“Ridiculous." Cole shrugged. “This facility stood steadfast for five hundred years and has never suffered from the quakes, no matter how violent. Duran built it to withstand any kind of seismic activity.”
Rhonda, who had remained silent since the senior guards had taken over, stepped forward. “I know for a fact that Duran would never abandon their precious mining operations. The Styx crystals are too valuable. It’s the lifeblood of the corporation."
Her comment made sense and Cole had a bad feeling. “Skipper, who is supervising the mining operations?”
“The machines have stopped the extraction, Captain Riggeur."
The A.I.’s upbeat tone annoyed Cole, who wondered with growing anxiety what prompted the corporate employees to leave their post and flee without notice. What did they fear? What did they know that he didn’t?
Thrower slammed a fist on the console. “Bet you they took the last load of Styx crystals with them.”
“Affirmative, Jonathan Thrower,” the A.I. chirped. “But I do not take bets. Gambling is against the rules.”
Cole understood Thrower’s concern. He suspected the man took Styx to dull the pain of old combat injuries. But a more alarming thought crossed Cole’s mind. “Did the prisoners get their daily dose this morning?”
“Negative, Captain Riggeur,” the A.I. chimed in. “My Styx vault is empty.”
“Good God!" Rhonda exclaimed as she stepped behind Cole.
Understanding her concern, Cole turned to face her. “How long before they get agitated?" He didn’t want to think of the consequences.
Glancing at the standard clock above the console, Rhonda counted on her fingers. “They’ll show the first signs of withdrawal before noon. Within two days, they’ll all be as psychotic as the worst Monacks, then many will get sick, some will start dying.”
A loud rumble shook the control room. Cole felt the floor move under him and grabbed onto the nearest console to remain standing. The lights flickered and red warnings flashed on several monitors. When the tremor ceased, the blue glow of the control room had dimmed. A number of monitors had shut down and a strident emergency siren accompanied the rhythm of more flashing lights.
“I have lost the feed from Level Nineteen,” said Skipper’s mechanical voice among the tumult of emergency warnings.
Assailed by the shrill sounds, Cole couldn’t think. “Turn off the damn sirens, Skipper, will you?”
“Yes, Captain Riggeur." The raucous quieted. Only the red and blue lights flashed on the A.I.’s panels.
Rhonda’s classic face had turned pale, Isle, the other female guard, calmly gazed at Cole, waiting for orders. Raylor had stopped drumming his fingers but remained aloof, watching everyone.
Thrower still stared at his console. “We have a transformer short in the engine room. That’s probably what screwed up the feed.”
“We’ve got to fix it before we lose sight of the whole facility." Cole knew this kind of problem could escalate if not dealt with swiftly.
“Captain? There is worse." Thrower’s voice rose in pitch. “The temperature levels are rising in the nuclear reactor.”
Dread chilled Cole’s body. “The cooling system failed?”
“Must be a leak in the coolant." Thrower studied his screen.
But Cole knew the system to be failsafe. “Aren’t the cadmium bars supposed to drop automatically to stop the reaction in case of leak?”
Thrower shook his head. “Looks like they didn’t drop. They must be stuck. Could be because of the quake.”
Cole tried to fathom the consequences of a nuclear meltdown. His head pounded and he found it difficult to make sense of their situation. Too many things happened at the same time. “How much time do we have?”
“It’s a small leak, it won’t get critical for a few hours. But we’ve lost control of Level Nineteen. I can’t order the robots to start on the modular repairs from here." Thrower turned to Cole expectantly. “Someone will have to go down to Level Nineteen and direct the repairs from the control panel there.”
“Damn!" Under the series of unusual circumstances, going down to Level Nineteen would make for a long and dangerous trek. “What about radiation?”
“Should be okay at Level Nineteen. The reactor itself is much deeper underground. Only the robots performing the repairs will be exposed. Want me to go, Captain?" Good old Thrower always volunteered first.
“No. I need you to check the engine room." Besides, Cole couldn’t risk any of his specialized crew on that job. He’d go down into the bowels of the facility himself.
