Sanctuary

by Caryn Lix

  “That’s right,” I said, crouching and arranging my features into the non-threatening look I reserved for unavoidable social situations. “I’m a guard, and I’m here to help.”

  For the first time, Anya seemed hopeful. “Can you kill it?” she whispered.

  It? I raised my eyes, startled, in time to see Cage take an involuntary step backward. “Maybe,” I hurried to answer. “But I need more information first. You’re the only one who’s seen . . . it, and I need your help.” She dropped her gaze to her plate, and I clasped her hand. “Hey,” I said. “I know you’re scared. But right now, I need you to be very brave and tell me what happened.” Instinctively, I glanced at Mia for approval. She gave me a half nod.

  Anya tilted her head. “If I help you,” she said, “will you get me out of here? I want to go home.”

  I hesitated. I couldn’t promise her that. Even if I wanted to, I didn’t have the authority. Cage offered no help, narrowing his eyes and folding his arms.

  “Honestly, Anya,” I said, “I don’t know.” The words echoed my own thoughts and feelings, the growing inner turmoil about Omnistellar in general and Sanctuary in particular. I stuck to the truth as I continued. “But I want to help, and I can’t unless you tell me what happened. I promise I’ll do whatever I can to make things better.”

  She seemed to think about it for a minute before nodding. “All right. I’ll tell you. It was . . .” Her voice lowered dramatically. “It was a monster,” she whispered.

  THIRTEEN

  MATT GROANED AUDIBLY AND TURNED away. The rest of us glared at him and he shut up, luckily before Anya heard him. Rune folded her arms over her chest, tapping her foot, and he spread his hands in apology. “What kind of monster?” I asked.

  Anya hesitated, and Rune brought her a refill of milk. The girl’s answering smile broke my heart. The brutality of sticking this little girl in a prison away from her friends and family with only a bunch of teenage delinquents to look after her—it all struck me at once. She received one fifteen-minute video chat a month with her parents, if she had any, and wouldn’t see them again until she turned eighteen, or possibly ever. She didn’t even see the guards. Instead, her needs were met by a cold and impersonal artificial intelligence. And why? I flew over the wrong place, she’d said. What did that mean, exactly? Without access to her file, I couldn’t know.

  Omnistellar had to have a reason. Right?

  “How old are you, Anya?” I asked suddenly.

  She swallowed a gulp of milk. “Ten.”

  Ten. God. My oldest cousin was ten, and I’d watched her grow up. How would I feel if it were her locked away? And how long had Anya been on Sanctuary? I pushed my own fears and worries about the company away and forced my face into a smile, hoping it didn’t look too grotesque. “All right. I’m going to try to help, but I need to know about the . . . monster.”

  Anya nodded but still didn’t say anything. After a moment, Alexei came over. I glanced up in alarm—I didn’t think a guy whose shoulders filled the doorway was the best choice to calm a frightened child. But he ignored me, folded himself down to a surprisingly compact size, and said, “Ty govoríš’ po-rússki, Anya?”

  Her head shot up, her eyes flying open. “Da,” she whispered.

  Alexei nodded, and spoke to her in what I assumed was rapid-fire Russian. She seemed much more willing to talk to him in her native language than in the English everyone on Earth learned before they finished preschool, so I backed off to join the others. Matt glanced at me sheepishly. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have laughed. Just . . . a monster, you know?”

  I blinked. He’d directed his apology to me? “Don’t worry about it.”

  Rune laid her hand on his arm in a clear gesture of forgiveness, and after a moment he slid his hand over hers, shifting a step closer to her. I glanced away, a smile playing on my lips.

  “Good job,” Cage said. I tried to ignore the warmth suffusing me at the praise. I had definitely been in this prison too long.

  But I could still play along, so I gave him a nod and whispered, “Thanks.”

  He seemed startled, as if he’d expected me to refuse his advance, but then he flashed me a grin so warm and genuine it pulled an answering smile from me—a real one, not the manipulation I’d flashed him a moment before. As if he could tell the difference, his gaze softened. I returned my attention to Anya and Alexei, fighting to bring my suddenly racing heartbeat back under control.

