Steal the Stars

by Mac Rogers

  “And I’m doing that, I’m doing it right now, Lauren, but we need to be clear about something ahead of time. There’s gonna be a change in protocol.”

  Cccrackle. “Chief.” She sounded panicked already, her rushed monotone picking up irregular bursts of speed. “I … don’t know why you’re doing this.” Like Rosh, any deviation from the regularly scheduled program threw her. Unlike Rosh, it made her wobble, spin out. I wished, not for the first time, that Quill Marine was staffed with more socialized creatures.

  “It’s all right, Lauren. It’s a little weird, but it’s all fine.”

  Cccrackle. “Please finish applying the electrodes. Following that—”

  But I had already obliged her. I was wired and jellied and ready to go, putting on the device with hands that didn’t need eyes to do so. A magician’s trick I would only need to pull one more time.

  Cccrackle. “Thank you. Now I am going to a—”

  “I have something you need to look at, Lauren.” I pulled out a folded letter from my uniform and held it up so she could see it. Trip Haydon’s letter had been waiting in my e-fax queue as promised. I printed it out first thing this morning.

  Silence. A very long silence.

  Cccrackle. “My training is very clear.”

  “I know it is, Lauren.”

  Cccrackle. “My standing orders are very clear.”

  “Your standing orders are changing.”

  Cccrackle. “If any party—any party—entering or exiting Quill Marine attempts to forestall the questioning process three times, I am to alert security.”

  “What is your protocol supposed to defend, Lauren?”

  Cccrackle. “I’m supposed to alert security right now. If it was anyone else I would have already.”

  In the back of my mind I wondered if I was causing a bottleneck for the other check-in stations. Rosh might be spinning like a top. But this was going to take a while.

  “It’s a two-word answer, Lauren: what is your protocol supposed to defend?”

  Cccrackle. “Quill Marine.”

  “And Quill Marine is owned by…?”

  Cccrackle. “Sierra Solutions.” I could hear hatred gleaming off her voice like sunlight off a blade. She was supposed to ask the questions.

  “And who is the COO of Sierra Solutions?”

  Cccrackle. “Trip Haydon.”

  “And whose signature is on this document here?”

  Another breathless silence. And then the unthinkable: Lauren came out of her booth.

  She walked with a limp—a surprisingly inconspicuous one given she was missing her left leg from about the middle of her shin down. Thanks to her training in amphibious recon, she had been hired as an on-site analyst for one of our many lakeside war zones about five years ago. Rumor was, friendly fire had chewed off her leg and that was why she was so skittish and weird around people now. I had a feeling she was always like that. After all, she was an analyst.

  I could smell the sweat and dismay coming off of her. She plucked the letter out of my hand quickly and cautiously, like she was expecting some sort of booby trap—when she did so, I noticed the tattoo on her hand and thought of your first day. In a few hours our time at Quill was all going to be a memory.

  Lauren looked over the page.

  “I don’t understand this,” she muttered as she read.

  “Sure you do.”

  “I don’t understand this.”

  “What it means is: I’m gonna respect protocol. I’m gonna answer the standard questions, and I’m gonna answer them truthfully. But you’re not gonna like my answers. And you have to let me through anyway.”

  “I don’t understand what’s happening.” She wasn’t even looking at the page now, but slightly above it, staring off into nowhere. Her voice had lost its metallic tang—not just because she was no longer behind a speaker, but something in her had been made fleshy and vulnerable for the moment.

  “Harrison’s already here, right?”

  That brought her back for a moment. Something to be officious about. “I am prohibited from commenting on who has or has not—”

  “You’re right, you’re right, I apologize.” I waved her off. We needed to get this over with—I could just imagine crowds of people waiting at the previous checkpoint, wondering what the hell was going on. “Why don’t you just call his office, and he’ll either answer or he won’t. If he does answer, say, ‘Dak just gave me a paper and I don’t understand it.’”

