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Alopay Residence, 55 Jefferson Street, Omaha, Nebraska, United States
Sarah doesn’t want her brother to be dead or her best friend to be armless in the ICU or her school to be gone. She doesn’t want most of her classmates to have been obliterated. She doesn’t want any part of it. She doesn’t want to be the Player.
Too bad for her.
She sits at the linoleum-topped table, her fingers laced. Simon and Olowa stand behind her. Christopher returned to the crash site to help pull survivors out of the wreckage and do whatever else he can. He’s kind that way. Kind and brave and strong.
Christopher does not know what Sarah is or what she’s going to have to do. He does not know that the meteor fell from the sky in order to deliver her a message. In a way, all those deaths were caused by Sarah’s presence. And there will be more death if Sarah doesn’t Play. Everyone within hundreds, thousands of miles will die if she doesn’t win.
The Alopays are still in shock. They look like actors from a war movie. Sarah hasn’t spoken. Simon has been crying quietly. Olowa has been steeling herself against what has passed and what is yet to come.
The multicolored meteorite rests on an ancient ceramic platter on the table. Olowa has told them that it’s called pallasite—a kind of nickel-iron rock laced with a colorful substance called olivine. In spite of its small size, it weighs 9.91 kg. Cut into the pallasite is a perfect triangular hole.
The stone that flew from Sarah’s neck and saved them rests on the table. It is jet-black, darker than the insides of Sarah’s eyes.
Next to the stone is a rough-edged sheet of yellow paper, and a glass beaker of clear liquid.
Sarah picks up the stone. They have talked about this moment for years. Though Sarah never believed it would come, and doesn’t think her parents did either, now it’s here. They have to follow each step, in proper order. When they were young, before they were eligible, she and Tate would playact and pretend they were doing it. They were children. Like fools, they thought Endgame would be cool.
It isn’t.
Sarah turns the stone in her hand. It is a tetrahedron. Its four triangular sides are exactly the same dimensions as the hole in the chunk of meteorite. The small pyramidal rock is familiar yet foreign. There is no record of its exact age, but the Alopays know that it is at least 30,000 years old. It comes from an era in human history when humans were not believed to have possessed the tools capable of crafting a thing so fine. It comes from a time when humans were not believed to have even been aware of the perfect proportions of golden triangles. But here it is. Passed down again and again and again. An artifact of history before history. A history that is not thought to have existed.
“Here goes,” Sarah says.
This is it.
The future is unwritten.
What will be will be.
She holds the stone over the meteorite; it jumps from her hand and snaps into place, melding with the pallasite. The hairline gap between the objects disappears. For a moment nothing happens. A rock is a rock is a rock is a rock. But as they watch, the stone she wore around her neck turns to dust, as do 3.126 inches of the meteorite around it. The dust mixes, mingles, dances, settles after 11 seconds.
She learned the process when she was five years old. Each step must be done in the proper order.
She pours the dust onto the parchment.
“Ahama muhu lopeke tepe,” her father chants through silent tears. He would rather be grieving for his lost son, but knows there is no time for that.
She spreads the dust.
“Ahama muhu gobekli mu,” her mother chants more resolutely.
She pours the liquid on it.
“Ahaman jeje. Ahaman kerma,” her parents chant together.
The dust steams; the air fills with an acrid smell; the edges of the paper curl, turning the flat sheet into a bowl.
“Ahaman jeje. Ahaman kerma,” her parents chant together.
She picks it up, mixes it.
The liquid evaporates and the dust turns red.
And it appears.
The message.
The Calling.
Sarah stares at the markings. Even though she was not supposed to be the Player, she has always had an affinity for codes and languages. She has been studying them in all their forms since she was four years old. They start shifting into place.
She sees the numbers that are telling her where and how she will start to win.
Sarah thinks about her brother, how Tate couldn’t accept that he had been disqualified from Endgame for losing an eye. How he’d been drifting through his years of ineligibility, how he’d grieved at his inability to continue and the passing of the responsibility to Sarah. How excited he’d looked that afternoon when he’d recovered the meteorite for her. How she can’t actually believe that she’s going to be the one Playing Endgame, and not him. How she is going to have to
Play alone, without Tate’s support.
She thinks about Reena and her missing arm, the confusion on her face. She thinks about Christopher pulling bodies from under rubble. She thinks about her speech. I choose to be the person that I want to be. Those words seem so hollow now that Sarah has no choice.
She will make sure that her family and friends did not die in vain.
All 12 Players of all 12 lines receive the message.
All 12 Players of all 12 lines will attend the Calling.
