“McGill.”
McGill leaned forward, peering at him, and his eyebrows shot into his hairline. “Corinth.” He let out a low laugh. “The snitch survives.”
Dritan went still, his heart in his throat. If any of the subs ever found out what he’d done, he’d be cast out—or worse. The sublevels had their own justice. He jerked forward, slamming his good hand into McGill’s chest. “What did you say?”
McGill blinked, his expression flat. “Gonna kill me for sayin’ the truth? I’m dead anyway. We both are.” He swept his hand toward the rest of cavern. “And anyone who might have given a kak about what you did is dead, too.”
Dritan held his gaze for a moment longer, then pushed away, getting to his feet. Every small movement sent a shot of burning pain through his arm, and he cradled it against his body.
All his anger faded away as he made out the shapes along the wall. A pile of boulders sat atop a jumble of crushed bodies, limbs askew. Dritan’s stomach turned. It was gruesome, blood splattered along rock, dismembered limbs scattered across the floor. He fought back nausea and turned to McGill.
“We’re not the only survivors,” Dritan said. “There’s another one on the other side. Janet Lanar. She’s trapped.”
“I hope you aren’t wasting oxygen on her,” McGill said.
Dritan’s nostrils flared. “Do you know the way out of here or not?”
“The few who survived thought the corridor was there,” McGill said, pointing to the far wall, near the biggest pile of buried bodies and limbs. “Then the last quake took ’em all out.”
The heavy weight in Dritan’s chest lightened, despite the scene before him. “We need to clear the rocks, then. Keep working on what they started.”
McGill shook his head. “Then what? We came down a fucking tube to get here. You gonna climb to the surface? One breath of Soren air, and we’re dead.”
“Jan said there might be an air recyc fan there—with extra oxygen packs.”
For a moment, McGill looked almost hopeful. But then his expression darkened. “No. More like the entire corridor is gone and the fan with it.”
Dritan leaned into the crevice. “Jan,” he called out. “Can you hear me?”
A weak cry came back. “Yes.”
“I found someone. We’re going to try to get to the corridor!”
Another reply came back, but he couldn’t make it out.
He looked back at McGill. “Can you walk?”
“Haven’t tried lately and don’t wanna. I’ve got just enough painmod to last me till my oxygen runs out.” McGill pulled something into the light. A medkit.
Dritan ripped it away from him and opened it. He pulled a painmod syringe from the case. Jan couldn’t feel her pain anymore, and if Dritan was going to move rocks, he needed to dull the pain in his arm.
“Give it back.” McGill leaned forward, and Dritan snatched the medkit farther away.
“Shut up.” Dritan prepped the painmod syringe and plunged the needle into his vein. He sucked in a breath as warmth spread through his arm from shoulder to fingertips.
“We aren’t getting out of here. So don’t even bother,” McGill said.
Dritan ignored him and stood up, stretching his arm as the painmod got to work, and the burning pain faded away. The numb feeling in his arm was blissful, but it wouldn’t last long. And there were only seven painmod syringes left.
“We are not dying down here.” Dritan said it like it was true. Because it had to be. He wanted to believe it. Had to believe it. Era needed him. Their child needed him… If the pregnancy wasn’t defective.
“It’s been two days.” McGill said tonelessly. “It’s over. They’re not coming.”
“Someone will come back here,” Dritan said. “Even if they think we’re dead, they’ll come back. We just need to survive. When did you last take the painmod?”
“A couple hours ago. The numbness will wear off soon enough.”
Dritan picked up the medkit with his good arm. “Get up. And show me where the corridor was.”
McGill glared at him. “Are you a half-wit? No one is coming,” he said, drawing each word out. “Don’t you get that?”
“You wanna die down here? Fine. But I’m getting to that recyc fan. And Jan and I will still be alive when rescue comes.”
McGill’s expression smoothed into something unreadable. He studied Dritan for a minute, then finally held out a hand so Dritan could help him to his feet.