  She nodded, still a little dazed, and limped back to her booth to use her station phone. She didn’t even remember to close the door behind her.

  “This is very unusual,” she mumbled like a litany. “This is just very unusual.” Someone on the other end of her phone picked up. “Yes—Director? Yes, this is Sentry Lauren Hayes. Security Chief Prentiss has just given me…” And she went quiet.

  She stayed quiet for a very long time.

  Finally: “Thank you, Director.” She hung up her phone. Looked at me with an inscrutable expression. Closed the door to her booth.

  “All good?” I asked.

  Cccrackle. “Please ensure the electrodes are still in place.”

  I did. They were. I slid the plate down over my face. Just me and my truth.

  Cccrackle. “Are you here at this facility with the intent of sabotaging or removing any materials or personnel on site?”

  Deep breath. Tell her.

  “Yes,” I stated. “Removing.”

  Cccrackle. “There are only two acceptable answers—” The hatred I heard from her …

  “Yes.”

  Cccrackle. “Are you here at this facility with the intent of damaging, removing, or otherwise interfering with Moss, the Harp, or Object E?”

  “Yes.”

  Cccrackle. “One moment, please.”

  When her voice came back over the speaker, I could hear she was fighting tears. The break was subtle, but unmistakable, like

  the smell of salt water close to the beach.

  Cccrackle. “Thank you, Security Chief Prentiss, you are cleared to descend to Hangar Eleven.”

  “I’m sorry, Lauren.” I started to remove the Rhinestone Cowboy.

  There was another long pause. I thought she’d let me go without further word, but then.

  Cccrackle. “I just think protocol is important. That’s just what I think.”

  I nodded at her through the glass. She was speaking the truth.

  * * *

  FIFTEEN SECONDS into my ride down to the Hangar, the elevator stopped.

  “Thanks, Gnome…,” I grumbled.

  Don’t talk.

  (I have got to get down there and find out what’s going—)

  Just wait.

  (I need to talk to Matt and let him—)

  Keep breathing. Focus.

  I swear to Christ they kept me in that elevator for at least fifteen minutes. Time dilation is a real thing when you’re isolated and on edge. I remember a particular night in [REDACTED] when I had to wait for a pickup in the middle of the night. I sat alone, in the dark, in the silence, for I would have sworn four hours. My convoy tried to convince me it was more like twenty minutes. Honestly, we were both right.

  One of Matt’s legs is a little bit longer than the other. You have to make him lie down and hold still and push his feet together to see it.

  (What is Harrison doing here?)

  Matt has a couple gray hairs, but they’re only behind his ears. It’s like his hair is vain.

  (How am I going to live with myself after I do what I need to d—)

  The elevator started moving again.

  “One of these days you’ll have to watch me pee,” I said at last to the empty car.

  * * *

  IT WAS the most disorienting egress outta that elevator since my very first one. As soon as I walked onto the floor, volleys of “Dak!” and “We missed you!” and “Hey, why aren’t you tan?” and one particular genius’s “Oh, hey, were you away for a little while?” flew at
me like dodge balls. It was a scene out of a goddamn sitcom. I played it off as being overwhelming for only good reasons as well as I could.

  I guess they missed me.

  Despite that, one thing I saw immediately was that Patty was running things as great as I’d expected. Good overall use of space in the Hangar, the sentries were well-placed, the geeks didn’t look crowded, and the Harp was well lit with a decent perimeter around it.

  Okay. Step one.

  I flagged down the nearest security team member, a guy named Harley, who wore a silver beard as cultivated as topiary. “We should probably have emergency Lloyd Suits out on the floor, right?”

  Harley chuckled and pointed. “Patty set them up over there.” Off in the distance: a rolling wardrobe rack with white suits hanging from it. Helmets were stacked neatly on top and below the rack.

  “Sure came in handy on Sunday, I’ll tell you what,” he chuffed.

  “Sunday? What was Sunday?”

  “Power-Up.”

