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  HOTHOUSE

  INSULARITY BOOK 3

  © 2019, Stephanie Mylchreest

  [email protected]

  www.stephaniemylchreest.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, without permission in writing from the author.

  To my readers:

  Thank you for reading.

  You are the reason for this book!

  Steph

  It is not easy to see how the more extreme forms of nationalism can long survive when men have seen the Earth in its true perspective as a single small globe against the stars.

  - Arthur C. Clarke

  Chapter One

  My best friend Abigail is staring at me. Her coarse black hair is tied in a bun on the top of her head to prevent it from whipping around in the sea breeze, which is intensified by the rapid speed of the boat we are on.

  “What did you say?” she asks me. Her voice is cold.

  I stare back at her. A chasm has opened up between us and I can’t seem to bridge it, no matter how hard I try. “We can’t run, Abigail. We are preparing for war and the battle lines have already been drawn.”

  On one side is Washington, the center of power on the mainland. Yanx, the most feared gang leader in these parts, is working for them. On the other side are the people from the station, who have spent generations orbiting Earth waiting for the right time to return.

  “You’re crazy,” says Abigail, shaking her head.

  “Commander Rothman has dark motives and access to weapons that could kill us all,” I reply stubbornly.

  “The station has preserved mankind’s greatest achievements for hundreds of years. Why would they want to return to Earth and kill us all?” she asks. “Ada said all they want is to return to Earth and have a chance at life.”

  “She lied,” I reply.

  “Don’t speak ill of the dead,” hisses Abigail, before turning and leaving me alone on the deck.

  “I made a mistake. I didn’t want her to die; I only wanted to stop her. And now I’m trying to make up for it, Abigail,” I say. No one hears me, but the words I say are true. I need to atone for my mistake and it’s why I’ve sided with Washington, fighting for the good of humanity. My brother Rich is with me, and—reluctantly—Abigail, of course.

  And Delphine.

  Delphine and I have a complicated history. As sure as the sun rises each day, as sure as it sets each night—bringing a cascade of color before the dark—I’ll love her.

  But Delphine barely sees me anymore. Not after I allowed Apollo to kill Ada, the young woman who fell from the sky. Ada Rothman was Commander Rothman’s daughter, and the person who led us down this terrible path towards death and destruction. I wish every day that I’d never saved her from the pit.

  I’m lost in my dark thoughts, alone on the top deck of the sleek, steel-gray boat owned by Yanx, as we barrel up the coast towards Canada. We are on our way to stop the people from the station.

  The boat is powered by some kind of fuel and has electricity that operates lights and other incredible devices. The rumble of the engine that propels us at terrific speed through the water causes gentle vibrations I can feel through the smooth wooden deck.

  We don’t have electricity on my home, Martha’s Vineyard, or in most places on the Mainland. One of the Washingtonians, Michelle, has explained a little about electricity to me. In Washington—as on the station—they have retained crucial and important knowledge from the time before civilization was destroyed.

  A door opens behind me and I turn to see Michelle, the president of Washington’s Chief of Staff, standing in the doorway. She stares at me with inscrutable dark eyes. “I thought the deck would be empty,” she says. She steps out into the sunshine and joins me.

  The deck is at the bow on the first floor of the boat which is bigger than any boat I’ve ever been on. Inside there are small bedrooms for each of us, a huge room we’ve dubbed the war room, as well as lounges and dining rooms.

  Michelle and I sit with our legs hanging over the edge of the boat. There is a metal and wire railing between us and the deep blue sea below. The mainland is to our left and the vast, seemingly endless ocean is to our right.

  Michelle and I have an uneasy friendship. I know the Washingtonians are only tolerating us on this mission because our family and friends—my mother among them—are working with the people from the station. They think the four of us may be useful at some strategic point in the future.

  Michelle doesn’t say anything and we watch the land rush past us in companionable silence. We are too far away for anyone to shoot at us from the mainland, but close enough to appreciate the beauty of the coastline.

  “What do you suppose it was like before?” I finally ask. I don’t need to clarify my question. There is only the time before the great floods, and the time that came after.

  Michelle looks at me and smiles. “I wasn’t expecting that question,” she says to me.

  “I’m tired of talking about anything that really matters,” I reply.

  She thinks for a moment before speaking. “I’ve seen old photographs and video clips. It was crowded. There were so many people and the cities were huge. Humans were mass consumers of pretty much everything.” She pauses and we look at each other for a moment. There is sadness in her eyes. “There was so much death, so much suffering, especially at the end.”

  “We are the lucky ones, I suppose. Our lives are much better now.”

  “Yes, I guess so. The drought and disease and brutal wars over clean water—it all happened so much quicker than anyone was expecting. I am glad not to have been there for that.”

  “Humans are capable of such terrible things,” I muse.

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  We both contemplate her words. “I suppose there were some good things from before,” I say.

  “Yes, it was an amazing time to be alive in many ways. There was so much happening. People could get on an airplane and fly halfway across the world like it was nothing.”

