey waits for the guy to nod before continuing. “Good. Do it.”

The quality of the hologram flickers for a little bit, and when the image is back, the guy’s face is twisted with horror. “What?”

“Cough up a lung,” Starkey says pleasantly. “The one you took from an unwind, specifically. You don’t deserve it. We want it back.”

The guard tries to crawl away, using his bloody arms to drag himself even a few inches away, but it doesn’t matter. Starkey just walks closer, erasing all that effort in the span of a couple of seconds. He crouches next to the guard, heedless of the blood on the ground or perhaps simply not caring if it gets on himself or not. “I don’t like repeating myself, Officer. Are you going to do it or will I?”

The soldier uses the last bit of his energy to spit a mouthful that’s half blood, half saliva, at Starkey. It doesn’t even make it to the boy’s face but sputters uselessly on the ground. “Go to hell.”

“You first,” Starkey says pleasantly. “The galaxy will never forget how you murdered its children.”

Connor watches in silent horror as Starkey reaches for something on his belt. It’s some kind of tool, and at first he can’t quite tell what it is in the low glow of the holo. Starkey presses a button and it fires out a thick silver wire, which lodges itself deeply in the fallen guard’s chest. The man makes this awful choking gasp, clawing at his chest in an effort to get the foreign substance out. This only serves to spill more of his blood onto the front of his uniform. Miniature bits of light from the holo display go dark to signify the stains, almost black. Good, Connor thinks. No light should shine on this. No one should have to see this again.

In the holo, Starkey presses another button, and the man begins to scream in earnest. Connor looks away, gently turning Risa into his chest so she doesn’t have to witness it either. The torturous screams continue for a few moments longer, then abruptly end with a gunshot. Starkey got sick of his own show, apparently.

Connor dares to look again and is rewarded with the sight of a large, fleshy lump on the ground, thoroughly drenched in blood. The guard isn’t moving. Starkey, though, seems even more animated than usual. He waves the tool in the air excitedly. “See? This is how the Akron AWOL should have done it. You have to be bold and do the things no one else will. You have to get the job done yourself. Connor Lassiter was scared, but we aren’t. We’re going to take the galaxy for the unwinds.”

Horrifically, the group of released distributes cheers. Connor can’t tell how many of them actually seem psyched about Starkey’s murderous motives and how many are just hoping that they won’t have their lungs pulled out of their chest if they disagree. Starkey hands the tool to someone else, and it’s only now, when the object of ruthless killing passes under the sec-cam that Connor can finally tell what it is.

It’s a tether.

Connor feels his whole world tip slightly. He remembers a day a long time ago, so far away it seems like it could have happened in another lifetime to an entirely different boy. Connor had been out taking care of some engineering business on the exterior of the Graveyard. Roland had followed. Connor had to save himself from an attempt to get hurt or killed or whatever, it doesn’t even matter now when one of them is alive and the other only exists as a phantom limb on the survivor’s arm. It had involved a tether. It had involved Connor coming back inside only to find Starkey waiting for him, disappointed that he hadn’t finished the job.

It is now that Connor realizes that the message was meant for him. Not for the rest of the galaxy to scream over, not even for the Juvey-Cops. Sure, Starkey was just running his mouth about how the Akron AWOL’s pacifism was a thing of the past, but this is how Connor knows it for sure. Only Connor would have known about the tether. Only Connor would see this and understand. Starkey would have looked for him in the colony and, upon not finding him, known that Connor would have followed him to try and save the day, only to be beaten to it by a butcher in a child’s body. This is all Connor’s fault.

“I have to stop him,” he says dully.

The words seem to echo in the empty room. Risa looks at him askance. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Of course it is,” Connor tells her. “He did this for me. He knew I’d be watching. He said it himself, didn’t he? Starkey wants to prove that he can save distributes his own way, without having to follow the rules. He wants people to know that following me is a mistake, and he’s willing to kill anyone who gets in his way.”

Risa’s gaze is regretful. Connor hates this, too. He remembers talking with her on the Unwind, telling her he didn’t want to be a leader. If the only other options are Dorian Heartland or Mason Michael Starkey, though, leadership might be thrust upon Connor anyway. Someone has to find a way out of this mess. Seeing as Connor is fairly sure he created this starspawn when he first gained notoriety as the Akron AWOL, Connor feels that he has to be the one to shut him down.

Grace is staring at him questioningly, obviously expecting an answer, but Connor just looks away. He can’t begin to describe any of this, not to a stranger. Not even to himself.

The air outside the security station feels crisp and cold, the burn of smoke thick in the back of his throat. They found the guard Starkey had tortured while walking out; what was left of him, at least. Every time Connor blinks, he hopes that everything will be back to normal when he opens his eyes, but then his vision clears and he’s still here among the refuse and grief of a world burned down. This was supposed to be a butchery of children, now it’s a butchery of the soldiers who would have killed them. Does that make it better, or just a different kind of terrible?

Grace clears her throat. “Well, I’ve got to get off. You just call me if you hear anything about my brother, will you? Post it to that frequency your friend uses again. We can all hear each other on that.”

“We will,” Risa promises, eyeing Connor again.

The two of them watch Grace march purposefully past them in search of more clues. Connor feels his breath catch in his throat. He cannot fix anything in all the worlds, but this–

“Go,” Risa says simply. It’s all the encouragement he needs.

Grace turns around again when she hears Connor bearing down on her. Her expression is curious when she sees him approaching, but it slowly fades to dread when she sees the look on his face.

After that, the only thing to do is talk.

unwind tag list: @reinekes-fox, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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heliads · 5 months

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everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter Thirteen: And Suddenly I Was a Lilac Sky

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Connor doesn’t think he’s felt this big of a sense of relief since he first arrived at the Graveyard. It makes no sense by all accounts. Connor is still adrift in the midst of the galaxy with nothing to save him except a fabricated grounds license. Worse, he knows exactly who’s hunting him, and that Dorian Heartland will let nothing get in between himself and the chase. Even time.

Still, a crushing burden has just been lifted from his shoulders. Now Connor can breathe properly for the first time in a very long time, and it’s all to do with Risa. She’s already insisted on walking around the ship so she can analyze the supplies they have and how long until they run out. She also organized their medical equipment and came up with several ways they can save their own lives should something happen. Stars, it’s like being reborn. At last, at long last, Connor doesn’t have to do this alone anymore. They’ve only been apart for a few short days, but Connor never wants to do it again.

She catches him looking too closely at her while she’s going through a catalog of ship power supplies. “What?” She asks, blushing slightly.

Connor feels his cheeks heat up in sympathy. “Nothing,” he says a little too hastily, “It’s just. Well. It’s nice to see you again.”

When he dares to risk a glance towards her again, Connor is pleased to find her smiling at him. “It’s good to see you again too, Connor,” she tells him.

He lets the easy silence lull him into a state of peace. This is what he’s missed most of all, more even than their long extended conversations. The quiet moments are worth just as much as the loud ones. Connor can let go of everything when he’s with her. More than he should, maybe, but he can’t help it. It’s a gut instinct, a core reflex.

He might have to start guarding himself against it, because Connor has just allowed his brow to clear of tension for the first time since the Graveyard exploded when Risa lays her trap. Slowly, sweetly, she turns to him and asks, “What’s wrong with your arm?”

Instantly, Connor freezes. He tries to play it off like nothing, but he can tell from the sharp glint in Risa’s eyes that she’s been onto him since the very beginning. Connor had tried to hide the evidence of the arm that is not his, keeping the sleeves of his jacket on at all times and forever pivoting to keep his left side turned towards her instead, but of course she would have seen through him from the moment they were reunited. He would be pleased that she knows him so well were it not for the fact that he really doesn’t want her to know this one thing.

“Nothing,” he says as calmly as he can, “Banged it up a little when I was running from the Juvey-cops, but it’s not a big deal.”

Risa arches her brow. “Really? You’d better let me take a look, then.”

She reaches towards his right arm, and Connor practically knocks over his chair from how quickly he yanks the limb away. Risa eyes him questioningly, and there’s no hiding the slow spread of hurt into her expression. Great, now she thinks he doesn’t like her anymore.

“I don’t want to trouble you,” Connor says weakly. “It’s fine, honestly.”

“Connor?” Risa’s voice is both hesitant and firm all at once. “Show me.”

He meets her gaze for one traitorous moment longer, then gives in and slowly pulls the jacket off. The arm that is not Connor’s is exposed, the lines and shading on the shark tattoo even more sickening and gray in the fluorescent lighting of the ship.

Risa recoils. It’s a small movement, and she’s obviously trying to control it, but the damage is done. This is what Connor feared the most, even more than the two of them never reuniting– that he would finally find her again and she would hate him. Connor has the arm of someone who tried to hurt her, who used her as a tool to get to him. Whenever Risa looks at him, she will always see Roland first, Connor second. There will never be a Connor that does not contain some part of a twisted third party.

Risa leans back towards him again. “When did this happen?”

Connor can’t stop his voice from shaking when he thinks about it. “On the Graveyard. When the engines exploded, our arms spliced.”

Risa tilts her head to the side, considering this. “Huh. I didn’t know that was a real thing outside of folk stories.”

“Neither did I,” Connor murmurs, and they both stare at the proof of the thing on Connor’s body. “I tried to get them to fix it,” he adds hurriedly when the silence becomes too much, “When they pulled me out, that is. I asked them to put my arm back on and they wouldn’t do it. I tried, though. I don’t want this.”

The hand on Connor’s wrong right arm clenches traitorously. Both he and Risa stare at it in vague disgust, but when Risa speaks, her tone isn’t cruel or cold at all, but warm and forgiving and Risa, still Risa, always Risa. Even when Connor isn’t Connor, she’s still her.

“This doesn’t matter to me,” she tells him clearly. “I know who you are, Connor. Regardless of the arm. Roland wouldn’t have flown across the galaxy to find me. Your arm might be different, but here–” she touches the side of his temple– “And here–” a trembling hand right over his heart– “It’s still you. That’s what I care about.”

To prove her point, she drops her hand to tap twice against his right forearm, just like they used to do back in the shallow darkness of Cleaver’s ship, just as they have done all this time. Connor smiles weakly back at her, and he does not tell her that it doesn’t feel the same. This arm does not understand the history of the two taps, and it never will.

Connor manages to pull himself out of melancholia by returning to more pressing matters at hand. He’d gotten so caught up in the euphoria of having Risa back that he almost forgot just how he got there, and what promises he made in exchange for this ship, this grounds license, this second chance. Bam and the others back there in the synth-lion’s den would certainly make good on their threat to cut off his grounds license if Connor didn’t rescue the Deadmen at some harvest colony, so he’s got to get to them sooner rather than later. Besides, Connor owes it to Hayden and the rest of his friends to break them out. No AWOL deserves to be distributed.

Connor spent some time on the flight over to Molokai going over the nav and info systems on the ship. He’d managed to pick a good piece of spacecraft to steal, but again, that’s all thanks to his new identity as Elvis Mullard. He’s been able to glean some information on where the distributes of the Graveyard are being kept, but the location isn’t set in stone. Once he finds it out, though, Connor will have to launch an attack to rescue dozens of distributes from a harvest colony designed as a stronghold against assaults exactly like this one. It’ll be a suicide mission, but he’s already sworn to do it. Nothing more to it.

He hadn’t–

He hasn’t told Risa this yet. He kind of feels like he needs to dole out the terrible things he’s done one by one so she doesn’t hate him right off the bat. First, he reveals that he’s got the arm of someone who once plotted to kill them both. Then, he tells her that they’re not going to get to hide away on some deserted planet but head towards a harvest colony instead, the last place either of them want to be. Finally, he admits that the odds he’ll ever make it out alive are slim to none.

Truth be told, he was kind of hoping that he would never have to say all this to Risa, that he could keep this required task hidden from her until he suddenly traipsed up to the ship with a hundred or two distributes in tow, but that’s impossible. All secrets must come out eventually. Risa has a way of finding out the very thing that Connor wants to keep hidden; after all, she’s done it once today, what’s to stop her from digging a little further? If he wants to keep her around, he’ll have to stop hiding things.

Besides, especially if this plan goes south as it surely must, Connor’s going to need to teach Risa the ropes of his newly borrowed spacecraft. Someone’s going to have to fly this ship away from the harvest camp if Connor can’t. Someone’s going to have to have a plan for what to do with liberated Deadmen, especially since the entirety of the Juvenile Authority will be tailing her as soon as they catch wind of what Connor is doing. Risa has always been the responsible one, and suns, he hates to make her do this, but he has no choice. He can’t let his friends get dismembered in a colony where nobody even remembers their name. Not after they kept him hidden from the wrath of the worlds for a year.

Connor is going over activity logs of large shipping cruisers broadcasting Juvenile Authority codes when Risa catches up to him. She slides into a seat next to him, casting a dubious glance towards the holodeck in front of him.

“I knew you were a star jockey, Connor, but even I didn’t think you passed all of your free time looking at ships,” she comments wryly.

Connor forces a smile. “Oh, you know me. Just can’t get enough of them,” he mumbles. Worst part is, despite the sarcasm, it’s actually kind of true. Connor may constantly be flown from one potential death to another, but it’s fascinating to see all of the different kinds of spacecraft up close.

Even when he was breaking into the shipyard with his new grounds license, certain that one bad move would result in him getting dragged back to Dorian Heartland and his freakish patchwork body, he couldn’t help but stare in awe at every different type of shuttle and cruiser locked inside. Unlike the crappy transport depot back on his home planet in OH-10, the amount of wealth on Heartland’s chosen meeting location had been dripping from every available surface. Chrome bedecked every spare inch of those ships, the walls were polished and gleaming, and the engines were strong enough to power a dozen Graveyards for centuries. Stars, he would have loved to spend hours in there, just going over the details of every vessel.

However, getting to Risa had been the top priority, so he’d hurried accordingly. Now, in his chosen getaway ship, Connor has the time to admire both the ships and her, so he does as he pleases.

Risa cracks a grin. “Don’t I know it. Would you like to tell me how you got your hands on this particular ship?”

When Connor remains silent, she sighs and continues on. “Connor, I’m not trying to interrogate you, I just want to know if you’re alright. I know there’s a lot you’re not telling me, but I want to help. I mean, stars, if you didn’t want me you could have just left me on Molokai, right? Let me in. Please.”

Connor’s eyes widen in alarm, and he reaches forward to wrap his hands around hers. He doesn’t miss the way she flinches slightly when Roland’s palm reaches her first, but he also notices how she holds onto that hand even stronger, as if to remind him that she’ll try so long as he does, too. “That’s not true, Risa. I have always wanted you.”