  “Wait—Sunday? Did somebody move the H—”

  “Nope. Definitely caught us by surprise. Working theory from the nerds is every time it goes off it, like, resets the clock for its hundred-hour thing.”

  Huh, I mused. We’d set it off when we’d moved it onto the floor the day before I left. That would have been about a hundred hours before Sunday. Shit. Guess I need to reset the schedule I’ve had in my head for the last eight years.

  Not for long, though. Soon it wouldn’t be my problem anymore.

  I quickly made my way over and grabbed two suits, one helmet. Next, I had to find—

  “You … need those right now?” Fucking Harley had followed me over.

  “Don’t ask,” I said to him, looking harried and busy. “Long story.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I heard some shit’s going down.”

  He “heard” from whom? What kind of shit? Jesus, Harrison’s got the whole base talking. Another red flag raised high. I hurried away from him and scanned the room for—

  Oh.

  There you were.

  Placed near the Tent. My entire chest lit up like the Fourth of July.

  Oh.

  Where did you earn the right to look so good? I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath for seven entire days. This was my first gulp of oxygen.

  You caught my stare and our eyes met for the briefest of moments. I gave you a flash and a micro-nod before moving myself over to the north supply storage closet. I slipped inside and waited for you to join me.

  * * *

  EVERYTHING THAT followed—every horrible moment—felt at once too quick and interminable. Caught within a single heartbeat yet monstrously slow.

  * * *

  THUD.

  You joined me inside the closet. I’m sure it was a perfectly considered amount of time, whatever it was. There were no cameras in the supply closet, and thank God for that, nobody but you would be able to witness my trembling. It wasn’t from fear. It wasn’t adrenaline. It was the trembling of something wet and wretched pulled from a near-death and dizzy with the rush of survival. I missed you so much.

  No cameras, but it would be noticed fast if either one of us went missing. We had to move quickly. So I didn’t dare kiss you. I might never have stopped.

  But, oh, the smell of your skin. Lock the door from the outside and starve us to death. I could die happily in here.

  That wasn’t the plan, though. “You’ll be in Bird’s Eye a little later,” I whispered. I gestured to one of the suits I was holding. “This will be up there too. As soon as you’re alone, put it on.”

  “But I’m not on Bird’s Eye today—wait—”

  “You will be. Watch me. When I signal, winch up the box around the Harp. But—wait to put on your helmet. People might see you from the floor, start wondering.”

  “Wait for what?”

  “For me to pick up the Harp.”

  “Holy shit.” You were getting the picture. “What are you planning on doing, D—”

  “We’re gonna be free. We’re gonna be together. That’s what I’m planning. Winch up the box when I signal. Put on your helmet when I pick up the Harp. Okay?”

  You nodded, troubled but willing, and before you could say anything further I slipped out of the closet.

  Thud thud.

  * * *

  I WAS upstairs, rummaging through the storage lockers in Bird’s Eye, looking for Lloyd’s insulated duffel bag. I’d stashed one of the suits and the helmet under the monitor console, out of sight but where I knew you’d check. The other was thrown over a chair.

  I’d finally found the bag when a voice came from behind me.

  “Whatcha need that for?”

  I whirled around, the bag in my hand.

  “Holy shit,” I gulped, already pivoting, “Patty! Good to see you.”

  “Where’s the tan?” she chuckled. Was that suspicion in her eyes, though?

  “I’ll show you later. Man, the Hangar setup looks fucking phenomenal.”

  “Aw, shucks.”

  “No, I mean, you actually screwed yourself—it’s so good I’m gonna stop coming in to work. It’s all yours now.”

  “Can I have your paycheck?”

  “Just leave me something for booze.”

  She nodded. “Sounds like Harrison’s retirement plan.” There was no comforting, joking rhythm to her words. Her tone was cold, uninsulated and steely.

  I swallowed. This was not where or how I wanted to have this conversation, but time was running out. The blood pounding in my ears sounded remarkably like red flags in the high wind.

  “So you talked to Harrison, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Today?”

