3.34. Deathless, Strong, and Free
We gather around the jets to leave, short one person. Ava has decided to stay in Petra, at least until Ian gets better, she said; but Raviv offered them both positions with the World Alliance's development department to travel the globe in search of other communities and survivors. I think they'll take it... especially since one of Ava's requests to Raviv was that he bring Tempest back with him. Just in case that was the last I'll see of Ian and Ava for a while, I give them both big hugs before we leave.
I sleep most of the way home, and don't even notice that we've landed outside of Hellhole until Raviv opens the cockpit cover. "You're home," he announces. I stretch my arms, and Daniel helps me to stand.
Declan waits for us by the Immortal's pit, and waves to us with new mechanic fingers. "How was your trip?" he calls to us once we are approaching. He rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet like he's nervous about something.
"Beneficial," Raviv says.
"Amazing," I add.
Once we are close, Raviv and Declan shake hands. "Good to see you again, Raviv."
"You too, Mr. Kunkle. I am here on business, actually, from Ms. Ava Ward and Mr. Ian Becker. They are staying in Petra until he recovers, possibly longer, so I was asked to bring their child back for them."
Declan looks at me for confirmation. "It's true. They're staying there," I say.
"Okay, well... allow me to show you around the Immortal and we'll get baby Tempest all set up for the trip," he says, ushering us toward the pulley elevator they've constructed to carry people and things between the surface and the Immortal.
The four of us step onto the platform and hold onto the rope sides for balance. As Declan cranks us downward, he leans toward me. "Something happened," he whispers. "Something you should know about, but I don't want you or Daniel to worry, because Dr. Guzman and Joe are taking care of it."
"What is it?" Daniel asks. Declan is bad at whispering.
He leans away from my ear, and speaks to both of us now. "It's the baby... Eleanor had an emergency delivery while we were fighting. Eleanor is okay, but the baby is in an incubator in the infirmary. She's really premature. They're not sure if she'll make it."
The elevator platform touches down on the Immortal's patio, and without saying a word, Daniel and I sprint to the infirmary.
I don't expect Daniel to run to the baby, but he does. I stop at the foot of Eleanor's bed, and the two of us watch from a distance as Daniel stops and slowly approaches the baby. Eleanor appears well, though she winces as she sits up, probably still sore from the birth. I move to the side of her bed and take her hand.
Dr. Guzman greets Daniel at the incubator. "Daniel, I'm glad to see you made it home safely. How was Petra? It sounds exciting."
"How is she?" Daniel asks, looking into the incubator. With his back turned to me, I can't see his face, but I can hear the worry in his voice. He taps his middle finger to his thumb in anxiety.
Dr. Guzman lowers his clipboard. "As long as we can keep her here to continue developing, she should be fine. However, any number of complications could arise."
"Can I...?"
Dr. Guzman pulls a stool over for Daniel to sit on, and he takes a seat. He reaches his hand into a glove that stretches into the incubator, and holds her little fingers.
"Go on," Eleanor whispers to me, and pats my butt for me to move. I take slow steps toward the incubator and Daniel.
Dr. Guzman rolls another stool to the other side, where a second glove is, and I take a seat. I haven't had the courage to look at the baby directly yet, so I swallow hard and muster the strength.
She's barely longer than Daniel's hand, and her fingers only cover the tip of his. Wires connect her body to the incubator, from her chest to her stomach to her mouth. I look away at Daniel, who remains focused on her face. She opens her eyes momentarily and Daniel smiles at her. "Hey there," he whispers. He examines her entire body, his eyes tearing. "I'm going to make sure you're okay. I'm going to be here every day to check on you."
He catches me watching him. I have so many questions for him. Why this sudden change of heart? What does he consider this baby's relationship to him is? But he answers everything in one breath, "She's family." He looks away in discomfort. "I... I want to take care of her. I want to be a good older brother or stepdad or whatever I am."
"We'll wait to go home until she can come home with us," I say, slipping my hand into the glove. I pet her foot with my finger. "This is part of our new normal."
He sighs and rests his forehead on the incubator side. "She's so amazing," he says. "The best thing Gunther ever did."
I don't want to think of her as one of Gunther's creations, but Daniel's right. She was created from a combination of mine and Nate's DNA to be a specimen of human perfection, to be a slave in Gunther's new world; but Gunther forgot that I always put my family first. She would have never been his slave. Not with my DNA in her. Gunther had no idea how much this baby would be loved.
"You're right," I say. "Gunther got this right: She's perfect." I look up at Eleanor, who is still seated on her hospital bed, though Joe is now at her side. "What's her name?" I ask.
"Esther," Eleanor says. "Esther Crowley."
Daniel wipes a tear from his cheek. "Whatever I am to you, Esther, know that I will always be here. I will always take care of you."
My heart melts. Daniel was wrong to ever worry about his own character. Above all else, he has always been good, especially to those in need. Me, Celia, MacArthur, and now Esther. All he's ever wanted is to protect and help others.
An idea pops into my head. "I know how you can still be a scientist, but never have your work turned into a weapon. You would only ever help others."
"How's that?" he asks.
"Joe," I say, and he joins us at the incubator. "Here's your new trainee in the counseling department. He has experience helping others feel more confident and hopeful, he can help with physical therapy, and he even has a wolf he's basically trained to be an emotional support animal."
Daniel smiles at me, his back to Joe, and mouths the words, "I love you."
"We can definitely arrange that," Joe says. "Daniel, is that something you would want to do? Work with me as my trainee and learn to be a counselor?"
