The chief watched her with his arms crossed, an impassive expression on his face. Tadeo stood beside him, clenching and unclenching his fists, but didn’t move to help her.
The grimp was gone.
Era began to hyperventilate as she banged the glass, over and over, until Tadeo turned his face away.
Would she feel herself dying?
When the airlock opened, she’d be swept into space, the air stolen from her lungs. Her bones would crack in the cold, and she’d spend her last moments of consciousness with nothing between her and the angry red planet that had stolen so much. Soren.
Chief Petroff and Tadeo blurred before her, and she used one hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks.
She rested both palms against the swell of her belly.
I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.
The old Earth religions taught about life after death. But those gods never existed. There was only alive or dead. Breathing or not breathing. At least now she wouldn’t have to live without Dritan and their baby.
She began to count the rivets in the floor, pushing down her panic. How long until the airlock opened?
The alarm blared louder, and its pace quickened.
No. Her last image could not be of this ship.
Era lifted her wrist and focused on her infinity tattoo. She took a deep sputtering breath and closed her eyes.
Dritan. The curves of his well-muscled body, his high cheekbones, his full lips. The feeling of his strong, warm arms around her, and his hazel eyes looking into hers. Safe.
He’d come to her after his shift that day, two weeks after the riots. He’d washed and pressed his grease-stained sublevel suit, had tried to clean up, look good for her.
He’d run a hand through his dark curls, pulling on them, so nervous to ask the question he’d come to ask.
“I want to come back to you every night,” he’d said. “I want to be paired with you. Do you want that, too?”
Yes.
The portal groaned behind her.
Era swept into space, the air stolen from her lungs, her bones cracking in pain from the frigid cold.
Her eyes adjusted, and she saw the stars.
Beautiful, twinkling against the vast expanse. Sparkling promises of a better world waiting.
Darkness closed in around the edges of her vision, and the stars blinked out.
Air.
Dritan sucked in a breath and coughed. He lurched to the side, and pain shot through him. His right arm didn't work like it should, didn't feel normal. He fumbled in his suit for an emergency glow bar and pulled it out, shaking it until it illuminated his surroundings.
Rock, all around. A bloodied arm, crushed and disembodied under a large boulder next to him. Another, up ahead, in the shadows. More blood, closer. Guts trailing from a dead man.
Dritan’s empty stomach heaved, and he collapsed against a jagged rock wall, the scene blurring before him. What was I looking for?
He glanced down. His mask lay beside him, crumpled—empty—oxygen packs next to it. He'd used up all his oxygen. Spots of light drifted across the packs, and he shook his head.
You need air, Dritan. Find air.
“Era?” Dritan sat up straighter. A weight settled in him, a terrible sense that he couldn’t save them both from this.
No. He was on Soren. Era was safe. Up on the Paragon.
And he was suffocating.
He tucked his mask and canteen into his work belt and staggered toward the figure to his right. Blinding pain coursed through his injured arm, and he cried out. He stopped, panting.
The air's bad, he heard Era say.
Dritan shook his head and ground his teeth against the pain as he dragged himself over the sharp rocks. He was hallucinating as the poisonous air stole his life away. He had to find an oxygen pack. But there was barely enough room to crawl, and the rock walls seemed to grow closer as he moved.
He raised his glow bar, casting a faint blue light over his immediate area. Two of his crew mates lay beneath an enormous rock, thick, viscous blood pooled beneath them, their limbs splayed at awkward angles. Pricks of light danced across Dritan’s vision as he edged around the bodies.
Oxygen, his Era hallucination insisted again.
“Oxygen.” His heart thudded against his chest, and he gasped, trying to suck in air. He moved closer to the crushed bodies and searched the twisted limbs for signs of a work belt. There. One still had a few oxygen packs and a helio.
As he pulled the packs and helio from the belt, his trembling fingertips touched a cold white length of bone jutting from the man’s torso. He shuddered, and his world slid toward the black nothing of space.
Air.
The darkness wasn’t his glow bar dying. He was dying. He blinked against the black and rushed to twist a new oxygen pack onto his mask. He inhaled. Once, twice, three times he breathed in the metallic taste of the liquid-packed oxygen. Soon the spots of light dancing across his mangled crew faded. He tried to survey the scene, but his glow bar barely lit two feet in front of him. He picked up the helio. Please work.
He tapped the cool, metal sphere, and it floated into the air and brightened, its yellow glow warmer than the cool sun Soren orbited. The helio illuminated a wider space, allowing him to make his way around the fallen debris.
Am I the only survivor?
He had to find a way out. Had to survive... to get back to Era.
∞
A straight line from first breath to last.
This recycled air remembers all the lies told in its past.
Sins of the father, that’s what they say.
That’s how life goes, what we’re living today.
There’s more than this; I feel it.
Drifting through this useless existence,
Held down
Held down
Held down
By artificial gravity.
Blinded by tradition, I slept, like those before.