“Now show me exactly where they thought the corridor was,” Dritan said.
The two of them limped around rocks and bodies, McGill leading them to the spot where they’d been digging. McGill’s leg didn’t look right, but he didn’t complain.
When they reached the spot, Dritan released him and took in the wall of rubble. It extended halfway to the ceiling, a mixture of immovable boulders and scree. He lowered the medkit to the ground and checked his oxygen. Half-full.
He chose the smallest rock from the rubble, and tried to heft it with his good arm. It didn’t budge. He tried it with both hands. It was strange, his numb fingers clumsy as he struggled to lift the rock with them, but it worked. He lifted the rock and dropped it to the ground.
“We’ll keep using the painmod so we can work,” Dritan said.
“We’re dead, man. We’re never getting out of here. Look at that wall. You think we’re going to be able to move all those rocks, with your arm and my fucked up leg?”
“Look—either help or shut up,” Dritan said.
McGill leaned against the rock pile, taking the weight off his bad leg. “I bet you’re wishing they’d just airlocked you up there with your friends.”
Dritan’s chest tightened, and he forced himself to take even breaths so he wouldn’t waste his oxygen. “And why are you down here? How’d a trained guard end up getting drafted? Didn’t they think you were good enough to do the job?”
A nasty smile appeared beneath McGill’s mask. “That traitor took my pulse gun. I had nothing to do with him. But you—”
“My crewmates were traitors. I am not.”
“No. You’re just a snitch. Would the subs even let you live if they knew?”
Dritan stiffened. “I don’t know where you got your information. But it’s wrong.”
McGill let out a harsh laugh. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Dritan stared down at his blood and grime-covered hands. I did what I needed to do to protect my family. He couldn’t afford to think about this right now. McGill shouldn’t know anything about him. He’d have to deal with this later, once they got out of here. “Just shut up. We need to work.”
McGill shook his head, but he hefted a rock from the pile and dropped it to the ground.
Dritan pushed aside thoughts of his crewmates, of what he’d done, and focused on the pile of rock in front of him. Each rock they moved was one step closer to rescue—one step closer to the tube and the promise of the recyc fan beyond.
One step closer to Era.
Explosives.
The word had cycled through Tadeo’s mind over and over since he’d seen the empty canister in the terrorists’ cubic. Explosives were missing on the Paragon, and they could be anywhere. He strode down the corridor on level six, an archive cube case tucked beneath his arm, high off the threat—the danger of it all. He barely saw the guards who quickly moved out of his path as he plowed by. He passed the guard barracks, the galley, and then hit Central corridor.
His comcuff buzzed.
“Raines.”
“Where you at?” came Chief’s tense voice.
“Almost there. I have the cubes from the Repository.”
“We’re in my cubic.”
He turned into Central Records. Temporary records were logged here, where colonists had to come to get their shift cards altered for new jobs. Guards sat behind their stationaries, searching through records, doing routine tasks like clearing next week’s work schedules.
They looked up as he
passed, and a few of them stood.
“Lieutenant Raines,” a chorus of voices said.
They stared at him as he went to Chief’s work cubic. Omar stood outside it, his hands folded in front of him, a sheen of sweat coating his dark skin.
Tadeo rapped on the door, and it slid open, revealing Chief. Nyssa sat in a chair against the wall.
The president’s eyes were bright, intense as she watched him take a seat. The chief picked a bag up from the floor and took out the empty metal canister and placed it on the table before him.
Tadeo read the text engraved on the side, and his heart rate increased.
ARTEX 500
WARNING: HIGHLY EXPLOSIVE
The manufacture date stamped on the canister was only two weeks ago, mere days before the terrorists had been airlocked.
Tadeo laid the archive case on the table beside the canister.
“I’m not calling a board meeting on this yet,” Nyssa said, breaking the tense silence. “What is said in this cubic stays in this cubic. Chief? Brief us.”