He can’t find the words to argue it fully. He needs Risa like he needs no other. When he was running for his life from Heartland and his men, he was thinking about how much he wanted to see her again. When he was landing on a mysterious planet that looked one strong wind away from falling to pieces, the only thing on his mind was getting to her. When he first saw her running towards him down a desolate alleyway, every thought in his mind had gone blank. It’s Risa and him. Him and Risa forever.

One of her lips quirks up. “Always? Even when I was sneaking onto your stolen ship?”

Connor actually laughs. “Even then. I just didn’t know it yet.”

He knows now. He knows more than he could ever begin to tell her.

She smiles at him for real this time. It makes his heart flip in his chest. Risa capitalizes on his momentary loss of speech to press her advantage. “Then you know to trust me with this. Tell me, Connor. Tell me everything.”

And, despite every neuron in his brain screaming at him otherwise, Connor gives in. He tells her about watching her escape pod disappear into the brilliant blackness of space, of running to the engine room to hide. He tells her about his final confrontation with Roland. He speaks of the explosion, how everything became nothing, and then how he woke up again on a strange planet. He whispers of Dorian Heartland, how there’s finally a face to the faceless governmental entity bent on hunting them down. He tells her about the group of AWOLs he’d met in the bowels of that glittering city, how they gave him a fake grounds license. He talks about sneaking into the shipyard, selecting one of his own, and flying to her.

The telling of it feels as if it must take years. At the end of it, Risa leans back in her seat. She’s quiet for a while, and Connor can’t tell if that’s good or bad. At last, she looks slowly up at him, and asks in crisp and clipped syllables: “What exactly did you promise them? The kids who gave you the license.”

“I don’t want to tell you,” Connor admits.

Risa sighs. “I know.”

They hang there for a moment, suspended in a silence neither of them truly want to break. At last, Risa decides to spare him. “Tell me about the ship,” she says suddenly. “You would have picked this one with a lot of specifics in mind. It’s far bigger than both of us need. Why?”

He senses her angling towards the truth, but this particular diversion works perfectly. “Well, I had to consider several,” he begins, “A lot goes into picking the perfect ship, you know.”

Risa smiles again, indulging him. “Go on.”

Easy to please, Connor does as told. “I couldn’t check out all of the interiors while I was in the shipyard, obviously, but I had time to look around. I chose this one because it had good space and because it had the perfect balance of armor and speed. More than that, it’s a Shadowstar, and one of 909s from that tactical class a few years back. They’re infamous for their camouflage. Excellent for hiding.”

He and Risa exchange significant glances. “Hiding,” she notes. “Not a military ship?”

Connor shakes his head. Although it had been tempting to look at some of the heavily armored warships in there, Connor knew that picking his ship was sort of like picking his fate. He can’t send AWOLs into a battle in good conscience. They’re not generals, they’re just teenagers.

“We can’t fight it,” he says abruptly, “Distribution. Fuck, we’re kids. This is bigger than the galaxy. What can we do?”

“Nothing,” Risa murmurs.

Connor nods, a little too quick, a few too many times. He’s been thinking about this a lot, that much is obvious. Judging by the determined set of Risa’s jaw, he’s not the only one. “Nothing,” he repeats. “The only thing we can do is survive. If we wanted to fight it, we could only ever do something small.”

A realization is dawning on Risa now, an understanding of just why Connor might be doing what he is. “Something small like, for instance, signing us up to crew a spacecraft? One that might get in the path of Juvey-cops hunting AWOLs? One that could be rescuing kids sentenced for distribution, especially if they had friends in technologically savvy places who just happened to bump into you while you were running from Dorian Heartland?”

Connor meets her gaze at last. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”

Risa draws in a breath, sharp and flighty. “Connor, that’s practically suicide. You can’t do that.”

“I can and I will,” he says grimly. “I made a promise. They’ll revoke my grounds license if I don’t keep up my end of the bargain. Besides, I can’t just leave them there. They got Hayden, Risa. They have all of your friends from the medbay. In what world can we just abandon them to their distribution? I know what I have to do, even without the threat of my fake grounds license. I’m going to find the harvest colony where they’ve got the Deadmen and I’m going to break them out. You’ll stay on board to get the ship away, and if you have to, you’ll leave without me. Promise me.”

Risa nods at last, tilting her head up defiantly to meet his gaze. “I promise I’ll let you do this. For our friends.”

Connor’s hands lock up by his sides. “Thank you.”

“I’m not done yet,” Risa continues. “I also promise that I’ll be going with you. There’s no way in sunfire I’m staying on the ship. If you’re going into the colony, I’ll be right by your side.”

Connor shakes his head. “Absolutely not. One of us has to make it out alive.”

Risa, however, is just as obstinate as him. It would be wonderful were it not for the fact that they’re both arguing over Risa’s life. “Both of us or none of us. I’m not leaving you again, Connor. We’re a team.”

“We’re a team,” he whispers faintly. Although he knows he should probably insist that Risa stay behind, some knot of stress releases itself in his chest when he learns that Risa will be with him when they break in. Despite all of his bravado and show, Connor doesn’t want to die alone. At least he will have Risa at the end of it all. Before they do it, though, he should probably tell her that he lov–

She smiles back at him, and even that thought is quickly washed away. “We’re a team,” she repeats.

Risa is far more skilled at research than Connor, and with her help, they’re able to stumble upon a few potential locations for the harvest colony with their friends. They were deliberating between two of them for a while, but then they found a radio transmission talking about a mass distribution and that sealed the deal. The colony is a long way away, and even with hyperspace travel it’ll take them a few days to reach it. That gives them plenty of time.

Connor changes the navigation system to target their new location, then ambles through the ship, testing systems, committing each and every inch of the place to memory. He’s only going to have so much time while all of this is his, after all, he might as well enjoy it.

In order to conserve energy, they have to occasionally slow down from hyperspace travel, using the time between jumps to fly at a regular rate. Although it adds time onto their voyage, it also gives Connor a chance to admire the sights around them. They never get close enough to any planet to risk interacting with the atmosphere, but Connor still watches with awe as they soar past fiery moons that seem more inferno than stable land, massive gas giants that swirl with multi hued storms, and massive city-planets with every surface coated in the blinking lights of a bustling planet-wide metropolis. There is so much more to the galaxy than he could have ever imagined. It would take a hundred lifetimes to explore it all. Somewhere in the secret part of his heart that still hasn’t learned to give up hope, Connor imagines that he might eventually be the one to do it.

At one point, Risa has to interrupt his reverie to ask his help with a mechanical issue. One of the viewing decks on the upper floor has lost gravity controls for some reason. Connor heads up to check it out, but even then, he’s unable to contain his awe. From the moment he pushes his way into the viewing deck, Connor floats, weightless, in a bay of securiglass windows. All around him is shifting, swirling blue, the navy and cerulean and aquamarine of a thousand cosmos.

From somewhere behind him, Risa laughs, probably at the look on his face. “You’ve seen space every day for the last year, Connor,” she teases him, “Surely it got old at some point, right?”

“Never,” he swears. “Look at all of this. I mean, wherever the Graveyard was, we never had this much color. It was all black and white, which was cool too, but this is something else.”

Stars, it’s stunning. Especially with the loss of gravity, it’s like swimming in a massive starsea. Curls of blue and purple nebulae erupt just outside the windows. The light reflects on Connor’s skin, his hands. With the tint, he almost believes that both arms are the same, that he is whole again.

“I mean,” he says quietly, half trailing off into his own head, “Just look at it, Risa. Everything is blue. It’s all so different. It’s all ours.”

Risa had been giggling, but she sobers up now, looking at him like somehow Connor is more impressive than any manner of stars. He pushes off of a nearby window so he can float back to her. For a moment, he’s almost afraid he’ll miss her and have to re adjust, and then they collide. Risa clings onto him by instinct, not wanting to lose contact with him again, but then the pressure fades and they just float there together, suspended by the weightlessness of their own chamber, surrounded by starlight.

“Promise me we can have this again,” she whispers suddenly, “Even after the harvest camp. Promise me we’ll come back and we can just be us again.”

He can’t promise something like that, neither of them can. They both know the risks of this. “I promise,” he says anyway.

She grins up at him. “You won’t let the rush of ordering around all those grateful distributes go to your head?”

Connor chuckles. “Absolutely not. I’ll make Hayden take over. That sort of thing wasn’t meant for me.”

“That surprises me,” Risa hums. “I thought you’d make a good leader. All those kids looked up to you back in the Graveyard, you know that.”

He sighs. “That was just because of the Akron AWOL rumors. They were hoping I’d do something crazy, but I only ever got that nickname because I panicked.”

His mind can’t help but flinch back to memories of Starkey watching him with hungry eyes wherever he went. No, he hopes that never happens again.

“I don’t want this, you know,” he says offhandedly, “I never did. I mean, I used to dream all the time of being on a ship of my own, but never once did I actually want to be captain.”

Risa’s gaze is soft and non-judgmental. “What did you want to be, then?”

“A mechanic,” he says, and laughs so he doesn’t have to look at her anymore. “My dad was one. Every week he’d get shipped up to some frigate or spaceport that needed repairs. He used to tell us all these stories about the crazy systems they had in those things.” Connor’s father had stopped telling those stories a while back, at least while Connor was in the room. He probably should have taken that as a sign.

“Anyway,” he continues hurriedly, clearing his throat, “I always liked the sound of that, I guess. I never wanted to just commute from ground to space, though. Staying on a ship for a longer time seemed pretty cool. It would just be me and the sky. I’d fix things, I’d hang with my crew. Everything would go according to plan.”

He has to physically stop himself from rambling any longer. Despite Connor’s best attempts at seeming like he didn’t have a care in the world back before he kicked-AWOL, he’d dreamed about that sort of life all the time. It was easier than wondering if his parents would ever get disappointed in him enough to actually sign an Unwind order. It was easier than thinking about the fact that they finally did.

Risa doesn’t seem perturbed by this. Instead, she hums in agreement under her breath. “I’d like it if things could go according to plan. And I’d especially like it if I could just spend time with friends without anyone interfering.”

Connor barks out a harsh, almost painful laugh. “Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Risa admits, “but we can see about that. We might have time for crazy once we’re eighteen.”

Connor goes silent. Worse things have happened in his life than getting his hopes up for something that’s probably never going to happen. He reaches over and takes Risa’s hand. She lets him. In their hollow of the ship, two teenagers linger in relative peace and quiet, and for once, the universe lets them be happy.

a/n posted ten minutes before midnight still counts as posting on time if i only specify the chapter release date 🤩

unwind tag list: @reinekes-fox, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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heliads · 6 months

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everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter Nine: Stay Whole

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Connor is used to the routine. It keeps him sane. It keeps him whole. He wakes in the morning and he sleeps in the evening. The schedule may be arbitrary, oriented around a central sun somewhere light years away from him as required by Coreworld standards, but it makes sense. Connor has just enough energy to get through his day without dragging, and when he closes his eyes each night, he’s so exhausted that he can travel through the dark hours in mostly dreamless sleep. The repetition is clinical. It keeps him grounded, or as much as it can when he’s locked in a tin can stuck somewhere in space.

Connor tells himself that having each day be damn near identical is good for him. He believes it at least half the time. When he’s stuck trying and failing to get various ship systems to function properly for the billionth day in a row, the message is a little harder to get across, but it’s better that Connor sees it through than not. He and Risa celebrated one year since their arrival in the Graveyard last week, so it’s not like his blind hatred is really going to do anything to get him out of here any faster.

After all, it may be a little bit mindless, going through the same day over and over again, but at least it’s safe. Out there in the never ending galaxy, there are always new turmoils and bigger troubles. Connor isn’t actively running for his life. Hiding is more efficient, and you die at least twice as infrequently.

At this point, Connor is pretty sure that he could do the whole day in his sleep. He wakes, he eats, he tells Risa to have fun in the med wing so he can see that adorable glare she gives him every time. Connor waits in the crux of the corridor in which they part ways so he can watch her go until she disappears out of sight, and then he turns and goes his own merry way towards the engineering sector. Once there, he’ll toil among stardust or spanner wrenches until the day is done, stopping only for a quick midday meal before throwing himself back into his latest project.

Finally, Hayden’s voice will sound over the ship intercom system, announcing that the day’s work is over. Then, and only then, can Connor join the teeming mass of other Deadmen to get the final meal of the day. No one likes lingering in their workplace longer than they have to, so the corridors are always a sprawling mess of kids going every direction so long as it’s away. Even still, Connor manages to find Risa in mere moments every time. No matter how many distributes are surrounding them, each and every day Connor turns around to spot her instantly across the crowd. It’s the easiest thing in the worlds, somehow. Finding her. He knows her like he knows himself.

And so Connor has become accustomed to the cycle, the cycle that never ends. He gets up and he gets older. He’s taller, maybe; he’d like to think so, at least. He told Risa that once and she told him he was kidding himself, like she knew better. He’d asked her why she would be such an expert on his appearance and she just blushed and looked away. Connor has hopes as to why that happened. They’re probably not true, of course, but what else are hopes for except to want too much too fast?

The little things, the offhand conversations, make the days better anyway. Connor knows how to fix the parts and walk the halls, but the people change from day to day, they always change. Sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. But they’re always different.

Connor reckons he can tell the good differences from the bad ones. He’d know it in a flash, probably, like a spy from one of those old action movies he used to love as a kid. A man in a dark suit, walking into a room, pausing to whip off his sunglasses and announce ominously: Someone’s been here. I can feel it.

Connor thinks he feels it now. There’s an unsteady lurch to the recycled air pumping out around him. Connor’s fixed it up enough times to recognize the hum of the beaten motor inside. It’s working fine, though, so that’s not it. Maybe the lights– are some out? No, the glow is steady, if a little dim, but that’s just because they’ve been running on reduced power for a month or so now to try and conserve supplies. Connor thinks, and then– and then he knows.

The Graveyard is quiet, and it is the quiet more than anything that tells Connor it’s finally over. He’s had a long and varied history with trouble, and after several offenses, Connor recognizes the pattern as it repeats itself. It’s quiet first. It’s always quiet first. The quiet makes you let down your guard, and that’s when they strike. Always. Even now, on a cruiser in the outer reaches of space somewhere not even Connor knows. Things will always end the same, and they will always end badly.

(Later, he will find out that they used signal cloakers, which had the added effect of not only muting their presence to any Graveyard scanners but also beginning the preliminary shutdown of the Graveyard systems themselves. The quiet can be explained scientifically, but that does not change the way it felt, nor the fact that Connor should have known it was coming. There is no hiding from Them. Even if you run from the shuttle destined for a distribution colony, even if you spit in the eye of the Collective with your little contraband radio show, even if you’re the starsforsaken Akron AWOL himself, you’re still a filthy unwind, and that means They’ll always find you. He knows this. He thought he could be the exception anyway. Everyone does.)

