The Elderon Chronicles Box Set

by Tarah Benner

  “Elderon.”

  Fear and fury as I’ve never known rip through me, but my upswell of emotion is interrupted by a beep. A second later, Jared shoves Fats out of the way and pulls my cell door open.

  “I’ll explain on the way,” he says, skipping over to Fats’s desk and grabbing a donut for the road.

  I shake my head. I’m too livid to speak. I’m starving. I’m screwed. I’m on the run. I’m gonna kick Jared’s ass for sending Maggie to Elderon. If Mordecai catches her, there’s no telling what he’ll do.

  “Grab me one,” I grumble, striding toward the door. Jared picks up the whole box and follows me out the back.

  I don’t know what the rest of his plan includes, but it’s not off to a great start.

  5

  Jonah

  I start yelling at Jared as soon as we’re out of the precinct. That’s when it really hits me how stupid this is. I’m being held on suspicion of terrorism. Escaping police custody to steal a shuttle and rocket off into space sounds like the business plan of a lunatic.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” I growl the second I’m standing on the sidewalk. The evening air is cool and breezy, but the sound of sirens in the distance kills any feelings of relief.

  “Relax,” says Jared. “I took care of everything.”

  He gestures toward a tiny white car that’s idling beside the curb. It looks like a rental — one of those stupid pay-as-you-drive things. Not even Jared would own a car like that.

  “You took care of —” I splutter, shaking my head.

  “I’ll explain on the way.”

  My whole body is vibrating with the force of my anger. I can’t even put it into words. It’s not that I care that much what happens to me. It’s the fact that he sent Maggie into Mordecai’s lair alone that makes me want to throttle him.

  I open the car door and duck inside, and I’m immediately hit with the stench of Chinese food. My stomach groans with longing, but I just slam the door shut, and Jared speeds away.

  “Maggie is docking on Elderon?” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.

  “Yup. Her shuttle should be docking soon.”

  “What — the hell — were you thinking?”

  “Why do you keep asking me that? She was the one who wanted to go.”

  I shake my head.

  “Maggie’s a big girl,” Jared continues. “She can handle herself.”

  “Of course she can. But this is Mordecai Blum — not the fucking press corps.”

  “What was I supposed to do?”

  “Uh, I don’t know . . . Maybe wait for my public defender to show up so I could post bail and get out of there legally.”

  “Post bail?” Jared lets out a snort of laughter. “You honestly think they’d let a suspected terrorist post bail and mosey on out of there?”

  “They only hauled me in ’cause your boss told them that I blew up that building!”

  “If that’s true —”

  “It is.”

  “Well, if it’s his word against yours, you could have been sitting there for a long, long time.”

  I take a deep breath. I want to deck the kid, but he’s driving.

  “I’m probably gonna die in prison when this finally catches up to me,” I grumble.

  “Please. Their system shows that you were discharged.”

  “Until they look at the security footage and see that you drugged two officers.”

  “I already had one of my guys delete all the footage,” says Jared dismissively. “How about a little gratitude, mate? I’m crossing about every legal and ethical line to save your sorry ass.”

  “Yeah, well, my ass wouldn’t need saving if Zephyr wasn’t a spineless little prick.”

  Jared bristles. I can tell I’ve struck a nerve. Jared worships his boss. He risked his life to protect Zephyr’s company. He doesn’t know that Zephyr was ready to give it all away to save his own skin, and I don’t have the heart to tell him.

  Zephyr may be a prick, but Jared isn’t. If it weren’t for him, I’d still be sitting in jail listening to Fats replay the horse-eating-spaghetti video over and over again.

  “You hungry?” asks Jared, trying for a truce.

  “Starving.”

  He reaches into the back seat and pulls out a paper sack. It’s the source of the Chinese-food smell, and it’s making my stomach gurgle loudly.

  “It was the only place that was open,” says Jared.

  Leave it to Jared to apologize for his getaway meal after he risked his own freedom to bust me out of jail. Suddenly I feel like an asshole.

