by Tarah Benner
I have to do this — Jonah or no Jonah. I have to stand on my own. Mordecai is an evil that must be exterminated. Otherwise, we’re all doomed. I have to fight, and I have to win. This is bigger than any story.
The stakes are higher, and so is the cost. Defeating Mordecai will take everything I’ve got.
The ride gets rougher as we approach Earth’s atmosphere. I close my eyes and hold on to my seat. The shuttle is shaking with violence and vengeance, and the pressure keeps building as we careen toward Earth.
Humans weren’t designed to travel in space. As a species, we’re bending the rules. Space travel stretches the limits of human survival to the point that one walks the edge of death.
I open my eyes for a fraction of a second, and the burst of light nearly blinds me. I feel a swoop of nausea and close my eyes. Either we’ll touch down safe and sound, or we’ll burn up in the atmosphere and be reduced to ash.
Our landing isn’t as rough as my first, but the impact still jars my spine. My whole body compacts when we slam to the ground, and I cautiously open my eyes.
Sunlight is streaming through the shuttle windows. There is no smoke — no chaos. I feel as though I’ve awoken from a long strange dream. It’s almost as though I never left.
But the moment the shuttle door flies open, I’m immediately thrust back to life. Alex is talking a mile a minute, and Carl is grumbling into his mic. Three men in orange vests appear out of nowhere, and they help lift Ping to the ground. The rest of us pile into a Humvee, and we’re shunted to the center of the base.
I lean my head against the inside of the vehicle and stare out across the sparkling ocean. The water is such a brilliant blue that my brain can hardly process it. Puffy white clouds are drifting across the sky — fast enough for my eye to perceive movement. They cast long shadows over the mountains, and I feel an ache in my chest.
Jonah’s up there. I’m down here. I can’t believe that I left him.
But he’s dead, says a small voice in the back of my head. I want to shut it off. This voice is determined to keep me grounded, but I can’t accept the truth.
The Humvee stops in front of the building, where Colonel Sipps is standing. She’s waiting with her arms crossed over her chest, a tight bun pulling back against aging skin.
I watch her hawklike eyes scan our group and then scan it again for Jonah. She straightens up. She knows what’s happened, but she also knows better than to ask.
“You must be Ms. Blum,” says the colonel, stepping forward to shake Ziva’s hand.
Ziva takes it without a smile. Sipps looks solemn and alert. She knows something terrible has happened. She just doesn’t have the details.
“What is the situation on Elderon?” she asks.
I realize that she’s directing this at me. She could have asked the pilot, the executive, or the head of the press. Hell, she could have asked Ping. Instead she asked me because we’ve met, and all of a sudden, I don’t see her as the enemy.
I don’t see her as the woman who launched that missile. I don’t see the woman who betrayed Jonah’s trust. I see her as an ally — a person trying her best. She has the weight of the world on her shoulders.
“We haven’t had any real news in days,” she continues. “My superiors believe the colony has been compromised.”
I bow my head, contemplating my choices. I’m afraid to tell her the truth. I’m afraid she’ll detonate an EMP, but I have to tell her what I know. With Jonah gone and the Space Force in shambles, the colonel is our only hope.
“We failed,” I say in a hollow voice. “We had a plan to kill Mordecai, but he survived. Jonah is dead.”
Colonel Sipps drags in a long breath. I can’t tell if she’s angry or sympathetic, and I find I don’t really care.
“Just as I thought,” she says gravely. “When I didn’t get an update from Sergeant Wyatt . . . Now my men are saying that Jade Armaz is on board.”
“Jade was working with us,” I say. “She isn’t responsible for all those attacks.”
Colonel Sipps just looks confused.
“She had a plan to neutralize Mordecai, but we lost contact during the mission.”
“Some plan,” Sipps mutters. “Mordecai Blum is still at large. He has Elderon and thousands of hostages. There’s no telling what he’ll do.”