The Graveyard is quiet, and the Graveyard is doomed. Connor slinks into the corridor outside, a wrench slack in his hand from where he’d been trying to fix up an old recirculation unit in the back of one of the engine rooms. He wanders aimlessly for a little bit, not sure what he’s looking for, just that he needs to find it. It, which he will recognize when he sees it.

Connor turns a corner and then he knows. He freezes in place in front of a large window. The glass is dingy with the faded dust of asteroids that disintegrated in the empty space around them decades ago, if not centuries, but the panel is still clear enough that Connor can still see through it to the score of warships outside. Their exterior lights aren’t on, not yet, in fact, they’re still pulling off their camouflage settings so they can ripple into view, but Connor has spotted them anyway, and he knows what they are even without the extra identification. This is the Collective. This is the end.

The shout that rises from his throat is louder than anything Connor has heard before, guttural and emanating from deep within him. “They’re here!”

At first, no one responds, and then the first kid pokes his head out a nearby door, looks at Connor then past him through the window, and his eyes bulge like he’s been strangled. “Juveys!” He shouts, and then another kid appears behind him, and another, and another.

The message spreads like wildfire, and then a thousand footsteps echo in the hallway, a swarm of synth-bees leaving a burning nest. Maybe Connor shouldn’t have done it like this, maybe he shouldn’t have caused a mass panic, but he figures everyone should have as much time as they can to put their lives in order and prepare for the worst. If he had kept his mouth shut, someone else would have looked out the window soon enough anyway. It might as well have been him to end their world.

Connor pauses for one last moment, drinking in the sight of his soon-to-be killers, then remembers himself and tears off down the hallway towards the nav center. It’s slow going at first, as he pushes through crowds of terrified distributes, but then they clear up and he can run again, forcing himself to go faster than he ever has before in the name of trying to do something, anything, to delay the inevitable.

The nav kids are pacing back and forth, and they all flinch when Connor throws open the door. One of them starts to ask timidly what the fuss is about, but Connor cuts him off, fighting for breath even as he spits out the words.

“Juveys outside,” he gasps, “At least a dozen ships. Too many for us to fight. We have to go.”

Even as he says it, Connor knows it’s pointless. There’s no way in sunfire this ship can move. It’s become bloated with temporary fixes to constant problems, continuously smoothed over just to break back open again. With this many kids on board, with the fact that it hasn’t been used to actually fly in decades, the chance of it moving more than the length of one teenager lying down is abysmal.

The kids exchange nervous glances. They know it too, don’t they? There’s no way any of them are making it out. “This thing hasn’t tried to fly any distance since before we got here,” one of them starts nervously.

“Well, it’s this or distribution,” Connor says, and the color drains from their faces. “Try anyway. We have no other choice.”

They spring to attention, hurrying to the banks of controls in front of them. The oldest, clearly the one in charge, flicks several switches, calling out directions to the others. They all work with urgency, good for them, but even their focus won’t be enough to convince what’s essentially a self-contained colony to make a jump between star systems. Nothing can save them. Not even hope.

After several failed attempts, the leader looks up, shaking his head sorrowfully. “We don’t have enough power from the engines. Nothing we can do.”

Connor lets out a particularly vicious string of swears. “Thanks for trying, though. I mean it.”

The leader takes a hesitant step towards Connor. “What do we do, then? If we can’t move?”

Connor feels sick to his stomach as he takes in the expectation in the faces surrounding him. Even after facing the truth that they cannot fly away, that there are more than a dozen fully stocked warships of Juvey-cops surging ever closer to them, these kids still think that Connor can come up with a master plan to get them all out alive and intact.

“Why do you think I would know?” He asks bitterly.

A girl next to him lifts a shoulder. “You did it before, right? You got away from the cop back in OH-10. You’re the Akron AWOL.”

“That was one guy,” Connor says desperately. “And it’s not– Look, there’s nothing I can do against that many cops. Get as many kids as you can into the escape pods. If they leave before you can get on one, hide. Maybe they’ll pass over you.”

It sounds absurd even as he says it. There are escape pods on the ship, but not enough, not nearly enough, and there’s no way that the Juvey-cops are going to let anyone go. They’ll be scouring this ship for weeks. No kid can hold out that long. They’re just kids. Just kids who wanted to be alive. What a terrible crime indeed.

Connor is saved from the burden of having to watch their expressions crumble when the entire ship shakes. He nearly loses his balance and has to cling onto a nearby table to stabilize himself. Other kids who weren’t as light on their feet go sprawling, joining the debris on nearby desks in an untidy mess on the floor.

There’s a brief hissing from the intercom system, and then a grown man who definitely isn’t Hayden starts to speak. “This is Officer Reed of the Juvenile Authority. On behalf of the Collective, this ship is now under our control. Come out quietly and no further harm will come to you.”

The man’s cool tone does nothing to assuage the fear on the faces of the distributes around Connor, obviously, because despite his promise that none of them will be harmed, they’re still definitely going to get distributed after this. The other kids stare back at him, and Connor takes one last moment to memorize their faces, the way this room looks, because odds are he’s not going to see it again.

“Run,” Connor repeats urgently, and throws himself out the door and into the hallways, which are even more chaotic than before. He’s got to get to Risa, got to find her first. Once they’re together, they can figure something out. They always do.

Connor forces himself through throngs of people. The crowds are becoming unmanageable as so many Deadmen realize that they really are, at last, about to die in every way that a person can die bar one hypothetical exception. His feet are trampled about a dozen times in a second, and when a hatch at the far end of the hall opens up to reveal the silhouettes of rows of Juvey-cops ready to board their shuttle, the insanity only becomes worse.

Suddenly, everyone’s pushing and shoving each other in an effort to get away. Connor tries to keep his head above the fray, but he’s continuously pushed back and down. He might get pulled underneath if this gets any worse, but just as he has this terrible thought, someone reaches through the crowd and yanks him to the wall of the corridor, out of the way of the main surge.

“Thanks,” Connor gasps.

Glancing up, he realizes that Hayden was the one to save him. He frowns. “What in the worlds are you doing over here? The ComBom is on the other side of the ship.”

Hayden just sighs, gesturing for Connor to keep moving. “I was called away about half a standard hour ago so I could help some of the security kids. They said they picked up some strange readouts overnight and they couldn’t figure out what they were. Someone thought they were from my show, but it wasn’t me. I think someone else sent out a broadcast behind my back, but they weren’t too good at keeping their tracks hidden.”

Connor’s stomach drops. “You think that’s how they found us? Someone tried to reach out a little too far?”

Hayden’s face is ashy even in the weak light of the crowded corridor. “I recognized the signature, Connor. It was from the ComBom. Maybe even from my computer. It wasn’t me, though. I swear it wasn’t me. I’m always careful.”

“I believe you, man,” Connor assures him, but on the inside his mind is abuzz with this new information.

If not Hayden, then who? None of the kids in the ComBom would be stupid enough to send out any broadcast without thoroughly vetting it to make sure it wouldn’t give them away. It would have to be someone else, someone who was less familiar with the equipment so they wouldn’t know how to keep everyone safe. Someone who maybe didn’t even care about keeping the rest of them safe so long as they could send out their message and really stick it to the man. Someone who would have learned just enough about how to work the radio systems through word of mouth, or, for instance, eavesdropping in a hallway while Hayden talked to Connor and Risa about it.

“Starkey,” Connor gasps out in the midst of a thunderous realization, “It was Starkey. He must have heard us talking. Damned runners are always trying to learn all our secrets. He listened in and thought he could one up your little show with his own message.”

Hayden swears, although half of it is drowned out with the calamitous roar of the warships surrounding them. A kid is screaming somewhere behind them, yelling bloody murder like they’re actually distributing him on the spot. Connor doesn’t dare turn around to check if they are.

“Gotta be him,” Hayden agrees, yanking Connor down a nearby hallway so they can start to shake the crowd, “None of my guys in there would have done something so stupid as that. We always checked what we sent out to make sure it couldn’t get traced back to us. Always.”

Connor risks a glance towards his friend and feels another wave of grief wash over him at the sight of the look in Hayden’s eyes. The blond boy has always been upbeat, always quick to a joke, but right now, he looks totally destroyed. Even if Hayden wasn’t the one to send out the one transmission that led the Juvenile Authority to the Graveyard, it was still done on his machines, in his precious ComBom. It may not have been his hands to reveal them, but it was his fault nonetheless. Months, if not years, of being careful, of never letting the Juveys know where they are, and it’s all over now for Starkey’s one bright, bold moment of fame. What a way to go.

Something rocks the Graveyard again, sending both boys tumbling against the corridor wall. “Must be the nav kids trying to get us moving again,” Connor says, wincing as he prods a quickly forming bruise on his hip. “I told them to run, but there’s nowhere for us to go. They’re doing the best they can.”

“I can help too,” Hayden breaks in. “The ComBom is not far from here, I can get on and try to tell kids what to do.”

Connor shakes his head. “That’s a pointless risk. It’s chaos in here anyway, a few directions won’t save anyone. The soldiers are going to go for the ComBom first, you know that. You’ll get caught in seconds.”

Hayden’s mouth is a thin grim line. Connor wonders how it could have ever smiled before. “I have to, Connor. Let me make this right.”

Connor wants to persuade him otherwise, but he knows it’s a lost cause. Hayden will never forgive himself for letting that one transmission pass by him. If he thinks staying behind will make things right, who is Connor to take that from him?

“Alright,” he says at last, “But stay safe, Hayden. Make it to one of the escape pods. Promise me that. The galaxy needs more Radio Free Hayden.”

“Don’t I know it?” Hayden cracks wryly. A ghost of a grin flickers over his lips, perhaps the last one he’ll ever get, and then he takes off down a nearby hallway and is gone for good. Connor has no idea if he’ll see the blond again. He hopes to the stars themselves he will, and not in parts of someone else.

Having lost Hayden, Connor’s main priority will now be getting to Risa. He runs along, dodging around the madness surrounding them. The nav kids are trying to pull away from the Juvey-cop shuttles, but making the Graveyard move at all is a hopeless cause. Every bit of energy directed to the engines, every inch they crawl along, just serves to tear the cruiser apart from the inside out. The lights are flickering more than ever, and smoke is starting to fissure out of some of the vents as he passes by.

The destruction is only aided by the Juveys. They’ve swarmed into the corridors by now, dragging kids off to their ships. The Deadmen are putting up a fight as best they can, grabbing parts of pipes and wrenches to use as weapons, but there’s nothing they can do against that much firepower. Connor catches a glimpse of one officer aiming a tranq gun at one of the older kids who used to guard the Admiral. The kid dodges and the blast goes into a nearby instrument panel, sending up a shower of sparks.

Each pull of a trigger sends Connor’s heartbeat to new, dizzying levels. When he passes a girl unconscious on the side of the hall, he drags her to safety. He checks her face at least five times to make sure she’s not Risa, but even after he keeps running, Connor is not entirely sure that he hasn’t just abandoned her by accident. The roar of sound around him makes him dizzy, unable to think clearly. He’s going to get himself killed if he doesn’t– if he can’t–

A hand on his arm. Connor whips around, ready to fight off a soldier, but it’s her, it’s Risa, and he can breathe again. Forgetting himself for a moment, Connor clutches her to him, one hand against the back of her head, another pulling her close. For this one brief and glorious instant, he’s got her tucked against him, he can hear her heartbeat, cool as ever, against his own, and he thinks that he might just make it out alive.

A round of gunfire too close to them makes him startle away again. Even still, he can’t stop himself from looking over her constantly to make sure she’s not injured. “You’re alright?” He asks.

Risa nods, although she looks a little shaky. “For now, at least. We have to get out of here, the Juveys are everywhere.”

Connor sees no problem with that. As if he’d just heard them, the intercom system crackles to life above their heads and Hayden’s voice rings out like an avenging angel. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Graveyard, it’s been an honor to live with you. I want to invite you all to get on the escape pods located along the southern and eastern edges of the ship. I hope we see each other again soon, and until then, stay whole. Hayden, signing out.”

He’s gone in another loud rush of static, and thus the Deadmen are abandoned to their fates. “He said it too late,” Risa mutters sadly. “Most of the pods will be gone by now. There aren’t nearly enough for everyone.”

“I know,” Connor says back. It’s all he can do. “Let’s hurry over now, though. Maybe some will still be there when we arrive.”

Distributes are disappearing by the second. Connor yanks kids out of the way of rogue tranq shots as he goes, but he can’t go up against the soldiers teaming up in groups of three or four to pull Deadmen down the corridors and into their awaiting ships. There’s nothing he can do to fix this, but that does not stop the relentless surge of guilt from boiling in his chest.

“Wait,” Connor says, skidding to a stop as a terrible thought occurs to him, “The Admiral. We have to get the Admiral.”

Risa shakes her head sorrowfully. “He’s a traitor to the Collective, Connor. They won’t be giving him a stern talking-to or something like that. We can’t help him any more than he can help us.”

Connor’s mouth feels dry. “That’s why we need to get to him, though.”

Risa looks away. “Connor. It’s too late.”

He follows her gaze back down the corridor to see a squad of Juvey-cops breaking down the door to the Admiral’s office. There are shouts that turn into a terrible, drawn-out scream, and then the resounding bang of one final gunshot and everything turns quiet again. Risa was right. It was too late, and now the Collective has taught a lesson to the Admiral and anyone within their ranks who thinks about trying to save kids from distribution: take them away from their fates, and they’ll deliver you to yours faster than you expect.

The squad appears in the doorway again, scanning the corridor in an almost mechanical motion, and then one of them spots Connor and Risa and points, “There!”

The cops start to run in their direction, which is all the goading Connor needs to stop wavering and start moving again. He grabs Risa by the hand so they don’t get separated in the chaos and they take off, moving as fast as they can despite the chunks of debris now littering the floor. Everywhere around him, Connor hears terrified yells, the shattering of equipment. It’s carnage out there. No one’s getting killed, but kids are vanishing anyway, dragged into the bowels of the Juvey ships.

Everyone here thought they could escape distribution, but this is the grim reminder that no one ever can. Some ferals have spent years on this ship. They probably thought they could make it, but no more. Never again will they be stupid enough to dream of survival.

