Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Megan E. O’Keefe
Excerpt from The Protectorate: Book Three copyright © 2020 by Megan E. O’Keefe
Excerpt from Fortuna copyright © 2019 by Kristyn Merbeth
Cover design by Lauren Panepinto
Cover illustration by Sparth
Cover copyright © 2020 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
Author photograph by Joey Hewitt
Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Orbit
Hachette Book Group
1290 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10104
orbitbooks.net
First Edition: July 2020
Simultaneously published in Great Britain by Orbit
Orbit is an imprint of Hachette Book Group.
The Orbit name and logo are trademarks of Little, Brown Book Group Limited.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to www.hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 376-6591.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: O’Keefe, Megan E., 1985– author.
Title: Chaos vector / Megan E. O’Keefe.
Description: First edition. | New York, NY : Orbit, 2020. | Series: The protectorate ; book 2
Identifiers: LCCN 2020006688 | ISBN 9780316419635 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780316419611 (ebook)
Subjects: GSAFD: Science fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3615.K437 C47 2020 | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020006688
ISBNs: 978-0-316-41963-5 (trade paperback), 978-0-316-41964-2 (ebook)
E3-20200706-JV-NF-ORI
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Map
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Interlude
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Interlude
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Interlude
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Interlude
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Interlude
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Interlude
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Interlude
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Acknowledgments
Discover More
Extras
Meet the Author
A Preview of The Protectorate: Book Three
A Preview of Fortuna
Also by Megan E. O’Keefe
Praise for Velocity Weapon
This one is for all my beloved weirdos at #MurderCabin.
I couldn’t ask for a finer bunch of friends.
Explore book giveaways, sneak peeks, deals, and more.
Tap here to learn more.
CHAPTER 1
PRIME STANDARD YEAR 3543
FIRST DAY A FUGITIVE
It took twelve hours for the media to spin Sanda Greeve from war hero to murderess. False footage filled every feed, showing her push Keeper Lavaux out of an airlock when it’d been him trying to cut her skull open. Part of Sanda even liked the fake. It was deeply satisfying to watch herself shove Lavaux into hard vacuum with her own hands, even if it made her a criminal.
She could hide, ride it out. Wait until the investigation proved the footage was doctored and then come out of hiding. Her dad Graham had already arranged for them to lie low on Pozo, a half-forgotten moon in the Atrux system.
Pozo gave her a chance to scrub a little of the blood out. It would leave its mark, as blood always did, but she could live a quiet life there and slip back into military service when the heat cooled. Accept whatever rank General Anford decided she deserved and step in line until her reputation was less tarnished, if not shiny.
There weren’t any answers on Pozo, but there could be a life. One that looked a shade more like the one she’d planned before Bero had stolen her from between the stars and ripped her worlds apart. Going to Pozo, she’d never find her way to the coordinates hidden in her skull. On Pozo, she might be safe.
But safe couldn’t undo what she’d experienced. Safe couldn’t bring Bero back from his desperate flight for freedom. It couldn’t pluck the illegal Keeper chip with its hidden coordinates out of her head, or erase the fact that Keeper Lavaux had attempted to murder her to get those coordinates.
If she went to the planet of Atrux, she stood a chance of finding answers. From Atrux, Tomas could use his spy connections to discover the location of the coordinates without setting off any digital trip wires. Atrux was where the search for the secret in her head began.
Pozo was going into hiding. Atrux was going to war.
She typed the coordinates into the console, and Graham’s hauler deviated from its prefiled flight plan. Sanda’s heart was in her throat as the graphic display on the viewscreen showed them branching away from the predicted path to Pozo, out on the fringes, and banked hard for the space elevator that would take them down through the atmo dome over Alexandria-Atrux and into the city’s hangar.
The dash lit
green, an incoming call from air traffic control.
“Hauler, this is Alexandria-Atrux dock central. You are off course.”
Graham leaned closer to the radio deck. “Control, we need medical assistance and cannot complete the trip to Pozo.”
“Hauler, do you require a medishuttle?”
“Negative, it’s not that bad. Just need a hospital sooner than the three weeks to Pozo will take.”
“Understood. Please enter approach sequence Falcon, the AIs will take you in.”
“Roger that, control.”