As the guards stared at Cole in the thick silence, awaiting orders, he motioned to Thrower. “Take Isle with you to fix the problem in the engine room.”
Thrower rose from his chair and Isle stepped close to him at attention.
Facing them squarely, Cole tried to impart the importance of the job. “We can’t remain blind to Level Nineteen. I’m counting on you to re-establish full control ASAP. Step on it.”
Thrower nodded. “Sure thing, Captain.”
“But just in case you don’t get it working fast enough, I’m starting down to the bottom of the facility to direct the robots to repair the coolant leak." Cole forced a reassuring smile. “Keep in contact and let me know the minute you re-establish control. I hope I won’t need to go all the way down, but if I do, at least I’ll have a head start.”
Understaffed indeed! As Thrower and Isle left toward the engine room, only Raylor and Rhonda remained beside Cole. He needed Raylor’s expertise in the control room and guards had to travel in pairs at all times outside the Garrison. “Raylor, stay here to monitor communications.”
“Me?" Raylor seemed surprised.
“You see anyone else?”
“If you insist." Smiling, Raylor gave a thumbs up and leaned back in his chair, as if getting comfortable for a long watch.
It wasn’t Cole’s style to risk a woman’s life on what could easily become a dangerous mission, let alone a beautiful, intelligent woman like Rhonda, but right now he had no other choice.
Reluctantly, he faced her and sighed. “I guess it’s you and me, kiddo. Time to show me what you are made of." His attempt at a smile failed miserably. He discovered he couldn’t lie to Rhonda’s face. “And you better not fall apart if anything happens down there. I don’t want to have to carry you back up.”
Rhonda straightened her tall frame. “I can take care of myself, Captain,” she declared with unexpected bravado.
Cole snorted. “Grab a canteen and emergency supplies. You carry backup weapons?”
Rhonda seemed genuinely shocked. “Are we going to need all that?" She sounded like such a rookie.
Repressing a harsh retort, Cole explained patiently, “Since we can’t see what’s happening on Level Nineteen, I’m not sure what to expect. A good guard should always be prepared for the worst." Cole suspected Rhonda didn’t care for his style of command, but Level Nineteen, the deepest level of the underground facility, held the most violent convicts of the whole galaxy. Down there, the slightest mistake could turn deadly. “Let’s go.”
*****
Level Nineteen (Crimson Zone), Block 52 - cell 5263
In his crimson-striped cell, Tomar stopped drying his face in the red towel when he noticed a flicker in the artificial daylight. Another quake? No, the ground didn’t move, but all went dark as far as he could tell through his limited view of the corridor. A wave of protests rose from the neighboring cells.
Within seconds, the emergency lights kicked in, dimmer than the habitual illumination. Tomar had never seen the power fluctuate in the prison before. He looked up, trying to locate the red dot on the surveillance recorder, high above the bars that capped his cell. He couldn’t see it. As he walked the length of his cell, the camera failed to follow his movements.
The shimmering high voltage veil lining the titanium bars of the cell door and ceiling wavered then dissipated in a shower of sparks. Could it really be... Hesitantly, with a tinge of e
xhilaration, Tomar touched the naked titanium bars separating him from the corridor. No sizzle, no pain, no burn, no high voltage current! This looked like the opportunity he’d waited for all these years.
His neighbor across the corridor banged the bars of his cell with his bowl, an impossible thing to do when the high voltage security veil functioned. Other prisoners answered in kind, banging and yelling, their words incomprehensible, drowned by the growing clamor. Soon, the whole block seemed to participate in the joyous distraction. For the first time since his incarceration, Tomar felt incredibly alive. Excitement coursed on the surface of his skin and his coloration changed from stone-gray to vibrant blue and green.
Usually, after breakfast Tomar fell into a stupor, but not today. Even his sense of smell seemed sharper, as if the computer running the facility hadn’t doped the food this morning. Yes, he knew his jailors drugged him every day, but he couldn’t let himself die of starvation. Monacks had very long lives and Tomar had decided to bide his time. His whole body tingled with anticipation. Today was his lucky day. He could feel it.