  After a few minutes in their own private world, Alexei said something that made Anya laugh. He ruffled her blond curls, stood, and nodded at Cage to follow. Without waiting to be told, I tagged along. So did Mia and Matt, while Rune rushed to Anya’s side.

  We crammed into Alexei and Cage’s cell. “I took a guess from her accent,” Alexei explained before anyone said anything.

  Cage shook his head. “Glad you did, man. She opened right up.”

  “Yes, well, I’m not sure it helped. She says that after we opened the cell doors yesterday, no one knew what to do, so they stood around arguing about what might happen and what to do next. She was farthest away, hiding in her cell. She thought the open doors might be a trick, and she was afraid to get in trouble. Suddenly, she was slammed against the bars and couldn’t breathe—the hull breach, I assume. The breach lasted way longer than a couple of seconds, by the way.”

  I shook my head. “Impossible. Ask Rune—it’s protocol. The breach seals in seconds. It probably just felt like a lot longer.”

  “I don’t think so. Not from the way she described it.”

  Cage pursed his lips. “Kenzie, can you think of any situation where it would take longer to seal the breach?”

  I started to say no but hesitated. “Well, if a person blocks the breach, Sanctuary won’t seal it as long as it detects life signs. But no one could stand there blocking the breach. And why would they?”

  “I don’t know, but it gives us something to think about.”

  “Anyway, the breach did seal eventually,” Alexei continued, “and she heard screaming. She wanted to hide under her cot, but she was scared she’d get trapped in her cell, so she snuck along the corridor. Then . . .” He paused, making a face. “She says a monster dragged one of the prisoners into the server room.”

  Everyone shifted uncomfortably. “So we’re back to the monster,” said Matt dryly.

  Mia shrugged. “Maybe it was a guard. We hardly ever see them, and when we do, it usually means trouble. The younger prisoners might think they’re monsters.” She glared at me as she said it.

  “It wasn’t a guard,” I said crossly, “and you know that. The only ones on the station are me and my mom, and she sure isn’t knocking holes in the station. Maybe one of the other prisoners had the same bright idea as you, and their power made them into a monster.”

  “No, it wasn’t a guard,” Alexei broke in, ignoring my suggestion. “She described it as a four-legged creature with a tail and big teeth.” He grinned. “Even in dim light, I’m not sure Kenzie fits the bill.”

  “Thanks for that,” I said, but I had to fight the urge to laugh in return. It was the first sign of warmth I’d seen from him directed toward anyone but Mia and Anya.

  Cage sighed, rubbing his temples. Red rimmed his eyes, standing out against the shadows underneath. How much sleep had he gotten recently, what with planning his brilliant prison break and all? Particularly last night—he’d been awake when I’d gone to sleep, awake to foil my escape attempt, and awake when I got up. “I’m not buying the monster thing. But . . . something isn’t right. Where are all the prisoners from sector four? It might be worth our time to explore the rest of the prison.”

  “Not unarmed,” said Mia flatly. “I don’t know what Anya saw, but something happened in four. On the off chance someone is out there, we need weapons.”

  “It took us three months to carve that pathetic excuse for a knife,” Matt reminded her.

  “I know. I’m hoping Kenzie here can help us expedite the sit
uation.”

  They looked to me, and I froze. We didn’t keep a lot of weapons on the station, but we had some. Stun guns and the like. Only the two most senior officers carried guns. The rest of us rarely interacted with prisoners, so we didn’t need them. Now these prisoners wanted me to lead them out of the prison and arm them. I couldn’t do it.

  But at the same time, Mia had a point. I didn’t really think Anya had seen a four-legged monster, but I did know something strange had happened in sector 4. Whatever it was, it might be a lot more dangerous than the sector-5 prisoners. “Sanctuary,” I said slowly.

  “Come again?”

  I swallowed. Saying even this much was grounds for landing in the prison myself. Hey, at least they had basketball. I could form a team. “If I tell you, how do I know you won’t turn the station on me—or my mom?”

