John can almost fly. He's been taking lessons for the last two years.
We leave the med center at 5:30 am with IDs I've doctored and paperwork Mercy's pushed through. John's snuck out ahead of us to check his ship of choice and fuel up.
It's a good plan.
I feel half out of my body on sedatives and antipsychotics so Mercy does something against her usual standoffish nature and holds my hand as we walk down the hall. I grip her like she's the only string tethering me to Earth. She kind of is. I trust her, even if I don't know if what's going on is real. I don't know if anything is real anymore. That fear sits in my stomach, chews at my neurons. I hold tight to Mercy.
Mercy squeezes back. Going rogue looks good on her. She looks as confident as ever. Sure of herself in a stubborn sort of way. I admire her stride until we're through the hangar doors. We soon see John. He's next to the same sleek ship he pointed out to me last night. He wasn't kidding. We're doing this.
"Might as well commit grand-theft airplane in style," he mumbles when we get close. He hands me my supersuit and I change as quickly as I can. My suit is built for hand to hand combat and stealth. It's black armor is a little heavy, but it protects my internal organs when I take a hit. It's also hella easy to connect to tech. There's on-suit wifi, built in data mags, and a holo computer I can use to break into nearly anything. We won't need that for much today, except to hack the ship, take it off the network and disable location tracking, but that's good enough.
Mercy finishes zipping her suit up over her shoulders. It's blue and skin-tight and therefore a complete eyesore for me, who smacked her recently and pretty much sealed the deal on us ever getting together. She and John aren't together. The world solidifies under my feet. I feel heat as blood pinkens my cheeks. I can't believe I knew they were dating. It feels so obvious now, like tasting water. The mortifying ordeal of being crazy.
I try to ignore my twisting stomach as I get into the ship. Mercy takes the copilot seat next to John, and I squeeze into the back. We put on ear protection and adjust our small comm devises. John's stolen enough ear pieces and small tech to trick us out like we're about to head into a real mission.
"Time to go get our girl," John says as the engines purr to life. I still can't believe they believe me, and for a moment I think about pinching myself or fighting my brain to wake up. WAKE UP. But best I can tell Mercy and John are really there. Flesh and blood and flying us out of the YEPP headquarters and toward the unforgiving ocean.
It's a long flight and the drugs in my system pull me under for a long time. John and Mercy's idle chatter from the front seat lulls me to sleep then wakes me up when I can't quite figure out if I'm really there. I reach for a hand. John offers a quick squeeze before going back to flying.
Mercy turns entirely in her seat, and asks in her, team leader, business-like style if I'm doing okay. Her eyes scan my whole face, and down to my right hand clenched in my lap. Mercy motions for it. I fight for my fingers to open and lift my arm up for Mercy. She takes a moment to squeeze my hand, then uses her thumb to ease my hand open. Palm up. The act of opening my hand slowly reminds me to breathe. It's a subtle reminder to be gentle with myself.
"You ready to talk strategy?" Mercy asks then. Her voice is business but her eyes tell a softer story, one where she wants to leans in and put her forehead against mine and ask if I'm really okay. But that's not the story of the day. I mumble, yes.
"We're an hour out," John says, "We need to be prepared for anything." I remember a conversation had while I was flickering in and out. It was about the water monster. We were pretty sure we killed it, but that didn't mean its creator wasn't still out there making new abominations and more likely, holding Penelope captive.
"I'm armed," Mercy says. John snorts. Of course Mercy is armed. She's armed and also in posession of the power to fly, punch things very hard, and shoot blue laser-ish horror from her hands. She tried it on me once, and even the eyedropper amount of laser she poked me with felt like being plunged in ice and electrocuted. I had to lie down for hours. John doesn't let her touch him with those powers. Especially now that he's got a thing against being cold. I wonder how he's gonna deal today. Then see that he grabbed his uniform with a built in heater. I look down. Mine does too. Oh right. We're going to an icy death and John's good at planning ahead.
"Well, we have the layout on this guy's last lair," Mercy says, and then she launches into her clear explanation of best tactics. She's got schematics and suggestions. How did she have time to come up with all of this? I thought I was the manic one who never slept.
I struggle hard to pay attention, but my brain has grumbled from manic to sleepy and disorganized. I feel like I'm sitting at twelve different cafeteria tables at once and can't follow the conversation at any of them. At one of those tables Mercy gets about 1/12 of my attention, no matter how hard I try to tone down the screaming conversations at the other tables.