Tomar’s superior strength would probably allow him to bend the bars to pass through, but his shape-shifting abilities seemed more appropriate to the situation. He made himself very thin, like a cut out paper doll, and slid effortlessly between the tightly spaced bars.
Once in the hallway, Tomar realized the high voltage curtains had collapsed on the whole block as far as he could see. The cacophony of yells and clangs all around grew and echoed on the triple high ceiling. As he walked by their cells, inmates stopped banging the bars to stare at him in disbelief.
“How did you get out, Tomar? Can you get us out, too?” asked a Juzzaar, a huge humanoid with pale gold skin and dark glasses protecting his sensitive eyes. This one looked big, even for a Juzzaar, and stronger than all the other prisoners.
Tomar realized that alone he stood very little chance of escaping the high security facility, but if he gathered a gang of strong fighters, he might be able to muscle his way out of this dump. Taking on an unassuming human shape, Tomar smiled. “Who here knows about electronics? Enough to rewire the security gates?”
“I can do it,” said a skinny human, his aging skin pale from lack of sunlight. “I designed this system fifty years ago. There is an emergency release of all the doors for the bottom levels, and I know where it is." The grizzled man didn’t look violent enough to belong on Level Nineteen.
“And why are you in this hell hole?” Tomar asked, suspiciously.
“Genocide." The old man looked proud of his exploits. “I engineered the extermination centers for Xylon Three during the three-year revolt."
Tomar emitted an almost human whistle. “Not bad, Gramps." He had misjudged the little man. Tomar would use him, but he had no respect for sly killers. He needed more fighters like that big Juzzaar next door.
Tomar sized up the wily human. “Can you figure out the codes?”
Gramps smiled with thin lips. “With my eyes closed.”
“Better not lie to me, or I’ll rip your limbs off one at a time." Tomar relished the prospect.
“I saw you shape-shift." Gramps snickered. “I wouldn’t dream of lying to a Monack.”
Tomar motioned to the neighboring Juzzaar to come closer to the edge of Gramps’ cell. “Help me spread those bars.”
The Juzzaar smiled, as if eager to flex his muscles. He reached through the bars of his cell and grabbed the closest bar of his neighbor’s. Then he braced himself to pull it aside while Tomar pulled the next one in the opposite direction. Their combined efforts created a slightly wider space through which skinny Gramps slicked out like a worm.
“Thanks,” Tomar nodded to the Juzzaar then turned to Gramps. “So where is that control panel?”
“This way." Gramps started up the corridor.
Tomar accompanied him through the complicated maze of intersecting walkways. As they took one turn after the next, Tomar lost his sense of direction and wondered whether the sly man had lied. “How far?”
“Right here." Gramps indicated a metal plate on the wall.
Out of his human hand, Tomar grew solid curved claws. He inserted them under the cover plate and ripped it off the wall. Then he watched Gramps’ skinny fingers rewire the circuits. Soon, the sound of all the doors on the block sliding open in unison brought joy to Tomar’s acute sense of hearing. His heart would have pounded if he had one. But shape-shifters had no heart.
As the stunned inmates stepped out of their cells, some with hesitation, Tomar motioned to the most likely candidates for his gang.
Gramps, the garbage who had unlocked the doors, stepped up in front of Tomar. “What do I get for my services?”
“You are not finished yet." Tomar couldn’t believe the arrogance of the little man. “We have more levels to liberate on our way up to freedom. The more chaos we create, the better our chances to get out of here.”
Tomar felt so good, like in the old days. Suddenly he remembered he’d not eaten raw meat in a long time. He spotted a plump human prisoner, probably fresh from the last transport.
Changing his shape from human to a gray screeching gargoyle with fangs and long sharp claws, he pounced on the fat man and ripped off his arm. The man screamed and struggled but couldn’t escape. Tomar held him down and plunged his claws through his chest to rip out his heart, rejoicing in the smell of fresh blood. He pulled out the beating heart, stepped off the bloody carcass, and bit into the red piece of meat. How he’d missed the old ways!
When a smaller Monack approached and bowed in submission, Tomar threw him the bloody arm. The Monack quickly retreated with his loot.