Tomas, Sanda, and Graham sat back in their inertia-damping seats and let out breaths heavy enough to fog the forward viewscreen. Graham punched in the approach path, and the ship’s AI gave way to the guiding hand of Atrux control.
“That wasn’t the hard part,” Tomas said.
“Spoilsport,” she said.
“He’s right, lass.”
“I’m not sure I can take you two ganging up against me for another twelve hours.”
“We’re not—” they said in unison. All three broke into anxious laughter.
“Okay.” Sanda pressed her palms against the arms of her chair, stretching tired muscles. The hauler vibrated as its guidance system began the braking procedure. “How are we going to explain away two people not on the hauler’s manifest, Dad? They’re gonna scan our idents, and I’m wanted for questioning in Lavaux’s death.”
Graham shrugged. “If anyone is even at the dock to ask, I’ll say you were last-minute hired hands because the pallet jacks broke and muscle is cheaper than new equipment on short notice.”
“That might get you out of being fined for flying without a souls-on-board manifest, but it does nothing about Sanda’s ident,” Tomas said.
“Hey, your ident is spoiled goods now, too.”
“Me?” He looked abashed. “I don’t know what you mean. According to this pad on my wrist, my name is Jacob Galvan. Luckily for us, Jacob Galvan is a titanium member of the Stellaris Hotel chain. We’ll have sweet dreams on real feather pillows once we get off this bucket.”
She narrowed her eyes. “All right then, work your spy magic on my ident.”
“No can do. I had this preprogrammed in case I needed to switch in the field. To make a new ident look authentic, I need access to a lot of databases. If I pull downloads from certain databases onto this ship, then it doesn’t matter what I do to cover the trail, it will get someone’s attention.”
“Biran will get that mess with Lavaux cleared up, just you wait.” Graham’s chair creaked as he reached over to squeeze her shoulder.
“Hands in line,” she said by rote. When she’d been trained to pilot her gunship, the order had seemed stupid. Keeping her hands in the shadow of the evac pod that encased all deck chairs was the kind of superfluous, worst-case scenario training that was enforced only when the safety inspectors came knocking.
At the time, she’d figured that if things had gone bad enough that her evac pod deployed around her chair, then losing a finger to it snapping shut was a small price to pay. She rubbed the end of her thigh, pinch-rolling the itchy flesh between two fingers. Didn’t seem so stupid now.
“Sorry, sorry.” Graham pulled his arm back and picked at the FitFlex suit clinging to his chest. He’d always complained about the way the tight material irritated his chest hair. She’d told him to get over it and suit up, because you never knew when hard vacuum would jump up and bite you in the ass.
“We’re all on edge,” Tomas said.
“Stop,” she said.
“What?”
“De-escalating the situation.”
Silence. Shit. A few weeks ago, the chatter would have been a balm to her nerves; now she wanted to live in a sensory deprivation tank. Twelve hours. It’d been only twelve hours since she’d been spaced, said her goodbyes, and given up her body to the black. She should pull it together. She should be easier on herself. She should stop her thoughts ping-ponging back and forth quicker than a rabid squirrel.
Her thigh stung. She looked down to realize she’d rubbed the flesh red-raw and hadn’t even noticed. She needed a jumpsuit. Some barrier between her body thicker than the flimsy robe Graham had rummaged up out of an ancient crate of supplies.
She needed a lot of things, but the jumpsuit was something she could concentrate on.
“You sure you don’t have an extra FitFlex on board?”
“Sorry, lass, didn’t expect the company.”
“We’re coming in. You’ll get to change soon,” Tomas said.
Sanda’s fingers danced over the dash, wiping away the graphical readout to switch over to a real-time camera display of their approach to the elevator.
“Whoa,” she said.
Tomas grinned wider than the horizon. “Welcome to your first big city.”
Her home planet of Ada had been small enough that the shuttles from the station to the dwarf planet punched down through the atmo dome without an elevator’s assistance. But a planet like Atrux, nearly one and a half times the size of Ada and covered with a dome that housed millions of people, needed something a little bigger.
The elevator speared up through the navy-blue atmo stretched below them like a calm sea. The carbon-black materials of its body absorbed all the ambient light, and it would have blended completely into empty space if it hadn’t been for the status lights set into its body, a red-green-and-yellow smattering of freckles blinking out messages into the endless dark.