  “What’s an airplane?”

  “A flying vessel. There were also commercial space flights, if you had the money. Can you imagine it? People would get into a rocket and jet off into space just for fun.”

  I look up into the blue sky above. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to live among the stars. Michelle continues, “You could send a letter or a message to someone instantly. It used to be pretty peaceful before the sea levels started to rise, at least in our country.”

  “You mean the United States?”

  She nods.

  “Is this the furthest distance you’ve gone from Washington?” I ask.

  “No, I’ve been further.”

  I wait for her to elaborate but she doesn’t say anything more. I turn from her and stare at the lush, green forest growing up to the beach on the mainland, contemplating the sad end to human civilization.

  “What do you know about the people on the station?” I ask, after some time.

  “They sent the station into orbit after the sea levels began to rise. They represented a last effort by the government to preserve humankind’s greatest achievements. They’ve got everything we have, as you know. They have all the books, art, medicine and technology that Ada Rothman told you about. As well as all the weapons and instruments of mass destruction that you learned about in Washington.”

  “So Washington and the station both have the Collection?”

  “I forgot that’s what the people on the station call it. Yes, that’s right?”

  “Why do you both maintain the Collection?”

  “It’s too important to risk losing. If Washington were to fall, we needed a backup of the knowledge and infor
mation.” Michelle touches her fingertip over her lips thoughtfully.

  “That makes sense. Can you tell me about the actual people on board the station? Mary Rothman, for instance.”

  “We have a data profile for everyone born up there, of course. I don’t know any of them though, just what I’ve seen on file. Living up there in that small space for generations, it did funny things to people. We cut contact when we realized the threat they represent.”

  The boat hits a large wave and we lurch forward. We both grab the metal rail and the salt-water sprays up and hits us in the face. Michelle tilts her head back and laughs. Sunlight plays over her face and her dark eyes twinkle.

  I think about the people who lived in the station. They have been up there for hundreds of years, never setting foot on Earth, generation after generation stuck in endless orbit around the planet. Until now, that is.

  Ada came back to Earth on a last-hope mission with two others from the station. The others died when their capsule crash-landed in the waters outside Martha’s Vineyard. She was the only survivor.

  With my help, Ada escaped Martha’s Vineyard and journeyed to Washington. We stole launch codes from Washington so her people could return to Earth before their fuel ran out. I thought I was doing the right thing by helping them. They were all going to die up there. But now I’ve seen the horrors they will inflict to take control of Washington, and I’m going to stop them.

  “How did you know they were planning to use their weapons against you?”

  “I thought you didn’t want to talk about anything that really matters,” she replies.

  I shrug my shoulders.

  Michelle turns from me and gazes out to sea. I follow her gaze. The ocean becomes hazy at the curve of the horizon. The distance looks vast. It’s difficult to comprehend how big the Earth really is.

  “We intercepted some communications,” she finally says, without turning back to face me.

  I’m about to ask her to elaborate when my brother’s voice says my name. “Hey, Chris. Michelle.”

  I didn’t hear him open the door behind us. I look up at his silhouette, shielding my eyes from the sun, and smile. He slides to the ground and sits next to me, hanging his legs over the edge of the boat.

  For a moment I put aside where we are going and what’s already happened. Just for an instant, we are on his fishing boat, the salty wind fresh and the bright sunshine luminescent, our joy palpable. I grin at him. I’m thankful he is alive. He’s my other half, we have the same blood flowing through our veins, and I can’t imagine life without him.

  “Hey, Rich,” I say. Michelle nods at him.

  My brother is a tightly coiled length of muscle, tall and broad-shouldered. He’s in perpetual motion. He looks at us but doesn’t return my smile. Instead, his leg bounces up and down as his calf taps repeatedly on the side of his boat. Something is up.

  I give him a moment and eventually he speaks. “Chris, we are going to pass near Martha’s Vineyard soon.”

  His words stop me cold. I blink at him in the bright light. “Why?” I finally say to Michelle.

  “We have little choice if we are to make it to Canada before the people from the station land,” says Michelle.

  “Will you go close? Everyone on the island would see Yanx’s boat,” I say.

  “That’s not my problem. I don’t think anyone really cares about tiny island politics at this stage of play.”

  I try to imagine the islanders catching a glimpse of Yanx’s steel-gray monster of a boat. It’s beyond anything any of us could have dreamed possible. It moves through the water without a sail. It is smooth where our ships are rough, big where ours are small, strong where ours are weak.

  “I hope they see us,” says Rich. “I think we’ve probably exposed the truth to the other islanders, anyway.”

  “What truth?” asks Michelle.

  “He means your technology. We have no electricity, no motorized boats, no proper medicines…” My voice trails off.

  I think about our friends who might have been saved had we had access to those things. Rich, reading my thoughts, catches my eye and says, “Marissa.”

  “Yes,” I say sadly. “Our elders kept it all from us. They traded opium with the gangs to keep them away from the island. They told us that the Great Floods would come again if we didn’t live by the Book.”