But now I see the truth, I’m awake, and I want more.
There’s more than this; I feel it.
Drifting through this useless existence,
Held down
Held down
Held down
By artificial gravity.
Hope’s a dying star.
We need a supernova.
To wipe space clean,
And just start over.
There’s more than this; I feel it.
Drifting through this useless existence,
Held down
Held down
Held down
By artificial gravity.
So many people helped make this story what it is. I’d like to thank all my friends and family who jumped in and brainstormed with me or offered opinions about this book when I asked. Your support means a lot to me, and this book is better because of you.
Thanks to my beta readers, who gave me amazing feedback every step of the way: Jennifer Nelson, Marcos Romero, David Heringer, Kristen Ervin, MJ Colucci, and Scott Pritchard.
Erynn Newman, thank you for being an awesome editor and a joy to work with.
To Freya Wolfe, thank you for all those hours spent analyzing my plot, managing “the talent”, and for believing in my vision and seeing it too.
A special thanks to Sita Payne Romero, Jamie Blair, and my husband, Juan, for the many hours you spent in my world with me. You’re my brainstorming team, my alphas and betas, and you help me shape my stories in ways I could never do on my own.
And to my dad, Gregory Nelson, thank you for always believing in me and supporting me, no matter what.
Copyright © 2014 by Autumn Kalquist
Lyrics from the song “Better World” copyright © 2014 by Autumn Kalquist
Cover design by Damonza
Editing by Erynn Newman
Formatting by Polgarus Studio
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Diapason Publishing
www.AutumnKalquist.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Paragon / Autumn Kalquist—1st ed.
For Juan.
I know it’s a long road, and “every month is NaNo”, but thank you so much for always standing by me and cheering me on. Your unwavering support and love are what keep me going.
Tadeo’s pulse roared in his ears, and the darkness came for him. He’d had this nightmare before. About another girl, in an airlock on a different ship. But this was real. And the airlock control panel in front of him counted down the seconds until it would end.
The traitor, Era Corinth, screamed on the other side of the glass barrier, slamming her fists against it again and again. Red lights flashed in time with the alarms inside the airlock, and their warning drowned out her pleas. The hypnotic pulse of red swept over her tear-stained face, her naked breasts, her bare pregnant stomach.
Bile rose in Tadeo’s throat, and he turned his face away. Kit. Era reminded him of Kit. Why else would every bone in his body be telling him to save a traitor? Like Era, Kit had been petite, fine-featured, with short hair. And she… Tadeo gritted his teeth and pushed the memories away, like he had so many times before. He stole a glance at Chief Petroff, but the man stood expressionless, hands crossed over his chest.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Raines.” Chief narrowed his eyes, making the wrinkles around them deepen. “She’s a traitor. I meant what I said. I airlocked McGill, and I’ll space any other guard who goes in with traitors.”
Tadeo focused on the floor, his heart thudding unevenly. Mere minutes ago, he’d nearly freed Era and cost himself his own life. Terrorists on their ship. A traitor in the guard. Era, an innocent-looking girl, tampering with files they needed to settle on a new Earth. Why was all this happening now?
Scuffed tiles, scratched metal, blinking lights. The scene blurred before him.
The thumping of fists against glass stopped.
Tadeo glanced at the airlock, expecting Era to be gone, the airlock wide open, but she stood still. She held one hand to her swollen stomach and gazed down at the infinity tattoo on her other wrist—the symbol of her pairing with the dead husband she’d soon join.
Tadeo’s stomach lurched. Era’s pregnancy was defective and had been scheduled for termination in a few hours.
“They’re lying to all of us about the Defect.… They can save the baby.” Era had said that in a final attempt to try to convince them not to airlock her. She was hysterical. Delusional. She’d committed treason, and if he helped her, he’d die with her.
He’d broken the rules once with Kit. He’d never break them again.
The console blinked its final countdown. In ten seconds, Era would be gone, and this nightmare would be over—for her, at least. Sweat dripped down Tadeo’s back, and his stiff, navy guard suit stuck to him everywhere, not letting his body heat out or the stale sublevel air in.
00:08
00:07
I can stop it.
00:06
00:05
00:04
00:03
She chose to commit treason. The penalty is death.
00:02
00:01
00:00
Sirens erupted in the control cubic.
Era was gone.
Tadeo’s chest tightened. The dark void of space gaped at him from the empty airlock, and he glimpsed the planet the fleet orbited—a half-circle of deep red. Soren. Swirling clouds the color of rust moved across its surface, and down below, noxious air and dust choked life from anyone suicidal enough to walk its surface.
Suicide. Era was gone, like she’d never existed. They’d never retrieve her body, and they’d rule this a suicide. Which is exactly what the president wanted.
Chief gestured to Era’s discarded suit and boots, and Tadeo grabbed them and followed him into the corridor.