Shuttles of varying shapes and sizes swarmed around the thrust of metal, their systems guided in concert by the traffic-control AI. Even braking, the speeds the ships moved at were too fast for humans to pilot. In hard vacuum, where every axis was a possibility of travel, human eyes and reflexes lost all efficiency.
A massive yacht of a ship, painted stark white and lit up with external lights pumping out a rainbow pattern that flickered with the beat of unheard music passed above them, the bottom of the ship eclipsing Sanda’s forward view.
“Dios,” she said, “and I thought Lavaux’s ship was huge.”
“Prepare for capture,” a cool female voice said through the hauler’s speakers. Sanda nearly jumped out of her skin.
“What the—”
“Standard,” Graham cut in, “poor choice of words, considering the circumstances.”
His wry smile eased the tension in her shoulders.
“My situation isn’t exactly something the sensitivity testers would know to look for.”
Graham’s smile wiped away, replaced with a faraway look. The hauler finished its braking cycle, relying on conserved momentum to float the rest of the way into the elevator. An articulated mechanical hand reached out, plucking the hauler out of space. The ship vibrated, a few indicators on the dash flashing off a complaint at losing their autonomy, but the piloting AI quieted them.
“Welcome to Alexandria-Atrux,” a cheery voice said through the speakers, stripped down to gender-neutral tones like the welcoming voice used for the Ada shuttles. It started piping in the annoying welcome jingle for the city. Graham swiped the volume down.
“Are all welcome AIs the same?”
“All the ones I’ve heard,” Tomas said, “and thanks to the Nazca sending me all over the universe, I’ve heard a lot.”
“Wait.” She scrunched up her nose. “While out on all those missions, have you figured out if they’re the same AI system, or are they individual instances that have been given the same vocalization pack?”
“Why does that matter?” Graham asked, bewildered.
“It… it just does.” She closed her eyes and pressed a thumb into the space between her eyes. “Never mind. Forget it.”
Tomas gave her a look that he’d developed in the last twelve hours that somehow conveyed You’re thinking about Bero again, aren’t you? without saying the words. She crossed her arms and scowled at the viewscreen, pretending not to have noticed.
In the corner of her eye, Tomas’s arm tensed as he started to reach for her but
stopped himself. She wasn’t sure if it was more, or less, annoying that he’d surmised keeping his hands in line with the pod chair was more comforting to her right now than attempting to soothe her. Dating anyone was complicated. Starting a relationship with a man who’d been trained for emotional manipulation via the best spy agency in the universe was going to cause her the migraine to end all migraines.
The hand brought them in tight to the elevator’s body and spun them around so they’d be faced the right way at the hangar, then began the slow, silky-smooth descent into the atmo dome. Even though the viewscreen was a camera feed and not a real window, Sanda still leaned forward, almost pressing her nose against the glass. Alexandria-Atrux sprawled below, spilling across the land so far and wide that Sanda couldn’t make out the curved boundaries of the atmo dome.
The sky above shaded to night-simulation, the city a kaleidoscope of lights and textures and movement. Cyan and gold streaked the streets, rivers of humanity pulsing to and from their daily tasks. Even from on high, she could see the purple-green-red-white chaos of advertising drones, tempting the people of Atrux into spending their basic, and then some.
A grip of skyscrapers pierced the center of the city, faced with nonreflective materials to keep the ad drones from bouncing their lights off of them. As if the wealthy in those knifelike towers were immune to the constant ploy of commerce on the streets. Probably they owned half the drones. Agricultural domes pockmarked the edges of the city, environments within the greater hug of the atmo dome, cycling to their own weather and circadian rhythm.
“How many people?” she asked.
“Millions,” Graham said, “though you’d have to ask the net for the exact count. Atrux was once a system with a lot of promise. It has two gates—one to Ordinal, one to Ada. The Keepers hoped that once they punched through to Ada, there’d be another multi-gate system waiting on the other side. It could have been a major thoroughfare.”
“But Ada could only support the one gate.”
He nodded. “It was a huge disappointment.”
“Which is why a lot of your early settlers went off to found Icarion,” Tomas said.
“Disappointments all around,” Sanda said.
Gravity pressed them down, reminding Sanda how empty her stomach was. She hadn’t even thought to ask for food after she’d come out of the healing goop of the NutriBath.
Chaos Vector Page 1