As they draw closer to the eastern edge of the ship, Connor picks up the pace. The number of kids has dramatically increased, and Connor can see fights breaking out not just between distributes and Juveys but among the Deadmen themselves. Kids who used to be best friends are shoving each other to the ground in an effort to make it to the few remaining escape pods.

Even from here, Connor can tell that they’re running out fast. “Down here,” he blurts out, pulling Risa into a side corridor, “We can cut around to the back edge of the sector. Maybe there are still some left.”

They race down the corridor, pausing briefly at the end so Connor can tap into a control panel and check on the status of the escape pods. Judging by the rows of blanks, most are gone, but there’s still two left on the very end, single seaters that have been neglected by the rest of the kids because they’re just far enough out of the main thoroughfare so as to avoid detection by the stampedes of desperate teenagers.

The two of them duck around a corner, rejoining the sector with the pods. Connor can make out the bays for the two remaining pods; they’re hidden in a shadowy crevice of the sector, but still there, and that means there’s still a chance for them to make it out alive.

The rest of the sector is in chaos, but Connor isn’t looking. He’s got tunnel vision now, able to think about two things and two things only: one, the escape pods, still waiting in their bays, and two, Risa’s hand on his, reminding him that she’s still here, still with him. That’s all he needs. All he’s ever needed. He has lived two lives in the past sixteen years, first a child in a home that was never truly his and then this, now, a runaway distribute with a girl who wanted him like no one ever had. If he wants to survive, he’ll have her. He has to have her.

They skid to a stop in front of the two pods. “You first,” Connor says, opening up one of the pods and helping her inside.

There’s just enough room for one person to sit, but they’ll be able to follow each other down to the nearest planet surface, plus the comms systems should be functional, so they can talk if something goes wrong. The engineers have ensured that the escape pods work properly, there are mandatory checkups every month, so there’s no issue there. They just need to get in, that’s all, but they’re already here, and no one has noticed them yet, so it should be fine.

Once Risa’s in her pod, Connor reaches in to help fasten her in. She allows him to set up the nav system, but once he tries to do much more than that, she bats his hands away. “I can figure out the rest. Get in,” she tells him.

He manages a half smile. “So bossy.”

She rolls her eyes, but her returning smile is taut with nerves. “I’ll let you complain all you like once we’re out of here.”

Connor nods and pulls away, but before he can access his own escape pod, there’s a loud juddering of machinery and large chunks of the ceiling start to rain down, sending metal panels tumbling to the ground. Connor hits the floor immediately, rolling away just in time to dodge a particularly sharp section.

The sharp tang of copper fills the air, but other than a few mild scratches, Connor’s not hurt badly. The same cannot be said for everyone here; several of the teenagers who were fighting over the few remaining escape pods earlier are lying motionless on the ground now, crushed beneath chunks of steel. The kids they’d been fighting with stand over their bodies, horrified, then rush back to the pods, now with significantly fewer defenders than there had been just moments before.

Risa cries out in fear, and Connor doggedly pulls himself up. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he mutters, although from the way his head is ringing, that might not be entirely true.

He’ll have time to sort out his injuries, though. If you’re going to strand yourself in the farthest reaches of the galaxy, it’s not a bad thing to have an expert healer like Risa out there with you. He just has to get into his pod, and then he can slump against the seat and try not to pass out before he lands.

Connor forces himself to his feet, and his vision is so spotty that it takes a few moments for the black dots to clear from his sight, and a few more seconds after that to come to terms with what he’s seeing. Or, more specifically, what he isn’t seeing. Connor had been able to dodge that chunk of the ceiling panel that had come so close to killing him, but the pod hadn’t been able to move, and it had been thoroughly wrecked.

Escape pods are meant to take a wide variety of blows, all part of space travel, but that’s when they’re sealed off from the elements. This one had been open and awaiting a passenger, but now it’s only host to a smoking pile of metal, which has sliced cleanly through the control panel that controls both nav systems and life support. There’s no way in all the worlds it can fly anymore, which means– which means–

Which means Connor isn’t getting out of here anymore. Risa leaned out of her seat to see what he was looking at, and the second she sees the sparking mess of what was supposed to be Connor’s ticket out of here, her face crumbles to pieces.

She starts trying to stand up and get out, but she’d already fastened the harness, and her hands are shaking so badly that the clasps refuse to undo themselves. “No. No. Connor, get in here. We can both fit. It’ll work out. We can still both make it.”

Connor shakes his head. “They’re designed for one passenger. We’ll run out of air.”

Risa glares at him, but the tear tracks on her face ruin any impression of hostility. “If we suffocate, at least we’ll be together. Don’t you leave me, Connor. Not after everything.”

Connor doesn’t realize he’s crying until his hand touches his face and comes back wet. “It’s okay, Risa. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” she argues. “None of this is okay. We were supposed to make it out. It was supposed to be us.”

Risa finally manages to get the harness off, but Connor slams his hand onto the control panel outside the pod, locking the door shut. Risa pounds her fist against the glass, but this, unlike the interior of Connor’s escape pod, was designed not to break, and it holds firm.

“Thank you,” he says over the thunder of her fists on the hatch, “Thank you for everything, Risa. Live your life, alright? Make it a good one.”

He presses another button on the escape pod, shutting it off from the ship and beginning exit protocol. Once the pod seals, Connor can’t hear her anymore, can’t tell when her screams turn to a broken, pleading goodbye except by watching her lips. The pod finishes disengaging from the ship and launches itself into space. Connor watches Risa pull away from him, and then she’s gone, and Connor is on his own for the first time in more than a year.

He rocks back on his heels. This is it, then. This is how he goes. He turns to a nearby control panel and repeats what he’d done before to check for any more pods, just in case, but only turns up blanks. All of the escape vehicles have launched, and there are no more shuttles or smaller ships on the cruiser. Everyone left in the Graveyard will die or be distributed. A ghost of a memory in his head, a laughing voice: which is worse?

Connor still isn’t entirely sure of the answer, but he doesn’t have to decide now, he doesn’t. He can still hide. Connor is great at hiding. He’s done it for the last year, and even if they’ve found the Graveyard, the soldiers won’t know every last nook and cranny, not like he does. They won’t risk blowing the cruiser to pieces either, the explosion would probably incinerate their ships as well.

An idea is blossoming in Connor’s head, a terrible death wish born of this last twist of fate. Connor begins moving again, walking then running towards the engine room. The ship is tearing itself to pieces at this point, unable to stand against the combined threat of the guns of the Juvey-cop warships outside and the nav kids’ unsuccessful attempts to fly away. Several times, Connor attempts to head down one corridor only to find it blocked off by mountains of rubble.

He keeps having to dodge Juveys, but they’re easy enough to shake. The cops are moving slower now, taking their time. They know there’s nowhere any of them can go. It’s like trapping synth-rats in a rotting house. The floorboards can be burned away, the carcass of their hideaway ripped to pieces. The vermin will always be found.

The engine room is worse off than anywhere else in the Graveyard. Connor has to fling an arm over his mouth, instantly doubled over and coughing on the fumes. Something’s leaking, maybe fuell, which doesn’t bode well. Connor is here to hide, but his hiding space shouldn’t kill him, too.

No Juveys linger in the engine room. They’re cocky, but not that stupid. The whole ship is tearing itself to pieces, the last place anyone rational would go is the room with the power sources. If the engines were to stall and implode, the subsequent reaction wouldn’t just tear the Graveyard to bits, it would take out those warships, too, and every soldier of the Juvenile Authority on board. No one wants to mess around here, which makes it perfect. All Connor has to do is lie low long enough to wait out the cops, even if it takes days, and then crawl out long enough to send a distress signal. He can figure this out. He can still make it.

Pulling the neck of his shirt over his nose and mouth to avoid the bite of the fumes, Connor plunges further into the engine room. All of the overhead lights are out, leaving only the beeping pinpricks of the panels near the engines themselves. The machinery in here is massive, practically the entire height of the cruiser. Connor climbs up the precarious structures in search of a spot no one will look at. At least if Juveys come in here, he can see them coming and try to avoid their gaze.

Just as he has this thought, a silhouette appears in the doorway. In the darkness of the engine room, Connor can’t make out if they’re a kid or a cop. If it’s a Juvey, Connor can probably run before the soldier drags him off. There’s no chance of remaining hidden since the guy obviously followed him in, but Connor might be able to give him the slip in these shadows.

“Just a moment, officer,” Connor shouts, still squinting to make out details on the guy’s face, “I don’t want to be locked away quite yet. Give a guy a few more minutes of freedom, will you?”

“I’m not a cop,” the stranger chides, and Connor feels his body start to lock up.

The boy stalking into the room certainly isn’t a cop, he’s Roland. Somehow, some of the last few Deadmen left alive on the cruiser include himself and Roland, and of course the older boy has taken it upon himself to track down Connor. What a great use of his last moments whole.

“What do you want? A friendly conversation before we’re both dismembered?” Connor asks, moving even more frantically than before.

“I don’t want to talk,” Roland drawls, and Connor swears he’s halved the distance between them in the time it took to blink. Connor can barely hear the guy moving over the clanging of the machinery behind him, which isn’t good.

He peers over the lip of the structure he’s on and sees Roland clambering up the machinery after him, eyes locked in blind hatred on Connor’s form. “What’s your plan, Connor?” Roland shouts up. “Going to hide until they went away? Like that’ll work.”

“It’s this or distribution, you tell me which is worse. I can pull this off, have some faith.” Connor calls back, but his voice wavers.

Roland cackles, sensing the hesitation in his voice. “Are you sure? Do you really think you can outsmart an entire army of Juvey-cops? And either way, are you just going to ignore every other kid they’re dragging off out there? I thought you really cared.”

Connor scoffs, still backing away down the narrow walkway surrounding the machinery. He swears the thunder of noise from the hall outside is getting louder, but maybe that’s just the panic setting in. “It’s sweet of you to care about my conscience. What, do you want to team up and stop all of our little friends from dying?”

“I’m not interested in their deaths,” Roland spits, “Just yours.”

Connor wheels around again, panicked, just in time for Roland to strike him across the face. Connor slams against the control panel, which probably does more to sabotage the ship than any of the chaos from before.

Roland’s face is barely recognizable in the dark. Connor can only make out harsh planes of his countenance as Roland looms over him. “This is our last shot, Connor. I’m taking you out before I go. Consider it revenge.”

Oh, this is bad. This is bad. Connor flees, but already reeling from the collapsing ceiling in the eastern sector, plus the punch, plus the darkness, he trips almost immediately on the thin railing of the walkway and bites it.

Roland laughs somewhere above him. “On the ground already? And here I thought you were a fighter.”

“Stop talking,” Connor grimaces, one hand rising to clutch at his aching head while the other helps push him up and off of the floor.

Roland, surprisingly, does as told, and the walkway rattles as he heads towards Connor again. The older boy swings again, but Connor manages to duck this time, and he hears the whoosh of air moving as Roland’s fist glides through empty air.

It occurs to Connor now that Roland is just as blind as he is. Neither of their eyes have adjusted yet, so even though Connor is struggling to see a thing, Roland is no better off. He surges forward, knocking into Roland, and manages to drive a fist against his nose.

Roland yells, crashing backwards into the railing. Connor can taste blood in the air again, so it must have been a good hit. When Roland speaks again, his voice is funny, so maybe he even managed to break a bone. “Oh, you’ll pay for that, starspawn.”

Connor readies himself for another blow, but instead of aiming another punch at Connor’s shifting silhouette, Roland grabs something from his belt. The faint light from the beeping buttons on a nearby instrument panel casts just enough light that Connor can see the glint of a metal barrel in his hand and he realizes with a sickening lurch that Roland is holding a gun.

“Now you’re not the only one to have shot a Juvey with his own tranq,” Roland hisses. “I grabbed a souvenir too. Only, this one isn’t a tranq. I got the real deal.”

Connor’s eyes widen in the dark of the engine room. He had wondered if Roland would have the stomach to actually kill him, but a shot in the dark wouldn’t take as much guts. All this kill would require is the pull of a trigger, and anyone with flighty reflexes can do that.

Connor flings himself backwards, scurrying further into the darkness. If he could just shake Roland long enough to get away, if he could just get out of range of that awful gun– The weapon goes off, sending a bullet flying off the walkway and into the endless shadow below them.

“Careful with that,” Connor scolds, “These engines are on the verge of blowing up anyway. One bad shot and you’ll kill us all.”

“I’ll hit you next, not the engines,” Roland threatens, and gives chase once more.

Connor peers back over his shoulder when the footsteps on metal stops, and it registers that Roland can’t run and fire the gun at the same time. If he pauses, it means he’s readying to shoot again. Connor flings himself down, feeling the smooth chill of the metal walkway against his cheek. Seconds later, another bullet flies overhead, but this one doesn’t go off towards the ground. Instead, it whistles towards the overheating engines, punching a hole in several of the connective pipes as it goes.

“You idiot, you’re going to blow this place up,” Connor yells.

This only serves to give Roland a better idea of where he is in the shifting blackness, and another round shoots by, even closer than before. This one doesn’t just strike pipes, though, it goes directly into the roaring machinery itself. This one is bad.

Connor has about half a second to understand just how bad it is before the explosion begins. It’s that one moment of silence, again, in which it all ends. Connor has just enough time to wonder how he keeps getting so close to finding his way out just for another sour twist of fate to take it all away, and then the engine behind him ruptures and Connor loses track of the walkway beneath him. All is open air.

Roland is falling too, he thinks. They collide midway through the descent. Roland’s grip on him is heavy, impossible to escape. A voice by his ear, hot and guttural: “If I die, you’re dying with me,” and then the explosion consumes them both and Connor can’t think about anything else.

The engines of the Graveyard are unusual. The Deadmen in charge of maintenance have taken to outsourcing power as much as they can in an effort to maintain the central engine system as long as possible. Some power comes from solar panels, others from various electrical and chemical systems throughout the ship. The engines, though, make up most of it. Derived from hugely capable power cores, they keep a behemoth like the Graveyard functional even decades after it was initially created.

They’ve also been suffering from extreme wear for far too long. This means that bullets shot through the regulators will finally allow the pent up energy to expand quite rapidly, triggering a reaction that could consume the entire engine room in seconds flat. It wouldn’t just be a typical fiery explosion, it would be laced with nuclear remnants and quantum particles. It would melt the very divisions between elements. In the case of two boys falling together, some of their limbs and organs would separate during the first onslaught of radiation and then reattach almost instantaneously. Most of that would be done correctly, but mistakes might be made here or there.