"Hold up-" John cuts Mercy off before she starts assigning possible roles for us. His voice is tinged with surprise. He has our rapt attention. Even I'm over 50% zoomed in. I put my hands on weather side of my face and narrow down my field of vision, just to be sure.
"I'm getting a weak reading," John says.
"How?" Mercy leans over to see his scanners better. Four years ago we traveled thousands of miles looking for Penelope and never once have we gotten a reading.
"It's on the coordinate line Phi suggested," John says. His eyebrows crinkle and wiggle as he tries to triangulate while still steering. Mercy slaps his hand away and leans into the scanner to do what he can't. I nearly crawl over the seats to see.
"It's right on the longitudinal line you suggested," Mercy breathes. "What the hell, Manic Wonder."
She leans back and I stare gape-mouthed at the flickering light on the blue nothing of the satellite readout. I almost didn't believe it myself. How could I have figured something out that no one in all of YEPP had?
Because I cared about Penelope, had unearned confidence from my fingers talking to me, and the focus of a bipolar seventeen year old with broken meds on a manic bender. It would be almost like a magic power if it didn't hurt so much. If the come down didn't feel like being shredded through hell, and if I didn't hurt people while on the ride.
I look between John and Mercy then the screen. Maybe it's the lingering mania, or the possibility of finding Penelope, but I feel real love for them. Heart aching love. Mercy is here, even after I shoved her and ran away. John's been there the whole time, watching me spiral and gently putting bumpers around my body until he could walk me safely to the med center. All the snacks they passed me, and times they got me into clothes and to class and lunch. Each moment of loving me through the worst of me, and trusting me and believing me when it mattered. I love them. I lean my head forward, into John's shoulder, because Mercy isn't a snuggler while on missions, but John is always available for a kiss on the forehead. He does that now. Turns his head, eyes still ahead and kisses the spot where my unbrushed hair tangles worst.
"We'll get her back," Mercy says quietly.
We'll get her back.
John follows the weak beep of the green dot to a white snowy scatter of icebergs.
"Merce, scan for any heat signatures, or something that could possibly be a building. I need a trajectory."
"Copy that." Mercy readjusts in her seat and starts pulling up data on the copilot screen. I watch her work. I see nothing, and more nothing, as John nears the green dot. Mercy scans deep and I squint for some sign of our evil master mind's lair, but my scan is cut short when John careens to the right. Mercy and I both tilt hard in our seats.
I right myself, expecting some interference or monster on the horizon, but it's nothing but grey ocean sky. John's face is pale anyway.
"What the hell?" Mercy asks, looking out the window, for some sign of what's wrong. John jabs at some buttons on the dash, that even I know are unimportant, before composing himself.
"Nothing," he says, "I thought I saw something."
"Been there." I joke, and though Mercy chuckles respectfully at my self deprecating joke, John's face just becomes more grim. I can practically see the gears turning in his brain.
"What?" I demand, all brash and uninhibited, because I'm coming down off a manic high, but I'm still crazy.
John doesn't answer and doesn't answer and glances at Mercy desperately and then doesn't answer, but does turn on the landing gear.
"I found Pen," he says after too long. He sounds horrible and my skin tingles as John toggles a few switches for the final descent and starts taking the ship down.
John lands us too gently on the craggy side of an ice sheet. I don't know how far north we are, but it's far enough that the icebergs look like land.
"Where are we?" I ask. I know exactly where we are but I'm wondering how close to the mouth of whatever villainous lair we are. The air in the cockpit is crackly. Both Mercy and I are looking at John waiting for some explanation for his sudden tight lipped concern. He's not coming forward easily.
"I'll show you." His words come out like gossamer ice. Like his powers, they're brittle and weak.
The hatch hisses open and air so cold that icy cannot define it, hits us. All three suits whine into action heating our bodies, but it's not fast enough because John's breath hitches. Mercy goes for the hats stuffed into the space between her and John. She hands them out, and we're silent as we scrunch them over our heads. They're heated as well, and with a special whirring noise they invisibly attach to our suits, creating a bubble of warmth over our faces. It's not the tropics, but it's definitely not freeze-you-to-the-bones-instantly cold anymore.
John fiddles with the engine heater, and then the computer boot programming.
"Time to go," Mercy says, slapping John on the shoulder and breaking him out of his repetitious stall tactics. I don't feel good. When I stand my legs feel numb. John's not saying something very important.
We crawl down the side of the plane and land on a crunchy layer of ice. The friction is enough to keep us upright, but I suspect any fight from an enemy could take us down easily. I wonder if we should have worn different shoes.