At her words, I feel the weight of our failure, but it doesn’t last long. Colonel Sipps turns on her heel and launches into plan B.
“First thing’s first. We need to get Ms. Blum as far away from here as possible. Mordecai will know that she has landed, which puts this entire base at risk.”
Ping and I exchange nervous looks. Ziva is our best chance at defeating the bots, as long as she’ll cooperate. Surely Mordecai has put that together. Would he kill his own sister?
“We can’t send her to any of our emergency bunkers,” says the colonel, walking inside. “Given recent events, they’re all being used. Our first priority is the US government.”
Alex catches my eye, and we quicken our pace. I can tell she is beside herself. That’s the perverse part of being a journalist — the ability to find exhilaration in tragedy. Along with destruction comes a great story. It’s not excitement. It’s obsession.
We reach Colonel Sipps’s office, and one of the airmen pushes Ping’s wheelchair through the door. She dismisses this man with a wave, and I sense she’s trying to tighten our circle.
She unlocks the top drawer of her desk and produces a manila envelope. I catch the words “Top Secret” stamped in red, and my heart beats a little faster.
“Here is your new safe house, handpicked by WITSEC.” She hands it to me. “Even I don’t know the location.”
Alex and I exchange a look. I know this has to be sending her into a tailspin.
“I’ll need to confiscate your devices,” says Sipps in a businesslike voice, producing a small cardboard box.
I reach up, unclip my Optix, and drop it into the box. Given the degree of Mordecai’s control, no Optix is secure. Ping and Ziva hand theirs over with the briefest hesitation, but Alex looks as though the colonel just asked her to cut off her right arm.
“You better get used to it,” says Sipps briskly. “You won’t be able to access your data until all of this is resolved. No posting stories, no logging in — no digital access whatsoever.”
Alex is wearing an expression of utmost pain, but she detaches her Optix and sets it in the box.
“Desktop too.”
Alex rolls her eyes, reaches into her bag, and produces her sleeping desktop. She lays it in the box like a newborn baby, and Sipps whisks it away.
“One of our men will fly you to a drop point, and someone else will take you to your new location. There’s an address and access code to the safe house inside. Once you get there, you’ll have what you need: cash, a secure line . . . You name it, it’s there.”
I run my fingers down the packet. It feels surprisingly light.
“IDs?” I ask.
Sipps shakes her head. “Not yet. It’s very time-consuming to construct new identities that have a believable digital footprint. If all goes well, this will be resolved, and you will keep your true identities. Otherwise, you can expect a visit from US Marshals. They will have your new IDs.”
I swallow.
“Do not open the envelope until you board the second plane,” says the colonel. “Carl will remain with us. We may need him to pilot a shuttle to Elderon, so we can’t risk relocating him.”
“Now, wait just a second,” says Carl, clearly annoyed and afraid. “Who said I want to stay and help —”
“Your country needs you,” says the colonel. “This is not up for discussion.”
Carl just stares, fuming in silence. Carl only cares about Carl.
“If you need anything, you can reach WITSEC via the number in your packet. They will get you what you need. I’ll be in touch when we have Mordecai. Do not believe what you hear on the news. Wait for me or Skinner to make contact directly. That
is how you’ll know it’s safe.”
Alex and I exchange another look. I want to tell Sipps that she has no idea what she’s dealing with. Mordecai won’t go quietly.
But Sipps won’t listen. She wouldn’t listen to Jonah. She seems determined to do things her way.
It isn’t just Elderon depending on her. All of our lives are in her hands, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
27
Maggie
The next hour is a blur as we wait for the flight that will take us to the first undisclosed location. We pile back into the Humvee and then into an open utility vehicle like the ones they use at the airport. We’re whisked down the tarmac to a military jet that looks as though it was designed to airdrop troops onto the battlefield
The only parts of the plane that even resemble a commercial aircraft are the plush blue seats. They’re the size of the captain’s chairs in first class, but nothing else about the plane is anything other than utilitarian. The inner shell is completely exposed, with wires trailing all over the ceiling. The pilot hands us each a set of earplugs as we climb aboard, and I stick mine in my pocket.
