Free Remnants 13 - Survival by Katherine Alice Applegate Page A

plodding courageously through the ash desert.
    Without exactly knowing why, Tate felt an overwhelming sadness. The figure looked so alone. As alone as she was in reality, trapped on Mother, whizzing through empty space.
    “Who is it?” Tate asked.
    Billy’s smile grew ever more radiant. “Me.”
    He seemed more than human. There was nothing new about that, of course. Only — this was different. Billy seemed somehow — lit up from inside. Tate looked down at the hand grasping hers. A golden glow shone from Billy’s skin. The reflection warmed her own. She felt a peacefulness flowing from him into her and somehow its warmth made her sadness all the deeper
    Billy.
    They’d made fun of him.
    They’d been afraid of him.
    They’d used him. 2Face especially — but they were all guilty. They’d let him interface with Mother even though it clearly cost him physically and emotionally.
    Billy had never complained. He’d never made a single demand. He expected nothing and that was essentially what they’d given him.
    Only Jobs had ever tried to be Billy’s friend. And it wasn’t until now that Tate realized that Billy had been the most worthy of their love.
    Billy had always been ready to sacrifice himself for them. He was selfless, a hero. Tate admired him.
    And now — here he was glowing in her dream. That glow made her uncomfortable. She didn’t know what it meant. She hoped it represented something good for Billy and knew instinctively it didn’t. You didn’t get to glow without suffering first.
    Tate and Billy swooped in closer to the ground. The familiar image of the crashed Mother rose up below them. The ship was battered and half-filled with ash. And here was Billy’s small figure eagerly clambering up a sliding hill of ash to get inside.
    The glowing Billy gently began to tug his hand away from Tate.
    “No!” Tate cried out. She didn’t want to let go of him until she could somehow thank him. She needed him to know that she appreciated what he’d done for them.
    Too late. Billy’s long fingers slipped free, the contact was lost, and Billy began to simply fade away.
    His radiant grin lingered for a moment and then it, too, disappeared.
    “Billy!” Tate cried in despair.
    He was gone.
    Tate floated above the ruined ship, utterly alone.
    And then — jump cut. Tate was inside the crashed Mother. She was on the bridge with the Shipwright-designed door towering over her head. She was watching as Billy walked in a slow circle, trailing his fingers over the dust-choked controls.
    This wasn’t the glowing Billy. This was the one she’d seen walking through the desert alone. This Billy looked pale, thin, and ill as he padded softly over to one of the Shipwright’s chairs and reluctantly slipped into it.
    “Mother,” he whispered fervently. “Mother, I’ve missed you. I’m so glad I found you again….”
    “How may I serve you?” came Daughter’s lifeless voice.
    “Mother, where are you?” Billy’s voice was too loud, too insistent, too needy. Tate covered her ears to block him out, but you don’t need ears to hear in a dream.
    “How may I serve you?” Daughter repeated, oblivious to Billy’s distress. “How may I serve you?
    How may I serve you? How may I serve you?” Daughter’s request echoed repeatedly, loud and soft, in whispers and shouts, until the bridge was filled with the sound of her voice.
    Billy hid his head in his hands and wept.
    Tate went to him. She tried to comfort him, but he was unaware of her presence. He was a character in a novel and she was his reader — unable to change the flow of events, unable to do anything but suffer along with him.
    Billy recovered quickly. He was tough.
    An orphan.
    A child of war.
    A Remnant.
     
    He sat up. Without bothering to brush at his tears, he began to talk to Daughter. His face grew solemn with determination and concentration.
    Billy’s words flew by far too fast for Tate to understand, but she could guess what he was trying to