The door slid shut behind them, and the heat and deep hum of the power core replaced the blaring sirens. Long, thin lume bars flickered from the ceiling every few feet, unevenly illuminating the scarred metal walls.
As Tadeo followed the chief down the corridor, his mind raced, trying to grapple with what had just happened. They passed a long row of storage cubics, finally coming to the one Nyssa had interrogated Era in.
The chief swiped his shift card across the scanner, and the cubic opened, revealing a small room with a single metal chair and silver case. The chief grabbed the case and shut the door. The lume bar above them flickered in an uneven rhythm, highlighting Chief’s silver-brown hair and bringing out the harsh lines on his face.
“Lieutenant Raines.”
Tadeo stood straighter, throwing his shoulders back at the tone in Chief’s voice. Guard training had ingrained it in him, made it a habit.
“Yes, sir.” Tadeo’s voice came out deep and strong, like he wasn’t ready to puke all over the chipped, grease-coated tiles.
“Night shift bridge crew will see the alarm on their consoles soon,” Chief said roughly. “They’ll send an emergency maintenance crew down the main stairwell to close the airlock. I’m taking stairwell B to the president. Take C. Shred the husband’s shift card on command level and drop the traitor’s clothes down the textile recyc chute. Understood?”
Tadeo tightened his grip on Era’s suit and boots, and a hand went to his pocket, tracing the shape of her husband’s shift card.
“Raines. Do you understand?”
Tadeo focused on Chief’s creased face. The president had said this all had to be done in secret—that the colonists would panic if they found out Era had tampered with the archives.
But who else had they interrogated down here—airlocked without anyone knowing? McGill had been Chief’s right-hand man before he’d been sent away—no, before Chief had airlocked him.
“Yes… sir. But Chief—about McGill…”
Chief’s nostrils flared, and he stepped closer, poking a finger at Tadeo’s chest. “You keep your mouth shut about him. No one needs to know we had a traitor in the guard. Not anyone. That’s classified information.”
“But, sir, how…” Tadeo’s voice came out strained, uncomprehending. “He was in the president’s guard—he was second only to you.”
“And now, by the president’s choice, it appears you have replaced him—”
“But how did you—”
“McGill was a traitor,” Chief sneered. “You don’t need to know the specifics. Lieutenant Raines, do you sympathize with the traitors? Because that’s what it looked like back there.”
Tadeo clenched his jaw tight. “No, sir.”
“Then do not misstep again. Do not ever disobey a direct order. I wouldn’t want to airlock the heir to the Meso, but I’m sure they’d have no problem finding your replacement.”
Tadeo swallowed back the bitter taste in his mouth and challenged the chief’s hostile glare with one of his own. That this man, a former tech, should be the president’s most trusted guard, and Tadeo, son of a captain, had to do everything he said without question… it wasn’t right. But the chief had earned his position, and Tadeo would do his duty for as long as he was in the guard.
“Answer me, Raines. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Yes, sir.”
“You do not speak of this mission. Not to anyone.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Recyc those things,” he said, pointing to Era’s belongings, “then meet me at command level lounge. The president wants to brief you. Don’t get caught.”
He turned and strode down the corridor, silver metal case in his grasp, and didn’t look back.
Tadeo wiped the sweat from his brow and started running. A rush of adrenaline surged thr
ough his veins as he headed down a side corridor. He sprinted past dented metal walls and turned left at the first cross-corridor, toward stairwell C. The main stairwell met this sector, and if he didn’t get through it fast enough, the emergency crew might see him.
Most of the fleet’s recent traitors had been subs, working down here. Miles of dark corridors, hidden spaces to do things you didn’t want to be caught doing. The sublevels were the seedy underbelly of every ship—the place where you could get away with breaking the rules. Kit resurfaced in his mind, along with the thrill he’d felt every time he’d broken the rules with her. This felt like that. Exciting. Forbidden.
The corridor widened, and high ceilings replaced the cramped feel of the earlier sectors. The hum of the power core was even louder here, and the acrid scent of hot metal reached his nostrils. He slowed to a walk to get his bearings.
Tangles of thick metal pipes extended deep into the sector on either side of him, and a low barrier comprised of metal slats separated the walkway from the pipes. Was this sector heating—or life support? He was certain this was the way to stairwell C, but he didn’t know the sublevel sectors well on this ship.
Loud voices echoed down the corridor and seemed to bounce off the ceiling and meld with the vibrations of the core. Another shot of adrenaline spiked through Tadeo, and his heart beat a wild rhythm against his rib cage. He could not be seen down here.
He glanced around, but there was nowhere to hide unless he leapt over the barrier. The space between the metal slats and the pipes left barely enough room to stand, and he didn’t have protective gear on. Let’s hope they aren’t heating.
He leaned over the barrier closest to him and spit. His saliva hit the nearest pipe and oozed down the rusted metal. Not heating, then.
Fractured Era: Legacy Code Bundle (Books 1-3) (Fractured Era Series) Page 18