  “Sorry,” I mumble.

  “No worries.” His voice is light, but I can tell he’s beat down. I shouldn’t have been so hard on him. You can’t tell Maggie anything when she’s got her mind set. I should know that better than anyone.

  I open the bag. There are three separate containers inside. The first is stuffed with crispy fried egg rolls. The big one is General Tso’s chicken, and the last one is pork fried rice. My mouth actually begins to water.

  I immediately stuff an egg roll down my throat and dig in with the little plastic fork. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything so delicious. I shovel down a few bites of the rice and chicken while Jared explains how he got Maggie into the base.

  I wish he would stop. The thought of Maggie sneaking aboard Mordecai’s shuttle full of bots is enough to send my heart into overdrive.

  Maggie’s tough and perfectly capable, but Mordecai is a madman. There’s no telling what he’ll do when he discovers Maggie is on board the space station. She’ll be lucky if she even makes it that far.

  “Jesus,” I sigh as Jared finishes his story. I think I’ve lost my appetite.

  “I know,” says Jared. “It was a nail biter, but she made it.”

  He’s still talking about Maggie infiltrating the base. Meanwhile, I’m imagining her being dismembered by bots.

  I look around, trying to distract myself, when I realize I have no idea where he’s taking us. “Where are we going?”

  “Back to Maverick.”

  “No,” I say. “You need to take me to Vandenberg.”

  “We have to get your car first,” says Jared. “This one’s not going to make it. I’ve only got ten percent battery.”

  I groan. I’d almost forgotten about Skinner’s borrowed Camry. Part of me wants to just leave it where it’s parked, but there’s no way he’ll help us if I come back without it.

  My heart starts to race as we draw closer to the police barricade. Sirens are flashing through the darkness, but there seem to be fewer police here than there were before.

  It takes Jared about ten minutes to find a way around the barricade, and when he does, I shrink down in the seat and try to be invisible. It’s dark, but I can’t take any chances.

  “Any word yet on the other founders?” I ask. “Did they make it out alive?”

  Jared hesitates. I can tell he doesn’t want to tell me, but I shoot him a look that says I can handle it.

  “They found Teegan Henley,” says Jared. “She’s alive.”

  “That’s good.” But I can tell there’s more.

  Jared doesn’t continue.

  “And Si Damm?” I ask, not sure I want to hear it.

  There’s another long pause.

  “Jared . . .”

  “He’s still missing.”

  “Shit.” I shake my head, feeling the dread rise up in my chest.

  Si Damm is the founder of CentrySystems. I don’t know if he was still in the building when the whole thing went down, but if he was and he hasn’t been found, chances are good he’s dead.

  “He could be alive,” says Jared.

  “Then why hasn’t anybody found him?”

  Jared doesn’t answer. I can tell he’s just trying to make me feel better. I appreciate the effort, but it isn’t helping.

  “You want to know what I think?” Jared asks unexpectedly.

  “What’s that?”

  �
�I think he’s in hiding.”

  “Get out.”

  “I’m serious.”

  I turn this over in my head for a moment. It’s a long shot, but it could be true. Mordecai threatened Si Damm’s son. If Si knew the lengths Mordecai would go to in order to gain control of his company, he might have gone underground.

  But part of me knows this is wishful thinking. Si Damm is probably dead.

  Jared pulls up on the Camry and kills the engine of the rental. He tosses me the borrowed keys and my wallet, both of which were taken from me when I was booked.

  We’re only about six hundred yards away from the police barricade, but we’re far enough away to stay hidden. Long strips of yellow tape crisscross the pile of wreckage. Twelve hours ago, that place was one of the most recognizable structures in Silicon Valley. It was a hub of innovation, technology, and money. Now it’s a mountain of concrete and rebar.

  I shouldn’t be shocked. I shouldn’t ever be shocked — not after the things I’ve seen. There’s nothing real in this world that can’t be destroyed, whether from an earthquake or a bomb.

