Fractured Era: Legacy Code Bundle (Books 1-3) (Fractured Era Series)

by Kalquist, Autumn

  “How long you been here?” Omar asked.

  “Just got here, same as you. What do you think?”

  Omar widened his eyes but shrugged. “Where’s your commcuff? Chief commed me. He wants us to grab mess and get started. No time for working out. You should get back to him.”

  Tadeo cleared his throat and wiped his face again. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. “I’ll meet you at mess in a bit.”

  Omar made a face and twisted the black, bulky comcuff on his own wrist. “You alright, man? You seem…”

  Tadeo glanced toward the doors, but they were still alone in the gym. “I have a lot on my mind. Don’t you?”

  “I do. The canister… How much damage could that kak do?”

  “It’s enough to take out a few cubics. But we’ll find the powder today,” Tadeo said.

  “Are we gonna tell the whole squad?”

  “They’ll help us search, but… let me worry about what to say. You don’t say anything.”

  “But shouldn’t they know?”

  “When it’s time, they will. Grab some mess, check out holo gear, and meet me at the conference cubic at Central with the rest of the squad.”

  Omar’s eyes flicked to the treadmill again, but he walked off, leaving Tadeo alone in the empty gym.

  He reset the treadmill’s holo screen and headed for the showers, past the long row of weights. The treadmills were the last piece of functioning machinery. White squares stood out on the stained tile where other fitness machines, motors long dead, parts scrapped, had once been bolted down. Two guards entered in their workout suits and halted to salute him.

  “Morning, Lieutenant.”

  “Lieutenant Raines.”

  Tadeo inclined his head toward them, without making eye contact, and went to shower.

  He scoured his tan skin red, dried off, and pulled his suit from his locker. The stiff fabric of his guard suit stuck to his still-damp skin, but he welcomed the unpleasant sensation. It took his mind off the worse feelings roiling in his gut. He leaned against the locker and stared down at spots of rust on the metal floor.

  My mother is a traitor.

  But I can’t betray my family.

  There it was. The whole truth he’d been trying to run from. If he had to choose between Nyssa and his mother, he’d choose his mother. She’d been there for him, had broken rules for him.

  Hot anger spread within him, and he slammed his fist into the locker. He winced at the pain that shot up his arm. His mother had put him in an impossible position. But when all this was over, he’d pay her a visit. He’d order her to stop her treason, to cease her spying.

  And until then, he’d lie for her. He’d find a way to fix this and make it all go away.

  Zephyr lay in the darkness of her bunk, privacy panel closed, clutching to her chest the pale green scrap she’d taken from Era’s cubic. Once she heard the door slide shut, proof her bunkmates had finally left for first mess, she carefully stored the scrap on the shelf in her bunk, then jumped down and got dressed, fully intending to go to mess. But as she tied on her boots, a sudden wave of panic washed over her. Screw mess and its half-sized rations.

  She climbed back into bed, her breath coming quickly, and grabbed her handheld and eyepiece from the shelf. She sat there, letting her legs dangle over the edge, and tried to take deep, full breaths.

  After sliding on her eyepiece, she gestured to open her music creation program. She’d huddled in her bunk yesterday writing a song. Every hour, she’d heard a voice outside her door that sounded like Era’s. When she left to go to the lav, she glimpsed colonists with short brown hair like Era’s, and had expected her to show up, to speak in her calming way, say it was all a huge misunderstanding. But it wasn’t. Tadeo said they’d seen her body.

  Era was dead.

  Zephyr wiped her eyes and tapped the sounds she’d chosen, manipulating their arrangement. Swirls of color denoted each instrument, and the program melded them together to create a unique blend of sound.

  Music was emotions made manifest. When even her ability to numb herself wasn’t enough—when she had nowhere to put the chaotic mess within her—she spilled it into the beat, recyced it into something new. She took a sip of water from her canteen and glanced toward the door again, willing her bunkmates to stay away. Then she gestured to make the program begin recording. She took a deep breath and started to sing. It came out weak at first, but slowly grew in strength as her emotions flowed out of her and into the song.

  Wanna stay here with my dreams.

  Don’t wanna face the day.

  ’Cause this reality's my nightmare

  Since you went away.

  Wish I could find faith

  In what they call lies

  Since the day we lost it all

  And the old gods died.

  Everywhere,

  I see your face.

  In every song,

  I hear your voice

  Like a phantom melody.

  Why'd you make that choice?

  I wanna believe I’ll see you again.

  Wanna believe that this isn’t the end.

  Wanna believe that there’s a better world waiting.

  Need hope the dead religions give me.

  Want a reason, not a chaos theory.

