They passed the check-in desk where a nurse sat. She looked the inmate up and down. The lady curled her lip.
“How are you managing, Ms. Ree?” Farallis asked.
“I will be okay.” It was a simple fact. They walked in silence until reaching Calypso’s dormitory.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have stayed with you. I knew something wasn’t right with Dugan.”
“Not your fault,” she whispered. The prisoner let go of Farallis and stumbled toward her bunk, collapsing on the tight covers. If not for the exhaustion, she would find sleep difficult with the visceral images lodged in her mind. Sore and violated, Calypso was more concerned about the fact she didn’t care. She didn’t feel anything. If only fear and shame were there to remind her she was alive.
***
Calypso was torn awake by a shrill noise. It sounded like the general alarm, but she only ever heard that during the drills. Glancing around the dorm, she saw no one else. How long had she been out?
Standing, she realized she had not taken off her shoes. Calypso walked to the door and peered into the hallway. It was empty, save for flashing lights and sirens. She decided to check the cafeteria. The foot-thick security door was sealed. Peering through the tiny window, she learned there were people inside. All were inmates, and they were scrambling around in desperation.
“Ree!” called a voice. Calypso turned. It was Farallis. He was running up the empty corridor toward her. “Come with me. We have to leave, now.”
Farallis led her to the docking zone in silence. Nearing one of the hatches, Calypso noticed a man with his back to them. Over his shoulder, she could see the interior of a shuttle crammed full of people. The man turned around. It was Dugan.
“Stop!” the officer barked, his upturned hand held out in front. “There is absolutely no more room.”
Farallis said nothing in response. He grabbed Dugan by the collar, lifting him off the deck. Grunting, Farallis tossed him aside. Dugan hit the floor, gasping for the air that had been forced from his lungs.
Before she realized what was happening, Farallis took hold of Calypso and planted his lips on hers. She stiffened, her mouth clamping shut. Farallis withdrew, his expression awkward and apologetic.
Next thing she knew, he was spinning her around and pushing her into the shuttle. Calypso tripped, falling into a sea of bodies. She could feel the hatch rubbing against her coveralls as it closed behind her.
“Launch! Now!” somebody yelled.
“No, wait!” Calypso cried. She struggled to turn around. Looking through the hatch window, she could see Farallis walk over to where Dugan had fallen.
Thrusters roared. Her nose popped as it struck the glass. The shuttle was launching faster than was safe. Lights flickered on and off. The occupants would have slammed against the hull had they had not been so tightly packed together. Calypso could taste the blood as it flowed down around her lip.
“Would someone tell me what the hell is going on?!”
2316 AD, 27 minutes before Collision Event
Bathed in shadows, Calypso watched silently as wave after wave of refugees marched past the hastily constructed immigration booths. She had been just like them hours before: hungry, tired, and desperate. The Cage was the closest space station to Earth, taking on the bulk of those who were able to get themselves into orbit in time. That is, until the station started turning people away. One of the rescue ships would have none of that and tried to dock itself through brute force. It had to be massive; everyone here felt the impact.
Calypso had no idea how long the population of Earth had known about the impending disaster, but she figured her prison was the last to know. In the end, it made little difference. The logistics of lifting billions of people off the planet at a moment’s notice were unthinkable.
She noticed a little girl crying, holding both her parents' hands as they exited the nearest immigration line. It sounded like they had to leave the family dog on the other side. Animals were not allowed on the station. Calypso wondered how many people bothered to bring their pets along while trying to escape, only to be forced to abandon them now. She figured the poor creatures were tossed outside, euthanized by the vacuum of space. Perhaps the little girl could find a rat to play with. There were definitely some around. Many walked on two legs.
Calypso lowered her hood and worked her way into the the crowds emerging from the processing stations. Such a closely packed mass of people, all desperately fleeing the apocalypse, would be rife with useful possessions. It was a pickpocket’s dream.
After spending about ten minutes in close quarters, Calypso emerged, her pockets bulging with food, a few knives, and assorted wads of cash that were soon to be useless.
She had not gone far down an observation hall when she came upon a beautiful woman with bright blonde hair. Beside her stood a young boy, perhaps eight years old. They had their backs to Calypso. A man joined them. His hair was cut very short. Calypso hung back just far enough to stay out of sight, but she followed the couple, curious.
Passing the spot where the family had appeared in the hallway, Calypso saw a maintenance hatch. Normally, they displayed a red light signaling vacuum on the other side. On this one the light was green.
Unable to resist her curiosity, Calypso reached for the handle. Turning it slowly, she braced herself for possible decompression. Finishing the turn, there was no hissing of escaping air. On the other side was total dark. She reached into one of her pockets, fumbling past the stolen goods while searching for her flashlight.
The interior of the shuttle was sparse, allowing for a lot of open space and very little storage. Calypso climbed inside. A quick search determined the craft was entirely empty. She felt the excitement rise into her chest and shoulders. Here was a spacecraft that appeared to be fully functional.
