The Remnant

He pulled the white panel back into place and settled himself down in the narrow space so that he and Marcela were both facing me, their outstretched legs bordering mine on either side. “It’s strange to think about, isn’t it? This is the outer rim of the ship. We’re right next to space. Makes me feel fragile.” He curled his knees into his chest. “And heavy. That’s the gravity, though.”

I stared at him.

Marcela cleared her throat. “We’ve intercepted a series of communications between Central Command—the Commander himself, actually—and the Asian Ark. Apparently, he’s not so jazzed about continuing our little ceasefire.”

“So threaten to cut his air supply or something,” I said. “Wasn’t that the whole point of stealing the Noah Board?”

Isaiah wiggled his shoulders and settled a little further down, giving his neck more room to straighten out. From where we sat, barely underneath a walkway, we could see into most of the hangar above us. The flooring was only solid on the footpaths, giving the hangar the illusion of being suspended in space. “Yes and no. They update it; Adam rehacks it and overwrites their progress. Rinse and repeat. We can handle it.”

“Then why exactly do you need me to hijack an Arkhopper?”

“It turns out we have a weakness.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Like other than the fact that they have all the good weapons? And all the supplies? And all the trained soldiers?”

They ignored that. “We—the Remnant—are on the outer rim of the ship and confined to Sector Seven. All our efforts to penetrate the rest of the ship have failed,” said Isaiah.

“We don’t need to take the rest of the ship,” I said. “We just need the rest of the ship to leave us alone.”

“Command alone, we could handle,” said Marcela. “We have a strong enough grip on their tech that we can probably survive until we get to Eirenea. The problem is that we’re right up against the hull of the ship.”

I bit my lip, hesitant to be persuaded. Eirenea was the planet the Arks were trying to reach. The plan was to build some kind of electromagnetic field, then terraform and colonize it. Like a newer, smaller Earth. Even if everything went perfectly, we were still years away from reaching it.

She paused, watching me. “It would appear that the Commander has embarked upon a more… comprehensive strategy for our defeat. Thanks to Adam, we have reason to believe he’s going to ally with Asia. Convince them that we need to be wiped out.”

I considered that. “You’re saying they’re going to blow a hole in the ship.”

“The engineers took the possibility of projectiles pretty seriously,” she said. “There are ways of saving the rest of the ship if the hull is breached. But they didn’t take the Remnant into account.”

I nodded, understanding. “No one was supposed to live on the outer edge of the Ark.”

“We weren’t supposed to live at all,” she said. “And if they hit us, we won’t survive the blast. Especially not if the Commander disables the defense systems first.”

“One shot, we’re out,” said Isaiah.

“They’d never do that,” I breathed. “Asia would never intentionally…” I stopped. Fear was a powerful salve for the conscience. If the Commander had convinced Asia that we were some kind of threat to them, I wasn’t sure what they’d be capable of. And in my experience, the Commander could be very convincing.

“Oh, now,” he said. “Don’t look so upset about it. We do have a plan.”

“Ah. As long as there’s a plan.”

“And here he comes now,” said Marcela.

I looked around, but apart from the three of us, the crawl space was empty. “He?”

Marcela pointed through the floor above us. I squinted over the walkway and across the length of the hangar. A hooded figure swept into the room, accompanied by a change in the air, perceptible even from as far away as we were. As I watched, the guard on duty rushed toward him, but he held out a hand, and I saw that he was young: his hand was smaller and less muscular than Eren’s, or even Isaiah’s. The hand touched the guard, and the guard fell to the ground, writhing, and then was still.

The hooded figure barely noticed. He swept toward the panel on the wall, and the door closed. His face was shrouded, but if my creeping suspicion as to his identity was right, that door wouldn’t open again, no matter who was on the other side.

He turned toward us, and my guess solidified into ice: Adam.

Adam was a genius, a prodigy. Those were the only words appropriate to describe his fluency with the burgeoning technology of the Ark’s various systems, some of which he’d created himself, and nearly all of which he’d modified to suit his own strengths. I didn’t know much about his brief life on Earth, but, up here, the only family I’d seen of his was Amiel, his sister.

He worked for Isaiah. We’d done exactly one job together: the Noah Board.

At first, I’d liked him fine, in spite of the fact that he reminded me of myself, minus the tech proficiency. But during the heist, he’d killed without thought, and his methods were ruthless. It made him unpredictable. If you asked me, which apparently no one had, it was dangerous to work with a person like that. And not just to our enemies. To us. Surely Isaiah could see the need for limitations, for distance, with someone like that.

I shivered, allowing the weight of the ship to pull me down into myself. “Isaiah. No,” I whispered. “He can’t be controlled.”

“I don’t need to control him. I just need him to do his job. Sound familiar?”

“Yes, you do,” I said.

He approached at a leisurely pace, his hood anchored around his face for the length of the catwalk, and I felt my nerves set themselves on edge as he passed panel after panel on his path through the hangar.

Of course he was coming for us.

When he reached the panel above our hiding spot, he produced a long, thin black rod and swiped it over the controls. They zwipped and fizzled before going dark and rebooting. When the subsystem came back online, he pressed a hand against the biometric scanner, and we watched, breathless, as it keyed to his vitals. A moment passed, and the panel was his.

Only then did he turn to us.

He stooped to work an opening in the pipes around the catwalk, then assisted Isaiah through the floor and onto the platform in front of the hatch.

Marcela went next, giving me an appraising look as she accepted Isaiah’s outstretched hand. I popped myself up through the hole before anyone could reach for me.

Now that he’d taken control of the security systems in the hangar, Adam let his hood fall back to his shoulders. His face was as young and bright as I remembered. He flicked lightning-quick fingers over the panel, and the hatch popped open.

The airlock was exposed. It lay open at our feet, awaiting us, barely longer or wider than a body. We couldn’t access the Arkhopper without it, but the mere thought of crawling into it made my fingers go cold. I decided not to look at it. I couldn’t afford to take my attention away from Adam, anyway.

“Hi, Char,” he said, his voice softer than I remembered.

I gritted my teeth. What was the play here? “Adam.”

He smiled robotically. “Sorry about last time.”

Last time, he’d shot me, rather than let the mission fail. His intent to kill had been as plain as the nose on his unlined face.

“So,” he continued after my silence, “you and me. Together again.” There was an eagerness in his voice that belied his youth, but he showed far more restraint than I’d have otherwise credited him with.

“No.” I directed my response at Isaiah. “We’re not.”

Mars and Adam blinked. Isaiah’s face was outwardly passive. I continued. “I don’t want anything to do with him. Least of all now that the other Arks are involved.”

“Not all of them,” said Adam.

Isaiah spoke as though he hadn’t heard us. “This is a standard two-seat hopper. It can be piloted remotely, or with the manual controls. Pretty self-explanatory, from what I’ve heard. I’ll be in constant contact while you’re in transit.”

“Two seats? I’m not going. Not with him.”