The other convicts watched, their faces petrified by fear.
Licking his fangs, Tomar emitted the approximation of a laugh then regained a non-threatening human shape. “I’m going to bust out of here. I need a gang, weapons, and tools. Without power, this facility is vulnerable. We have the numbers on our side. Who is with me?”
Chapter Two
Level Six - The Garrison
Nodding to her Captain, Rhonda wiped a sweaty hand on her uniform pants then applied her fingers to the scanner while he did the same on the other side of the elevator door. She knew the mining personnel wouldn’t have left the planet in secret without a good reason, and she dreaded to discover the answer to that ominous enigma. She could tell the question loomed on her Captain’s mind as well.
The door chimed and slid open. As both entered the elevator for the one-level-down ride, Rhonda wondered what they would find down below. Without camera feeds, without knowing what happened in the bowels of the prison, their mission could turn deadly. Rhonda realized that despite her good grades in practice, she’d never faced a real situation. She wasn’t sure how she’d react.
When Rhonda glanced at the overhead camera, it moved. “At least the power failure does not affect the elevators and the security system. It could be much worse." She tried to sound cheery but it came out too strong.
“No kidding." The Captain’s deep blue gaze held no humor and made her feel stupid. He looked like a ticked off bear.
His woody fragrance of moss and fern filled the elevator cubicle, and the sudden memory of his tanned body in the bathroom earlier took Rhonda by surprise. She automatically checked the perfectly round butt shaping the uniform then shook away a lascivious thought.
How could she think of him that way, and in such a situation? Besides, he was her boss, and any sane woman would find his open chauvinism insulting. She willed herself to stare at the elevator wall. “You don’t like me much, do you?”
Cole Riggeur chuckled. “Straight to the point. I like that." A half smile flitted at the corner of his lips then vanished. “It’s nothing personal, Rhonda. My only concern is the safety of the Garrison.”
What was it with that man not respecting her? Rhonda didn’t get him. “I may not be a lifetime professional in this field, but I passed all the tests required for this job. I am more than qualified.”
> “Of course, you are. You wouldn’t have been hired otherwise." His intent stare sent a delightful shiver along her spine then he scowled. “But the liberties you take with the rules and regulations make it difficult for others to trust you. You behave like a civilian and, as far as I am concerned, you are not ready to be a guard. Trust and respect must be earned, Rhonda, here more than anywhere else.”
Touché! Rhonda felt like a fool for broaching the subject. “Sorry, Captain. I’ll try to be more careful in the future." Still, how could her artistic license with the uniform endanger anyone? She’d never met such a stickler for the rules. The short ride down to the next level seemed to last forever, but the height of each level represented three regular stories, and the hydraulic elevators didn’t go fast at all. She hoped they wouldn’t have to go all the way down. Surely Thrower would re-establish control and call them back up soon.
*****
Level Seven - Pink Zone
When the door opened on Level Seven, recognizable by its pink stripes on walls and floor, both stepped out of the elevator. Everything seemed in perfect order and Rhonda consulted her compad for the layout. “This way.”
Captain Riggeur nodded. He’d probably been there countless times and knew his way around. Was he testing her? His condescending attitude made Rhonda want to slap him.
They walked through the complicated maze of staggered rows and blocks of pristine cells toward the far end of the ward. Level Seven, the Pink Zone, held the least violent inmates, like political prisoners, or non-lethal thieves.
There, Rhonda’s beloved sister had been kept until six months ago, when she died of a forced overdose of Styx. But no one could ever know about Rhonda’s personal connection to the prison.
Steeling herself against painful memories, Rhonda marched ahead. As she led the way, she avoided glancing at the prisoners dressed in pink behind titanium bars. The high-voltage fields lining the bars shimmered in the artificial light.
This early in the morning, most of the prisoners inside still slept. A few stared at the guards while others ignored them. A few prisoners raised their voices at the sight of the guards, but regulations specified guards should never make eye contact, acknowledge the prisoners, or speak to them between transfers.
Alien Lockdown Page 2