  “He basically kept laughing and congratulating me.”

  “Congratulating you?”

  “Calling me Security Chief Patty.”

  “Huh.”

  “I mean”—she dropped her volume—“he drinks in the afternoon. Everybody knows it. But this … today feels different.”

  “A lot of things are…” I so didn’t want to show her the letter from Haydon. I wanted that to be something she learned about long after the threat of seeing her disappointed face was behind me. “Transitions are rough, right?”

  “Transitions.”

  “Yeah, like if—”

  “Were you on vacation or not?”

  I stared at her.

  “Look. I get that you can’t tell me everything, just … at this point, I would think there’d have to be a really good reason for you to not tell me something.”

  “There is.”

  “So there’s a really good reason you’re walking out of this room with a suit and Lloyd’s insulated duffel bag.” She didn’t ask it—she stated it in a tone so challenging, it stopped me in my tracks.

  I kept my cool as I reached into my pocket. I didn’t want to show her the letter … but I pulled it out, unfolded it, and held it out to her. She took it. After a few moments:

  “Okay…” She kept staring at the paper.

  “Now, I’m gonna give you a bunch of orders and when I do? You’re going to carry them out because you’re the deputy and I’m the security chief.”

  “Are you the chief? Or are you the acting director?” She kept staring at the letter, waiting for it to make sense.

  “What difference does it make when I’m giving you an order?” I asked and plucked the letter out of her hands. I felt myself starting to get pissed and, on some level, I was grateful. It was the only way I could do what I had to do. She’s relied on me too long, I found myself seething. I don’t have to save this fucking friendship. It’s not like I’m coming back to clean things up. “I’m taking the bag. I can’t tell you why.” And while I was pissed, I might as well storm into the very last thing I needed to tell her. It would upset her. Lord knows it would upset me in her position. “Now, I need you to make some changes to Guardshift.”

  “Guardshift? What, tomorrow’s Guardshift?”

  “
Today’s. Fifth Rotation.” I’d checked the assignments before coming in this morning, not just my own but everyone’s. “You’ve got me in the cockpit with Matt Salem and you’ve got Grant up here in Bird’s Eye.”

  “So?”

  “I need you to swap them. Salem goes up here, Grant down with me.”

  She blinked, color swirling beneath her cheeks.

  “Why?” Her own anger was playing tug-of-war with the sort of vulnerable confusion that comes from a superior you trust maybe fucking with you. But I wasn’t fucking with her.

  “Wanna read the letter again?” She stared at me. “Who else did you have with Grant up here in Bird’s Eye?”

  “Me.” And the thing was, I couldn’t remember if that was true or if she was issuing one final challenge. Either way I could trump it.

  “I want you on the floor.”

  “You want Salem working all the security screens by himself. He’s barely been here a month and—”

  But she cut herself off, already seeing my answer. Matt would be in charge of the only surveillance feed of Hangar Eleven and I was going to insist on it. We stared at each other.

  “It’s just one shift,” I offered finally.

  “I don’t … Dak, Fifth Rotation is like twenty minutes from now … what the hell is happening?”

  The bag felt wrong in my hands somehow. I realized why. As a soldier—even as a manager—you tried to avoid thinking of the macro narrative as best you could. Focus on the mission at hand and let the higher paygrades worry about the sweep of history. Only now, I could see clearly what was happening. I was stepping into the role of villain.

  It is what it is, I thought. It was only an adjustment. Better get used to it if I’m going to do what needs to be done today.

  “Look in my fuckin’ eyes, Patty.” She did. “If you ever believed me before, believe this: by the end of today—by the end of this shift—this’ll all make sense.”

  “But—”

  “I just issued direct and specific orders. You can either carry them out or we can move on to disciplinary review. There is no Option C.”

  She deflated. “I worked hard figuring out the rotation. I wanted it perfect by the time you got back.” Her voice was small and hurt and such a juxtaposition from her normal self that I hated her for it.