“Artex is only used in mining,” Chief said, his voice hard. “The Perth makes it, and they’ve been using it to aid clearing mines on meteors and on Soren. It’s tightly regulated. It never should have made it onto the Paragon.”
“What kind of damage could this amount do?”
“It could damage a few cubics—but the blast would be contained. The damage would be minimal.”
They sat in silence for a moment, and Tadeo clenched his hands into fists. He wanted to be out there, searching for it. Not sitting in here.
Nyssa cleared her throat. “I want to know how it got past imports. If the Moscow has traitors aboard, they could be smuggling anything anywhere.”
The Moscow was the fleet’s supply deka. Their transports picked up supplies from each deka, then transported them wherever they were needed. The chief had already tried to punish them for turning a blind eye to smugglers and black market thievery, but their board member, Nassef, always seemed to come up empty-handed when it came time to hand over the perpetrators.
Chief pulled some cubes off the shelf behind his table. “I have the terrorists’ work orders, as well as the import and export records, but there’s no record of any Artex making its way through,” he said. “The only time it leaves the Perth is when Moscow transports bring it to Soren.”
“Could it have come from Soren?” Nyssa asked.
“Once it’s on Soren, it’s just as tightly controlled as it is on the Perth. So either someone personally carried it off a transport, or we have traitors on the Moscow and definitely in our imports sector. This had to have been smuggled over from the Moscow.”
Nyssa pressed her lips together. “We need to find the connection between imports and our three terrorists.”
Tadeo gestured to the archive case he’d brought. “I ordered work records from the Repository for all recent transfers from the Perth and Moscow. And I got a list of everyone working in imports and exports, so we can cross-check their work schedules with the terrorists’. But there’s a lot to go through. Hundreds of names and dates.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant Raines. And Era Corinth? Chief said you found a power cell insert and a medlevel card in her cubic? Have you discovered any connections between the terrorists and what you found?”
Tadeo shifted in his seat and swallowed. “The power cell insert had no ID number—nothing to trace it with. And I don’t know where the medlevel card came from yet, but… I do have one lead.”
“What is it?” Nyssa asked, leaning forward.
“Tatiana Carizo went to medlevel when she got here. So did Era. And they both saw the same medic. A Nora Faust.”
Nyssa darted a glance at Chief but didn’t respond. His face was blank, unreadable.
“I think she knows something. She—”
“Clearly just a coincidence,” Nyssa said. “All women go to population management annually.”
“But—”
“No,” Nyssa said, holding up a hand. “If you’ve made no progress with Era, we need to focus on finding the smugglers.”
“Well, I talked to Nora. She acted suspicious, and—”
“Lieutenant Raines,” Nyssa said, her voice harsh, “if you haven’t found what I told you to search for, the investigation into Era Corinth must be set aside for now. Or would you have us chasing medlevel clerks while we have explosives aboard?”
Tadeo’s cheeks warmed. “No, of course not. You’re right, Madame President.”
“Good. We follow this new lead, then.”
Chief cleared his throat and pointed to the archive case. “We have several hundred colonists working in close contact with imports and exports. It’s going to take a few shifts to question everyone, even if we narrow it down. We can start with imports.”
Tadeo cleared his throat. “Is there anyone else in the sublevels we can—?”
“Any possible traitors are dead,” Chief said, a smug look on his face.
“I know about the crews who died on Soren, but—”
“Almost all the subs who worked with the terrorists came from the Meso. Did you think we’d leave your traitorous kak on our ship? They all died in that cave-in. Every last one.”
“Enough.” Nyssa held up a hand.
Tadeo swallowed. He’d never live down the shame, never be allowed to forget the terrorists came from his ship.
“Chief,” Nyssa continued. “I want you to assign guards to enforce curfew tonight. No transports will be allowed to board or leave the Paragon, but we won’t share why. Tomorrow you will question everyone in imports, starting with the Moscow and Perth transfers.”