  Cage watched me for a long moment, as if weighing his words. When he spoke, his tone was cautious and measured. “If someone’s on this station, they haven’t made any attempt to rescue you or contact you. That means you’re in as much danger as we are. We’ve got to be in this together.” He inspected me with an almost intimidating level of scrutiny. “For what it’s worth, I give you my word. Anything you tell me right now won’t be used against you later on.”

  “What about my mom?”

  After a moment, he nodded. “Her either.”

  “She has no reason to trust us,” Matt objected. And then, when Mia sneered at him, “Well, sorry, but it’s true.”

  It was. And yet . . . I looked to Cage, who shrugged, his expression carefully neutral. “Swear on your sister’s life?” I asked.

  He nodded without hesitation. “I swear, Kenzie.”

  My mom was going to kill me. “We don’t keep a lot of weapons on board because Sanctuary itself is armed. It has turrets, sleep gas, all kinds of stuff. If Rune can access the weapons systems . . . I mean, there’s a life signs scanner too. We can see if this thing really exists without even leaving the sector.”

  Matt nodded slowly. “Not a bad idea,” he said.

  “Better than stomping around the prison in search of something out of my nightmares,” Cage agreed. “Kenzie, let’s go talk to Rune.”

  We found her in the server room. She nodded as we explained our plan. “I’ll try,” she said. “But, Cage, I don’t like this. I mean, monsters? Are we seriously hunting for monsters?”

  He laughed, and hugged her, swinging her around over her protests. “You’re not scared of things that go bump in the night, are you, meimei?”

  She scowled and pushed him off. “I’m younger than you by exactly eight minutes, Cage. Get a grip.”

  We both snickered, and even Rune grinned, although she ducked her head so her hair hid the expression. “Here’s another question,” she said with a glance at me. “Are we abandoning the other plan in favor of this monster hunt? Because if not, we’re behind schedule.”

  Cage groaned. “No. We can’t afford to.” He shot me an apologetic look. “We need to videoconference with your mom again.”

  “She’ll have blocked communications.”

  “Um, hello?” Rune wiggled her fingers in the direction of the circuit board. “I think I can handle any block your mom comes up with. Your code still functions, doesn’t it?”

  Cage sagged against the wall. “We need her to think you’re in danger, Kenzie. I know you’re not going to want to play along.”

  In an instant, all the camaraderie of the last few minutes vanished.

  “You’re right,” I said coldly. “I’m not.” Once again, I’d almost forgotten—in the shared danger, in my sympathy for Anya—that these were criminals staging a jailbreak and I was their hostage. Now it was like someone had flipped a switch on our relationship. We were right back to where we started the day before, facing off across the room.

  Rune rummaged on a shelf and produced a sealed packet of ketchup. “Best we could do for fake blood,” she explained. “But it ought to hold up to the cameras.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to sit here while you make me look like a beaten wreck, and I’m certainly not going to lie to my mother. The second you activate that camera, I’ll tell her the truth.” My insides twisted at the words. After all, hadn’t Mom abandoned me? Why was I working so hard to help Omnistellar? But she didn’t know any better, I reminded myself. A few hours with these kids had convinced me that they weren’t the danger Omnistellar believed, but as far as my mom knew, they were cold-blooded, murderous monsters, and if she released them to save me, she might be sentencing hundreds of others to death. “You’ll have to do your little film session without me,” I finished, relieved to hear steel—not uncertainty—in my voice.

  Cage rose, a good six inches taller than me, corded muscles on his arms standing out beneath his jumpsuit. He assumed an intimidating expression. “Kenzie, I don’t want to hurt you, but . . .”

  I laughed in his face. “You’ve already played that card too many times. I’m calling your bluff. You’re not going to hurt me.” I walked right up to him, until our toes touched. “Go ahead,” I invited, angling my head. “Hit me.”

  For a moment, he just scowled at me. Then he swore loudly in Mandarin and walked right out of the room. I dropped to the chair, smug and a touch relieved. I’d been almost certain Cage wouldn’t hurt me, but a lingering doubt had remained until he backed down.

