by Debra Jess
Or so she'd thought, until the Manitac guard with the ugly grin sent a fist into Jita's face.
The station rippled again, and then her door dissolved. Alarms blared, and evac instructions began repeating over the public comm. Jita remained on the floor, staring at the delicate glow of emergency lighting from the corridor. Should she risk going out? Would the guards just push her back in? Had they already evac'd and left the transferees behind? Forgetting her aching head, Jita stood and slowly approached the doorway to peek into the corridor.
Her door hadn't been the only one to dissolve. The other personnel transfers were also looking out from their doors.
"What happened?"
"Are we under attack?"
"Should we make a run for it?"
"And go where?"
Jita stepped all the way out into the corridor. She held up a hand to signal the others to stay put. Some of the other transfers had kids with them. No point in risking their lives.
She walked to the end of the corridor, feeling the eyes of all her fellow transferees on her. She reached the junction where their corridor linked to next section—the one where the compressors to the upper and lower rings were located.
Should I open the door? What if there are guards on the other side? They'll be awfully angry if they see us in the corridor.
She steeled her resolve and dissolved the door. Two gray-clad guards stood on the other side. Jita's scream caught in her throat as she stumbled back. One of the guards reached out and caught her.
"Are all the doors dissolved in this section?" the one who caught her asked as he pulled her to her feet.
"Y-Yes," Jita stammered.
The other guard pushed past her. "Everyone, pay attention! We're evacuating now! All of you, out! Anyone who doesn't follow us gets left behind."
Jita heard her fellow transfers scrambling as the guard shouted more orders. She stared at the guard who still held her by the arm—a woman, and one who looked very familiar. The guard caught her stare and winked.
Serriga, Daeven Blayde’s guest at Ornit's party. Why was she wearing Manitac gray instead of AuRaKaz black?
She didn't have time to ask as the other guard organized the transferees and started marching them into the next section. They made their way to the compressor, where two more guards met them. Shouting over the alarm and the public comm, the four guards split them into manageable groups so they utilized all three compressors at the same time. From there, they made their way to the dock.
Another set of guards met them. Jita blinked. One of them also looked familiar. She mentally flipped through every inhabitant of Facility Prime. Dace Maretov from maintenance, also wearing gray instead of his greasy brown uniform.
Her heart flipped. This wasn't an evac. This was a rescue. Could the director be behind this? Oh, the woman was courting so much trouble if she was. Manitac would crush her.
She couldn't care about that right now. She could only pray to the Stars and Guardians that she might see her family once more.
The dock scrambled with activity as the Jarvis Station residents pushed, shoved, and fought for a berth on any shuttle leaving the station. The guards surrounding the personnel transfers marched them toward the smallest shuttle at the edge of the dock.
"Everyone inside. Sit quickly and lock yourselves in. We're launching in five whether you're ready or not."
Jita hung back, letting the families on first. She slipped next to Dace. "What's going on?"
"You don't recognize a prison break when you see one?"
"But the director…Manitac…they'll shut her down. We'll all be turned to puppets."
"I wouldn't worry about that. The director has a plan. She's a canny old woman, despite appearances. I'd place my bet on her against Manitac."
"I hope you're right." She had no more time to speculate. Dace helped her onto the shuttle, and within moments, they were in space.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Tamarja stared into Cyrek's face as multiple memories burst through her, each one demanding attention. She tried not to show her confusion, hiding the headache that ebbed and flowed as each block dissolved. She pulled Rory closer, even as he tried to stand under his own power and remove his arm from around her neck.
"What are you doing here, Cyrek?" Aura asked, walking forward, placing herself between him and the rest of the group.
"My job." His lips thinned into an unamused smile. "I'm the Manitac liaison to AuRaKaz. It's my job to apprise the Home Office of the situation on Dawn's Landing. I've heard, from reliable sources"—he glanced at Daeven, who just stood at attention—"that sedition was on the menu for today. I thought I would confirm that for myself."
"Manitac isn't Unity. There's no rebellion against the government here." The director eased forward, keeping the Manitac guards' attention on her.
Cyrek rolled back on his heels, snaking his hands into his pockets. "Ah, a minor technicality. So maybe not sedition. How about mutiny?" He pulled out his hands, his stylus clutched in one, the same stylus that held the trigger for Tamarja's collar.
It all fell into place for her, the final blocks falling away. The memory broke free and took her breath away. Cyrek wasn't her friend—he had been her interrogator, the one who had ordered Daeven to beat and rape her as preparation for that interrogation.
She looked at Daeven, but he avoided her eyes. He hadn't worked for Cyrek back then, but what about now? She wanted to turn around, look for Joran, see his reaction. Was he as surprised by Daeven's betrayal as she?
She didn't want to think that. Couldn't believe it.
She grabbed for Rory's hand. She would stand by Rory, the only one in the room who didn't have all the information to grasp the scope of the situation.
Or did he? He would also remember Cyrek from their arrest all those years ago. In fact, he would remember better than she. His procedure had been carefully calculated, administered, and monitored, unlike hers. Did he remember Daeven as well?
With a sweep of his hands, Cyrek ordered the Manitac guards to surround them.