Mistakes, for instance, like a genetic mutation, an arm recoupling with the wrong person. A boy loses a shark tattoo and another gains it. An arm for an arm, a life for a life. When they collide with the ground, one dies on impact and the other survives. Some time later, when the radiation has sufficiently cleared away and soldiers can be sent out from scout ships to survey the wreckage and collect bodies, they’ll find that the boy they were looking for, the one they were specifically directed to collect, somehow stayed alive. The very explosion that destroyed the Graveyard has used the other boy’s life force to keep this one alive.

They pull him out and put him in a medical cubicle to heal quickly. Even still, they won’t be able to solve the mystery of why Connor Lassiter’s right arm is no longer his, but of all the worlds to struggle with someone having pieces that aren’t theirs by birth, this is the most welcoming. If you think about it, it’s kind of like the universe decided to distribute Roland’s arm to Connor during the supernova of the exploding power core. Someone bigger than any of them out there in the galaxy knew that it would be more important that one of them stay alive, that Connor keep that piece of Roland. Something knew that the reshuffling of body parts would be necessary. Isn’t that what Connor has been fighting all along?

Ah, well. He’ll have plenty of time to grapple with that when he wakes up. If, of course, he does.

a/n: sorry for the delay, i have been super stressed with the engineering workload. technically, this is posted at 11:45 pm so it's still thursday right haha? anyway i hope you enjoyed and none of you are worried about our guys!!

unwind tag list: @schroedingers-kater, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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heliads · 6 months

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everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter Eight: Time Must Pass

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Risa Ward planned on living in the Graveyard as long as she could, but that doesn’t make it any more enjoyable. It’s been what, more than half a standard year by now, if not getting close to a full turn by Centerworld standards, and the days keep stretching out, one by one into hundreds. This is what survival is really like, not one grand and glorious battle but a slow thing, hiding in back corners and watching the time pass as a mute observer. Risa knows this, but it doesn’t make the tedium of it all any easier to stomach.

She tries to be a good sport about it all, though. She won over the other kids working in the med wing by sheer utility. After their shifts let out, they’ll often sit around talking about their old lives. Risa stays quiet most of the time, listening to the others discuss school trips or offworld voyages.

The State Home back on OH-10 didn’t have the budget for any unnecessary expenditures, obviously, so she doesn’t have much to tell them, but it’s still interesting to listen to their stories and imagine what it might have been like to grow up in that way. If her parents hadn’t given her up, if Risa hadn’t gotten a bad draw in the luck of life and actually had a childhood where people wanted her as more than just a sum of parts, maybe she too could have stories to tell about growing up with friends and family who liked having her around.

None of these kids had that, though, not really. In the end, despite their new toys at birthdays, stellar report cards, and everlasting athletic victories, they were all discarded and sentenced to distribution. Nothing off of their highlight reel was ever enough to save them.

In the end, that’s Risa’s saving grace. Maybe she didn’t have a heavenly upbringing, but when people talk about her, they won’t just mention her childhood. The stories will come from what she still has yet to do. Risa doesn’t know where she’s going, if she’ll even make it to eighteen or find a fulfilling career after that, but in the many months since she escaped the StaHo shuttle that should have taken her to a distribution colony, she’s learned that she’s made of far tougher stuff than anyone envisioned, even herself. Risa is a survivor. She can do incredible things when she sets her mind to it.

Until that happy day when she can finally say goodbye to the Graveyard for good, Risa’s only choice is to throw herself into this life before she trades it off for a better one. She’s promoted to head of the medical workers, and utilizes her position effectively to organize the straggling ranks into a well-oiled machine. These kids need her, and she’ll be damned if she’s going to let them down now.

Besides, Risa’s not doing this alone. In addition to the med wing kids, she’s been introduced to the groundsless in the ComBom, and, of course, she’s still got Connor. Although Risa would certainly never admit it to his face, she was secretly afraid that he’d get tired of her after meeting so many other kids in the Graveyard. There are plenty of girls here willing to throw themselves at his feet, but for some reason, Connor has never paid attention to any of them. Risa has witnessed many girls batting their lashes at him, but the second Risa walks into the room, Connor abandons them to be at her side.

It certainly helps her ego, to say the least. Every time it happens, Risa can’t help a bright spark of something from lighting up her spine, making the back of her neck prickle with heat. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy every jealous look, every pining stare. Connor’s hers. The others can try to intervene every chance they get, but it doesn’t matter. Connor picked her. Risa might not entirely understand why, other than the sheer necessity of having flown a stolen ship together, but she’s quite glad for it.

Truth be told, Risa can’t really explain why she’s chosen Connor so many times either. She does know him better than the others, but only by a few days. She sees the kids from the med wing more often, certainly, but when it’s been a long day and she only wants the sweet relief of having to do nothing at all until lights out, Risa thinks about him and him alone.

There’s a reason for that, of course, but Risa won’t admit it, not even to herself. Now is not the place nor the time. They’re stuck in a rotting cruiser by fate, but even this rusting prison won’t hold them forever. At some point, they’ll both age out of the Graveyard, and then there’s no guarantee that they’ll ever see each other again after that.

It’s best not to think about it, then. Still, when Connor grabs her hand to catch up to her after she gets out of medical duties, when their shoulders brush together as they walk down the hallway, Risa can’t help but think about it. Sometimes, she thinks he must have to think about it too. There’s no way that he doesn’t feel a thing when Risa feels as if she might burn alive from the inside out from the sheer force of trying to hide it.

There was, of course, the one day they came the closest to saying something. Connor had insisted on leading Risa away from the crowds of other distributes. He said he’d found a secret spot while fixing things up that day and he just had to show her. Risa had glimmered with the proud knowledge that she was the first and only person he thought to show, and let him tug her down a few corridors and deep into the twisting web of Graveyard rooms and backrooms.

Connor’s secret place ended up being one of the dozens of storage closets littering the Graveyard. He’d laughed at her disappointed expression when they first stopped in front of it, and asked her for a little faith, Risa, please, after all this time, and carefully unlocked the door. The room was bigger inside than she’d expected, and twisted down into shadowy corners that went so deep she would never find the end just by looking. It had been dark inside, too dark to see, and she’d relied on the firm lock of his hand around hers to know the way.

Risa had thought that she might go on that way forever, stumbling blindly through the shadows with only Connor to guide her. She’s still not good in the shapeless dark, even months after leaving Cleaver’s ship behind, and as they went further inside and it felt as if they might never see light again, Risa’s breath had started to catch in her throat involuntarily.

He must have been listening to her somehow, keeping track of her even in that shifting blackness, because his grip had tightened a little, two of his forefingers straightening to tap twice against her skin. A physical heartbeat, just like when the two of them were back in that never ending night. Despite the pounding of her heart, Risa had felt herself start to relax, the pattern of her breathing starting to even out again.

At last, they’d come to a stop in front of a tall panel of glass facing the outside of the ship. Risa couldn’t fathom why someone had put a window here of all places; maybe it had made more sense in the Graveyard’s past life as a military cruiser, before it had been stolen away from the shipyards and used to hold hundreds of dead children walking. Still, it’s one of the larger ones on the ship, and it hasn’t yet been covered up by decades of cracks or scuffs, making the view even more pristine than usual, and better yet, a secret known only to the two of them. No wonder he liked it so much.

Connor had steered her in front of him so she could get a look. She’d craned her head up to look at his expression first before fully committing to the cosmos outside, so she would know how to properly react. An entire galaxy of stars in front of her, and Risa wanted only to look at Connor. If she didn’t know before, she knew then, the secret she would never tell him until they took away her very lungs. Even with her heart in someone else’s chest, it would still beat for him.

Connor’s expression was soft for once, untouched by the stress of staying alive that has furrowed his brow for as long as she’s known him. His eyes were wide, the light of a thousand stars reflected against the pupils. It’s a view he must see every day, but it still has the capability of rendering him awestruck every time he’s confronted by it. His mouth slackened slightly as he took it all in, and Risa mentally traced the bow of his lips as his expression shifts into one of peace.

He’d looked down at her then, catching her in the act, and grinned. “What do you think? Good, huh?”

“Yeah,” Risa had managed, her head tucked against his collarbone, “Really good.”

Connor had grinned proudly, as if he had single handedly been responsible for dragging each and every constellation here for her to witness. “I know. You’re not paying attention, though.”

She’d laughed at that, finally turning her eyes to the unfolding night sky with no small amount of reluctance. It was a wonderful sight, really, the inky spill of it. Somewhere before her were dozens of star systems, hundreds of planets. In the milky droplets of the galaxy, other ferals were staring back at her. Maybe they know they’re going to die soon, maybe they haven’t figured it out yet. They’ll have time to come to that conclusion, though. We all have time.

Connor’s hands were still loosely on Risa’s hips from where he’d guided her to the window; she wasn’t sure if he remembered they were still there or not, but she couldn’t forget it if she tried. Risa has never associated touch with a good thing before; a punch is skin against skin, but in a terrible way, and pressing cloth to someone’s face to stop it from bleeding is not a sensation she cherishes. This was different, though. This was Connor, and he has always been different. This was a feeling she wanted to chase forever.

It had ended, of course. All moments do. No matter how she stood there, pressed against him in that billowing darkness, wishing upon every star she saw that they could be like that and never leave, they did. Good things come to a close much faster than torment. Risa had fallen asleep that night dreaming of his hands on hers, gently guiding her through the darkness towards panels of infinite light, and for once woken up the next morning to find herself wholly rested.

She had waited for Connor to say something about that day, but any explanations of just why they had spent so long alone together were seemingly unimportant on his end. Risa didn’t dare bring it up for fear of revealing herself for feeling too much, but she thinks about it often, and hopes that he does, too.

Connor has enough to worry about, though. He’s off-put by Roland (who isn’t) and Starkey (again, who wouldn’t be), so if he sees Risa as a dependable constant, who is she to mess with that? He’s been burning the candle at both ends as of late; the ship is having even more troubles than usual, apparently, and of course it’s up to Connor to fix it. Never mind the fact that cruisers like the Graveyard have an expiration date even when they’re just being used to house several hundred groundsless, never mind that asking a handful of teenagers to keep a behemoth like this spaceborne is completely insane, Connor has been assigned a job to do and he’d rather die than let them all down. He’s fiercely protective, her boy. Risa has come to appreciate that about him.

Still, Connor makes time for her and for himself. He hangs out in the ComBom more often, and Risa likes to join him when she can. There’s something about Hayden that makes their smiles come easier. Although some selfish part of Risa will always wish she was the sole one making Connor laugh, she’s grateful to the blond comms master for being able to carry on the task.

They’re all together now, actually, the three of them plus Jeevan and a few other comms kids completing their daily tasks in the background. Technically, Risa doesn’t think she or Connor are supposed to be in there with all the tech just lying around, but Hayden’s not a snitch, and they all have a better time joking around together than trying to force their way through work shifts anyway, so no one ever complains.

Well, not about them. Hayden complains plenty, mainly about the terrible inconvenience that he wasn’t born into the body of an established deity on a resource-lush planet or at least put on this earth with naturally straight teeth so he wouldn’t have to go to the trouble of straightening them just to die. He does it all with a natural charm that leaves Risa laughing more than she ever plans to. There is no disliking Hayden. It’s simply inhuman not to get along well with him, which is a good trait for someone to have when they’re in charge of the cruiser’s connections to the galaxy around them.

So no, Risa doesn’t mind Connor meeting up with her after their shifts end just to head over to Hayden’s little hideaway. Risa swears Hayden both starts working earlier and finishes much later than any of them, but he also gets to sit down all day, so maybe there’s a reason for his extended shifts. Honestly, the long hours might be enforced by Hayden and Hayden alone. The kid’s practically glued to his radio channels and beeping readouts. He’ll probably avoid distribution by accidentally burning the shifting lines into his retinas from staring at them too long, if it wasn’t his plan already.

Hayden’s squinting at a computer readout when they arrive. The tech in the ComBom is incredibly outdated, as Hayden has groused about at length; physical screens instead of holographic readouts, clunky buttons that aren’t even fingerprint locked, and so forth. Hence the old-fashioned 3D monitor in front of Hayden.

“Sorry,” Hayden mutters absentmindedly as he clicks around, “Forgot you two were swinging by. Lost track of time, I was having so much fun.”

Risa slides into one of the available chairs, Connor doing the same by her side. “What sort of fun, if you don’t mind me asking?” She queries.

She probably should know this by now, but a concise explanation of just what Hayden and the rest of the groundless of the ComBom do on a daily basis has eluded her for months now. She’s probably a bad friend for forgetting, but there’s only room in her head for so much, and Risa finds it more useful to remember how to set a bone than the results of random button-mashing up here.

Hayden, thankfully, doesn’t point this out. He’s got a sort of quiet tact that Risa has come to appreciate. He has a knack for sensing when certain topics are off-limits or what bad habits shouldn’t be a source of teasing. Although he’ll loudly proclaim to anyone around that he’s one hundred percent incorrigible, as evidenced by the removal of his grounds license, Hayden’s still very careful when he wants to be.

“I’m monitoring radio waves,” Hayden says, leaning back in his chair so she and Connor can get a better look, “All sorts of stuff is sent out in space. Most passengers have no idea that we can pick up their comms channels even lightyears away from where they were sent. The signals just keep bouncing off of stars, and we can collect them sooner or later.”

Risa nods. “What are you listening to now? Classic pop hits of the 3000s?”

Hayden pulls a face. “That would liven things up around here, certainly. I know Jeevan would love it if I started breaking out into song.”

Across the room, Jeevan lets out a trademark exasperated groan. “I hear enough of your singing thanks to your little radio show. I know you insisted on picking a theme song to end your broadcasts, but just because it’s stuck in your head doesn’t mean you have to hum it until it’s stuck in ours, too.”

“What’s yours is mine,” Hayden says affectionately. “Hey, maybe I’ll get distributed and you can permanently have what’s stuck in my head. Every time that song plays in your mind, you can always blame it on my faulty cerebral tissue. Consider it a parting gift from me to you.”

“Just as pleasant as always, Hayden,” Connor chides, but he’s grinning. Risa too. Usually, she doesn’t find distribution jokes all that funny, but among the aptly nicknamed Deadmen, gallows humor is kind of the way to go.

“Besides, my radio broadcasts are nothing to bat an eye at,” Hayden carries on. “I get a dependable four listeners every time, and I’m certain that no more than half of them are Juvey-cops trying to find my location. They’re absolutely mad for my music taste, of that you can be certain.”

Risa’s eyes widen. “You’ve got Juvey-cops listening to your show? Hayden, what if they track us?”