Chief grunted. “Yes, Madame President.”
“Lieutenant Raines,” Nyssa said, turning toward him, “come first shift, I want you and your squad investigating the terrorists we airlocked. Look into every site of every single job the terrorist crew worked—from the date this explosive was manufactured to the date they were airlocked.” The president stood. “Both of you can take as many squads as you need to get the job done, but keep the details you share to a minimum. We need this to look like we’re simply investigating the terrorists’ work to ensure nothing else was sabotaged.”
“President Sorenson,” Tadeo said, “shouldn’t we get started searching now?”
Nyssa shook her head. “It’s nearly last mess, and if we start now, the board will wonder what’s going on. And I don’t want them knowing about this. Not yet. You’re dismissed.”
Tadeo got up to leave, and Chief narrowed his eyes at him as he left the cubic. The door slid closed behind him, leaving the president and Chief alone once more.
Tadeo’s heart rate picked back up as he passed the guards in the room. Omar followed him out to the corridor.
“Are we gonna search?” Omar asked, keeping his voice low.
“Tomorrow.”
“But—”
“Those are the orders. And we can not talk about this again. I’ll brief you first shift.”
“Yes, sir.” Omar rubbed the back of his neck. It was clear he wanted to ask more questions, but he kept his mouth shut.
The last mess buzzer went off, and Tadeo and Omar walked in silence to the command level galley. The meal was tense, and Kiva’s attempts at banter with Omar were met with more silence. Tadeo ate quickly and avoided looking at the board members.
As he left the galley, he looked down the main corridor toward the massive doors that led onto the bridge. The terrorists had been from his ship. His ship. When he was in charge, he’d make sure nothing like this ever happened again. But how had they managed to slip through the screening process? How had they gotten permission to transfer in the first place? There was so much he didn’t know about them. Their records only went back ten months.
Tadeo strode toward the bridge doors. No one except the president, the board, and the captain were authorized to use the private bridge comms, but the president had told him he could comm his mother. And it had been a long tim
e since he’d had a live conversation with her instead of the recorded messages sent through the Comm Station.
He’d ask about Nora Faust and find out what the traitors had been like on the Meso. He rested his hand over his pocket and swallowed. Maybe seeing his mother would give him the strength to throw out the grimp.
A guard let Tadeo through the bridge doors, and he stepped onto the gleaming bridge. The glasstex arched across the far end. Black space filled up most of it, and the edge of Soren’s red surface filled up the rest. Bits of metal glinted in the distance, glimpses of some of the other ships, as they orbited Soren. The closest ship was the metalworking deka, the London.
Paragon’s bridge crew worked at their stations, checking data that came in from all over the ship, ensuring that everything ran smoothly. It felt like home up here. The bridge was much larger than the Meso’s, but the low hum and tones, the amazing sight of space… it was everything he’d grown up with.
Except for the captain in the chair. Captain Lopez sat in his seat before a massive clear holo screen that bisected the space. He was aging and gray and only a captain in name. Here, the president and board made the rules. The captain simply did what he was told. When he died, the president would choose a new captain to take his place. There was no family line in charge here. No real lineage to respect. Every deka captain, including Lopez, knew who was really in charge on the Paragon. The president.
Lopez sat up in his seat as Tadeo approached him. “Lieutenant Raines? Is something wrong?”
“I need to use the private comm. President’s orders.”
Lopez activated the eyepiece he wore. “Which ship do you need me to notify?”
“The Meso. Captain Lara Raines.”
He nodded. “I’ll get them on.”
Tadeo headed toward the line of doors at the back of the bridge, to the middle one that led to the private comm. He passed through the door and hit the button to shut it behind him. A table and chairs filled the space, and a comm screen took up one wall.
Fractured Era: Legacy Code Bundle (Books 1-3) (Fractured Era Series) Page 25
