The other officer approached and held out a thumb scanner. “Identification please.”
Nathan complied.
“Chadwick Hendricks from De Moines, Iowa, huh?” the officer said, reading the scanner and furrowing his eyebrows. “You’re telling me you came all the way to this hellhole to play a gig?”
“Correct, sir.”
“Vacate this alley in two minutes or we’ll escort you back to the border. Understood?”
They walked away and Nathan caught his breath. Close call. Too close.
He reached into the sound hole and yanked out the panel, revealing souvenirs from the recent trip to San Francisco; the hairpiece and beard had made it home in his suitcase. He attached both pieces, adjusting them until they felt right. With Sarah’s help, they’d done some dying and trimming so he wouldn’t look so obnoxiously out of place, and so he would better match the profile of Chadwick Hendricks. He’d rehearsed positioning and placement without a mirror, as he wouldn’t have that luxury here.
He placed the guitar in the case and leaned it against a wall. He would have to leave it here. Ian’s doctor or the security guard who threw him out on his previous visit might recognize him if he brought it with him.
“So long, old friend,” he whispered. “I hope you make your next owner happy.”
Nathan emerged from the alley and walked toward the hospital. The officers near the entrance were talking on satellite phones. One of them glanced at Nathan as he walked by, but said nothing.
He entered the hospital and got in line at the security terminal. Here they would only perform an ID check and a body scan for weapons. Good thing for that. He wasn’t getting in if they forced him to remove the watch.
“Remove your UV visor,” a young guard with a buzz cut ordered. Yes, that was him. The meathead who’d thrown him out.
Nathan complied, then swiped his thumb.
“Your ID didn’t come through. Try again.”
Nathan’s stomach lurched as he did a second sweep on the scanner. Was the watch not working? Did the guard recognize him?
“Still not working,” the guard said. “One more try or you’re not getting in. Got it?”
Nathan swiped again.
The guard stared at a monitor for what felt like an eternity, then studied Nathan. “What brings you to the Quadrant Three Hospital, Mr. Hendricks? Says here you’re a realtor from Iowa?”
“Visiting a cousin,” Nathan said with the best hoarse voice he could muster without sounding too much like the Godfather.
“Speak up,” the guard demanded.
“Visiting a cousin before the next flare hits,” Nathan repeated in the same voice, but with more attitude this time.
The guard flared his nostrils and flashed a stiff grin. “Have a nice visit, Mr. Hendricks.”
The gate lifted and Nathan passed through.
Whew.
He reached the bottom floor and turned down the hallway leading to the Post-Treatment Wing, passing Ian’s doctor on the way. He gave Nathan a quick glance but said nothing as they nearly brushed shoulders.
He gasped as he entered Ian’s room and found another child there instead. A little girl.
“Can I help you, sir?” a nurse asked.
“Where is Ian Gallagher?”
“I think he was moved to the room at the end of the hallway. Are you with Sanctuary Admin?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Isn’t his Bedside Compassion date scheduled for the day after tomorrow? I thought you might be here to take care of the paperwork, but—”
Nathan didn’t wait for her to finish. He ran down the hall to the last room on the right and found Ian asleep in his wheelchair.
He pulled a stool next to Ian and ran his hand over his arm; it felt like a twig that could snap with the slightest movement. He’d probably lost ten pounds since he’d seen him last. Had he eaten anything in the last week?”
“I’m so sorry, Ian,” Nathan said, running his fingers through his son’s greasy hair. “I let you down. I promised to get you out of here a long time ago. Can you forgive me?”
His eyelids slid open. “Dad…is that you?”
“I’m here, Ian.”
“Where have you been?” he said with a quivering voice, tears flooding his eyes. “I thought you and mom left me here to die.”
Nathan lifted his fake beard and dabbed his cheeks with his shirt, then scooted it back into place, followed by a quick readjustment of the wig. He promised himself he wouldn’t cry today, but so much for that.
Ian’s aide, Angelina, entered the room.
“Pretend you’re sleeping and let me do all the talking,” Nathan whispered to Ian.
Angelina put her hands on her hips and studied Nathan. “You look familiar. Have you been here before?”
“A few times,” he said in a low voice.
“Name?”
“Chadwick Hendricks.”
“Well, your beard is coming off, Chadwick. And your hairpiece has shifted to the right.” She wagged her finger. “It’s you Mr. Gallagher, isn’t it?”
Nathan nodded.
“I’m calling security.” Her hand moved toward a panel near the door. She put her finger on a red button.
“Angelina, please,” Nathan said, his voice desperate. “Give me ten minutes alone with my son and I’ll be gone. I promise. Ten minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”
She kept her finger in place and gave Ian a long look. Nathan sensed compassion in her eyes.
“Angelina…I don’t know that I’ve ever asked you, but do you have kids?”
“None of your business.”
“Suppose you had a son, Angelina, and suppose he was the one scheduled to be euthanized soon. Wouldn’t you want ten minutes alone to say goodbye?”
She bit her lip, finger still on the button. “I have three daughters, no boys.”