The last thing they need is someone tracing Hayden’s broadcast, but the blond doesn’t seem that concerned. “They’ve got no chance of it. We’ve whipped up the best signal mufflers this side of the galaxy can offer. Trust me, if they could hack it, they would have found us months ago, but they can’t get through. All they can do is hang onto my every word in the hopes that I’ll give something away, but I’d never kiss and tell about the Graveyard.”

Connor doesn’t seem convinced. “So if you can’t give any location information because the Juveys are listening, then what’s the point? Are there groundsless across the galaxy who just can’t get enough of your motivational speaking?”

Hayden points a finger at him. “Obviously yes, but there’s more to Radio Free Hayden than just my overwhelming charm. The radio show provides ways to stay alive. Clues. I have a remote beacon they can signal if they need to be picked up, that’s how we’ve found a lot of rogue distributes recently. We see them, but they can’t see us. And more than that, it gives them hope. The Collective makes it seem like there’s nothing out there. I make sure that no one believes that.”

Despite Hayden’s normally cavalier attitude, a fervent light begins to shine in his eyes as he says it. He truly believes that his show can do some good, and even though they’d all been making fun of him earlier, it’s hard not to lean in and want to hear more.

“What kind of hope?” Risa asks. Her voice drops closer to an awed whisper than she’d really meant, but it seemed to suit the mood.

Hayden grins, entranced by the sheer idea of it. “It means there’s someone else out there than just the Collective. They can’t stand the thought of it. They went out of their way to shut down resistance, but they can’t stamp out every pocket of it.”

Hayden’s voice takes on a darker tone. “Suns know they tried, though. All of humanity came from just one planet, and now we’re on all of them. Something happened to eliminate whatever came before us, but they went too far.”

Risa shudders. This is something that’s plagued her before. How do you get rid of hundreds of civilizations across the galaxy? Some of the worlds the old-Earth explorers discovered were uninhabited, yes, but not all of them. The Collective killed off their opposition, but they didn’t just kill the inhabitants. They killed everything.

There are no living things left in the galaxy, not anymore. All that’s left are replicants, synth-plants and lab-grown animals. You can blame the mass extinction on anything you like, but in the end, the truth is this: we choked out life itself because we were so desperate to grow that we forgot to leave space for everything else. Every flora must be grown by hand. Every fauna must be cloned. It’s an exhaustive cycle, and extraordinarily inefficient. Hence the need to strip ferals of their parts so any leftover bit of living matter can be injected back into the dying galaxy.

Hayden’s gaze has gone cold. “It’s not just the Collective we’re fighting, though. One government can’t hold back the population of the entire galaxy forever. Luckily for them, they’re backed by the richest people in all the worlds, and they had to go make the Proactive Citizenry.”

Connor’s expression flickers over with distrust. “I hate those guys. They used to send representatives out to my system every now and then to warn us against misbehaving. It happened like once a year or something, they’d leer at us about how our eyes would end up in someone else’s sockets if we didn’t keep our grades up.”

Risa nods in assent. The Proactive Citizenry may have started out as a small grassroots organization, but it’s become severely inflated over time, bloated with the weight of its own moral superiority. Turns out, all it takes are a hundred or so extremely powerful donors, and you can do just about anything. Distribution might have disappeared on its own within a few decades of its creation, but the PC made sure that would never happen. Whenever distribution rates start to plummet, the PC steps in with several large donations, spreading their message far and wide across the galaxy. All it took was one man, one Dorian Heartland, to start it up around the same time humanity started exploring space centuries ago, and his gory machine has kept them all in check ever since.

Risa can never be sure why in sunfire they feel the need to do it. All the big donors in the Proactive Citizenry are well above the age of distribution, obviously, so they’ll only benefit from having new skin and organs to pass around, but certainly some of them should have gained a conscience after all this time. Instead, they pass on their ideals from generation to generation, and the wheels of lost flesh keep turning.

They’ve fine-tuned their message over the years, turning the public focus away from the kids losing their lives to the galaxy who needs all the help it can get. That’s how the PC makes money, supposedly, by turning raw distributed matter into life again. Recycling. Rejuvenation. A redistribution of creation into the ecosystems that need it.

Despite the moral overtones, it’s impossible to ignore that their grand society is built on blood. Risa, for one, does not intend to forget it anytime soon. However, she’s only one girl without even a grounds license to stand on. How can anyone fight the richest people in the galaxy? How can anyone take on a system like that and walk away with the victory?

Hayden must be thinking the same thing, because he lets out a harsh sigh before continuing on. “That’s what I’m trying to do, at least. If someone can stand up against the PC, maybe it’ll have to be me. I’m the only one with the means of contacting anyone outside of this cruiser, anyway.”

Connor nods, half in his own world. “The Admiral knows about your little talk show?”

Hayden pulls a face that makes it quite clear what he thinks about the Admiral, but agrees. “Yeah, he knows. I may like the sound of my own voice more than my handful of listeners, but I wanted to make sure it was actually safe. Even so, he was pretty harsh about it. All of the comms systems have to be locked down every night, and no one except the ComBom workers are allowed inside here. Except for you two, of course, but I make an exception for my fans. It’s just not worth the risk of anyone else getting their hands on this stuff.”

Risa shudders. “It’s dangerous, is what it is. All it takes is one kid wandering in here and we could send out a signal the PC could pick up in no time. Then we’d have an entire army of Juvey-cops on our tail, and stars know the Graveyard is in no condition to fight or fly.”

A shuffling sound outside the door makes all three of them startle. The door’s half open– environmental controls have been shoddy as of late, despite Connor and the other engineers working to fix the issue, so anything to encourage air flow is a must– and although she can’t see anything in the glimpse of the corridor outside, Risa swears she heard something.

Jeevan grimaces, temporarily glancing up from his work to aim a glare at the door. “Gotta be a runner. Man, those starspawn piss me off. Always strutting around like they’re so important just because their jobs let them hear everyone’s gossip.”

Hayden chuckles. “You’re just bitter because one of them caught you admiring your reflection in one of the polished viewports and told half the ship. Anyway, Risa, I wouldn’t worry about the odds of our discovery much more than usual. Like I said, I’ve been doing this a while, and nothing has happened.”

“Nothing has happened yet,” Connor clarifies.

Risa leans back in her chair, lost in thought. She’s always known that their situation in the Graveyard was precarious– put a couple hundred runaway distributes anywhere and you’re going to have people looking for you, obviously, but this puts things in an entirely different light. Hayden made it seem like the Juveys are actively listening in, just waiting for one of them to slip up and send out a tracer they can’t pull back. It’s easy to forget that the rest of the world exists when she only ever sees her friends on one behemoth of a star cruiser, but the galaxy isn’t as inclined to return the favor. All it takes is one mistake, and they’re all gone. All of this work, running and hiding and fighting, and it would be for nothing.

Connor senses her paranoia, and casually drapes his right hand over the arm of his chair so he can tap twice against her left forearm. It calms her down immediately, like she’s some kind of sleeper soldier who can only be activated by him. Hayden watches this happen with a faintly bemused expression, but says nothing.

“No one’s finding us, Risa,” Connor says. “How could they?”

unwind tag list: @schroedingers-kater, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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heliads · 6 months

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everything is blue • conrisa space au • chapter seven: which is worse, death or distribution?

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Connor is not very good at keeping his head down. He knows what he promised the Admiral, he knows what he promised Risa, but it’s one thing to agree with the idea of not making trouble and a whole separate issue to actually go through with it. The situation was only complicated further since every kid in the Graveyard thinks he’s a celebrity thanks to a rumor that spiraled totally out of control. He knows Risa was only trying to help him by revealing Connor to be the so-called Akron AWOL, but when Connor wakes up to find at least half a dozen under-fifteens staring at him with mute fascination, it’s a little more difficult to feel grateful.

His idol status notwithstanding, Connor just isn’t really the best at laying low. It’s probably what got him slated for distribution in the first place. Rules aren’t really his thing, even when they’re designed to keep him alive.

Maybe it’s for the best, then, that his assigned job keeps him well off the beaten path. When he was given his assignment, the older kid in charge had kind of smirked at him, like he was expecting Connor to complain about getting sent out to man the engineering systems, but in reality, Connor couldn’t be more pleased about it. He gets to figure out exactly how a massive star cruiser like this stays spaceborne. What about that wouldn’t be interesting?

There’s a lot more grunt work involved than just tightening down the occasional gear or nut, but all in all, Connor’s happy with his line of work. He keeps his hands busy. He learns more every day. Honestly, if it was just him and Risa up on this thing, it would kind of be like paradise.

That, in the end, is the problem. This station is chock-full of groundsless getting in the way. Everyone likes to stall from their daily tasks by staring out the windows or watching the stars go by. Often, that involves clustering around the main viewports or huddling just outside the hatches leading out into empty space. They’re not actually stupid enough to venture past the airlocks, but they get damn close, and that in turn gets on Connor’s nerves.

It feels like he’s holding his breath from the moment he wakes up. Connor jolts awake from fitful sleep involving visions of streets he’ll never stop running down, endless darkness that’s always just about to shut him up forever. He throws on relatively clean clothes, downs a meal, speeds across the halls while everyone watches him, either pretending not to or just outright staring. He hurriedly types in the passcode to the storage closet with the old standard-issue spacewalker suits, clicks every last piece of the equipment into place around him, and then he steps through the airlock and out into open space. Only then can he get a full rush of filtered air into his lungs. Only then can he breathe again.

It is still insane to him that he gets a life like this. Connor is floating in the vast starry sky, weightless and limitless. The Juvey-cops couldn’t find him if they tried. Connor was supposed to die weeks ago, but he’s still alive. His eyes are his own, and they’re wide and reverent as he stares out at the cosmos around him. For once, the inky darkness around him isn’t frightening. The thousands of bright pinpricks of life keep Connor stuck securely in place like a moth on some old-Earth scientist’s display board.

There are countless stars, all a million shades of bone-bleached pale, swirling around in this yawning mass of black. It’s fascinating. It’s entrancing. It’s Connor’s, Connor’s and Connor’s alone. Out here, tethered to the life he knows only by a thin yet secure cable, Connor is truly existing on his own terms. He’s got a job to do, same as anyone else, but no one can check him on it because no one knows how to fix their never ending problems except him. Connor is allowed to float around unbothered so long as the lights come on at the end of the day, and that’s perfectly alright by him.

Connor always completes the tasks they set him, anyway. That’s how he’s risen in grudging popularity among even the Goldens, or the Admiral’s set of trusted older kids who run things around here. Connor won over the younger ones by being the Akron AWOL, but the last holdouts were satisfied when the heating finally worked across the whole station. Once Connor fixed up the pressure variations in the eastern sectors, he was untouchable.

Untouchable to most, at least. There’s still one guy out there who refuses to cave to Connor’s winning streak, and that, unsurprisingly, is Roland. Connor isn’t sure what he did to the guy other than share a ride up to the Graveyard, but Roland has had it out for him since day one and he doesn’t seem inclined to quit it anytime soon. Connor was hoping that he wouldn’t have to cross paths with Roland that often since they both had different tasks, but unfortunately, seeing as Roland’s training to be a pilot and Connor often has to fix things up on the coming and going shuttles, they see more of each other than either of them really like.

Roland’s a thorn in his side, yes, but as Connor has to frequently remind himself, he’s not a major threat. Roland can’t do anything to him more than leer at him out of the shadows and bother Risa in an attempt to get to him. Roland was a little more active on the second threat, but Risa put a stop to that quickly enough by ‘accidentally’ stabbing him in the thigh with a syringe that left the bully with a high fever for half a week.

No one can prove it was Risa, and no one’s willing to snitch on the girl who’s sewed them all up so many times, so Risa has yet to face punishment, and her reputation amongst the groundsless of the Graveyard has grown to boot. It’s kind of hot, if Connor was willing to admit that, which he isn’t. Also pretty terrifying.

Connor shakes his head slightly, a faint smile slipping over his lips as he remembers that day. Risa had slid into a seat opposite him in the mess hall wearing the proudest grin he’d ever seen. He’d asked her what was up and she’d just shrugged absentmindedly and told him that she would have a startlingly good career as a poisoner if she ever wanted it. Connor didn’t disagree.

At the end of the day, Roland is going to keep on being, well, Roland, and Connor can ignore that so long as he doesn’t accidentally let himself get caught in a room alone with him. The rest of the kids he’s met so far seem pretty harmless, more bark than bite. He doesn’t see most of them that often, as there usually isn’t that much overlap between distributes unless they’ve got the same job.

There is one guy, though, that’s been starting to get Connor’s attention. Most of the communications equipment is stuck with the comms kids in the aptly nicknamed ComBom. The few working individual comms units are saved for either the Goldens, the kids up in the navs systems, or stuck in these spacewalker suits so the engineers don’t accidentally lock themselves out in the cosmos without someone able to hear their pleas and let them back in. That’s why a few kids are taken on as info runners. All day, they stalk from room to room, ferrying messages from security down to the engines up to navigation and back again.

Connor has yet to meet a good runner. They’re all gossipy and self-important, collecting everyone’s secrets with each message they deliver. Connor doesn’t think of any of them as threatening, though, except for one. The newest one, actually. A kid called Mason Starkey.

Starkey’s not dangerous. Not yet, at least. He’s just– well, weird. He hangs around engineering, like getting sneak peeks of Connor battening down the hatches is prime entertainment. Apparently, in the few weeks since Connor left OH-10, rumors of his charge against the Juvey-cop have reached several star systems. It’s attracted groupies like Starkey, who seem to think that Connor is going to lead them all in some great war against the Collective and destroy distribution for good.

Connor wants to shake them by the shoulders and tell them to get a grip. There’s no way he can do anything about unwinding, no one can. They’re kids. He had a lucky break with snatching that officer’s tranq gun, yes, but that doesn’t make him a war hero in this fight. Connor’s been hoping that Starkey’s odd obsession will wear off over time, but then Connor will glance over his shoulder and see the kid eyeing him from down the hall, or hovering in the shadows of a nearby room. His expression has gotten more malevolent over time, Connor swears it’s true. Combined with the flame red of his hair, it’s like meeting a demon from old-Earth stories.

Starkey, like Roland, hasn’t done anything, though. When Connor talks to him, which is as infrequently as he possibly can, the kid’s almost reverent. Not a threat, he decides. But stars help him if Starkey decides he wants to change that. With everything Connor’s got to do to keep the Graveyard up and running, a grav-knife could be shoved in his back before he even realized Starkey was in the room with him.

Speaking of keeping busy, Connor still has work to do. He takes one last look at the stars swirling around him, then turns back to the ship. Connor’s got to tighten up the viewport screws near the nav center, examine a supposedly clogged engine valve near the south power cell, and, if he’s got time, clean off some of the solar panels. They’re not storing electricity like they used to, but when have they ever? They’re running on dregs, all of them. Never enough to go around, even out here.