  “What’s the Book?” she asks.

  Rich and I look at one another. Michelle is asking questions about something that existed a lifetime ago for us. How do we explain the Book? How do we explain the sacrifice that was made every spring to keep the Gods’ vengeance at bay?

  Our blind obedience to the narrative created by the Elders seems shameful to speak out loud. Why did we not guess there was more to know? Rich and I both shake our heads. Michelle senses she won’t get any more from us today.

  “It’s the same on the mainland. We tightly control who has access to information. Knowledge is a dangerous thing. We give a small amount of tech to the gang leaders. It makes them feel important. But most of the masses know nothing.” Michelle laughs to herself.

  I can’t help but think she is underestimating Yanx.

  “Delphine was the one who figured it out, wasn’t she?” says Michelle after some time.

  “Delphine wanted to raise the alarm that the sea levels could rise again at any time. She wanted the people on Martha’s Vineyard to understand that the sacrifice wouldn’t keep them safe. She understands so much more about this world than we do,” I say.

  “She’s right you know. The waters will rise again. The planet is royally screwed. When the waters rise, your little island will be probably be gone forever. There’s going to be death and destruction and chaos all over again for those who are unprepared.”

  “Your island will be gone too,” says Rich.

  “It will. But we are prepared,” replies Michelle with an antagonizing smile.

  I can tell that Rich is tense. The tapping of his foot is increasing in tempo and redness is creeping up his neck. I need him to calm down. I want Michelle on our side, at least until we don’t need them anymore.

  “We knew the sea levels might rise again. We made it all the way to the New York State Library. We stole some books after setting fire to the entrance,” I say, changing the subject.

  “That was you?” Michelle whistles. “We own the library. Did you know that? We know exactly what information goes where. There’s a lot that’s not there anymore.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “We censor what we let the gangs know. You need a lot of gold to buy a book and pretty much only the gang leaders have sufficient access to funds to make a purchase. We hold a lot of books back from circulation in the library. We only put old books of which we have multiple copies, and only those that we deem safe for mass consumption.”

  “You’re no better than the elders!” explodes Rich. “You’re all just playing god.” He glares at Michelle. I place a hand on his shoulder.

  “Will we have any backup when we get to Canada?” I ask her.

  “Yes, there will be Yanx’s army. They are all coming overland. The ones closest to Canada, near New York City, will be there first. There should be several waves of soldiers arriving in Canada, all ready to do our bidding.”

  “We’ll need them,” I reply, thinking of the forest people, who are now supporting those from the station. “What if the people from the station use their weapons on us?”

  “It’s likely,” says Michelle, and shrugs. “We won’t be on the front line though, so you don’t need to worry excessively.”

  “I’ll just worry a little then,” says Rich, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “And we don’t want our mother or any of our friends hurt.”

  “Yes, no one can touch our friends or family,” I reiterate.

  “You don’t really have any bargaining power in this situation, you realize that don’t you?” Michelle stands and puts her hands on her hips. She’s wearing the strange stiff
pants and a shirt that the Washingtonians favor. “Enjoy the view boys,” she says as she walks back inside the boat.

  I realize we are about to sail past the island. It’s Martha’s Vineyard right there in front of us. The land of our childhood laid out in all its insignificance. Pain bubbles from deep inside me and threatens to erupt like vomit. Rich stands and walks back inside, leaving me alone on the deck.

  Our wooden fishing boats are moored just offshore. The West Chop Light—Delphine's home—looks like a child’s toy perched on the cliff face. I want to get her so she can see it. I’m walking back across the deck when Rich comes barreling past me. He has a gun in his hand and starts firing wildly at the island. The noise is startling and between shots I can hear shouts from inside the boat. I know we don’t have long before someone gets up here, and the situation escalates.

  “Rich!” I yell. “Stop, please!” I grab him and put my hands on his arm. He swings the gun around and for a second it’s pointed at my chest. He’s wild with rage. Tears are forming in the corner of his eyes and he wipes at them with his spare hand.

  I gently ease the gun from his hand. There is the sound of people running on to the deck and I see a group of divinity, together with Lincoln from Washington, from the corner of my eye. Their weapons are drawn. I shake my head at them and slide the stolen gun across the deck. Lincoln scoops down and picks it up. He freezes and continues to watch us.

  I put my arm around Rich’s shoulder and we turn our backs to the others on the deck. We don’t belong here on this boat. We don’t belong with these gang members or the arrogant Washingtonians. But we don’t belong on Martha’s Vineyard either.

  We have nowhere to go. We are outcasts.

  Shoulder to shoulder we watch as the island passes our field of view and fades into the amorphous coastline.

  Chapter Two

  The tension on the boat has been growing rapidly as we approach our destination. I can see it clearly on those around me; the way Michelle’s forehead is furrowed and her fingers tap incessantly on the metal rail, the way Yanx—beautiful and intimidatingly tall—flexes and stretches her arms over her head: we are almost there.