Sanctuary

by Caryn Lix

  I skidded around the corner to find the creature hunched over a limp body. “Mom!” I roared.

  The creature pivoted, howling so shrilly I dropped to the ground and instinctively covered my ears. Somehow my training held and I didn’t lose my grip on the gun. In a single movement, I swung it up, aimed, and fired.

  Electricity arced, blasting through the air. I wasn’t screwing around—I had that thing set on full force, enough to fry a human being. The creature reared back, howling again. This time I was prepared for the sound and managed to keep my feet.

  The creature staggered, shook off the blast, and snarled at me, its front claws pulled into menacing hooks. I fumbled with my gun, readying another charge. At the same moment, Cage appeared behind me, took one look at the situation, and let off a shot of his own.

  The second blast of electricity set off another scream, and the creature fled down the corridor. I barely saw it move. I wasn’t sure even Cage could outrun these things for long.

  I noticed all this in the blink of an eye, and then I threw myself down, grabbing the fallen body and rolling it over. “Mom?” I cried frantically. “Mom!”

  But it wasn’t Mom.

  It was Rita.

  I stared at her in disbelief, and Cage swore softly. “I thought she was off station,” he said.

  “I thought so too.” I glanced at him over my shoulder. “You’re sure Rune didn’t engineer that distress call?”

  “No, just the interference.” His gaze followed the path the creature had taken, and his eyes widened as he caught my implication. “You aren’t saying . . . ?”

  I scrambled at Rita’s throat and found a thready, stuttering pulse. “We can ask her when she wakes up.”

  Cage knelt and placed a hand under Rita’s shoulders, then lifted experimentally. “I can carry her,” he said. “If you think it’s okay to move her.”

  “Anything’s better than leaving her here. Let’s get to medical.” I scanned the hall for Rita’s gun but didn’t see it anywhere. Strange—I’d definitely heard shots.

  Unless . . . The creature hadn’t taken the gun, had it? My mind recoiled from the possibility.

  Cage holstered his weapon and staggered to his feet, grunting under Rita’s weight. Blood seeped through a torn corner of her uniform. “Why didn’t we find blood in the prison sectors?” I whispered.

  Cage shook his head, as baffled as me. I led us through the hall, leaning around each corner braced for action, stun gun held ready. Those things didn’t like electricity. That was something. On the other hand, two full blasts had barely frightened the creature, let alone harmed it. My hand grew slick around the gun. Keep it together.

  We entered the med bay as the comm system crackled to life. “Cage?” came Rune’s semi-hysterical voice. “Cage, are you there?”

  I lunged for the comm before she could alert the creatures, guilt suffusing me. How long had she been calling for us, frantically scanning station comms? There were no cameras in crew living quarters. She’d have lost sight of us when we left medical. “Rune, we’re here. We’re okay.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Her voice cracked, and even over the comm I could tell she was crying. “I couldn’t find you anywhere. The others got back a while ago and said those things were chasing you. I thought . . .”

  Cage carefully set Rita on the bed, then came over, rolling his shoulders. “I’m here, meimei,” he said, bending over the console. His arm brushed mine, and in spite of the situation, it sent a pleasant rush through me. His face softened as he spoke to his sister. “You all right down there?”

  “Everyone returned safely. Mia doesn’t look great, but she says she’s fine.” Rune hesitated. “Kenzie, I got into your file. I’ll patch it through to your console, and you can take a look when you have time.”

  “Thanks,” I said. For the moment, my file was the least of my worries.

  “We found one of the guards,” Cage told her, glancing over his shoulder at Rita.

  “Which one?”

  “Rita,” I said. “Mom’s still missing.”

  “Rita . . . Hernandez?” Rune’s voice shot up an octave. “The one who went to check out the distress beacon?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cage.” Rune clearly struggled to control her excitement. “That means she returned the shuttle. It means we have a way off this station.”

  For a moment we stared at each other. Somehow we’d missed that little detail. If Rita was back, so was her shuttle. We had an escape.

