Vira Episode One

by Odette C. Bell

  The man was holding it together for now, but underneath, he was still haunted by whatever the crap the Creyole had gone on about. Harbingers of doom? The end was nigh? Though Park seriously wanted to dismiss that as the crazy ramblings of broken minds, it hit far too close to home.

  … They couldn’t be meaning the Force, could they? The Force were a closely kept secret amongst the top brass of the Academy, and they would remain so until the Academy were ready to fight the Force in full.

  The elevator arrived at its destination with a ping, and Rogers stiffened. Park could feel it; Park could smell it; Park could practically taste it. As Rogers’ sweat laced the air and his adrenaline pounded through him, Park attuned himself precisely to the man’s fear and stress.

  Managing it would be the only way to get out of here.

  As the door opened, fortunately, it didn’t lead to a security detachment. Obviously whoever was in charge of security was smart enough to appreciate that the only way to end this without any bloodshed would be to distract Rogers. And the only way to do that would be to nominally give him what he wanted.

  But what exactly did he want?

  “This is what’s going to happen,” Rogers spat. “We’re going to head to my office. You’re going to follow my every order. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Park said, sounding like a competent recruit.

  Park kept leaking blood as they walked along, but it was through sheer strength and grit alone that he didn’t allow himself to wobble. He felt nauseous, all right. He felt exactly like he’d had a glancing blow from a gun that could tear through a room full of people and right out the hull of the ship.

  He held it together long enough until they reached a door into one of the scientific labs.

  Park’s curiosity almost got the better of him, and he almost asked what the hell Rogers was doing. But he held his tongue, because he was about to find out.

  “Lean forward and open the door,” Rogers spat.

  Park complied.

  The door opened.

  “I’m going to stay here, and this is what’s going to happen – you’re going to stay within my line of sight. You understand? You also need to understand that if you try to get creative and duck out of the way, I have calibrated this gun to your biosignatures. It will shoot around walls. No matter where you try to hide, you will be blasted apart by this pin. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Park said in that exact same even tone.

  “Now, walk through the door toward the computer panel on the opposite side of the room.”

  Park shifted forward. He tried to hide the wobble to his feet. Though all he wanted to do was bring up a hand and clasp it over his profusely bleeding arm, he ignored that desire as he shifted into the darkened room.

  For some reason, the lights weren’t working. At his approach, they should’ve turned on, but they didn’t. And he appreciated why – though whoever was in charge of security was obviously smart enough to allow Rogers relatively unrestricted freedom to move through the ship, ultimately, they wanted to trap him. They also weren’t stupid enough to allow Rogers access to key systems.

  “The lights won’t turn on,” Park pointed out. “Where’s the computer panel? And how exactly am I to use it without power?”

  “Use your damn wrist device,” Rogers spat. “Turn on its light function. As for the computer panel, it’s got a backup generator. It should turn on right about now.”

  There was a click and a buzz, and something lit up on the far end of the room.

  Park tried to activate the light on his wrist device, but his right arm was essentially useless, his fingers throbbing with such pressure it felt as if they would explode.

  “I can’t move my right hand,” he managed.

  “Then use your damn nose. Turn on the lighting function and head toward the console on the far end of the room, and do it now,” Rogers screamed, his voice bellowing down the corridor.

  It was finicky to use his goddamn nose to turn on the lighting function, but Park managed it, cleaning his wrist device of blood over the one patch of his uniform that was still dry.

  He was still holding the Creyole’s wrist device in his left hand, and despite the inherent weakness charging through the rest of his body, Park’s grip was fast. He wanted to know what the hell was on this thing.

  Now Vira’s secret was nominally safe, Park had to find out what was going on here. For the Coalition. Hell, for himself. He’d been shot by this asshole, and Park really wanted the man to go down for the rest of his life.

  Park shifted forward, spying the console on the opposite side of the room.

  He reached it.

  He never allowed himself to get a full sense of security. Though he could no longer feel Rogers’ harsh breath against the back of his neck, that did not mean Park was safe. Rogers hadn’t been lying – no matter where Park moved in this room, the blast from that pin gun would reach him.

  “Wipe the computer’s cores. Do it thoroughly. I can see you from here. If you—” Rogers began.

  “I will wipe the cores,” Park said.

  With only one working hand, Park had to reluctantly let go of the Creyole’s wrist device as he settled it on the console beside him.

  Then he got to the task of wiping the computer.

  He hoped like hell that there was a backup somewhere – that the security team were keeping a continuous scan lock on this deck and knew exactly what he was doing. But that was a gamble. Because this Rogers had obviously been prepared for anything. Park really doubted whatever secret communications were on this computer were stored in one of the standard hardware petitions. They would be shielded, encrypted, and presumably, prevented from remote backup.

  Still, Park lived in hope as he settled his fingers over the console and went through the movements of deleting the information. Though he had the overwhelming temptation to access the data to find out who the hell Rogers was and, more importantly, who he was working for, Park resisted the urge.

