by Tarah Benner
“No, sir.”
“I have to ask . . . What led you to believe that Lieutenant Buford would be involved in something like this?”
“He kidnapped her!” Jonah cries. “I was the one who pulled her out of the airlock!”
“But you did not see Lieutenant Buford force Private Jones —”
“Ms. Barnes,” Buford corrects.
Greaves glances from Buford to Jonah and back to Buford. “— this woman into the airlock?”
Jonah lets out a defeated breath. “No, sir.”
“We saw it on the security footage!” Ping breaks in.
I’d almost forgotten Ping was in the room, but I’m instantly grateful for his help.
“You saw it?” Greaves repeats. “How?”
Ping opens his mouth and closes it again. He doesn’t want to say that he hacked the security feed, so he says nothing.
Greaves shakes his head. “Wyatt, I appreciate your concern, but I would caution you not to ruin your already precarious reputation by disparaging a fellow officer until we have all the facts.”
“What more facts do you need?” Jonah growls. “We saw him carrying Jones into the restricted area — unconscious. When I came to find her, she’d been beaten and forced into the airlock.” He steps aside and gestures up and down my body. “Look at her!”
“I’m guessing those are self-inflicted wounds,” says Buford lazily, his mouth flickering into a smile. “Sergeant, your private had us all fooled. I think if you check her credentials, you’ll find that Maggie Jones is just an alias. Her real name is Magnolia Barnes. She works for the press corps and has a following with a publication called Topfold . . . under the name Layla Jones. Maggie Barnes is a woman with three names who could not stumble upon the truth if her life depended on it.”
At those words, my body tightens into a coil of rage, and all eyes in the room snap on to me.
“Is this true?” Greaves asks.
I take a deep breath. Now is not the time to lose my shit. “Partially,” I say in a slow voice. “My real name is Maggie Barnes. I do work for the galactic press corps, and I do have a column on Topfold. But —”
“You see?” Buford snaps, waggling his finger at me in a way that makes me want to snap his neck. “She’s a journalist — if you can call it that. Clever girl . . . Managed to forge the correct documentation to infiltrate the Space Force.”
“You did all this for a story?” asks Greaves.
“I’m afraid she’s been radicalized,” Buford blurts out. “She may be working with the Bureau for Chaos to destabilize the Space Force and spread terror all over the world.”
“What?” I splutter, feeling a scorching wave of anger rising up inside of me.
I don’t know how to explain myself. It’s hard to come clean and expect people to believe anything you say after a deception as big as this one. Still, I don’t know what else to do. Buford is making me out to be a pathological liar and a potential terrorist.
I straighten up and turn to Greaves, who is studying me as though he’s never seen a woman before. Time to put on your big-girl pants and tell the truth, Maggie.
I take a deep breath. “Lieutenant, for the past three weeks, I’ve been posing as a Space Force operative under credentials provided by Maverick Enterprises. I was investigating the Space Force until I was kidnapped by this man.” I throw Buford a dirty look. “He grabbed me when I was on my way back to the barracks and held me captive in the restricted area where the maintenance bots are stored. He told me that he planned to frame me for the bot attacks and then trapped me in an airlock.” I take a deep breath. “I’d be dead if it weren’t for Sergeant Wyatt and Ping.”
A long moment of silence follows the end of my story. Greaves doesn’t say a word. He just stares at me as if he’s trying to tease out the truth, and then he glances at Jonah, Buford, and Ping.
“You found the captain like this?” he asks Jonah.
“Yessir.”
“Did you see who attacked him?”
“No, sir. They were like this when we got here — the captain and the bot.”
“And who administered first aid?”
“I did,” says Jonah.
“That should be easy to verify,” says Greaves. “I suppose that’s part of your uniform there, isn’t it?” He points to the wad of blue fabric resting on Callaghan’s abdomen. By now the blood has dried, leaving a dark-brown stain spreading from the site of the wound.
“Yes, sir. I tried to control the bleeding, but he was barely conscious when we arrived. I asked Private Ping to call emergency dispatch.”
“I canceled your request,” says Greaves. “This entire sector is on lockdown until cause of death can be determined. After that, I’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.” He glances over at Buford again before settling his gaze back on Jonah. “Sergeant, how did you get involved in all this?”
Jonah sighs. “I discovered that Private Jones was a journalist working undercover . . . I confronted her about it. I told her that she needed to turn herself in, but then she disappeared.”
“And how did you determine her whereabouts?”
Jonah glances at Ping. I know he’s thinking about all the illegal hacking Ping must have done to find me. He wants to come clean, but he also wants to protect his squad member. “We tracked her Optix to the restricted area, sir. When I got there, she was in bad shape. She’d been held hostage for nearly fifteen hours.”
“I see,” says Greaves, though he looks more confused than ever. “And how is it that you accessed the restricted area?”
“I hacked it, sir,” says Ping from the corner.
Greaves turns to him in surprise, as though he’d forgotten that Ping was there. “You hacked it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I asked him to,” Jonah adds quickly. “It was crucial that she be found.”
“And was Ms. Barnes alone when you found her in the airlock?”
“Yes.”