  Mia, on the other hand . . . I really hoped that wasn’t where his mind went. Cage wasn’t a big enough coward to ask her to do what he couldn’t, was he?

  “You know,” said Rune softly, “Cage and I didn’t do anything to deserve imprisonment three thousand kilometers above the Earth’s surface. And some of the kids here have done even less.”

  “Like Anya?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. “Did you look at her file?”

  Rune nodded. “She’s a corporate citizen, do you know that? Her family lives on one of the Jupiter colonies and works for Apexi Mining. Anya was born there, but her family decided a mining colony wasn’t the best place to raise a child, so they relinquished their citizenship, went back to Earth, and took up citizenship with the Russian government.”

  I blinked. “Why would anyone ever give up corporate citizenship for government?”

  Rune sighed patiently. “Because they didn’t want her to work in the mines, Kenzie. Have you ever been to the Jupiter colonies? They’re not much better than a prison themselves.”

  “No—wait, have you?”

  “Once,” she said slowly. “Running a mission for . . . well, never mind. This is about Anya. A few weeks after they returned to Earth, her family ran out of food and money, and you know what government subsidies are like. She went on a flight in search of more, and it took her over contested airspace. It caused a huge commotion. Omnistellar launched a missile at her, and another corporation, Silver Sun Maltech, I think, thought it was launched at their jets, at which point a bunch of other companies got involved.” She shook her head. “It was a disaster, no doubt about it. But the kid was nine. She was just trying to help her family. Now she’s on Sanctuary with no hope of review until she turns eighteen, and then she’s got a fifty-fifty chance of going to a mining labor camp on the moon for the rest of her life, which is pretty much the ultimate irony at this point. Does that seem fair to you, Kenzie? Is it a system you’re proud to be part of ?” Her voice caught in her throat. She clenched her hands into fists and made a visible effort to hold back her anger.

  My own heart stuttered in sympathy. I resisted the urge to reach out to her, reminding myself that we weren’t on the same side. “You know it’s not. But you are still criminals. Lots of you—Cage and you included—have committed real crimes. I sympathize with your circumstances, but you’re still thieves.”

  “What chance did we have?” Rune demanded. “Kenzie, you grew up a corporate citizen. An Omnistellar citizen. Did you ever have to worry about where your food was coming from? Where you’d sleep at night? What would happen to you if you
got sick? Cage and I lived with those fears every day of our lives. And if a corporation wouldn’t take care of us, a gang would. I wonder how long your principles would last if you were wandering the streets of a corporation-abandoned city.”

  I’d never thought about that before, and it gave me pause. Hesitantly, I took a step toward Rune. “I . . .” My voice trailed off. What could I say? Rune was right. I’d grown up in total security—luxury, really—all thanks to Omnistellar. And while I’d never doubted my good fortune, I’d rarely spared a thought for the unfairness of the situation. What made me so special? Why was I more deserving of corporate citizenship than someone like Rune? “Being down here with you guys has opened my eyes, okay? And once I get out, I’m going to do everything I can to help you. I promise.”

  Rune laughed, but there was a touch of hysteria in the sound. “You can help us right now, Kenzie, if you want to.”

  I shook my head in frantic denial. Part of me wanted to help her, it really did. But I couldn’t just betray my company, not to mention my mother. Rune’s description of life outside the corporations reminded me exactly how much I owed to Omnistellar and made it clearer why my mom reacted the way she did. We really wouldn’t have anything without Omnistellar. The corporation, as usual, knew best. “It’s not that I don’t believe you,” I tried to explain. “Rune, you’re obviously not dangerous. I don’t know why the judges thought you were, and it’s bullshit you wound up in here. But I can’t just betray everything I’ve ever believed in!”

  “Yeah, we know,” said Cage behind me, making me jump. He grabbed me by the shoulder and shoved me down. Before I had a chance to react, he’d tied my left wrist to the chair with a torn strip of cloth. I lunged for freedom, but Rune flew out of nowhere, pinning my other arm. Cage tied it, too.

  I glared at them, a faint tinge of fear encroaching on me. Had I overestimated Cage? Or underestimated his desperation to get himself and his sister out of here?