  I don’t know how many times I have to learn this lesson. The world is fragile. Nothing is permanent. But standing on the street in front of the building I destroyed . . . Nothing could have prepared me for that.

  “Ready?” asks Jared. He’s standing beside the passenger door, waiting for me to unlock the Camry.

  “Yeah,” I mumble, clicking the key fob. The lights flash and I open the door, trying to banish my mounting guilt.

  I have to pull myself together. It doesn’t matter how much trouble I’m in. It doesn’t matter what I’ve done. I can’t think about Si Damm or Zephyr Morgan or any of the people who think I’m a terrorist.

  All that matters is getting to Vandenberg and stopping Mordecai for good.

  6

  Maggie

  Five hours can feel like a lifetime — especially when you’re hurtling through space with a bunch of evil humanoids in a flying toilet.

  I haven’t moved from my hiding place since the shuttle took off. I’ve just been scrunched on the toilet seat between the sink and the wall, completely paralyzed by fear.

  Intellectually I know none of the bots will need to use the lavatory, but I keep waiting for one of them to smell my sweat and realize they have a human on board.

  Well, technically, two humans. The woman posing as a bot is the other thing that has me worried. I don’t understand how she could have gone undetected — unless she’s working with Mordecai.

  The inside of the shuttle is eerily quiet, so every small movement seems loud. It’s all I can do to remain motionless as the shuttle shakes and jolts through space. I have one arm braced against the wall and the other acting as a wedge between my torso and the sink.

  My body aches from holding that position, and I can’t feel my right butt cheek. My body is bent in a permanent “Walk Like an Egyptian” pose, and I’m not sure it will ever unbend.

  But then the shuttle begins to shake, and I know we must be docking. There’s a tense moment of deafening silence, and then everything trembles as the shuttle locks into place.

  I close my eyes and try to breathe. I don’t know what’s going to happen when I disembark. I’m not sure what I’m returning to. I’ve just landed on a hostile space fortress controlled by a terrorist with an army of bots. I need to prepare for the worst.

  Above the lavatory door, the “fasten seatbelt” light turns green. I hear a rustle out in the cabin as two dozen bots get to their feet.

  I listen intently as they all form a line. They file down the aisle in perfect unison — their exodus like a roll of thunder. They share one mind, one step, one goal. Every swish of fabric is coordinated and flawless.

  I close my eyes and wait in stillness, trying to keep my breathing slow. If I make a wrong move, if I give away my position, I am as good as dead.

  I wait until the sound of footsteps fades down the jet bridge and I hear the tick of the engines cooling.

  This is it.

  Slowly, painfully, I unfold my stiff limbs. I get to my feet and straighten my spine, wincing at the pain in my legs. I stretch them out to get the blood flowing and carefully lean toward the door.

  I push it open a couple of inches. I can’t see more than a few feet beyond the lavatory. Heart pounding, I push the door all the way open and peer out into the cabin.

  The bots are gone. The shuttle is empty. There’s not a single harness out of place. The Impetus has been returned to its pre-flight precision. It’s as if they were never here.

  Breathing hard, I remove my helmet and peel off my flight suit. My clothes underneath are sticky with sweat, and for the first time since crawling from the wreckage, I am fully aware of my injuries.

  My entire body is covered in bruises and feels as though it’s died a thousand deaths. My throat is parched, I have ash in my hair, and my clothes are completely filthy. I don’t know the last time I ate, but at least my heart is still beating.

  Gripping Jonah’s pistol with shaky hands, I make my way down the aisle toward the jet bridge. Every movement feels like a prayer. I keep waiting for a bot to jump out and attack me, but the shuttle is completely empty.

  I swallow and pad slowly down the jet bridge, my entire body tensed for a fight. I still can’t believe I don’t have a stunner. Jonah’s pistol will be useless against the bots. But on the off chance that Mordecai is waiting, I’ll be able to kill him once and for all.