Settling into the pilot’s seat, she checked the displays and controls. The entire system was locked out, of course. Perhaps someone with more technical skills could crack into the shuttle’s system, but Calypso could go no further. Damn, she said to herself. That’s where getting your hopes up lands you.
Returning to the corridor, Calypso marched over to the nearest window. Peering through it, she examined the spot where the spacecraft should be. There was a large structure extending from the hatch she had just passed through. At first it looked like every other part of the station. And then, she noticed small details that gave it away. The ship was using a camouflage system to break up its outline, allowing it to blend in as much as possible.
Someone had just parked an expensive piece of military hardware on the inner surface of the Cage. No one was likely to notice. Station Control had more pressing concerns. She wondered about the couple and their child who had just sneaked aboard.
The family was now out of sight, but it didn’t take long for Calypso to catch up and resume tracking them. Maybe she could mug them and demand information about the shuttle. They had a kid, though.
Keeping a healthy distance, Calypso checked her watch. She held her breath; Earth was due to be struck by that rogue planet any minute.
The Cage was running its maneuvering thrusters non-stop to get as far away from Earth as it could in what little time remained. Even in a space station this size, Calypso could feel the acceleration. She hoped to God they were far enough away to avoid the danger. Her old prison wheel had no chance, no way to move itself.
Calypso must have been daydreaming. The family had gotten further ahead of her. She quickened her pace, hearing shouting. Reaching a corner, she dared not look around, but tried to listen to what sounded like an argument breaking out.
A tremendous flash of light blinded her through the windows, signaling what could only be the end. Calypso was still blinking her eyes when several gunshots rang out, followed by a scream. She took off running the other way.
2318, 19 months after Collision Event
Calypso could swear the tunnel was getting tighter with every meter they covered. Her mining c
rew had spent the last hour making their way down a hole in the asteroid burrowed by a remote drone.
It was pitch black save for the glare of headlamps. She expected a nice, straight tunnel. Instead, the drone had taken the fastest route by snaking around densely packed deposits. The result was a winding, spiraling mess.
When her new employer ordered her to join this crew, she had expected something more in line with her set of skills. She couldn’t help but be frustrated, getting wrapped up in something so irrelevant. Surely her boss had other people who could do this sort of thing. She told herself to be thankful she had any work at all after being dumped on the Cage with nothing but her prison uniform. Needing an alias for this job, Calypso had settled on her grandmother’s first name, Olivia. She combined that with Farallis for a surname.
Her mining crew had no idea their newest member was a mole with a purpose far from doing an honest day’s work. That word, “mole,” made Calypso smile. It was so appropriate given what she was doing now.
Today was the big day. A strange radio signal had drawn their attention to a particular asteroid. It was a clear transmission, but the information contained within was unknown gibberish. Having brought the rock inside the Cage, the Myracle Mining crew performed a seismic scan revealing a structure buried deep inside the rock. Rather than crack it open and risk damaging whatever was inside, they received authorization to don spacesuits and explore the interior of the asteroid. One thing they did know was that it came from the debris left over from the Collision.
Ahead of her was Noma Hatcher. The crew chief always knew what she was doing and where she was going, wasting no time getting there. Calypso admired her strength, determination, and above all else, her focus.
“We’re almost there,” Hatcher announced.
“It’s about time,” said Brown, who followed a bit too closely behind Calypso for her comfort. “We’ve been stuck in here for hours.”
“No, we haven’t,” called another voice. It sounded like Landers.
“You aren’t about to lose it, are you Brown?” asked Hatcher.
“Of course not,” answered Brown, voice cracking.
He wouldn’t be the first miner to fall prey to claustrophobia. They were trapped inside tons of rock, mere inches away.
Stop, Calypso told herself. Keep that up, and they’ll be dragging you out of here before Brown.
“Good news, people,” Hatcher said. “We made it.”
“Made it where? I don’t see anything.” Brown was looking over Calypso’s shoulder. His faceplate bounced harmlessly off the side of her helmet. It took every ounce of her self-control not to slam his body against the roof of the cave. Calypso hated it when people got too close.
“Farallis, move on up, beside me. Everyone follow along—the tunnel works its way around.”
“This must be the section that took the drone so long to dig through.” That was definitely Landers. “It had to get close but not damage anything.”
“Yep,” Hatcher agreed. “Mining drones aren’t built for this sort of thing, but they’re all we have. Nice job on finding that program upgrade, Harrison. So far, it looks like it worked.”
“All it needed was a bit of firmware,” Harrison admitted.
Approaching the outer surface of whatever it was they had found, Calypso observed what appeared to be molten metal that had cooled. The surface was bumpy, turned to slag by extreme heat. She followed Hatcher, running her hand along the material as she went.
“What do you think it is, chief?” one of the four young boys at the back of the line asked. Refugees from the Collision who signed up for work details had better access to food and shelter than most, and age requirements were a thing of the past.
“I don’t know,” replied Hatcher. “It’s a hull maybe, from a ship or building. We won’t know until we get inside.”