"I'd really like that," he replies, turning to face Joe. "Maybe we can start tomorrow."
"Whenever you're ready," Joe replies.
"I'm ready," Daniel says, returning his gaze to baby Esther.
A new chapter of our lives is starting, one without war. I, too, am ready for it to begin.
***
After days of unsuccessfully trying to recover data from the spacecraft's computer, Julian reluctantly gave his recommendation on what we should do with the Robert's crew teenagers: wipe their minds of the implants and let them start fresh. No one on board the Immortal argued, so Dr. Guzman went to each of their cells in the detention center, administering the treatment to wash away the implants one by one.
Now volunteers from the Deathless and Hellhole perform exit interviews on the crew members, preparing them for their long journeys toward normalcy, which start today when they are released from the detention center. I'm one of the volunteers. I sit at Dr. Patel's desk (I still can't call it mine) in the front office of the biology lab.
"Did you choose a name?" I ask the girl in front of me. That's the first question on our script. Every crew member was given a name book and was asked to find a name they liked. This is step one to reclaiming their identity.
The girl tugs at her braid. It's the same girl who was one of the first off the spacecraft. She seems like she is one of the leaders among the crew. Not in her behavior—she was just as confused as all the others—but in the way the others look to her. None of them remember anything about their lives on the spacecraft, but still, they all look to her before answering any of the questions we ask them. Leadership is something inherent, I guess.
"I chose the name Galaxy," she tells me. Then she laughs. Dimples press into her cheeks. "It wasn't in any of the books, I know. But when I look up at the sky and wonder what happened to me out there... who I was... all I see is space. It doesn't tell me anything about who I was except for where I've been. And maybe that's all that matters. If that's all I can remember about who I was—that I lived in the stars—then that's what I'm going to hold on to."
I smile, setting my clipboard of questions on my lap. "Growing up, Daniel and I used to always look up at the stars and make up stories about them. The stars are part of who I was too. I love your choice of name."
"You're lucky you can remember who you used to be. Well, I guess, who you are."
"No, you were right. Who I used to be. I've changed a lot since your spacecraft came into view."
She shrugs. "I don't know if I've changed... but I'll know one day." She leans forward. "I will be able to remember later, right? From here on out, I'll have memories?"
"Dr. Guzman says you should. There was nothing of concern on your brain scans." I hold the clipboard back up and read over the next few questions. What jobs are available to you? Which job would you prefer? Where will you go for help?
I bite my lip and set the clipboard back down. There will be time for business later. "Listen... I can't imagine what it must be like to not have any idea who you were, but if it makes you feel any better, I think that, in some way, you're lucky."
"Why?" Galaxy asks.
"There are some days I wake up from nightmares still, and for a split second, I wish I could start over. A clean slate, like you and the others from Roberts' crew. No memories of the war or of Gunther or of those I've lost."
"Yeah, but now I don't know who I've lost. I would rather remember every single person I've ever lost and every single terrible thing that's ever happened to me than never remember any of the good things. There were good things in my life. I don't want my clean slate, and you shouldn't either."
I nod, feeling stupid for having even suggested it. "You're right, I'm sorry," I say and continue with the standard questions.
When we're all done with her exit interview and her job assignment—she chose to train with the soldiers—Galaxy heads to the cafeteria for lunch, leaving me in the office alone.
Galaxy was right to be offended by what I said, of course. Her situation is nothing to be jealous of; but after all I've been through, I can't help but miss the days when the most I had to worry about was whether or not there would be a vegetarian alternative at dinner. Life was easy, and whenever I remember someone I've loved who is gone or when I expect to see the girl I was in the mirror, but see the scarred, crazy-haired person I am now... for a moment, I still wish I could start over. Be a baby again, live my life the right way this time.
But then I look at this life, the one I'm living now, and I see the strong woman I've become. Everything I've gone through has led me here. I don't want to forget, and whatever Roberts' crew went through, I get why they wouldn't want to forget either.
I open the bottom drawer of Dr. Patel's desk and take out a notepad. I pick up a pen and start writing. "This will not be the history book Gunther Quail, Phoebe Clark, Winston Fowler, or Alexander Ovis thought their names would appear in. This will be the history book of all the people I've known and all the struggles we've faced, so that we don't forget." I bite my lip and rewrite the last sentence. "So that I don't forget."
I reach into the mini-fridge beside Dr. Patel's desk for an egg salad sandwich, though I don't even unwrap it before I go on writing. I start by writing about the people we've lost. I write about the good and bad in all of them, even Gunther. No one is a complete monster or a complete saint. We're all complex. I want to capture that in my writing, even when I get around to writing about myself.
I finally stop to eat, and as I fill my belly with food, I read over what I've written so far. I don't know if anyone else will ever read it, but if future generations find my writing, I don't want them to read about the Isla Blume others tried to mold me into. The weakling, the mystery, the martyr, the mole, the savior, the lover, the revolutionary, the implanted soldier, the judge, the commander. I don't want them to learn all the labels I was given and all the labels I gave myself.
No—instead, I want future generations to read about the person I fought to become. I want to remember the person I fought to become, because if no one else remembers her, at least I should.
She doesn't wear a single label anymore, because not just one fits her. She is all she's ever wanted to be and all she's ever feared.
She is deathless.
She is strength.
She is free.
I pick up my pen and keep writing.
This is the last official chapter of the Deathless Trilogy. All we have left is the epilogue. I hope that you have enjoyed following Isla's journey, and I hope that you like where we leave the Deathless in the epilogue.
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