  I wanna believe a better world is waiting.

  She sang it over and over, until the song held her pain for her, and all that was left was vast nothingness.

  Being empty always felt better than being full.

  Zephyr started up the song again, and the door opened. She glimpsed the corridor, packed tight with halfs.

  “She airlocked herself,” Kali said.

  Kali, Helice, and Paige walked through the door.

  Zephyr twisted her wrist angrily, and the holographic display winked out of existence, taking the music with it. She stuffed her eyepiece and handheld in her pocket and zipped it shut.

  Paige wrinkled her nose like she’d caught a whiff of compost. “It’s a shame you guys have to deal with that hideous noise all the time in here.”

  Zephyr jumped off the bunk. “Yeah, she is sick of it. She’s just afraid to tell you to shut your face.”

  Paige colored. “We were just talking about the airlocker. You knew Era, right? So why’d she do it?”

  Zephyr met Paige’s gaze but didn’t answer. The lump in her throat was suddenly back.

  Paige turned to her friends. “It’s like I told you. Era’s husband helped the traitors. That’s why they sent him to Soren.” She looked back at Zephyr, and a little smile appeared at the corner of her mouth. “We’re lucky they’re both gone.”

  Zephyr swallowed and balled her hands into tight fists. “We’d all be luckier if you were gone, Paige. In fact, I’m sure I could arrange it.”

  Paige arched an eyebrow. “You command level kids think everything orbits you. But the truth is…” She paused for effect, then spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “No one wants you here.”

  Zephyr went rigid with anger, and the other girls exchanged tense looks. Zephyr pressed her arms to her sides, willing herself not to slap the smirk off Paige’s face. She wasn’t going to get in trouble over this stupid glitch. Paige had been born to techs and never had a shot at being more than a tech. And she wasn’t even a good tech. Mali had chosen Era, not Paige, to be head archivist, and that had been the best revenge.

  Zephyr stalked out of the cubic without a word and took shaky breaths as she weaved her way through the crowded corridor, desperate to get to the stairwell. She still had time before first shift. She’d hide out up in Observation until the last possible moment.

  She was breathing hard by the time she reached the observation deck. It was nearly empty at this hour, just a few colonists and children sitting on benches. She made her way to the front and sat down.

  Soren filled up most of the view, its swirling red-orange clouds moving across a toxic surface. Deadly beauty. Nothing could survive down there naturally. That
planet was as broken and defective as every colonist in this fleet. And if Zephyr’s hunch was right, the president might be planning to stay there.

  Zephyr’s gaze moved to the half-circle of metal beside the planet, the jumpgate, and the lump in her throat grew. The gate was a promise—a promise that a better world waited for all of them. But not for Era. Not anymore. She blinked rapidly and tried to calm the wave of grief that threatened to overwhelm her.

  Why, Era? Why did you do it?

  They’d talked about suicide once before, just before the fleet had reached Soren. An old, sick man on the London wasn’t able to get a spot in Paragon’s hospice, so he airlocked himself. The enforcers there turned a blind eye when one of the elderly chose to end it that way. Some wanted a quick death, not the slow, painful one power core sickness brought.

  Era and Zephyr were sitting on Observation when they overheard a paired couple talking about the suicide.

  “I knew that man,” Era said. “His son works with my father. He shouldn’t have shamed his family and friends like that. It was selfish. Cowardly.”

  Zephyr stared out at the stars and tried to locate the other dekas in the distance. “Well, I think he was brave to do it. If they told me I wouldn’t have nonstop drugs for my final miserable days, I’d airlock myself, too.”

  Era’s face darkened, and she squeezed Zephyr’s arm, hard. “You better never do that. As long as I’m alive, I demand you stick around.”

  Zephyr rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll suffer through it if you suffer through it. Deal?”

  Era had smiled. “Deal.”

  Zephyr’s windpipe closed. Breathe, Zephyr. Calm down.

  I should have been there.

  She’d left Era alone when she’d needed her most.

  A man in a green maintenance suit crossed in front of Zephyr, carrying a small blond child of three or four. He walked to the glasstex, and Zephyr tensed. Go away.

  The man crouched before the glass and put the little girl down.

  “Bella,” he said. “That’s where Mama went.”

  The small child pressed both hands to the glass and then cast a blue-eyed look up at her father. “When’s Mama coming back?”

  Zephyr’s hand went to her chest. Had this man’s wife gone down to Soren with Dritan’s crew?

  The father grabbed the little girl’s hand, encompassing it in his own. “Mama…” He broke off and cleared his throat. “This time Mama won’t be coming back.”

  “Why not? She always comes back.”