The 12 Players of the 12 lines are:
Marcus Loxias Megalos,
Minoan,
16.24 years
Chiyoko Takeda,
Mu,
17.89 years
Sarah Alopay,
Cahokian,
17.98 years
Alice Ulapala,
Koori,
18.34 years
Aisling Kopp,
La Tène,
19.94 years
Baitsakhan,
Donghu,
13.02 years
Jago Tlaloc,
Olmec,
19.14 years
An Liu,
Shang,
17.46 years
Shari Chopra,
Harrapan,
17.82 years
Kala Mozami,
Sumerian,
16.50 years
Maccabee Adlai,
Nabataean,
16.42 years
Hilal ibn Isa al-Salt,
Aksumite,
18.69 years
MACCABEE ADLAI (#ulink_95b0a6c9-cd05-5200-ac51-de5909cd08ca)
Aeroflot Flight 3501, Seat 4BDepart: WarsawArrive: Moscow
Maccabee Adlai, the Player of the 8th line, settles into the 1st-class cabin on Aeroflot 3501 from Warsaw to Moscow, which will take 93 minutes. In Moscow he will make a connection for a flight to Beijing, which lasts 433 minutes. He is 16 years old but has the build of a decathlete 10 years his senior. He is six feet five inches tall, and he weighs 240 pounds. He has the facial stubble as well, one of those kids who never really looked like a kid. Even when he was seven, he was much taller and stronger than his peers.
He likes being taller and stronger than his peers.
It gives him advantages.
He removes the jacket of a three-button custom silk suit. He settles into his aisle seat. His French-cuffed shirt is powder blue and white gingham. His rose-patterned tie is held in place with a silver clip. His cuff links are made of fossilized mammoth ivory. They are shaped like Tibetan skull beads and have ruby chips for eyes. On his left pinkie is a large brass ring inset with a drab tan stone carved in the shape of a flower.
Maccabee smells like lavender and honey. His black hair is wavy and full and slicked back. His forehead is broad and his skull is apparent, as if his skin is almost too thin. His temples are a little sunken and his cheekbones high. His eyes are blue. His nose is narrow but large with a hook in the bridge.
It has been broken five times.
He likes fighting. So what? When you’re Maccabee’s size, fights have a tendency to find you. People want to see how they measure up. In Maccabee’s case, they always come up short.
His only bag—a leather monogrammed shoulder satchel—is in the overhead compartment. He expects other Players to be burdened with packs and suitcases and all kinds of expectations. Maccabee doesn’t like to be burdened. He prefers to be nimble, fast, to be able to move and strike at will. Plus, the world has not ended yet. Until it does, money will suffice.
Lots of money.
He fastens his seat belt and turns on a smartphone and listens to a recorded message. He has listened to the message dozens of times:
NASA/ESA/ROSCOSMOS Joint Press Release, 15 June:
At 22:03 GMT on 11 June a large and previously undetected Near Earth Asteroid (NEA), since designated CK46B, passed within 500,000 miles of Earth. Accompanying this parent NEA were several hundred children of varying magnitudes. At least 100 of these objects are confirmed to have been drawn into Earth’s gravitational field. Like most “shooting stars,” the majority of these burned up in the atmosphere, leaving nothing butvisual evidence of their descent and demise. However, as worldwide press coverage has well documented, at least 12 bolides did survive the rigorsof atmospheric entry.
While the sudden appearance of an NEA as large as CK46B is disturbing, it is the purpose of this release to assuage fears of a larger impact inthe future. Impacts like these—especially like those that occurred in Warsaw, Poland; Jodhpur, India; Addis Ababa, Ethiopia; and Forest Hills, Queens, New York, USA—are exceedingly rare. Through joint efforts ofour agencies, plus those of the ISA, JAXA, UKSA, and AEB, you can be assured that other NEAs and Near Earth Objects (NEOs) are identified and tracked on a regular basis and that at this time it is our consensus opinion that our planet is in no danger whatsoever of being struck by anything larger than the meteorites mentioned above.
Finally, it is also our opinion that the shower propagated by CK46Bis complete and that no additional meteors can be expected. CK46Bhas been charted and it is not due to reappear in our vicinity for another 403.56 years. For now, the possible danger posed by this NEA is considered past. Any further information—
“Excuse me,” a man says in Polish as he knocks into Maccabee, yanking the cord of his headphones from his ears.
“I should say so,” Maccabee says in perfect English with equal parts confidence and annoyance.
“You speak the English?” the man asks, also in English, dropping heavily into his window seat. He is 40 or so, sweating, overweight.
“Yes,” Maccabee says. He glances across the aisle. A very pretty woman in a form-fitting dark suit rolls her green bespectacled eyes. Maccabee returns the gesture.
“Then I will speak the English too,” the man announces. “I will practice. Yes? Onto you?”
“Practice with me,” Maccabee corrects, winding the cord of his headphones around his hand.
“Yes. With you.” The man manages to shove his valise under the seat in front of him. He struggles to find his seat belt, pulling hard at the buckled end, which does not move.
“You have to let out the buckle. Like this.” Maccabee unfastens his seat belt and shows the man how it works.