  Rogers could see Park and would know exactly what he was doing.

  So Park did it – deleted the information.

  “Is it done?” Rogers spat. “Lie, and I’ll put a pin right through the back of your head.”

  “It’s done,” Park said. Park didn’t take the time to point out that it was highly unlikely that Rogers would shoot Park. After all, if he murdered Park, Rogers would no longer have a hostage, and if he didn’t have a hostage, the security team would sweep in.

  Or at least, that would be the case if this were an ordinary situation and Rogers were an ordinary spy. He had a pin gun, for God’s sake – who knew what other weaponry he had on him? Worse, who knew what unrestricted access he’d had to the Apollo’s systems before this incident had occurred? He could have done anything, set any booby-trap up to harm the rest of the crew.

  No, for now, Park had to treat Rogers as an incalculable threat.

  “Come back,” Rogers spat.

  Park complied, turning on his feet, resisting the urge to fall down as weakness wobbled through his muscles.

  He walked toward Rogers.

  Though technically the security team could’ve remotely shut the door and protected Park from Rogers, it wouldn’t work like that. With the lock that Rogers’ gun had on Park, it would be able to easily shoot through the door, let alone any security shields that flickered into place. There was a reason pin guns were banned, after all.

  Park had picked up the Creyole’s wrist device, and once again he held it protectively in his hand.

  Rogers’ gaze darted down toward it. This was the first time Park had faced him since the mess hall. Though technically the guy’s expression was a heck of a lot more controlled than the Creyole’s had been, there was still that unstable quality behind his gaze. A quality that reminded Park of someone whose mind had been completely torn apart by suspicion, paranoia, and fervor.

  “Come here,” Rogers motioned toward himself, “turn and stop.”

  Park did as he was
told. Rogers snapped back into place, pressing the muzzle of his pin gun against Park’s head once more. The move was hard, and if this ended without Park’s brains being scattered over the deck, then he would have a heck of a bruise along the base of his skull.

  Though Park wanted to facetiously ask, “where to now, skip?” he held his tongue.

  Rogers shifted around, possibly checking something on his wrist device, probably the blueprint of the Apollo.

  He muttered something under his breath, and Park just caught it: “two corridors down.”

  Two corridors down? Though Park had just boarded the Apollo several days ago, he’d already completely memorized the blueprint – despite the fact the Apollo was a large heavy cruiser and was a hodgepodge of rooms and corridors, laboratories and storage rooms.

  Two doors down would lead to an outer maintenance airlock.

  What the hell was Rogers planning?

  Did this conspiracy run so deep that he somehow had a hidden ship waiting for him outside the airlock?

  “Move,” Rogers growled. There was a final kind of note to it, and it got the skin along the back of Park’s neck tingling as if someone were trying to slice through it with a light scalpel.

  There was one fact Park hadn’t appreciated until now – what if Rogers had the ability to harm the whole crew, the whole ship? What if he had an ace up his sleeve large enough to scuttle the Apollo or blow it apart completely?

  Though Park’s mission was to keep Vira safe, he couldn’t allow the Apollo to go down. But what could he do?

  For the first time in his life, Adaptable Park was staring down the barrel of a gun, literally, and he had nowhere to go.

  But that didn’t mean he didn’t have anyone to rely on.

  Chapter 9

  Vira

  She was walking alongside the main corridor of Deck 20.

  The deck had already been evacuated.

  She kept walking through objects and shifting through walls as she maintained equidistance between Rogers and Park in the corridor outside.

  She had no intention of allowing Rogers to leave the ship and even less of an intention of allowing him to kill Park.

  If Rogers fired, despite the sophisticated nature of his pin gun and the computational lock it had on Park as a target, she would get there first. She could transport faster than a standard Coalition computer. She would wrench Park out of the way, and she would end this.

  But for now, she would wait.

  She kept striding along, matching pace with Rogers outside. Even through the thick walls of this room, she could hear Rogers’ every breath, count his every footstep.

  She reached a wall and walked straight through it.

  She had no fear that the security sensors which were locked on this deck would pick her up. She was shielding herself from them.

  As soon as Rogers and Park had left the mess hall, Jameson had gathered his security personnel and set to work on a plan to end this altercation.

  But Vira hadn’t been part of that plan. Despite the fact she demonstrably had no injury, Jameson had looked her right in the eye and told her to head to the med bay.

  There’d been something about the look in his eye, too. Though he hadn’t let his mental defenses drop at that moment, she… there’d just been something there.

  But it was a thought Vira pushed away for now. She locked her every sense on Park. He was weak. She could feel it. He was losing blood with every second, and though the tenacious man was holding on, there was a limit to how much his fragile human body could take.

  For some reason, that made Vira’s insides twist.

  There was one lesson the Admirals had never let her forget – don’t get angry. She could never get angry. Efficient, yes, calculating, absolutely – but never angry. Never allow herself to feel, because feelings would get in the way of executing orders.

  But the Admirals were far away, and there was no one to stop her as she curled one hand into a fist.