“What are their names?”
“Stop with these questions,” she said. “The hospital will fire me if I don’t report you.”
Nathan approached her. “Look, Angelina, I don’t mean to get you in trouble,” he said, lowering his voice. “Could you at least tell me who in Sanctuary Admin sets the Bedside Compassion dates?”
She glanced nervously at the doorway, then back at Nathan.
“Is it the person who’s coming here to do Ian’s paperwork today?” Nathan persisted.
“No. Much higher up. The visitation representative only files the electronic paperwork and updates the central database. It’s more of a clerical function.”
“So, everything flows through a central database, right? Patient names, Bedside Compassion dates, that sort of thing?”
She nodded, her face softening.
“Are Bedside Compassion dates ever moved out?”
“Occasionally.”
“And the doctors and visitation representatives adhere to those dates?”
“Yes, they must. All patient directives flow through the central database.”
Angelina removed her hand from the panel and headed for the door. “Ten minutes, Mr. Gallagher, then you must go.”
After she left, Ian flung open his eyelids, his eyes bulging. “Dad, you’ve got to get me out of here.”
27
Present Day
For what seemed like the millionth time, Jillian tapped on the ancient spacecraft’s console and attempted to communicate with Space Traffic Control. Once again, the computer informed her the transmission failed to reach Earth.
She made a fist and slammed it against the console.
She wished she would have had more time with Elliot Gareth in the Archives to learn the intricacies of the spacecraft. If she could only make sense of the computer’s advanced coding, she might be able to diagnose the root cause of the transmission failures.
She had some theories, however, and they had nothing to do with the spacecraft’s thousand-year-old computer. She had a hunch someone working for Leland Kronemeyer was intercepting her transmissions an
d scrambling them before they reached Space Traffic’s communication satellite.
Nor could she receive any messages from Earth. She’d spoken with her team back on Earth once in six months, right as she was leaving Ellis Three’s orbit. The fact that she hadn’t communicated with Space Traffic Control in six months meant that she would be considered an unidentified vessel of hostile intent.
And that had serious consequences.
She looked at Earth in the distance and held back tears. She was so close, only two days out. If they found a way to stop her, she would die here alone, in the blackness of space.
“Pull it together, Jillian,” she said. She’d been talking to herself a lot over the last few months. She would have gone stir-crazy if she hadn’t.
It was almost absurd that she was still alive. She, Jillian Catterton, had single-handedly piloted an unfamiliar spacecraft six hundred light years across the universe. Elliot Gareth had only given her a quick tutorial on the basics: propulsion, maneuvering, life support, communications. Enough to get her and the Barrier wave analyzer back to Earth in one piece.
Ironic and almost laughable that her sixth-month journey through the void of space might come to an end only days before entering Earth’s orbit.
Elliot Gareth had warned her of this, and she implemented Plan B months ago. She’d put together a data package of everything she’d learned, and everything the team on Earth would need to continue the mission without her. This included schematics of the mainframe at McMurdo Station in Antarctica and blueprints to build another Barrier wave analyzer. She just needed a thirty-second window to send the data package through.
She sighed as she stared at her home in the distance, suspended like a marble against a black backdrop. It glowed like a sapphire jewel, radiant and stunning, the opposite of Ellis Three. If the end of the road was indeed approaching, then she owed herself a few hours of quiet reflection. Precious memories were all she had now, and they would be her companion to the bitter end.
Her thoughts drifted back to the Ellis Three Archives, to the moment the three-month delusion dissipated and cruel reality took its place.
“Elliot?” she had shrieked as the tall figure stood in the doorway of the dark, freezing room. She was on the floor in the fetal position, beside Tyler’s dead body in the preservation capsule.
“I’m sorry, Jillian,” Elliot said. The voice sounded like his, but something was different. It sounded cold, mechanical. “I had to do this to get you here,” he said. “I needed you fully committed to the mission, and Tyler was necessary. You would not have trusted me if you saw me…like this.”
Jillian was numb that day. She could not speak. She wanted to die beside her husband’s side. Elliot informed her that her entire stay on Ellis Three was nothing more than a twelve-week training simulation while she lay comatose on the table. Everything she experienced in her mind reflected the real Ellis Three Archives: her living quarters, the lab, the hangar housing the boomerang shaped spacecraft. Everything except for Tyler.
“It appears I’ve made a careless miscalculation,” Elliot had said, moving closer. “I neglected to program myself into the simulation—I assumed the emotional pull of Tyler’s memory would be sufficient. But, it appears your neural pathways require further adjustments, and you’ll need more time in the simulation.”
She remembered nothing else about that day, not even what Elliot looked like. Only his calm, hypnotic voice. She awoke four days later with an overwhelming compulsion to complete the mission. Like her whole being was hardwired to God himself, and fulfilling her task was the only thing in the whole universe that really mattered. Her new memories told her that despite Elliot’s attempts to revive Tyler after his crash landing on Ellis Three, he died a week later. Elliot retrieved Tyler’s memories, his entire life, everything he was—that sort of technology existed on Ellis Three. In the Archives.