I glance at Buford, who looks vindicated. I know where this is going.
“Did you see Lieutenant Buford in the restricted area at all?”
“No, sir.”
“But you saw him on the security feed.”
“I saw a man who looked like him,” says Jonah. I can tell he’s choosing his words carefully.
“You saw his face?”
I look at Jonah, who seems conflicted. Finally, he says, “No.”
“You didn’t see him?”
“No, sir.”
My heart sinks.
“So how did you learn that it was the lieutenant who brought Ms. Barnes to the restricted area in the first place? Assuming her story is true . . .”
“She told me,” says Jonah. “Buford looks like the man who brought her to the restricted zone because it was him.”
“But you never saw Lieutenant Buford yourself?”
Jonah sighs. “No, sir.”
Greaves looks frustrated. “This situation is . . . unprecedented. But it’s not my most pressing concern. In a couple of hours, representatives from the FBI, Homeland Security, and the NSA will be arriving to question anyone who might have been involved with the bot attacks on Earth. They’ll be asking to speak with Captain Callaghan in person.”
“A couple hours?” snaps Jonah. “They weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow night.”
“They got an earlier weather window, and they took it,” says Greaves. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that if news of this gets out, it will severely injure the Space Force’s reputation. Conspiracies will spread like wildfire. It will be all anyone is talking about.”
I frown. That’s what this guy’s worried about? Bad press?
Greaves casts around the room, as if looking for someone to tell him what to do.
“Lieutenant,” says Buford, his voice oozing experience and an annoying degree of helpfulness. “If I may speak freely . . .”
“You may,” says Greaves, looking as though he already regrets
his decision.
“These are disgusting accusations. Of course it is your duty to investigate the matter fully, but in the meantime, I suggest —”
“Lieutenant, this man is a traitor and a terrorist,” says Jonah. “He needs to be locked up before he can cause any more damage.”
“Watch yourself, Sergeant,” says Greaves sharply.
I already don’t like this guy.
“Do not say anything else that you’ll regret. I appreciate that you feel the need to advocate for your private, but until we have all the facts —”
“The facts are clear,” Jonah snaps. “Buford stole classified Space Force data and tried to murder a member of my squad.”
“A journalist,” Buford mumbles.
“His bot already murdered Captain Callaghan, and —”
“The one fact that is not in dispute is that Ms. Barnes has been using a fraudulent identity,” says Buford smoothly. “At the very least I believe she should be detained for further questioning until a disciplinary hearing can be arranged.”
Greaves sighs. He seems to be considering this. “Very well,” he says, looking as though disciplining a journalist is the absolute last thing on his mind.
“What?” Jonah yells.
Horror leaks into my gut. This is it — they’re putting me away. They’re going to lock me up and throw away the key until a shuttle can be arranged to take me back to Earth.
“As for the sergeant and Private Ping . . .”
“Lieutenant, listen to me,” says Jonah, taking a step toward Greaves.
“Wyatt, let’s not make a scene . . .” says Buford.
“Shut up!” Jonah growls, lunging at Buford so fast that Buford physically recoils.
Before I know what’s happening, Jonah’s grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him up against the wall.
“Sergeant!” Greaves bellows.
“You saw it, Lieutenant!” Buford pants, looking terrified. “That is assault. He should be locked up! Committed!”
“Sergeant, control yourself!”
Jonah doesn’t move. His gaze flickers away from Buford’s face, but he lowers his voice to just above a whisper. “You lying sack of shit,” he breathes, releasing Buford with a huff of anger.
Buford’s face darkens. “You see, Lieutenant? Completely unhinged. I expressed my concerns prior to his appointment, and I will reiterate: Sergeant Wyatt is a threat to the security of this organization, and he should be discharged immediately.”
“We’re wasting time!” Jonah growls, rounding on Greaves with a desperate expression. “Those maintenance bots are still loose in the colony. And we don’t even know how many humanoids there are.” He nods at the hostess bot’s prone body. Its legs are splayed at an unnatural angle, and its dark hair is spilled over the floor like oil. “We need to round them up as quickly as possible. The element of surprise is our only —”
“Sergeant, please,” says Greaves finally. He holds up a hand to cut Jonah off.
Jonah stops speaking, but he’s still breathing hard.
“There is no ‘we’ right now,” Greaves continues. “I can’t let you get involved, because I can’t risk compromising this investigation. Until I get to the bottom of this, you and your friends are suspended.”
3
Maggie
The air conditioning kicks on, and a cold draft beats down on my face. I shiver, and a searing pain flares out from my ribcage.
I’m sitting in a holding cell in Space Force jail. It’s eight feet deep and five feet across. The walls are the same grayish white as everything else in the defense sector, but the cell has the feeling of a place that’s not quite finished.
All sides of the floor slope toward the center, where a drainage hole is positioned to make hosing out the cell easier. There’s a metal toilet/sink combo in the corner but nothing else — not a cot or even a chair.
I’m sitting on the cold tile floor freezing my ass off while Greaves blunders his way through emergency lockdown protocol. I want to cry, but I have a feeling even that would hurt. My ribs are bruised, and my throat is sore from where the bot tried to strangle me. Every time the tears well up, I feel a dull ache on the sides of my trachea. I need an icepack and some lip balm, but I doubt they’d take that request seriously — if they ever come back.