"What now, Cyrek?" the director asked.
"We'll be taking your shuttle to the spaceport. From there, we'll head for Jarvis and wait for Captain Ballas to arrange your transfer."
Tamarja's mind raced. They would be put in decon tubes once they reached the spaceport. Even Cyrek wouldn't be stupid enough to completely disregard the need for the first three levels. The spaceport would have Manitac guards crawling all over it. So would Facility Prime. If they were to escape, it would have to be somewhere in between.
Cyrek ordered them searched. Tamarja ignored the guard frisking her for weapons. She didn't have any, but Joran did, as did Ramsey. Tamarja watched as Daeven removed their weapons. But did he remove all of them? She couldn't imagine either Joran or Ramsey arming themselves only with standard issue projectile weapons.
Her heart in her throat, she kept herself at Rory's side as Cyrek led them out of the medical wing, roughly brushing off a team of doctors who had arrived to examine Rory. The director signaled them not to interfere. The medical team stood to the side as they marched past.
Once they reached the compressor, Tamarja managed to gently squeeze closer to Cyrek without attracting attention.
"We're taking the director's shuttle?" she guessed.
"I figured we might as well leave the colony in luxury," Cyrek answered, as if discussing nothing more important than the weather.
"You'll want me to fly."
"Oh, and why would I want that?"
"To keep an eye on me. To keep me separated from Rory."
"I already have your life in my hands." He wiggled the trigger. "But I guess keeping you out of his line-of-sight and separated from the others will give them less incentive to do something stupid."
She nodded and said nothing more. She stayed next to Cyrek but tried to sneak a quick glance at Rory. Rory didn’t know about Cyrek so he would be confused, and she could only hope he would understand later—if there
was a later.
Once on the roof, she immediately looked for Dace. His team worked on the shuttle, but the gray-haired maintenance worker wasn't among them. Her heart sank. Maybe the maintenance chief had called in sick and wasn't in Manitac's clutches? She had to believe that.
Cyrek ordered maintenance away from the shuttle as they boarded, and Tamarja automatically headed for the cockpit. She only got one brief glance over her shoulder to see Daeven roughly shove Rory into one of the seats. Daeven seemed to have taken an extraordinary interest in Rory, rather than the director or Joran, who also had their seats chosen for them by Cyrek's guards.
She had asked him to take care of Rory if something were to happen to her, after all.
"This is DL Flight Eight," Tamarja said, speaking to the tower as she activated the flight restraints. Cyrek sat in the copilot's seat, watching her every move. "I need emergency clearance for the director."
"DL Flight Eight, what is your destination?"
"The spaceport."
There was a moment of dead air.
"DL Flight Eight, transmitting storm warnings. Clearance denied."
Tamarja looked at Cyrek. "Only the director can authorize an override."
Grumbling, Cyrek barked an order using the comm on his ear jack. A moment later, a guard shoved the director into the cockpit.
"Clear us for takeoff," Cyrek ordered. "And don't try to use any other code other than the override. I've already accessed your files, and I'll know if it's not the correct code."
The director didn't acknowledge Cyrek as she jacked into the channel. "This is Director Aura Kazamitiru. I'm overriding clearance, directive number four-six-three-zero-two."
With Cyrek distracted by the director, Tamarja released the tethers to the shuttle―and she disengaged the passenger seats from their locked in positions.
Cyrek motioned the guard to remove the director from the cockpit.
"All due speed, if you please, Chase."
With the director gone, Cyrek watched her every move like an ave of prey with dinner in its sights. That was fine. She had accomplished what she needed to.
"I remember everything, in case you were wondering," she said as she lifted the shuttle into the air.
Cyrek managed an honest smile. "Better than I could have hoped for. Using Black Wave to dissolve memory blocks. Ingenious discovery. I'm very eager to learn more."
"More interrogations for us?"
"It's what I do best. You should know that better than most."
She did. The endless questions. The lack of food and water. Sleep deprivation. The lights in her eyes. Granted, he never touched her. Then again, he didn't have to. He had Daeven to do that for him. Or so he had thought. Daeven had served the Shadows―not Manitac, not Cyrek. Daeven was the only person who gave her hope.
"What I really want to know, though, is what you and Doctor Silvah were delivering to the Shadows. You could save yourself and Doctor Silvah from interrogation altogether by just telling me."
"So we can be mind-wiped all that much sooner?"
"I didn't want you mind-wiped in the first place. I managed to have you only partially wiped in hopes that you would remember enough to enlighten me about Doctor Silvah's plans."
Tamarja thought about that as she banked the shuttle, heading toward the oncoming storm. "There never was any experiment to create higher-functioning ‘pets. You arranged it all."
"True."
"You must have bribed the surgical team. That must have cost a fortune."
"Good thing I have extra income."
She briefly looked at him―gloating, egging her on to guess where he got the money.
"Black Wave. You're behind the Black Wave distribution network. You killed the dealer."
"Sloppy work, that. Certainly not my best." He sniffed.
"And the diplomat. You killed her too."