Sure enough, another twenty minutes of scampering over the site led them to a breach in the wall. Hatcher switched on an industrial spotlight mounted to her shoulder. At that moment it was pointed directly at a nearby section of wall. Overpowering light bounced back at them. The auto-dimmer on Calypso’s faceplate kicked in, but it was a second too late. She blinked away the stars.
“Ooh. Sorry, guys,” Hatcher apologized. She led the way with Calypso at her side. The crew was able to fan out and stretch their arms and legs: a welcome opportunity.
***
“I think this used to be a bank of computers,” said Harrison. Her light shone over a pile of melted plastic and bits that Calypso could not recognize. “We’ve found a lot of these in here.”
“Yeah, but this place is too wasted to make heads or tails of what it was used for,” Hatcher pointed out.
“It got really hot in here,” Brown observed. “Like after a bomb strike.”
“Or after another planet crashes into yours,” a crew member added.
“Well, yeah,” Brown acknowledged.
“Alright, we can’t stay in here much longer,” said Hatcher. “I see nothing worth salvaging. The data from our cams will have to be enough. I’m going to recommend we proceed with standard mining operations.”
“Ma’am!” one of the young boys cried out. “We found something.”
“Hold that thought,” Hatcher conceded. Calypso and Brown followed their leader to an adjoining chamber where the young workers had congregated.
A blackened metal box had warped and split open, succumbing to whatever roasted this place. A round object lay partially exposed, its surface polished to a mirror shine. The thing did more than reflect light from their lamps; it seemed to gleam all by itself.
“Well, that is pretty,” Brown mused. He didn’t sound impressed.
“What is this thing?” asked another of the boys. “Is it a bomb?”
No one said anything for a moment, but Calypso knew they were all wondering the same thing. Hatcher got in close and checked the display mounted to her wrist.
“It’s not giving off any radiation. There is no electromagnetic field. I’m no bomb expert though. Brown, help me get this thing out.”
The miner lacked enthusiasm while following Hatcher’s order. Once the object was clear of the debris, Calypso noticed it was elongated on both ends, like a misshapen egg. She guessed it was close to a meter in length.
“We’re taking it with us,” Hatcher declared. “The time we’ve lost on this treasure hunt might be worth it after all.”
“Hang on,” said Brown. “Where’s Landers?” Calypso looked around, but the young technician was nowhere to be seen.
“Landers,” Hatcher called. “Where are you?”
Pulses of static cut through what sounded like a voice, but Calypso couldn’t make out what Landers was saying. She must have wandered off too far to maintain a clean signal.
The chief grumbled. “Landers, if you can hear me, get back here on the double. If I don’t see your pretty face in five minutes, I’ll have to send a team after you.” More static, and bits of a woman’s voice. Still no words made it through. Hatcher made a show of looking at her wrist to mark the time.
***
Nearly fifteen more minutes had passed with no sign of Landers. The boys kept themselves busy joking and pushing each other. Hatcher had been tapping the fingers of one hand against her suit. Brown just stared, his mind evidently someplace else.
“Alright. Brown, you stay here and babysit. Farallis and I are going to find Landers,” ordered Hatcher. “Her signal is weak but I can track her.”
Calypso followed obediently as her chief led the way. They crawled through some passages that had caved in. Their path wound throughout the installation. Every surface was cracked and disfigured, giving off no hints as to the nature of the place.
The entire journey took nearly twenty minutes, but they found Landers. The technician looked to be okay, but she was fiercely working to dislodge something from the wall.
“Landers! What the hell are you doing?” Hatcher yelled.
“I found a bo
dy. I told you, but I never got a response.”
“That’s because you left radio contact. You know better than that. Now what’s this about?”
“Look here,” Landers offered, moving out of the way. The door of a locker was bent outward, allowing Hatcher to peer inside. She gestured for Calypso to help pull the door open.
Straining against the sheet metal, Calypso asked, “How did a body get stuck inside a locker?”
“Who knows?” replied Landers. “Maybe it was a last ditch effort to survive the Collision.”
The door finally gave way, tearing free from disintegrating hinges.
“Here’s a better question,” Hatcher declared. She grabbed the charred corpse by the shirt. The fabric collapsed like burnt paper. A metal button pulled free, still solid and reflective. It bore an insignia that everyone had known since childhood: a crescent moon encircled by a gear. It was once used by the Lunar Industrial Authority and later adopted by the Federacy. “Why was this poor bastard wearing a uniform of the Lunar Federacy Armed Forces?”
***
The transition to artificial gravity always messed with Calypso’s inner ear. Sometimes it brought vertigo. In other instances, like this one, it brought up her last meal. She had to use her suit’s emergency waste removal system to purge what she had eaten for breakfast.
Once the mining sled was moored sufficiently, Hatcher gave the all clear and helped her crew out of their restraints. They passed through decontamination in the airlock and were admitted inside the station. Calypso got her helmet off and took a deep breath. Noma took her by the arm.
“You alright, Liv?” she asked, grinning warmly. Calypso always found that smile infectious. Hatcher had short, blonde hair that sometimes looked like copper. Her eyes were blue and shiny, like polished stones.
Salvaging the Beast (The Fall and Rise of the Third Planet Book 1) Page 3