Mercy and John look fine. Maybe they're steadier than I am. I look down at my fingers, and for a ghost of a second I see silver, then it settles into familiar pink. I feel dizzy. I wonder if I'm right. I wonder if I'm the one who can bring Penelope home.
"C'mon," John mumbles and takes off around a small pile of ice boulders.
"What should we be concerned about?" Mercy badgers John as she follows behind. She sounds annoyed. Frustrated at least. I walk in her shadow. "John!" Mercy calls.
He's not answering. He just keeps moving, around the icy cliffside and onto an ice sheet with a view of the nothingness of the ocean. It's vast and loud and cold and takes my breath away. I remember the night we lost Penelope. Crashing water and storms. The rushing noise of the ocean.
The freezing, unforgiving ocean. Then my heart stops, because John isn't just wandering aimlessly around the ice sheet. He's got a very clear objective.
Half buried in iced-over snow is a purple-clad figure, lying limp and prone.
"Penelope!"
She's gotten herself free from her captors, and made it this far. I'm excited for her. I never doubted her. She could fight her way through an army of guards to get free. And us, making it here just in time to bring her home. I skid to my knees sliding up next to her, ready to help her up and get her into the ship where it's warm.
"Phia!" John comes up right behind me. He wraps his whole warm body around my shoulder and pulls my hand back just as I'm about to wrap it around Penelope's arm. Penelope doesn't stir. I yank my hand back from John and reach out. Penelope's skin is so cold that it feels like my fingers are burning all over again.
"Pen?" I say. I hope hypothermia hasn't hit her so hard that we can't get her back. John would know something about hypothermia. "What do we do?" I ask. John's strong arms fasten around me. His face presses into my shoulder. Something is dawning on me. Penelope looks the same. Totally the same. John and Mercy and I have cuts and scars and our hairstyles are different. We have new uniforms, which I wouldn't expect from Penelope being trapped as she was in a prison for three years, but a change of clothes at least.
Penelope looks the same.
John's breath is hot against my shoulder. Far far away from me Mercy kneels on the far side of Penelope. Maybe she can get Penelope to wake up? She reaches out a hand and scrapes a layer of snow from Penelope's arm. She's got a dusting of ice and frozen snow on her. Against her back is a snow dune of crushed ice.
"We can get her body back at least," Mercy says. John's breath shudders, then his face moves from my back. Mercy makes a face that tells me she and John are communicating silently again.
"Her body?" I ask. Yeah her body, and also the rest of her I think. Because Penelope is vibrant, and smart, and makes me feel alive, and if we just take her body back then that would be a waste of the rest of her.
"Phia?" I don't realize that John's heat has left my back, or that Mercy's down in front of me now, half obscuring my view of Penelope. "Hey." She says when my eyes meet hers. I feel like I'm falling. I don't really know why.
"Hypothermia," I say stupidly. I feel like there are two brains stuffed inside mine. I'm talking to Mercy. I'm figuring out how to walk Penelope back to the plane when she's so clearly not well, and then there's this silent wall of nothing, like an ice pick headache that I can't see around. I do not want to go near that wall.
I do not want to know what's over there.
Because there's something on the other side of that wall, and it's bad
Bad bad bad
Bad
Bad
Bad
"Let's get you back to the ship," Mercy says.
Let's get Penelope back to the ship. I think. I look around. John is gone. Where is John?
"He's back at the ship making a call," Mercy says. I don't think I asked that out loud.
My hands shake in my lap. Those meds are messing me up. I'm exhausted. At least Mercy is here. Maybe she would let me just lean into her, just this once. I'm cold and I want her warmth. Someone's warmth. I lean forward and then I'm leaning against her chest. For a long time, all I can hear is my heart beating in my ears.
I stare at Penelope, unmoving. That seems wrong. Seems wrong. But something also seems right. I look at her closed eyes, her hair, her tiny stud earrings and her clothes. The supersuit tag stitched on her collar. 23 b230 n2i3 203
There are whispers I'm my brain. A repetition of numbers and letters playing eternally, like a bad remix to a song I never really liked in the first place.
I close my eyes and instead of ignoring the wall, I start erecting a second wall in front of it. This one is brick and sturdy and immobile. Someone kisses my hair, and it's John probably, because Mercy doesn't kiss heads. She also doesn't cry but her cheeks are wet and I smell salt as she holds me and holds me.
And I see Penelope's body in the ice and think, isn't it odd that John and Mercy aren't helping her up.