  My heart rate speeds up when I see light at the end of the jet bridge. I take a deep breath and raise the handgun.

  This is it — the moment of truth. If the bots are waiting, I’ll die a glorious death. I won’t go down without a fight. I’ll tear the silicone from their bodies and do as much damage as I possibly can.

  The harsh fluorescent light beaming from the ceiling is bright enough to make my eyes water. The waiting area is deserted. There are no bots and no Space Force — just a few dozen empty chairs.

  I let out the breath I’ve been holding, but my body doesn’t relax. Finding the place completely empty sets my nerves on edge. It’s six a.m. Elderon time, which means the colony should be waking up for the day. Either the station is still on lockdown, or everyone on board is dead.

  My chest tightens when I think of Ping and the other recruits I trained with. Every one of them could be dead. If Mordecai decided Elderon’s human population was more of a hassle than an advantage, what would stop him from killing everyone on board?

  Steeling myself for the worst, I head down a back hallway to bypass Sectors Q and R. I don’t have the courage to walk through the defense sector. I’m not ready to face the possibility that everyone there is dead.

  The hallway is completely deserted. There’s not a human or bot in sight. Where the hell did they go?

  I picture the humanoids gathered in the training center, standing in perfect white lines. I imagine Mordecai surveying his troops, taking a moment to savor his power.

  The thought gives me a fresh kick of hatred. Power is what Mordecai craves, and he’ll kill anyone to get it.

  I reach the stairwell and duck inside, peering up to the next landing. I don’t see any bots, but this would be the perfect place for an ambush. The shadows provide plenty of cover.

  I take the stairs one at a time until I reach the middle deck. I crack the door, peer toward the newsroom, and see a blinding flash of white.

  It’s a bot out in the hallway — a bot that might have seen me. I snap the door shut as quick as I can, and every muscle in my body clenches.

  That was loud enough for a bot to hear. My heart is hammering in my chest. I press my body against the wall, sweat pooling under my bra. I can feel the blood rushing in my temples, rattling my bones as I wait for death.

  I imagine all the excruciating possibilities, muscles tensed for one last fight.

  And then . . . nothing happens.

  It doesn’t make sense. How could the bot not have heard me? Maybe it sent out a
signal, gathering more bots from the vicinity. The hive mind is what makes them so deadly. The bots are always one step ahead.

  I wait, barely breathing, but no bots come. I work up the courage to open the door. Hinges creaking, I peer out into the hall. The bot is gone.

  The space station looks exactly as it did before, only now the place is eerily quiet. The hum of the lights and the rattle of air vents seem deafening in the quiet space. They’re magnified in the absence of human chatter.

  I breathe into my feet as I walk toward the newsroom, trying to tread as lightly as possible. I have this itch that I just can’t shake — this feeling that I’m being watched.

  If I am the last human alive, the slightest noise could send the bots swarming. But as I approach the newsroom, I hear a voice that sounds vaguely human. I strain my ears to listen, and my brain identifies the speaker.

  My breath catches. That voice is the only voice capable of striking fear into my heart and making it burst. It’s Alex reading the news.

  An uncontrollable grin spreads across my face. Alex is alive.

  Space Force Sergeant Jonah Wyatt was taken into custody for his involvement in the attack on Maverick Enterprises. He’s being held on suspicion of terrorism, and sources say he may be responsible for the other attacks in Silicon Valley. Our source inside the US military says Sergeant Wyatt has a history of mental illness, and his friends tell us that he harbored strong anti-establishment views.

  A powerful rage erupts in my chest. What the fuck is Alex saying? What “friends” of Jonah is she talking about? Who is her source inside the military?

  When asked about its customer data, Maverick executive Tripp Van de Graaf said that the company was turning all Optix security over to BlumBot International to ensure no customer data falls into the wrong hands.

  I shake my head. Has she lost her mind? No trillion-dollar company hands their data security over to one of their subsidiaries — especially a subsidiary whose bots were just compromised. Something isn’t right.