Then she had boarded the ancient spacecraft and left Ellis Three for good.
And here she was. Almost home, but not quite.
The console beeped. “Jillian, is that you?”
Jillian flinched. She hadn’t heard another voice except her own in so, so long. Was it real?
“Jillian, if that’s you, please respond.”
“This is Jillian Catterton,” she reported. She confirmed her Zathcore ID and he did the same: Bryce Gaffke, Chief Operations Officer.
“My team has been working around the clock to locate the missile pointed at your spacecraft and reprogram its course remotely,” Bryce stated. He paused. “Regrettably, we have not been successful.”
Jillian’s stomach knotted. This information wasn’t a surprise, but she still wasn’t thrilled to hear it.
“Long story short,” Bryce continued, “Our lead man, Aidan Gallagher, embedded a high-amp recording device into his wedding band. One of our undercover ops posing as a tactical officer managed to retrieve it after Aidan committed suicide at the Mt. Rushmore ruins. He got it into the hands of the man who’s trying to take you out—Chairman Alkott with the World Defense Committee. They’ve nicknamed you Black Ghost, and they’ve got the entire world believing you’re a threat. We were hoping for a lead on the location of the missile. No luck with that yet, but Aidan’s ring did pick up a private conversation between Alkott and the director of Global Communications. We overheard a top secret password, then hacked into the global network and intercepted your feed. Global Communications has been scrambling your transmissions for the last six months.”
“How long do I have?”
“You’re in serious trouble, Jillian. There’s a good chance the World Defense Committee has already launched the missile. They’ve been extremely secretive.”
Jillian took a deep breath. “Bryce…is it too late to change course?”
Silence.
“Listen,” Jillian said. “I have data to send. Everything the team needs to complete the mission.”
He gave her the channel coordinates and she sent the data package.
Thirty seconds later…
“Data package received,” Bryce said.
“Can you do something else for me, Bryce?”
“Anything.”
“Tell my daughter, Ashlyn, I love her.”
The feed cut out. Half an hour later, a light approached from the direction of Earth. Changing course was pointless—the missile would follow suit.
No, she would face it with honor. With pleasure. She would die as a martyr for Elliot Gareth’s grand mission.
She closed her eyes and braced for impact.
28
“Nathan, come look at this!” Sarah yelled from their living room. He jumped out of the shower and threw on a bathrobe. He joined her in front of the television. They watched the morning news in horror.
Every network was blaring footage of a deep space missile colliding with Black Ghost and the resulting fireball in space. Two days ago, the World Defense Committee had secretly launched the missile. Satellite and telescope imagery of the launch went public at 2 a.m. Central that morning, twenty minutes after the collision. The missile hit its target precisely, and the Ellis Three Crisis was officially over, the networks declared in unison. It was a Thanksgiving miracle. Wasn’t Chairman Alkott magnificent?
“Congratulations, Chairman,” Nathan mumbled at the holographic projection.
He thought of Ashlyn, probably in total despair, wherever she was. He’d left her a string of voice messages upon returning from Sanctuary 87 the day before. It was urgent she called him back. Ian’s life would be extinguished tomorrow morning if she didn’t respond. She had an important role in his plan.
The phone chimed in the next room.
Nathan lunged for it, glancing at the caller ID.
ID Unknown
“Ashlyn?” he said, heart pounding.
“I’m not sure why I’m calling you,” Ashlyn said, sniffling. “Maybe I’m just a lonely, motherless girl freezing her butt off in Antarctica on Thanksgiving Day. I just got here and alre
ady hate it.”
She started sobbing.
“I’m so sorry, Ashlyn.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”
“You don’t blame me for what happened at the Mt. Rushmore ruins?”
“If anyone’s to blame, it’s Chairman Alkott and every Barrier citizen who’s put him up on a pedestal.”
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“Are we, Nathan? We’re all responsible in a way.”
“What do you mean?”
“We value our safety so much that we’ll defend it at all costs. I want no part of the Barrier system any longer. That’s why I decided to join your father’s team and continue what my mother started. She wanted to change the status quo. But now that Aidan and my mother are both dead, the mission’s headed nowhere.” Ashlyn sniffled a few more times, then cleared her throat. “So, how can I possibly help your son, Nathan?”
“You’re connected with a team of system hackers, right?” Nathan said. “My father was working with some people who were trying to hack the missile remotely.”
“I might know some people.”
“Can you get someone to hack into Sanctuary Admin’s central database and cancel Ian’s Bedside Compassion date?”
Ashlyn sighed. “That’s a big favor, Nathan. The team is massively short-handed. The chairman’s moved on to other things, but Leland Kronemeyer hasn’t.”
“I understand, but can anyone you know help?”
“I’m afraid you really don’t get it, amigo. When my mother’s spacecraft blew to bits, so did the Barrier wave analyzer she had with her. From what I’ve heard from the team, Elliot Gareth built it himself on Ellis Three and it took him months, and that’s coming from the man who designed the whole freakin’ Barrier system.”
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