Page 103 of Shades of Earth (Across the Universe 3)

But an idea.

I know what I need to do.

I push my wi-com. “Bartie, you there?”

“I’m here, Elder,” Bartie says. “Are you at the hatch?”

“Not yet,” I say. “Look, it’s a bit more difficult than I thought. I’m going to have to . . . anyway, listen. I need you to stay very focused and don’t break this com. I’m going to try something. When I say go, start counting. If all goes well, before you reach thirty, I’ll ask you to open the hatch. ”

“What happens if I get to thirty and you don’t tell me to open the hatch?” Bartie asks.

“Nothing,” I say. “Keep the hatch closed. ”

“And we’ll try something else?”

“There is nothing else. I’ve only got one shot at this,” I say. Bartie starts to protest and if Amy were here, she’d kill me, but still I add, “Please. I need to focus. I say go, count to thirty. Open when . . . if I say anything. ”

I head over to the emergency oxygen. Pressurized tanks are connected to tubes and face masks. I grab an oxygen tank and yank out the tube but leave the valve closed. I won’t be able to breathe this in space, but I don’t need the oxygen for breathing. I strap four tanks around my body, two at each hip. Each tank points down to the floor.

I head back to the control panel.

There’s one button I didn’t push. Open Portal.

Pushing this button will make the round metal flaps move away. It will open the door—and I will be sucked out into space. I’ll have maybe half a minute, but probably less than that, to grab one of the loops on the inside of the tube and move the bridge over the hatch. There will be no oxygen—no air at all—and I would have no protection. And I know just how quickly someone can die from being in space without a suit.

I’ve seen it happen.

I suck in a deep breath. Shut my eyes. Blow out all the air in my lungs. Count how long I can go without breathing.

Twenty seconds.

My heart’s racing.

I breathe in. Breathe out. Hold. Count.

Twenty-eight seconds.

I silently apologize to Amy.

That will have to do.

57: AMY

Dad consults with a handful of scientists who worked with Mom to see if Chris’s theory of using smoke made from the purple flowers will work against the aliens. While the smoke seems even more effective at making people pass out, their study doesn’t really tell us anything. The aliens aren’t people. They have strange crystal-like scales and leave weird footprints. That’s about all we know. We’ve never even seen them, let alone analyzed their weaknesses and susceptibilities. Maybe they don’t even breathe. Maybe the purple flowers make them stronger rather than make them pass out. We don’t know.

And that’s the worst part of all this.

We don’t even know who—what—we’re fighting.

They know all about us, though, and exactly how to kill us.

“I don’t like it,” Dad growls at me as he sends five of his military to the forest to collect strands of the purple flower. “I don’t like building the colony’s entire defense around some flowers. ”

“Running away and hiding is no defense at all,” I say. “We have to try. ”

“It will only work once—if it works at all,” Dad says. “Once they see what we’re doing, they will know how to avoid the smoke the next time. ”

“It only has to work once,” I reply. “We only have to survive a few more days before Earth arrives, right?”