Connor manages to blow through his tasks fairly quickly, which is nice. He can kick up his heels in one of the tool storage closets and try not to be found for a while. Connor finishes up with the solar panels and starts to head back towards the main airlock when he sees a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eyes.

Immediately, he freezes, one hand on his tether cable. Connor is the only engineer out here, that’s Graveyard policy. You never risk more than one kid out in space at a time. The kids of the Graveyard are expendable, but not all of them. You should always have a contingency policy; never put all your synth-eggs in one escape pod, or never let all of your teenagers capable of fixing your ship go out into space without anyone to get them back in case of trouble.

Slowly, carefully, Connor pulls himself back in. About twenty paces away from the entrance, Connor can see another tether winding out into infinity, a pale ribbon coiling away into the darkness of space. Connor squints to see who’s at the other end; these suits are old, and the transparent panels in the helmets have grown cloudy with time, often making it difficult to see details.

Connor taps the comms panel on the side of his helmet carefully, sending out a message to whoever’s within range. “Who’s out there?”

A few beats later, he’s answered, and the voice makes his blood run cold in his veins. “What, you don’t recognize an old friend, Connor? Or maybe it’s just the suit.”

Roland. Suns, this is bad. Connor’s strategy for handling Roland has been to always keep a crowd in between the two of them. Roland’s not foolhardy enough to try to push him around with an audience, but out here? It’s just the two of them. Space is cold; it doesn’t make for a kind spectator. No one will help him here.

“We’re not old friends,” Connor shoots back on impulse, trying to keep his voice steady, “We only met a few weeks ago. Don’t tell me you’ve gotten sentimental for Cleaver’s ship already.”

Roland’s returning chuckle fires over the comms in Connor’s helmet in a spark of static. “Trust me, I miss those days about as little as you do. We’ve got it good out here, don’t we? Plenty of room to move about. Just as long as you don’t get stuck out here, of course.”

It’s not an empty threat. The Graveyard’s pretty limited on rescue equipment, as Connor can attest to himself, having seen their low stocks. If someone were untethered, if they started floating out towards the vastness of open space, they would never be found again. There are few fates worse than distribution, but having to spend the rest of your short life slowly starving, overpoweringly thirsty, unable to move except to drift farther away from safety, would be a terrible way to go indeed. You’d lose your mind before you ever lost your life. Kind of the opposite of distribution, then, if you think about it that way.

Connor scoffs. “You’re not going to leave me out here, Roland. Even you’re not that stupid.”

Connor can’t see much of Roland’s face, but even from here, he can see the other boy’s expression darken. “What did you call me?”

“Stupid,” Connor says gleefully. “Or, not stupid, so long as you don’t try to trap me out here. You tell me.”

“I’ll show you,” Roland threatens, and he reaches for the mechanism fastening his tether to his suit so he can reel himself back in closer to Connor.

Connor lunges for his tether as well, but he’s got the advantage of a shorter distance to the cruiser, and he’s able to make it back to the wall of the ship first. Roland, by contrast, seems to struggle with his suit. He’s able to retract his tether in short, jerky bursts, bringing him about two paces closer to the cruiser, but it quickly becomes obvious that he won’t be able to move any farther than that. Not without help.

“I’ll tell you the difference between the two of us, Roland,” Connor tells him over the comms as Roland continues to struggle with his tether to no avail, “We’ve both got a temper, but you act on yours much more than I do. I, for one, never would have tried to scare you out here if I didn’t know what I was doing. I certainly wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of putting myself in a suit if I didn’t know exactly how to put it all together. That includes properly fastening the tether.”

Connor taps his tether to prove his point. Roland’s helmet reflects light from a nearby star as he quickly turns his head from his own tether to Connor’s, evidently comparing the two. Connor’s tether is properly fastened to his belt, exactly perpendicular to the clasp tying it in place.

By contrast, Roland’s is at a bad angle, causing the retracting mechanism to continually skip in place instead of pulling him closer to the ship. Going further over the edge, Connor reaches over and unties Roland’s tether from the ship. The only thing keeping Roland connected to the Graveyard is the fact that Connor is still holding on to the other end. If Connor were to let go, it would all be over. Roland can’t even risk pulling himself back hand over hand lest Connor drop the tether before he makes it over in time.

At last, Roland laughs, although the sound isn’t as powerful as it usually is. “Alright, you’ve got me. You liked this, huh? Showing me up? It won’t happen again, I can promise you that. You won’t always have your little fans around you to keep you safe. I’ll find you when you let down your guard, and then–” He snaps his jaws at Connor viciously, laughing as his breath fogs up his helmet.

Connor just stares at him, cocking his head slightly to the side. “Will you find me? Right now, you can’t even get back.”

He pulls himself over to the edge of the ship, still holding on to Roland’s tether. Connor’s close enough now that he can get inside easily, he’s already shadowed by the overhang of the airlock entrance. Roland, by contrast, could not catch himself if his tether released. One wrong move, and he would be spinning out into the cosmos forever.

“Come on, Connor,” Roland says. Connor can just make out the goading glint of his eyes through the transparent panel of his suit’s helmet. “Pull me in.”

Connor doesn’t move. Roland tenses, and the teasing edge leaves his voice. “Connor. Let me in. You can’t leave me out here.”

“Can’t I?” Connor muses. “No one knows you’re here but me. You’re not supposed to be out here. It’s not in my job description to check for kids sneaking out past the airlock.”

The last of Roland’s pride leaves him, replaced by naked, unadulterated fear. At last, the tables have been turned, and it’s Roland realizing how easy it would be to die out here. Connor has the power to do it right now, and like he said, no one would ever think to blame him for it. He could have been on the opposite side of the cruiser when Roland decided to take a solo spacewalk and forgot to tether himself properly. All it would take is a choked up sob story about how he could have saved Roland had he just known the other boy was out there, and he’d get away with it all, easy as anything.

Connor’s gloved fingers curl tighter around Roland’s tether. Roland’s breathing is harsh and uneven over his comms, sending showers of static into Connor’s ears. Is he ready for this? Can Connor rid himself of an enemy right now? He’ll never get another chance like this. Roland would never come out here alone again, not since he knows that Connor was almost willing to kill him. Is willing, still. Might do it even now.

Connor’s hand slams Roland’s tether against a railing on the ship. For a moment, neither of them are entirely sure what will happen, and then the clasp mechanism kicks into gear, locking in place once more so Roland can pull himself back towards the cruiser. Connor doesn’t wait to see what happens, if the older boy manages to make it all the way before the clasp on his suit gives out or not.

He tugs himself into the airlock, letting it shut behind him. Oxygen floods the room, but Connor hardly gives the air time to settle around him before stepping out again. The suit comes off as quickly as Connor can yank it from his body, and he leaves the various pieces of equipment in an untidy heap in a nearby storage closet. He’ll clean it up later today, he’s the only one who does.

Connor shuts the closet door and nearly leaps out of his own skin when he turns back around to find Starkey standing there right behind him, silent as a ghost. He starts to say something about being startled, but Starkey speaks over him, voice almost breathy with delight.

“I saw what you did out there to Roland,” Starkey tells him. “I wouldn’t have let him go if I were you, but it was a great move. I’ve heard a lot of kids say we’re defenseless out here, but I don’t think so. Space is big. You could lose anyone out there.”

Starkey shifts from foot to foot, still directing that awful grin towards Connor. The lights are dim in this corridor, and the deep shadows dim Starkey’s usually bright red hair. That, combined with the malevolent stare lurking deep within Starkey’s eyes, makes Connor feel as if he’s meeting the human embodiment of an explosion. The supernova will engulf Connor soon; he’s staring down his own death right now.

“It was a mistake,” Connor says quickly. “We’re not supposed to hurt any of our own out here.”

Starkey cocks his head to the side. “Yeah, but you don’t listen to rules like that, do you? Aren’t you the Akron AWOL? Don’t you do what it takes to keep yourself alive? You’re like me. We’re both survivors.”

Starkey takes a looming step towards Connor, who backs away. “That’s not– I’m not–” He finds himself tripping over his words, and then he turns and flees, leaving Starkey and his relentless malice in the darkness behind him.

Connor doesn’t entirely know where he’s going. The med wing, probably– Risa’s the one he goes to, always, and although he doesn’t know how she’ll react to hearing how close he came to actually killing Roland because Connor can hardly believe it himself, he can at least see her expression when she decides that he really is as dangerous as she once thought he was.

In his current state of agitation, though, Connor misses a few turns, skids down one too many corridors, and when he looks up again, he’s nowhere near the Graveyard medical center. Instead, he’s pacing through a sector he doesn’t think he’s ever been down before. Connor is about to attempt to retrace his steps when a voice suddenly calls his name from a half-open door.

Connor can’t escape now, not in the face of such an obvious greeting, so he cautiously pokes his head into the room. He’s met with the sight of several teenagers idling in front of various computational and communications interfaces. One girl is idly tracking maps of nearby flight paths, occasionally calling out when Juvey-cops get too close to known groundsless pickup spots so whoever’s in charge of their little underground transportation group will know to stay undercover. Another is reading through lists of kids slated for distribution and sorting the names into star systems so they can see who’d be easy to pick up.

The kid who called Connor’s name is spinning back and forth in his seat. Despite the layer of dust that’s settled on seemingly everything, the boy’s green shirt still looks pristine, and his blond hair looks expensively cut. He eyes Connor with a proud grin. It’s the grin of a kid who’s never had to worry about a damn thing in his life, the sort of ease you only get when you know you can have anything you want just by asking. This guy has been untouchable his whole life. Well, up until now.

“Hi,” he says, waving cheekily, “I’m Hayden. Welcome to the ComBom. Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

Connor nods slowly, taking a seat in one of the empty chairs when Hayden gestures for him to sit. “Yeah, no, I’ve stayed busy. You guys haven’t broken anything major yet, that’s why I haven’t been down.”

Hayden chuckles. “So you’re telling me all I have to do is, like, kick a hole in the air filtration unit and I get a free audience with the Akron AWOL? Stars, I’m definitely using that later.”

Connor’s surprise and confusion must be very obvious on his face, because Hayden breaks into laughter. “Kidding, kidding. I’m not actually that stupid. I love breathing as much as the next guy.”

“Yeah, ‘cause it lets him never stop talking,” the kid next to him breaks in.

Hayden rolls his eyes. “Sorry for being funny, Jeevan. When you stop laughing at my jokes, I’ll shut up. I swear it.” He pretends to cross his heart, and Jeevan groans.

“That’s a lie and you know it. Besides, I just laugh so you don’t feel bad if no one else does. Don’t take it personally.”

Watching the two of them go back and forth, Connor can’t help but smile slightly. Hayden’s got this unnatural ability to make all of them feel at ease. In a place like this, that’s no small feat.

Hayden glances back to Connor, evidently noticing the change in his expression. “And he smiles! Didn’t know if you could do that or not. You looked awfully gloomy in the corridor out there. I mean, all of us Deadmen are kind of depressing, but I hardly think that’s our fault.”

Connor frowns. “Deadmen?”

Jeevan groans again. “Hayden’s slang for all of us. We live in the Graveyard, so we’re Deadmen. He thinks he’s very clever.”

“Because I am,” Hayden interjects. “Anyways, we’re not talking about that now. We can introduce Connor to all the glorious gimmicks of Graveyard life later. Something’s obviously up with him, and I make it my mission to know everything here. Goes with the territory.”

His frank tone is both a shock to Connor’s system and somewhat of a relief. Any of the other kids on the cruiser would be somewhat hesitant to bring up Connor’s obvious bad mood, but Hayden doesn’t seem willing to back away from any touchy subject, which saves both of them time and trouble.

Connor lifts a shoulder. “Nothing much. It’s just– well, are you ever nervous that you’re, like, a really bad person?”

As he says it, Connor can feel a weight start to lift from his shoulders. He’s been choking on it this whole time. The galaxy seems determined to make a monster of him; why else would it have been so easy for Risa to believe that he’d killed the Juvey-cop, why did the Akron AWOL rumor take off so fast, why was it so easy to nearly strand Roland out in space forever? Connor had been telling himself that his parents got it wrong when they decided to revoke his grounds license, but he hasn’t exactly been making a fair case against it.

Hayden leans back in his chair, contemplating this. “I’m not nervous about it, I know I’m a really bad person.”

Connor gives him a look. “Are you serious?”

“Never,” Hayden grins. “It ruins my aura of mystery.”

He waggles his eyebrows mischievously, making Connor break into a reluctant smile. “In all honesty, though,” Hayden continues on, “I think that’s a tricky question. We’re all bad kids, it’s why we’re here. You’ve still got time to turn that around, though. You dodged the biggest bullet by escaping distribution, you’ve just got to live as best you can after that. That’s the tricky part.”

Connor tilts his head to the side, pondering the idea. “You think living is hard?”

“Staying alive,” Hayden clarifies. “You’ll still have to tangle with authority long after you turn eighteen. That’ll be hard, too. Anything can happen. You’re not safe just because you can’t be distributed anymore. There’s no Graveyard for over-eighteens. You just get hurt without anyone around to save you.” Hayden chuckles darkly. “I don’t know if it’s worse to screw up now or later. Would you rather die or be distributed?”

Death or distribution. Two terrible fates. He could be split into parts, or he could be shot down in the dark of night. Either way, he’d never get to be Connor again. That’s the worst part about all of this, he thinks, nobody has an answer for anything. Decades of distribution, and it still terrifies people just as much as it did at the start. You can lie and say you wouldn’t feel a thing, that your consciousness gets to experience hundreds of lifetimes instead of just one, but that doesn’t stop the fact that it’s disturbing to know that your muscles have been peeled away from your bones and stuck onto someone else. Connor wants to be Connor. He doesn’t want his pieces on anyone else.

Then again, at least then he’d have something. What happens after death? Connor’s heard enough arguments to know that many people have many opinions on the matter, but in the end, no one has any definite proof for anything. You can’t talk to anyone after the fact, obviously. What if it’s worse? What if it’s like being unwound a thousand times over? What if you feel the loss of every limb more keenly because you don’t have anyone else’s life to live to distract yourself from it? It could just be an end screen, a fade to black, but Connor has no way of proving it.

Connor thinks for a moment or two longer, then says, “I'd rather die. Distribution never ends. At least, if you die, you get it over with. What about you? Which is worse, death or distribution?”