When the plane doors close, the pilot opens his sealed manila envelope and informs us that we’ll be deplaning in Colorado Springs at Peterson Air Force Base.
As soon as we take off, the reason for the earplugs becomes clear. Without all the insulation a commercial jet has, the noise inside the plane is deafening. I jam the little pieces of green foam into my ears and try to relax as we lift off from the runway.
The first flight is uncomfortable but quick. We’re in the air for just over two hours before we begin our descent. The plane rattles with turbulence as we approach the mountains. I can almost feel their foreboding presence, but the sky is completely black.
It’s a rough landing at Peterson Air Force Base, and I’m not sure at first if anyone had been expecting us. We wait on the runway for about half an hour before we’re cleared to approach the gate.
But instead of filing onto a jet bridge, we disembark right on the tarmac. Two airmen are waiting to help Ping off the plane, and they usher us directly onto a much smaller aircraft.
This one looks as though it’s seen better days. It appears to be a commercial plane designed to hold as few as twelve people. I get a little nervous as we cram ourselves inside, and I have to crunch my neck to get into my seat. Ping looks uncomfortable with his leg sticking out in the aisle, and Alex seems tense.
It occurs to me that I’ve never known Alex to be without her Optix. She’s always glued to her devices — researching, recording, and editing stories. Any time we’ve had a conversation, at least thirty percent of her attention has been focused on whatever else she was doing. I’m not sure she knows how to exist without an Optix on her person.
The instant we all find our seats, the pilot locks the door and opens a sealed envelope. I hear him talking into his radio, but I can’t make out what he’s saying.
I turn over our envelope in my hands and realize that everyone is waiting. They want to know where we’re headed — the location of the safe house.
“Open it!” Alex hisses, clearly going through information withdrawal. Her need for fresh intel is at an all-time high, and I have a feeling she might rip it out of my hands if I continue to stall.
I should be glad to get away from the base, out of Mordecai’s clutches and far from the bots. And yet going into hiding feels like cowardice — abandoning Elderon and those on board. But Alex looks as though she really might hit me, so I pull the brass tabs holding it closed and slide a finger under the flap.
I tip the envelope upside down, and four plastic cards fall out. There’s a thick stack of papers and a map. It feels more like a mystery vacation than entering witness protection.
I recognize the cards at once. I had one myself before I activated my digital version. They’re New York City metro cards. I’m instantly bewildered.
“They’re sending us to New York?” says Alex, snatching up a card.
“Looks like it,” I say, studying the paperwork. The address of the safe house is in the East Village. It’s an area I’m intimately familiar with. I’m not sure why they’d send us there. I thought the idea was to send us somewhere new to reduce the risk of exposure.
“Maybe they thought it would be good to send us to a big city,” Alex muses. “It would be like finding a needle in a haystack.”
“Or maybe this isn’t our final location.”
It certainly beats what I’d been expecting — Hays, Kansas; Crested Butte, Colorado; or middle-of-nowhere New Mexico. If there’s a place to disappear, it’s a city of twenty-eight million people.
I divide our paperwork into chunks and pass one to Ping, Ziva, and Alex. Alex speed-reads hers in thirty seconds flat and then perches over Ping’s shoulder to read his, too.
Included in my stack is a list of the rules: Don’t use any digital devices. Avoid drawing attention to yourself in public. Stick to high-traffic areas when venturing out, and switch up your routine. Don’t visit the same restaurant or grocery store more than twice in one month. Do not frequent any businesses within two blocks of the safe house. Above all, do not try to make contact with friends or family. That is the number-one rule.
“You’re from New York, right?” asks Alex, sidling up next to me and peering over my shoulder.
She isn’t making conversation. She wants to read my paperwork.
“Yeah.”
