by A. G. Riddle
The man’s tone turned playful. “You ladies are more voluptuous than we expected.” The levity left his voice. “You reach for those guns and we’ll shoot you. I won’t warn you again.”
A pause. No one moved.
“Now lift your arms and hold them straight out. Lin, turn around, face away, and march backward toward me. Peyton, stay where you are. Don’t move.”
Lin turned and walked backward, careful not to trip over the suits on the floor. She stared at Peyton, her eyes shining, unblinking. In her mind, Peyton could hear her mother’s unspoken words. Be brave, darling.
A hand gripped Peyton’s side, right below her breast, reached under her shirt, and yanked the gun free, holster and all. It fell to the metal floor.
A second man approached Lin from behind and removed her gun.
So there were three men. The two who had disarmed them, plus the gravelly-voiced man holding the light.
The man behind her reached around and ran his hands down her chest. Hands gripped Lin as well.
The older woman acted first. She spun, grabbed the man’s neck, and squeezed.
A bolt of terror went through Peyton. Just as quickly, her instincts took over. She pressed her thumb into the ring on her index finger, exposing the three needles on the bottom. She lashed out at the man. Her hand connected with his neck, right at his carotid artery.
Behind her, she heard the other soldier gasping for air as the toxin from Lin’s ring paralyzed him.
The man holding Peyton released his grip and collapsed to his knees. He glared with malice in the dim light.
“You b—”
Foam flowed from his mouth as he fell forward.
Peyton depressed the button on the ring and slid it off. It hit the floor with a clink. It was a single-use device, but she didn’t want to risk injecting herself, in case there was any residual poison.
Behind her, the beam of light jerked wildly, like a strobe in a night club. Lin screamed.
Peyton turned. In the flashes of light, she saw that the soldier who had frisked Lin was lying still, but the man with the light was now struggling to hold Lin’s arms. He swung the light, hitting her in the face. She screamed, a ragged, bone-chilling sound, and fell to the floor, flailing, crawling toward the gun. The man fell on top of her, reaching for her arms.
“Peyton!” she spat, flecks of blood flying from her mouth. “Please, Peyton.”
The man pinned Lin with his elbows and wrapped his hands around her throat.
Peyton staggered forward. Lin’s holster and gun lay at her feet. She bent and drew the weapon out, barely able to hold it straight with her shaking hands.
Lin’s eyes bulged.
“Let her go.” Peyton’s voice shook as much as her hands.
The man didn’t look up.
“Do no harm, Doc.”
Lin’s arms fell limp.
“Drop the gun and no one gets hurt.”
Lin stared at her daughter, pleading with her eyes. She had seconds to live.
Peyton placed her other hand on the gun, steadying her grip.
She pulled the trigger.
Chapter 14
The sound of heels clacking on the library floor drew Desmond’s attention. Jennifer sauntered toward him. She wore a navy dress that was tight around her hips, and a white blouse, low-cut and loose around her chest. A tan cardigan hung over her shoulders, her auburn hair falling around it.
She stopped at the long table by the three-story window and set a small, gift-wrapped package in front of Desmond.
He raised his eyebrows.
“A little Christmas gift,” she said, shrugging sheepishly.
“I…” He had lost all track of time, didn’t even know it was Christmas.
“Just open it, Des.”
He pulled the package close, and smiled when he saw the wrapping paper: it was a series of printed pages with screen captures and the logo from the TV series Alias.
“Thought you might like the homemade wrapping paper.”
“I do. Love that show,” he said. He peeled the pages off, revealing three paperback books, all by Phillip Pullman: The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife, and The Amber Spyglass. The complete trilogy was entitled His Dark Materials.
“I figure you can’t spend every waking hour reading non-fiction in this library. You need some relief.”
True. He turned the books over, taking in the covers, then looked up. “I don’t have anything—”
“I don’t need anything.”
He glanced at the books again.
“You know, you also don’t have to take all your meals here,” she said. “Might do you good to get out.”
It would. She was right. But he also knew it would end badly for her. He imagined them sitting down to dinner—not at a fancy place, but a cozy one, somewhere relaxed, where they could wear whatever they wanted and talk and stay as long as they wanted. They’d discuss the books she gave him and each talk about where they were from, him dancing around the truth about why he’d left Oklahoma for California. Things would progress from there. And like his relationship with Peyton, it would hit a dead end. That’s what he was: an emotional dead end. He was toxic. He would hurt her like he had Peyton. He was lonely, and craved companionship, but he couldn’t do it—wouldn’t hurt her.
“I’d like to,” he said, measuring each word. “But I can’t.”
She smiled. “You can’t read and sleep all the time.”
“I’m here for a reason.”
“So am I.”
He thought she was talking about him. He opened his mouth to respond, but she pulled a chair out, sat, and spoke before he could.
“I’m a grad student at Stanford. In physics.”
“Oh.”
“I’m here for the same reason as you.”
He squinted. “You are?”
“My professor is a member of the Citium. I want to join. Most of all,” she motioned to the stacks of books on the table, “I want to be admitted to this library. I want to know what they’ve found. I envy you. You must be very important to them.”