Silence stretches across the ComBom for what might be the first time all day. They’re just kids, all of them, but from the way quiet despair fills out invisible lines on Hayden’s face, Connor swears he looks far older than just a teenager. Maybe that’s the closest he’ll ever get to old age, just a trick of the light, or maybe the blond boy will actually beat the odds and make it past both the age of distribution and the subsequent years of violence. Maybe they’ll all survive. Or maybe there’s a mass grave waiting for all of them on a distribution colony somewhere across the galaxy.

“I don’t know,” Hayden says at last, “I don’t know.”

a/n even in space hayden will have a green shirt. yes this makes complete sense

unwind tag list: @schroedingers-kater, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

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heliads · 5 months

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everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter Fourteen: Dancing in the Moonlight

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Risa isn’t sure how long this is going to last, but stars, she hopes this sort of feeling sticks around forever. She hasn’t been happy like this– effortlessly, unchangingly happy– in a very long time. Risa was happy in the Graveyard, of course, they all were; they were groundsless who weren’t dead yet, who wouldn’t be? There was always a slim undercurrent of fear running through every one of their conversations, though, the knowledge that even the brightest moments could be swiftly brought down by their eventual discovery.

Now that trap has been sprung, yet Risa still managed to make it out alive. She’s still with Connor despite no longer being in that safe haven. They might be flying straight towards their deaths, but for right now, they are together, together and happy. The little victories are worth twice the big ones, Risa has learned that since she ran away. This one feels like it might be worth her whole life.

That, perhaps, is why she’s okay with the fate that awaits her on the distribution colony. Risa doesn’t want to die, obviously, and she will be fighting tooth and nail to keep herself intact even while she’s breaking her friends out of the colony, but she can take this risk because she trusts Connor with her life. Before this, Risa would have stayed on the ship and never meddled with a danger like this. If she’s got Connor, though, Risa can do anything. Even beat the odds by dragging a small army of Deadmen out of their looming distributions.

Risa never thought of herself as a hero. No one is, not here, not in these worlds. When she was escaping the StaHo shuttle that should have taken her to a similar harvest colony, Risa didn’t stop to usher any of the other kids out. When she and Connor were running through the collapsing corridors of the conquered Graveyard, they didn’t help any distributes they saw. In a survival setting, you have to put yourself first.

Now, though, they finally have the chance to do something good, something that won’t just directly benefit them. There is, of course, the looming threat that the runaways Connor ran into could cancel his fake grounds license, but both of them know that’s not the real reason they’re doing this. Over the course of that year spent in the Graveyard, they made friends, true friends. They can’t simply abandon those friends to their fates just because she and Connor have already gotten themselves out of trouble.

Thus, they’re shipping out to a distribution colony to spare as many kids as they can from dissection. It took a little while to find out the right place to go– the amount of distribution colonies in the galaxy is sickeningly high, even higher than Risa was expecting– but eventually they stumbled across a few mentions of a sudden mass influx of distributes into a particular colony not far from the Graveyard and they knew they had their target.

Now all that’s left to do is to pass the time until they get there at last. Stars, she can’t imagine what it’s going to be like when they touch down. The guards will see some nice ship on their scanners and assume it’s, like, a Centerworld official or something come to see the progress of that particular harvest colony’s child dismemberment systems. They’ll all file up to receive their guests and then two teenagers will file out, an escaped StaHo ward and the Akron AWOL.

Talk about a surprise. Nothing about this arrival will be good by Centerworld standards. Imagine for a moment that you work for a harvest colony, that you’ve already thrown away enough of your morals to work for a harvest colony, and one day you get visitors. Two visitors exactly, two visitors that are, in fact, Deadmen, and their ship– their ship, it’s called the Unwind.

Suns, Risa had to practically force that little bit of information out of Connor. He’d been hesitating to tell her the name of the ship like he’s been hesitating to tell her literally everything else, probably out of fear of her judgment. And why shouldn’t she judge? Unwinding is the derogatory term for distribution. Only Unwinds ever use it, because why waste breath on the proper way to call a process designed to end your life in the most horrific way possible? Connor naming his ship, the guardian angel of those fleeing distribution everywhere, after a revolting slang term only used by the damned– Risa can admit it’s something. Stupid or brave, she’s not sure yet. But it’s something.

Risa is wandering around the ship as she is prone to do, taking in every corner and crevice lest she forget what it was like to briefly rule every square inch around her. She’ll miss this later, maybe, having all the open area to herself, knowing that the only other souls aboard were her and Connor, or maybe what she’ll long for most of all was still being alive and knowing the heart beating in her chest was her own.

Regardless, Risa is happy for it. The closer she meanders towards the nav center, the more aware she becomes of a distant sound. It starts off quiet, gradually growing louder as she creeps closer. It’s a gentle rhythm, an occasional melody. The pianist in her simply has to investigate. Eventually, she pokes her head through the door of the nav room to discover Connor messing around with one of the many instrument panels. Each time he presses a button or directs one of the many holodecks in front of him, speakers embedded somewhere in the floors and ceiling change their tune from happy to sad to anything that Connor’s heart desires.

He looks up when he sees her, grinning with excitement. “Did you know they’ve got music in this thing? Tons of songs, old and new. Crazy.”

Risa lets out a slow, disbelieving laugh. Although it sounds insane, she genuinely cannot remember the last time she listened to something like music. Every now and then, Hayden was able to intercept a signal or two with radio frequencies bearing songs, but they were always a little too glitchy or staticky to fully enjoy. They pretended otherwise, of course, anything can pass for greatness in the Graveyard, but they all knew it wasn’t quite the best. What Connor’s playing is perfectly crisp, though, every beat on time, every note in tune. As a musician, albeit a former one, it makes Risa’s heart soar.

“What songs do they have?” She asks, drawing closer so she can check it out.

“Anything,” Connor says, “Come on, let’s pick one.”

They scroll through aimlessly, playing a few seconds of this track or that so they can giggle at the absurd melodies. Rich people have terrible taste. At last, Connor gasps in delight and points at one song title in particular.

“What’s that one? No, it can’t be– Dancing in the Moonlight?”

Risa cocks her head curiously at him. “Do you know it? It looks old.”

“It’s super old,” he says, smiling fondly at some memory or inner thought, “It reminds me of one of my old teachers in school, though. She used to play it on the days I didn’t skip class. Or maybe she played it all of the days, I just didn’t know it because I skipped.”

Risa laughs at that. “Come on, then. Play it. We’ll see if it’s good enough to stay in school.”

Connor rolls his eyes, but he does as told and queues the song. A few seconds later, it starts to play, billowing around them in clear, rolling measures. She taps her foot a little, trying to sense the beat. Connor grins at her, stepping side to side in exaggerated motions.

Risa grins. “Just as good as you remember?”

“Even better,” Connor tells her. “Come on, dance with me.”

They start to move side by side together. Risa spins a little, just because she can. When she turns back around, Connor is beaming ear to ear. On a whim, she grabs Connor’s left hand with her right, placing his other hand on the small of her back. Two teenagers, swaying together to an upbeat song. It’s been done a million times before all across the galaxy but it still feels like such a startling and sweet surprise for each new couple. Every pair of young souls feels as if they’ve come up with something extraordinary. And, for them, it is.

“Are we waltzing?” Connor asks, wiggling his eyebrows a little to be annoying.

“We are,” Risa decides. “Come on, it’s easy. Box step. Step forward, then to the side, then back again. Simple.”

“Simple,” Connor agrees. She expects to have to lead him a little more, but his steps are easy and assured, and Risa realizes a little too late–

“You know how to do this, don’t you?” She asks.

“A little,” he admits, but he keeps dancing with her anyway. “My parents used to dance like that. I learned along by watching them. Figured it might come in handy sometime. You know, for picking up girls like I do all the time,” he says, flashing Risa an obvious, terrible wink. She laughs anyway and lets him spin her.

This time, when she comes back from the twirl, he’s a little too strong and she ends up closer to him than expected. To catch herself, Risa presses a hand against his chest, but she forgets to pull it away again. She can feel his heartbeat through his shirt and skin. They stop moving, just breathing together there, in and out. Risa is certain that he must sense the way her pulse is pounding.

“Risa,” he whispers.

She doesn’t pull away. His hand slackens from the small of her back, moving slowly to her waist. He isn’t pushing her away, but he’s giving her an opportunity to leave, if she wants it. Risa doesn’t want it. She only wants him.

She looks up at him. Connor’s eyes are half-lidded, and meet hers as if on the other side of an unfathomable distance. Risa doesn’t think she could say half what she wants to right now, doesn’t even know if she could fully think it, so all she can do is look back at him and hope he understands.

Connor has always understood.

Even now. Even when it’s the one boundary they have yet to cross.

He crosses it. She meets him halfway.

The kiss is a long time coming, Risa thinks. It’s the product of more than a year of endless pining and secrets kept for the benefit of a friendship both of them were scared to lose. However, it turns out there’s something far more valuable than a perpetual friendship, and that is the love that both of them have been hiding behind half-closed doors for almost as long as they’ve known each other. Risa doesn’t know how long Connor has been holding back, but it must have been almost as long as her.

Connor pulls back slightly, tilting his head down so the crown of his head touches her forehead. “Y’know,” he says absentmindedly, “You could have told me you liked me any time back in the Graveyard. You didn’t have to wait until we were about to storm a harvest colony to let me know.”

Risa laughs quietly. “You could have told me, too. Besides, I thought you liked it when I had a flair for drama.”

“I do,” Connor smiles, and kisses her again to prove it. It is just as exhilarating and earth-shattering as the first time. Risa wonders if each and every kiss will sweep her off her feet like this, and immediately wants to test that theory again and again, just to make sure.

Just as Risa begins to think that she might want this forever, an alarm goes off, the piercing klaxon rattling off of the fine walls of the spacecraft. She flinches against Connor’s lips, and he draws back at once.

“That’s the alarm I set to warn me when we were within an hour’s distance of the colony,” he whispers in a daze. His lips are swollen from the kiss, his pupils shot, but the look on his face is nothing short of horror, no sweetness of new love there. “We’re close. It’s coming up on us now.”

Risa draws in a sharp breath. “I thought we had more time.”

Connor looks at her, and the expression on his face is nothing short of heartbreaking. “So did I.”

Is that not what they have always wanted, time? Just when they finally find each other again, when they finally manage to confess the truth that’s been weighing on both of them all of this time, they are interrupted. Risa has no idea if they will survive this. She can hope, of course, but hope is a feeble thing to rest one’s strength on. Hope will always disappear when you need it the most. Hope is no excuse for reality.

Slowly, they make their way to the cockpit. Along the way, they make final preparations to hold a host of newly free distributes. Risa doesn’t ask him if he thinks they’ll survive this, and Connor pretends as if they will. When the colony comes into view, Risa almost doesn’t want to look. She realizes belatedly that this might be one of her last sights, though, so she forces her eyes open again, and what she sees is empty, unearthly stillness.

She tilts her head to the side, considering it. “I don’t see a whole lot of movement on the surface.”

Connor frowns. “Well, maybe they’re keeping all of the kids inside? I mean, they’re probably not letting them run around all the time. Wouldn’t want one of their prisoners to accidentally break a leg or something and ruin their profits.”

His tone is bitter. Risa can’t help but match it. “I don’t even see lights. Surely they want them to be healthy, right? They wouldn’t keep them in total darkness.”

Connor leans forward to get a better look, then points out one particular part of the harvest colony. “No, look over there. That’s light, right?”

Risa peers at it, then nods. “Faint, but yeah, it is. Maybe we angle towards that?”

Connor nods in agreement, manipulating the controls to accordingly change their trajectory. They stand in silent union, hands interlocked, watching the distribution colony loom ever closer. Risa waits for some alarm to be triggered, some sentry ship to be sent after them, but nothing happens.

“I don’t like this,” she says uneasily. “They should have seen us by now.”

“We’ve got good cloaking technology,” Connor mentions hesitantly. “Could be that their scanners just haven’t picked us up yet. To be honest, the fewer confrontations, the better. The element of surprise is best when it’s on our side.”

Risa shrugs, accepting this. Sure, she’s glad not to be fired on immediately, but something about this whole affair still seems off somehow. She can’t help this uncanny sense that something is terribly wrong, and more so than just the fact that they’re taking a crazy risk.

“Five minutes to landing,” Connor announces. “Strap in. I’ll try for a clean landing, but I’m still not an ace pilot yet.”

“You’re excellent at bedside manner, though,” Risa quips.

Connor glances up just long enough to shoot her a wry grin before returning to his controls. Risa takes a seat, buckling herself in just in case. To Connor’s credit, his landing is quite smooth. The second the ships start moving, they’re instantly hurrying to the escape hatch. They won’t have long to make this work, they’ve got to make every second count. Connor tosses Risa a tranq gun then takes one for himself. She flashes him a smile right before they open the hatch.

“We can do this,” she tells him. “We’re getting out.”

“We’re getting out,” Connor agrees, and opens up the hatch. Risa has no idea if they’re lying or not. She supposes she’ll find out soon enough.

They run out as quickly as they can. Risa can see the tower of a security station not far off, which isn’t great. As they hurry towards the doors leading towards the heart of the harvest colony center, Risa waits for Juvey-cops to run out and start shooting at them. Maybe a colony like this, with this many distributes all waiting for their end, would even have hired private soldiers, just in case.

Still, nobody comes. No klaxons blare even despite the obvious intrusion. Risa exchanges a nervous glance with Connor. “Someone should have noticed by now,” she whispers.

Connor nods his agreement. They arrive at the tall gate leading to the center. Connor reaches towards the control panel, but, as it turns out, he doesn’t have to. It’s already been shot to pieces, a small ribbon of smoke rising from the destroyed controls. The doors are cracked open; Connor kicks one open and it falls to the ground completely, the resulting clang echoing off of empty walls. They freeze, but no one comes.

Connor moves to go inside, but Risa holds out an arm to stop him. “Do you smell that?” She asks.

He pauses, then frowns. “Smells like smoke. A lot of it.”

A terrible idea is occurring to Risa. “You know the light you saw when we were nearing the colony? What if it wasn’t the light of a building?”

Connor turns back to her, ignoring the empty doorway behind him. It won’t matter, actually. No one will come to kill him, because no one is here at all. “What if it wasn’t a light?” She repeats, “What if it was a fire? A fire that consumed everything here?”

Connor’s eyes widen. He turns back to the doorway and carefully steps through. Risa joins him a heartbeat later, and together they stare at the empty grounds. Bullet holes riddle the walls, the windows, the ground beneath their feet. Risa hears no sounds save for the wind whistling through holes in the complex and her own harsh breathing.

“Connor,” she says unsteadily, “I think everyone here is gone.”

unwind tag list: @reinekes-fox, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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