"No, actually I didn't." Cyrek frowned, his brows furrowed at the one puzzle he hadn't figured out yet. "I still have no idea where that came from or how she got her hands on what was clearly my product."
Her mind was flying as she sped closer to the edge of the storm, and everything suddenly became so clear. Only one person had had access to Black Wave and the diplomat.
Daeven had killed her. He must have.
No wonder he had snapped at her when she demanded information from him. He had just issued that woman a death sentence. Oh, by the Stars, why now at the end of her journey, did things have to become so complicated?
"But you arranged for all of us to be here—me, Rory, Daeven, you. We're the only survivors of the scout ship. We're not here by coincidence."
"True again," Cyrek agreed.
"And my ship—Starcatcher. You somehow found it and brought it here?"
"Lost track of it once the biohazard team got a hold of it. I have to say Doctor Silvah had a truly twisted sense of justice."
Yes, he did, she remembered.
"What have you done?" Tamarja couldn't keep her horror at bay, while Rory sat on the other side of the small interrogation room, completely at peace. Cyrek had brought both of them here, trying to pit one against the other, trying to convince one to betray the other. Tamarja had resisted the baiting, thanks in part to Daeven, who had been secretly taking care of her.
Now all four stood staring at one another as the auto-comm repeated its message to evac.
"It's simple," Rory said. "I had the spinners cages set to auto unlock if I didn't enter a code every seventy-two hours. They're loose, and they've already overwhelmed the cargo hold, unless someone has managed to manually activate the biohazard containment system."
"What? Why? You know better than anyone what those spinners are capable of. Why would you release them? The biohazard system is unprepared for them."
"That's why I brought them. Trust me, Tama. It's better this way. A mind-wipe isn't something you want to live through."
"Who are you to make that decision for me? For the rest of our crew?" Their crew, who waited locked away in the detention cells, unable to escape once the spinners worked their way through the maze of ventilation shafts.
Rory walked toward her, to take her hand, but she jerked it away. "It's for the best."
Tamarja couldn't believe what she was hearing. She knew she could die, knew what could happen if Manitac captured them. But to die like this? At the hands of a man who had professed to care for her? By spinner bite, of all things.
"There has to be a way to destroy them." Cyrek already had a weapon in hand.
"Certainly not with that pit-shooter." Rory looked at Cyrek's weapon with open disdain. "You have two-hundred-thousand rounds of ammo? Are you a perfect shot? Do you know how fast a black-winged spinner can fly?"
Rory had been so focused on Cyrek that he didn't see Daeven come up from behind. The security officer knocked him out with a single blow to the back of the head, catching Rory before his body hit the floor.
"We're out of here." Without another word, he flung Rory's limp body to Cyrek.
"And just what do you expect me to do with him?"
"Carry him. If we're going to find a way to stop the spinners, we're going to need him."
But it turned out they didn't need him. Maybe Daeven knew that all along and wanted to make sure Rory lived. Or maybe he knew that despite his actions, Tamarja might still love Rory, and Daeven couldn't break her heart by leaving him behind. Either way, using maintenance tunnels, subflooring, and some fire retardant they collected along the way, they managed to keep out of the path of most of the spinners. Locating a clean escape pod, they jettisoned away from the infested ship.
Their pod was the only one that made it.
It took three days for another Manitac ship to locate the pod and rescue them. A long three days where neither Tamarja nor Rory, Daeven nor the hated—but still armed—Cyrek said much to each other. Less than a week later, it didn't matter. She didn't remember anything at all.
"So I've answered your questions. Will you now answer mi
ne?"
Tamarja pulled herself out of the past and back into the present. She checked her coordinates. They were only moments away from the spaceport. Moments away from returning to the life she had just escaped. She would not go back to that life without a fight.
"No, Yohzad. I won't answer your questions that easily. You'll have to fight me for them."
"Oh, Tamarja." Cyrek leaned toward her, using his free hand to stroke her cheek. "You should remember that I never do my own fighting. I let others take care of that for me."
She didn't flinch when he touched her. Instead, she grabbed his free hand, the one that held the stylus and her life. Wrapping her fingers around his thumb so he couldn't press the trigger, she used her other hand to drop the shuttle's shields.
Cyrek yanked on her arm, trying to pull his trigger hand free, but Tamarja held on tight. A difficult situation with the unprotected shuttle spiraling into the storm, battered on all sides by the wind.
"Let go." Cyrek grabbed at her thumb, trying to peel her fingers back.
Tamarja, already free from her flight restraints, leaned toward Cyrek to gain leverage over his greater strength. She just needed to hold on and hope that someone—Daeven, Ramsey, anyone—would come through the cockpit door and take out Cyrek.
She heard pounding on the other side of the door, yelling as the ship yawed, sending all the seats crashing in opposite directions. Tamarja could only imagine the havoc back there.
"You could just drop the trigger," she suggested through clenched teeth.
"If I can't kill you one way, I'll kill you another."
Tamarja moved before he could reach for the weapon strapped to his hip, jamming her knee into his groin. Cyrek howled. Tamarja then used her calf to block his access to the other weapon, practically crawling into his lap to do so, while he jerked back and forth trying to dislodge her.