Desmond shook his head. “Yuri invited me here—”
“For a reason.”
Desmond nodded.
“He wants something from you.”
“I have no doubt of that.”
They stared at each other, the buzzing lights the only sound in the cavernous space.
“I want something too,” Desmond said. “When I was a child, something happened that changed me. I didn’t realize it for a long time. Until I fell in love.”
“What happened?”
“I discovered that I wasn’t capable of loving her the way she loved me. That’s why I’m here. I want to be able to change myself. That’s what Yuri’s promised me.”
She stood and smiled, not a happy or amused smile, but one of sympathy and concern. “I hope you find what you need.”
Chapter 15
The shot was deafening in the cramped passageway. Despite Peyton’s shaking hands, it hit the man in the shoulder, propelling him off of Lin, into the bulkhead. He screamed, then turned and dove for Peyton.
She staggered back, tripped over the lifeless soldier at her feet, and fell on her rear. But she held tight to the gun.
The wounded man leapt on top of her like a feral animal, grabbing for the gun with his good hand. He grasped her forearm and slammed it into the metal floor. On the second strike, the gun clattered away.
The man crawled over her, dragging his torso over her face, crushing her. The floor felt like a block of ice grinding into the back of her head. He reached for the gun.
Peyton punched him on both sides, but he barely moved, the blows harmless against his body armor. She brought her knee up into his groin. He arched his back, screamed, and glowered at her, hate in his eyes. Peyton squirmed, trying to get away, but she was trapped.
He raised his fist, and his mouth twisted into a grin. He waited, letting the fear grip her, as if he was absorbing power f
rom her, feeding on her fear. Peyton could only raise her arms above her face.
She heard him laugh. In the dim light, she saw her mother lying ten feet away, unmoving. Possibly dead.
A crack silenced his laughter. The man’s head exploded like a dropped watermelon. The echo of the gunshot seemed to follow a second later.
His body snapped back, then toppled forward.
Peyton twisted to the side, her face narrowly avoiding the waterfall of blood spilling down. The man landed with a disgusting thud, still pinning her down. She pushed up with her elbows and tried to crawl out, but he was too heavy, and she was too exhausted.
She heard footsteps in the darkness. Hands lifted the dead body off her and threw it aside.
Helmet lights shone down. Through the open visor, she saw Adams, stone-faced, searching her for wounds. Rodriguez appeared over Adams’s shoulder.
“I’m okay,” Peyton said, panting, shivering. “My mom.”
Rodriguez moved over to Lin and knelt beside her. “She’s alive.”
Peyton felt the tension drain out of her. In its place, she realized how cold she was.
“How many?” Adams asked, his head moving back and forth, scanning the passageway, his gun held at the ready.
How many what? Peyton couldn’t seem to process the question, as if the cold was freezing her mind.
Adams glanced down. “Enemy combatants.” He paused. “How many troops do they have, Doctor Shaw?”
“We just saw these three.”
“Did they reference others? Provide other information?”
Peyton shook her head.
Adams moved over to Rodriguez. “Let’s evac.”
The two SEALs gathered the suits and women in their arms and made a hasty retreat.
Drifting through the halls in Adams’s arms, Peyton suddenly felt so exhausted. The adrenaline was gone, weariness left in its place. Her mother was alive. And she was safe.
Peyton opened her eyes. She was trapped. Tied up, her arms pinned to her sides, her entire body wrapped tightly, only a slit left for her mouth and nose. She was blindfolded, too; only a faint glow of light was visible through the cloth over her eyes.
“Hey.”
Her voice was a ragged whisper, her mouth and throat like sandpaper. She tried to swallow.
“Hey.”
Movement. A click.
A hand removed the cover from her eyes. The light blinded her.
“Oh, sorry.” Nigel’s voice. “How’re you feeling?”
“Terrible,” she muttered. Her chest ached. She felt drained.
“Do you…”
“Water.”
“Oh, right.”
He returned with a canteen, tipped it, and Peyton chugged. The cool water filled her mouth, then ran over and down the side of her face.
“Sorry, sorry.”
Peyton still couldn’t move her arms. “Untie me, Nigel.”
He looked confused. “You’re not—oh. Right. The commandos rolled you and your mom up in blankets, like burritos, to warm you up.” He set the light down and slipped out of sight. “Hang on.”
Seconds later, Peyton was free and sitting up.
Lin lay beside her, sleeping. Peyton hated to wake her, but she had to examine her for internal bleeding.
“Can you help me unwrap her? I want to check her injuries. She took a beating back there.”
“Adams and I already examined her.”
“And neither of you are physicians.”
Nigel helped her unwrap Lin, who stirred but didn’t wake. Peyton wondered if she had a concussion.
Bruises and red marks ringed her neck. Peyton checked her head for bumps or swelling. No signs of a subdural hematoma. Pulse was normal. She pulled her mother’s shirt up and scanned for bruises and broken ribs. None. The skin was pale and pasty.