  “Okay,” I said, hope blossoming in my chest even as I reined it in. “This isn’t over. We need to help Rita, and then we need to get everyone to the shuttle bay. And I’m not sure where the hell we’re going to go.”

  “Off this station is good enough for me,” Cage replied grimly.

  I glanced at Rita and thumbed the mute switch on the comm. “Cage . . . when she wakes up, chances are she’s not going to be happy to see you. And even if she comes around, if we go to Earth . . . it’s not an escape. They’ll arrest us before we leave the shuttle.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve got a few cards up my sleeve yet. Anyway . . .” He shrugged. “Prison sucks, but it’s better than being eaten by space monsters.”

  “Fair enough.” I reactivated the comm. “Rune, lock the place down. Don’t let anyone in except us. I don’t know how those things are traveling, but you might want to block off air vents, too.”

  “All right.” Rune’s voice went distant for a minute, and I heard her talking to someone in the background. Then: “People are asking a lot of questions here, Cage. What do I tell them?”

  Our eyes met. “Tell them . . . ,” said Cage slowly, “tell them everything’s going according to plan and we’ll be back soon. Keep them calm. And make sure Alexei’s standing behind you when you do it. Don’t let him talk. Just tell him to look scary.”

  Rune laughed. “Got it. See you soon, gege.”

  Cage shook his head as we disconnected. “She’s good and scared.”

  “How can you tell?” I mean, of course she was. But still.

  “She called me gege. It means—”

  I nodded. “ ‘Big brother.’ And?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “How’d you know that?”

  I wrinkled my nose. How did I know that? “I must have heard it somewhere.”

  He nodded absently. “Anyway, she never calls me that. She hates it when I remind her I’ve got eight minutes on her.”

  I forced a smile and turned my attention to Rita. Her life signs were fairly stable or I wouldn’t have left her side for a second. Knowing she was stable, though, made it no easier to face the blood and gore. I crossed to her and stroked her hair back from her face, a lump welling in my throat. Cage followed me, groaning. “Please don’t make me do any more stitches.”

  “No promises.” I examined the wound on Rita’s stomach. It looked a lot like Mia’s, and almost certainly would require stitches. I didn’t mention that to Cage quite yet.

  The sight of Rita, even crumpled and bleeding, brought the world into a semblance of order. She was strong and confident and, most importantly, an authority figure. If I got her back on her feet, I knew she could help me find Mom. “She’s lost a lot of blood. See her jacket?”

  “Well, we don’t exactly have the resources for a transfusion. Let’s slap some bandages on her and hope for the best.”

  I shot a look in his direction. I didn’t like the flatness in his tone—as if he realized that for him and his friends, the best-case scenario was one where Rita never woke at all. From a mercenary perspective, his reasoning made sense. But I wasn’t a mercenary. My fingers trembling, I grabbed Rita’s arm as if I could physically pull her to life. Rita, more than anyone, treated me like a friend, maybe even a sister. When the other guards rolled their eyes—Kenzie has all the answers again, what a shock—she only smiled and winked. Convenient or not, she was coming through this alive.

  Besides, if Rita could survive those things . . . well, so could my
mom.

  We worked in silence, straining our ears for the click of claws on tile or the shrill scream heralding the aliens’ appearance. I catalogued the creatures in my head, their reptilian skin, the cataracts over their eyes. We’d seen three. Were there more?

  At last we finished with the worst of Rita’s injuries, having bandaged and bound her until she was half mummy. I breathed a sigh of relief, dropping a kiss on her forehead, something I would never dare when she woke.

  We hovered over her, me squeezing her hand, Cage carefully working stitches through her more superficial wounds, muttering under his breath in Mandarin. After a few minutes it became obvious she wasn’t waking up any time soon. I glanced over my shoulder, drawn to the file Rune had sent, but held by my obligation to Rita.

  “Go,” said Cage.

  I started. “What?”

  He flashed me that devious grin and went to flip his hair out of his face, but stopped with a wince at the sight of blood smearing his gloved hand. “You’re itching to read that file, and you’re not helping Rita by standing here.”