She nods. “It’ll be nice to get back.”
I’d almost forgotten that Alex lived in New York back when she worked for The Times. It’s strange to think of my old life on the Lower East Side. Even though I was sharing an apartment with Kiran a little over a month ago, it feels like a lifetime away.
I’m sure that Kiran has already rented out my room. It would be impossible for him to afford the rent on what he makes as a messenger/barista.
A smile starts to work at the corners of my mouth when I think about the café where we worked. I’d give anything for one of their chocolate Bundt cakes, but according to the packet, it isn’t safe.
I think of my parents living in New Jersey. They must be worried sick. My mother never wanted me to go to space, and I’m sure Elderon has been all over the news.
Their house is only a fifty-five-minute train ride from where we’re staying. It would be so easy to take half a day to visit them, but that would put us all at risk.
The flight from Colorado to Stewart Air National Guard Base lasts four hours, and I feel every bit of it in the tiny turbulent plane. It’s a bumpy landing in Stewart Air National Guard Base. It’s about sixty miles outside the city, and the packet tells me there will be someone waiting to take us to the safe house by car.
Part of me is amazed by the sheer number of people involved in making us disappear. The other part of me can’t believe that it could be so simple: Ditch our devices. Go to an apartment. Use cash. Don’t see your friends. It sounds boring more than anything. It sounds too easy to be true.
Meanwhile, my friends are fighting for their lives. I can’t believe I let Tripp talk me into boarding that shuttle. If I’d been in my right mind — if I’d had a moment to think — I never would have agreed to leave.
I belong on Elderon, regardless of the danger. I should be there now, fighting with the Space Force. I should be fighting with Jonah at my side. I should have told him how I felt. I should have —
I cut off that thought as soon as it skitters across my mind. I can’t go down that road right now. I cannot think of Jonah.
Once we disembark the plane, the first person we meet is Sergeant Mudge. Mudge is a muscular fast-talking officer who seems unwilling to divulge too much. He answers my questions in rapid fire with the sort of responses that leave me unsatisfied.
The second time he answers with “It’s all in your packet,” I pretty much give up on gaining any new information. Mudge is one of those guys who does everything by the book. He reminds me of First Lieutenant Greaves.
/> They usher us into a black SUV with government plates and tinted windows. The driver is a marine. He has ebony skin and watchful eyes. He’s the type of man who doesn’t relax.
I help Ping get situated in the back and climb into the middle seat. I smile to myself when Alex climbs in the front. No one in his right mind would let Alex ride shotgun. You can’t sit with her for more than five minutes without getting a full interrogation.
“Where are you dropping us off?” Alex asks the second her seatbelt clicks.
“I’ve been instructed to take you to a drop point within the city,” says the marine. “You will wait there until you receive a phone call at the venue for Kimberly Wells. That call is the signal that the safe house is clear.”
Alex nods as if this is routine and not some super weird cloak-and-dagger shit. “So you have eyes on the safe house?”
“Yes, ma’am,” says the marine. “We have been monitoring the area since you departed Peterson.”
“Are we in danger?”
“We are taking every precaution to ensure that you and Ms. Blum arrive safely,” he replies. His voice exudes calmness and precision. It makes me feel more at ease.
“So we are in danger.”
The marine looks annoyed by Alex’s questions. “We can’t know for sure, ma’am. I just have my orders. I’ll deliver you to the drop point, and you’ll wait for the all-clear. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Alex turns around in her seat and waggles her eyebrows. There’s a small part of her that’s loving this, but my insides are simmering with dread.
I doubt that any amount of precautions taken by the US armed forces could possibly keep Mordecai at bay. He has the resources of an entire company at his disposal, as well as an army of bots. And with the technology he gained control of during the Silicon Valley attacks, he could be able to access surveillance cameras or even secret government data.
About twenty minutes outside the city, the marine’s radio lets out a muted garble.
“This is Shelby,” says our driver, instantly on high alert.