It also told a story. Two long scars and three short ones crisscrossed Lin Shaw’s abdomen. A puckered wound—the remnant of a gunshot—lay on her right side. Lin had always worn one-piece bathing suits and had never revealed her midsection, even at home. Now Peyton knew why.
Nigel glanced from Lin to Peyton. “What?”
Peyton pulled the shirt down. “She’s okay. Just tired.”
There was still so much she didn’t know about her mother. And the more she learned, the more questions she had.
Adams and Rodriguez returned an hour later. They were hungry, as were Peyton and Nigel. Lin was still asleep, so they ate in silence, waiting for Lin to awaken. She didn’t so much as stir. Peyton was starting to worry. Finally the older woman’s breathing increased and she opened her bloodshot eyes.
At the sight of Peyton, a flicker of a smile crossed her lips—an unusual show of emotion for the older woman. Just as quickly, it was gone, like a light flipped off.
“Status?” her voice was hoarse.
Peyton held the canteen to her mother’s lips while Adams gave a concise report. They had found the Citium submersible and checked it for booby traps. Adams had studied the controls and was confident he could operate it.
Lin sat up, her arms shaking. Peyton handed her an MRE, and Lin ate with an unsteady hand, chewing robotically. “Bring the map,” she said when the tray was half gone.
She studied the diagram of the sub and pointed at a compartment two decks above them. “Supplies here.”
“Supplies?” Adams asked.
“Expedition gear.” She took another bite.
Adams marked the compartment. “So we’re going to the surface?”
“Only chance.”
Nigel threw his hands up. “Only chance of what? Freezing? Getting bombed?”
“Rescue,” Lin said.
“She’s right,” Adams said. “If a rescue plane flies over, or a drone, they’ll have no clue we’re down here.”
“And if the Citium finds us first?”
“She never said we were all going to the surface,” Adams said. “Rodriguez and I will take shifts manning the surface.”
“No,” Lin said. “We stick together. The submersible could break down.”
Nigel rolled his eyes. “They’ll kill—”
“They won’t, Doctor Greene.” The strength had returned to Lin’s voice. “They won’t know who’s in the tents—us or their people. We’ll strip the uniforms off their men. Adams and Rodriguez will wear them, and they can treat us as prisoners if our adversaries arrive.”
Nigel was unconvinced. “Why not just take the submersible out? They launched from somewhere. We keep going until we clear the ice, then surface and call for help.”
Lin raised an eyebrow. “And starve to death while we wait? The submersible can only carry so much of our rations. It’s a dead end.” She studied the map. “The food stores are in the mess deck.”
“That food’s been down here thirty years. Most will be spoiled,” Adams said.
“It will have been frozen, and not much of it was perishable, even in the Beagle’s day.” Lin folded up the map, silently closing the matter. “Let’s get started.”
Peyton, Lin, and Nigel stayed below, recuperating, while the two Navy SEALs retrieved the expedition gear and food, took it to the surface, and set up camp. Only when everything was ready did they all leave the Beagle behind.
Peyton had dreaded what she would see on the surface—and it was as bad as she feared. The Arktika was gone. There was a hole in the ice where it had been, a watery graveyard where the charred remnants of lifeboats floated, grave markers of the Arktika’s crew and scientists. And beyond the tents and expedition gear from the Beagle, the ice was barren as far as she could see.
She took a moment to inspect the equipment and the two tents. Everything was old but functional, and space heaters had already warmed the tents. Peyton wouldn’t exactly be comfortable inside, but she would also be in no danger of losing her fingers and toes. The SEALs had spread LED lights around the camp, forming circles like a bull’s-eye. Peyton hoped the rescuers would see it.
She looked to the sky
. The aurora was gone, as if the violence and death had driven the spirit away.
Inside their tent, she and her mother ate by the light of an LED bar. They had food for a few weeks, and batteries for the heaters to last a little longer. There was no solar power to recharge them. If help didn’t come by then, they’d have to make a hard choice. If the Citium arrived sooner, there would be nowhere to run.
On the bridge of the Invisible Sun, Captain Mikhailov listened as her communications officer tried the radio again.
“Ice Harvest, this is Invisible Sun. Do you read?”
Nothing.
Her first officer leaned over. “Could’ve gotten caught in the crossfire.”
“Doubtful. They knew the strike was coming.” To the radio tech, she said, “Satellite status?”
“Flyover in seventy-five minutes.”
“They could have gotten jammed up in the Beagle,” the first officer said. “You want to launch the other DSV?”
“Yes. And the helo. Just in case they made it to the surface and their radio is out.”
Or if they had been killed. There would be a price to pay for that.
Chapter 16
The next time Yuri arrived, Desmond was ready. As usual, he was sitting at the long table by the library’s window. But this time he had prepared seven hardcover books. Each lay open in front of him, turned to pages featuring artists’ illustrations of prehistoric humans and columns of text showing the details of scientific studies.
Yuri gazed at the books. “I take it you found the answer?”
“We’re the Borg.”
Yuri’s eyebrows knitted together.
“The Borg.” Desmond paused, waiting for recognition that never came. “From Star Trek: The Next Generation? You, know, ‘We are the Borg. You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile.’”
“I’m not familiar.”