  I hesitated a second longer, but Cage was right. There was nothing else I could do to help, and if that file held clues to the chip in my arm . . . I nodded. “Thanks. Let me know the second she wakes up, okay?”

  “I will.”

  The first file contained familiar stuff. My place of birth, camps and trainings I’d attended, aptitude scores and intelligence tests. Most of my scores fell on the high edge of normal—good stuff, not remarkable. I didn’t have any illusions about why I’d scored the junior guard position on Sanctuary; it had more to do with my parents than my spectacular skill set. Still, I worked ten times harder than everyone else, and that counted for something too. Nepotism might have set me apart from the crowd, but it hadn’t earned me my place.

  Another file lurked beneath the standard stuff, though, this one labeled CONFIDENTIAL: OMNISTELLAR CONCEPTS EYES ONLY. I cast a quick glance at Cage, who was hunched over Rita with an expression of concentration on his face, slid open the file, and found a medical report.

  Subject admitted for initial tests following suspicions of parents. Demonstrating unreasonable alacrity in language acquisition. Not necessarily sign of powers, possibly high intelligence. However, combined with family proximity to region of incident, warrants investigation.

  Subject Kenzie Elaine Cord, admitted for testing on second birthday. Removed from parental custody following proper channels of investigation.

  I paused. There it was, in black and white. Removed from parental custody . . . proper channels.

  In other words, Mom and Dad turned me in. Why? To protect me? Or because company regulations demanded it?

  Day 3:

  Subject is a cheerful child with few tears. Has called for mother and father several times but is easily soothed by other adults. Previous days spent observing and acclimatizing her to the facility. Testing begins in earnest tomorrow.

  Day 4:

  Initial medical testing reveals high probability of genetic anomalies, although exact forms remain unclear. However, such testing is not conclusive and is known to produce false results. More thorough testing is required to confirm anomaly.

  Day 6:

  Subject became violently angry today, demanding to return home. Nurses were unable to calm her as previously. Child revealed herself to be surprisingly verbose for a toddler. At one point, paused in her rage to turn to the nurse and say, “I insist you return me to my parents.” Lends further credence to anomaly theory, although again, may simply indicate advanced development or intelligence. Tantrum allowed to play itself out. Eventually subject fell asleep on floor and was moved to her bed.

  I paused again, wiping my hand over my face. Where had my parents been through all of this? Obviously I’d missed them—cried for them. And they’d been where? Nearby, watching me on a monitor, their hearts breaking? Or curled up at home with a mug of coffee?

  Day 7:

  In effort to eliminate theories of advanced intelligence, spent today on a battery of IQ tests. Subject displayed normal or near-normal results in all areas (slightly advanced in logical and spatial reasoning ). No results seem to indicate genius levels of intelligence or even abnormally advanced IQ. Further credence lent to anomaly theory.

  Day 10:

  Subject is definitely anomalous.

  Today had the simple but expedient idea of bringing in speakers of another language. Parents of subject assure us she has never been exposed to any language but English. After two hours spent with M. Lebleu, however, subject was speaking French near fluently (with appropriate adjustments for age and development). Someone found an intern who spoke some Japanese. Within a slightly longer time (allowing for adjustment to difference in grammatical structures between Japanese and English not present in French?) subject was also speaking conversationally with intern.

  This level of language acquisition is unprecedented in the human population. It is this researcher’s conclusion that subject is definitely anomalous. Recommend immediate chipping. Should parents be unwilling to comply, subject should be transported to foster home for observation and potential incarceration.

  I stared at the screen, seeing it but not fully understanding. “Cage?” I said. “Can you come here a minute?”

  “What’s up?” He sank into a chair beside me and took a good look at my face. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. But . . . can you speak Mandarin to me?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “What do you want me to say?”

  “Anything. It doesn’t matter. I just want to hear you speak it for a while.”

  Cage stared at me, then shrugged. He transferred his gaze to the ceiling as if considering. After a moment, he began to talk.