I don’t know where the tears are coming from — anger, I suppose. I’ve always been an angry crier.
Every time I think back to the room in the restricted zone and being trapped in that airlock, the rage that surges through me is almost impossible to contain.
Buford was toying with me. It was fun for him. He didn’t hold me captive because of what I knew. If that were the case, he would have killed me instantly. But I amused him — me, Maggie Barnes, trying to play journalist.
Buford and I had never met before, but he knew everything about me. He even knew about my dad. Am I really that transparent that a stranger could see my deepest scars?
I shove aside the feelings that keep crashing in and focus on the real problem. I’m in here. Buford’s out there — Buford and his legion of bots.
It all happened so fast that I didn’t have time to think. Greaves just snapped his fingers, and one of his Space Force minions came to take me away. They patted me down, took my weapon and my boots, and threw me in here without a word. I wish I’d had the sense to ask for a lawyer.
I keep waiting for them to bring in Jonah and Ping, but so far I’m the only prisoner. I’m hoping Greaves decided to let them go, but it could just mean they’re being questioned elsewhere.
Suddenly, I hear a loud bang! echo down the hallway.
I scoot toward the edge of my cell and press my face against the bars. I can’t see more than a few inches in either direction. The walls of my cell stick out like blinders.
But then I hear what sounds like high heels clacking over tile. The footsteps are moving at a quick, even pace, growing ever louder as they approach my cell.
A second later, Alex breezes by and stops dead in her tracks. She pivots to face me, looking appalled, and her face falls into a frown.
“Alex!” I cry. I’m so glad to see her.
“Jesus,” she groans, looking around in disgust.
Even though it’s past midnight, Alex looks fresh as a daisy. She’s wearing a white silk blouse tucked into high-waisted gray slacks, and her hair is gathered into a perfect knot at the base of her neck.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. I’m not sure I want to know.
“Dammit, Maggie,” she says, glancing to her right and her left and leaning in toward the bars. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“Alex, listen,” I say, lowering my voice to just above a whisper. “I wasn’t caught by the Space Force . . . I was kidnapped.”
“What?”
“I was taken by a man named Buford. He’s a lieutenant. He’s one of the people responsible for the bot attacks on Earth. He tried to kill me.”
Alex’s eyes grow wide. “How did you —”
“I figured out who sent me the fake ID. It was Porter Guffrey, Tripp Van de Graaf’s personal assistant. He told me that the bots must have been hacked by someone inside the Space Force and someone from BlumBot. I know Buford was involved, but there’s still someone at BlumBot who’s —”
“Maggie. Stop!” She looks around, plainly irritated. “What — the actual — fuck? I’m in the newsroom editing a story, and I get an alert that the defense sector is on lockdown. Next thing I know, I’m getting a ping from some Space Force douchebag telling me that you’ve been detained for questioning, and — oh, by the way — did I know that one of my employees had been impersonating a private in the Space Force?”
I cringe. “What did you say?”
“No!” Alex shrieks. “Of course I said no!” She tosses her head. “I can’t get mixed up in all this! I have a job to do.”
“Alex, listen to me. You have to be careful. The bots aren’t shut down anymore, and there are others . . . bots that lo
ok exactly like humans.”
For a moment, Alex just stares at me. At first I think she’s trying to decide whether or not I’ve gone insane, but then I realize she’s just trying to justify why she’s not going to help me get out of here. “Look, no offense, but you really shit the bed on this one, Maggie. I can’t help you.”
“Are you listening?” I ask. “There are rogue bots — on the space station.”
Alex continues to study me carefully, and I can tell she doesn’t believe it.
“Why did you come here if you’re not going to help me?” I snap.
“Because they wanted to question me, Maggie. Thanks to you. I’m about to break the story of a lifetime, and now you expect me to come clean up your mess? They could send me back, too, you know. Maverick Enterprises does not like a scandal!”
“My mess?” I hiss. “I was kidnapped, Alex! Did you hear anything I just said?”
“I heard you. And to be totally honest, you sound batshit crazy.”
“Can you at least call the press corps’s lawyer?”
“Jerry?” Alex lets out a bark of hysterical laughter. “Are you kidding? This is way above Jerry’s pay grade, kid. You’re on your own.”
I just stare at her. Alex is the worst. I thought I had an ally — at least a reluctant one — but she’s throwing me under the bus.
I shake my head. “Can you at least tell me something?”
“Oh, I’m supposed to do you a favor?”
I grit my teeth. Yelling isn’t going to help. I have to keep my shit together if I want real answers. “What’s your read on Ziva Blum? You think she’s involved with the bot attacks?”
Alex sighs, and in this moment it’s as though we’re colleagues again. She’s just my editor, and she’s speaking candidly with me about the subject of a story.
“I don’t know,” she says. “My gut tells me she’s clueless, but I’ve been fooled by people less crafty than her.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Truthfully, I don’t know how she couldn’t be involved. From what I hear, no one so much as takes a shit at BlumBot without clearing it with Ziva first.”