  She walked right through a container of lab equipment, reached another wall, and strode through the metal.

  Her head was tilted to the side, her hands still clutched into fists as she focused on Park and Rogers beyond.

  She could only pick up Rogers’ thoughts in bursts. He was mentally defending himself. As had the Creyole. That was what had first alerted her to him in the mess hall. But the Creyole had not been particularly good at protecting his mind, and she’d seen through long enough to appreciate he was hiding something.

  She didn’t know what, she didn’t know from whom, but from the emotional tone of his thoughts, she had appreciated one thing – it’d been a secret large enough to threaten the entire crew and possibly the stability of the Coalition as a whole.

  As Vira strode easily through another wall, she completely forgot about her original mission in the Expanse. This, right here, was far more important.

  Rogers finally stopped.

  Vira didn’t need to rack her brain to figure out where he was. Not only could she remotely and secretly access the blueprint of the Apollo, but she already had a mental layout of the ship. It would be necessary for efficient transportation within it.

  Rogers stopped in front of a maintenance airlock.

  Though Vira could technically end this right now, she had to find out what Rogers’ was planning. Though he kept his mental defenses in place, from the dread and import of his emotions, it was clear he had something big planned. If it was something that could affect the whole crew and ship, Vira needed to find out what that was. If the man had been able to get a pin gun on board – and the Apollo’s lax security hadn’t stopped him – then he could easily have a much more dangerous weapon shielded somewhere. Vira would no doubt be able to find it given time, but the one thing she didn’t have now was time.

  Vira paused, and then she transported. Not into the airlock, mind you, but into the maintenance hatch right beside it.

  She appeared half in the wall, half in the squat tunnel.

  To other Spacers, they had to be careful where they transported. But Vira? She was other. It allowed her to transport through and into matter virtually without restriction.

  She didn’t bother to crouch down. With her head still in a metal bulkhead, she locked her senses on Rogers.

  She also scanned the airlock.

  She could appreciate that there was a sophisticated set of long-range space armor within it. There was also some kind of transportation device. She couldn’t fully access it from here, and it was clear it was utilizing unknown technology to shield itself. But she could appreciate its base function. She could also appreciate that Rogers would be able to use it to transport right off the ship.

  Whoever Rogers was, he had access to weaponry and technology he should not.

  He was a threat.

  And it was time she dealt with him.

  As she waited for her chance, she kept half of her attention locked on the security scanners and the constant influx of information being communicated through the ship.

  The first second she’d gotten on board, she’d paired herself remotely with the communications system of the Apollo. It meant she would be able to access any communications lines, even the Captain’s own channel. It did not, however, mean she had been able to access the Creyole’s wrist device and whatever shadow communications he was sending off ship. He was utilizing a shielded bandwidth. And until she got access to that wrist device, she would not be able to pair with it.

  But her access to the Apollo’s communications system was enough to appreciate one fact.

  Though, on the face of it, it appeared that the Apollo’s security staff had decided not to get into Rogers’ way, that was simply an appearance.

  She felt a specific charge in the air as a transport beam shot through the floor of the deck and transported five people into the room beside the airlock.

  Though she could sense the transport beam, she had no idea who was being transported, and that information was not on the Apollo’s
security systems. And yet, she felt she instinctively knew. Which was a mistake, for that was another lesson that the Admirals had always hammered home – Vira was never to rely on her instincts.

  Her senses, yes. The constant, continuous, never stoppable stream of battle data – absolutely. But not instinct.

  Park? He relied on instinct. And that was one of the reasons she’d taken such a disliking to him. Arrogant Park had such a reputation for going with what his gut felt, not necessarily what his mind dictated. And though she judged him for it, right now she went with her own instinct.

  She knew Jameson was on that team who’d just transported into the room beside the airlock.

  So she had to end this now.

  Vira got ready. She clenched both hands into fists and shifted toward the wall.

  Chapter 10

  Park

  Park’s gut was going wild, warning him with everything it had that he’d underestimated Rogers.

  They’d entered into the airlock, and now there was nothing but a massive, shielded, huge door between them and space beyond.

  He didn’t know what the security team were planning, but he could bet that they weren’t about to let Rogers just open an airlock.

  The effects of blood loss were starting to hit Park like a cruiser at maximum speed.

  He was propped against the wall, blood still slicking down his arm. The effects of the specific injury that the pin gun had given him meant that there was no way his blood could clot until he received medical attention. And second by second, that was becoming all the more urgent.

  Rogers was smart enough not to allow Park to get out of eyesight.

  He’d forced Park to lean against the airlock out into space.

  Rogers’ expression changed, somehow becoming even more frantic, his brow crumpled, his eyes wide.

  He’d snatched the wrist device off Park, and Rogers was turning it over, doing something as beads of sweat lined Rogers’ brow.

  If Park were anyone else, maybe he would take the opportunity to point out to Rogers that there was no way the man was going to get off the ship. The problem was, Park’s gut told him Rogers was going to get off the ship just fine.