  I closed my eyes, letting the soft, rushed sounds of the language wash over me. It was relaxing in a way, his voice shaping his speech like a melody. And it was reassuring in another, because I didn’t understand a word. Even without my chip, I had no powers. My parents did chip me. Somehow, they believed I had a power. But they were wrong. Maybe it was nothing more than a . . . a talent.

  Still—my parents had me chipped. Everything inside me rebelled at the thought. Anger choked my common sense, urging me to rant, to rave, to scream until the walls shook. Sure, they may have had their reasons. Maybe they were afraid for me . . . but why? And even if they were, why keep it a secret so many years? Didn’t they think I deserved to know the truth about myself ? Were they ever planning to tell me?

  I clenched my hands into fists on my lap, breathing through my nose, bringing a truly Mia-level temper tantrum under control. This wasn’t the place to scream and cry—not with aliens lurking around every corner. Besides, no matter what my parents had done, they were still my parents. They did love me, right? Maybe they really were afraid for me . . . but if so many people lived peaceful lives with powers, why did my parents think I’d be any different?

  Of course . . . I had never met anyone with an ability, not counting that girl in the alley. I just took my parents’ word for it that they existed. I took Omnistellar’s word for it. I read the history books and swallowed the tale and never stopped to ask questions.

  The last word in the file leaped out in my memory. “Incarceration.” Had Omnistellar actually considered imprisoning a two-year-old for no crime but speaking languages? I’d already come to suspect the company had secrets, but this . . . In that moment, everything I thought I’d known about the company to which I’d dedicated my life turned upside down. I ground my nails into my palms in an effort to steady myself. The pieces fell into place.

  Omnistellar weren’t the good guys.

  And that meant I wasn’t either.

  “. . . There were lanterns,” Cage said quietly, his gaze fixed on lights overhead. “I remember that above everything, those lanterns. Red and yellow and gold, the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. I stood and stared at them, transfixed, as the crowds surged around us. Fireworks and noise and laughter were so alien to u
s, to anything we’d seen. Rune was scared of all the people. She pressed against me and tried to get me to run back to our father’s hotel. But I didn’t move. But I wanted to join the celebration, the music and the food and the dance. I didn’t realize then, maybe couldn’t realize, how far that world existed from ours.”

  “Why?” I asked, getting caught in the tail end of his story, welcoming the distraction from my own nightmarish thoughts. “It sounds beautiful.”

  Cage had been leaning back, staring at the ceiling as he talked. Now he straightened to fix me with a hard, piercing stare.

  “What?” I asked.

  “When did you learn Mandarin?”

  I started. Now that he said it, I heard it. I’d thought he switched back to English, but he didn’t. Even now, he spoke Mandarin: Nǐ shén me shí hòu xué pǔtōnghuà?

  I tried to answer him, searching for the sounds, but they slipped away. I reverted to English. “Did I speak Mandarin?”

  “You did. Perfectly, more or less.”

  I stiffened. “More or less?”

  He grinned. “You mimicked my lazy accent. Kenzie, what’s going on?”

  I shook my head. How the hell did I explain what I’d learned? “You better read this,” I said, sliding the tablet toward him. I staggered to my feet and crossed to Rita, my hands shaking. I’d spoken Mandarin? I couldn’t do it now. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, looking for words and not finding them.

  I ran my hand over Rita’s hair, her fierce face relaxed as though sleeping. I’d heard her curse in Spanish many times without understanding what her words actually meant—but I’d had a chip, I reminded myself bitterly. Even if I had some sort of power, I would never have known.

  I glanced at her face and met her eyes. “Rita!” I cried.

  At the same moment, she swung to a seated position, snatched the stun gun from my holster, and aimed it directly at Cage.

  TWENTY-ONE

  “WHOA!” I SHOUTED, LEAPING BETWEEN them. Rita, surprisingly strong for someone who’d just come out of what looked like a coma, grabbed my arm and shoved me aside, then slid unsteadily to her feet.