  “She went down to the planet to work for our fleet, but there was an accident. And she can’t come back.”

  “But I want to see her now.” The little girl’s voice rose.

  Zephyr started to stand, but the wave of grief threatened to overtake her, and she sank back down on the bench, tears filling her eyes.

  “I know you don’t understand now,” the father said, “but you will. And you still have me.”

  Bella pulled away and pressed her face to the glass. “I want to go down there and see her.”

  Her father wrapped a loose arm around her shoulders and turned to look down at the planet, too, his face twisted with grief. A thin woman in a maintenance suit passed before Zephyr’s blurring vision to reach them.

  “Lanar,” she said, “first shift wants the details on the generator repair. Wes called up for you.”

  Lanar sighed. “I just got off night shift. But I’ll be right there. Can you take Bell back to caretaker?”

  The woman rested a hand on Lanar’s shoulder. “I will.”

  Lanar lifted his daughter in his arms, and she began to cry and wriggle in his grasp.

  “No—I want to stay here.”

  “Hush,” the woman said, hissing the word. “You’re much too big to cry.”

  The little girl’s face crumpled, and she buried her face in her father’s shoulder to muffle her sputtering cries.

  As they walked away, Zephyr wiped at her eyes and trained them on the planet.

  She’d swallowed her pride and begged her father for weeks to transfer Era and Dritan to the Paragon. In the end, it was probably her mother who had convinced him, just to keep the peace. But what if Zephyr had kept her mouth shut? Would Era and Dritan still be alive now?

  She breathed deeply, and it took a few moments to calm herself as she stared out at the planet through a blur of tears. But as the grief faded, something hotter replaced it, something aggressive. A hot flame of anger erupted in her belly.

  She clenched her hands into tight fists and let the heat fill her up. Hate for Tadeo and his ugly words, anger at the president for the regulations that had forced Zephyr to leave Era last night. And rage at the planet, at the half-finished jump gate, at the way the fleet and its stupid rules had killed her only friends.

  But there was nowhere to put her anger, nowhere to direct it. She tried to numb it, too, but it didn’t fade.

  Zephyr should have been there, but she hadn’t been the one to push Era over the edge. No. It had been the president, sending Dritan to Soren. And the medic, telling Era she had to abort her child. Zephyr wanted them to pay for what they’d done—but how?

  First shift buzzer sounded, and Zephyr let out a little scream and jumped off the bench, feeling helpless. Who did you blame when someone ended their own life? You could only blame the person who took it.

  But you couldn’t punish the dead.

  ∞ ∞

  Zephyr made her way up the near-empty stairwell toward the Repository on level four. She was already late and had thought of skipping shift again, but unlike the grief she’d been drowning in yesterday, only anger flowed through her now—like molten metal. Simmering in her cubic would do her no good.

  When she reached the landing, she stopped before the wide metal doors. Era had loved this place so much.

  Zephyr passed her shift card over the scanner and stepped through the doors. Tall silver archive cabinets ran along the walls beyond the glass panel that bisected the space. All Era had wanted was to care for these archives like the model colonist she’d been.

  Heat burned in Zephyr’s chest as she passed the busy comm waiting area and headed for the archivist station. They needed the archive files to settle New Earth someday, but the Repository had never held any fascination for her. Her family had the files they needed on the London for manufacturing. Every deka had files for their specialization. And that was enough. The Repository had other files, research from Earth, information on settling a new planet. But what use could they be right now, especially when only the president and board could access them?

  Zephyr stared at the tile floor as she approached the archivist station, and her throat closed up. Two nights ago, Era had curled up right here, right in front of the station, sobbing after finding out Dritan had died. Mali, the head archivist, had helped Zephyr try to soothe her. Maybe she should ask her for a transfer to get away from this place.

  Mali stood behind the station working. Her dark-skinned face was blank and her posture rigid. She had cared for Era, too. She might be the only person on this ship who shared Zephyr’s grief.

  Mali looked up from the station, her eyes swollen and bloodshot. “You’re late. And you missed your shift yesterday.”

  Zephyr handed Mali her shift card. “I’m surprised you’re even here.”

  “The work must still be done. No matter what.” Mali got out a handheld and eyepiece and swiped Zephyr’s shift card to log the gear into the system.

  “Don’t you even care?” Zephyr asked, her voice cracking.

  Mali didn’t look at her. “I have to log data into the archives this shift. I need you—”

  “Look at me,” Zephyr ordered.

  Mali pursed her lips and handed Zephyr the holo gear. “You may be a future deka captain, but here, you’re a tech apprentice. Don’t speak to me that way again.”

  “How can you just—”

  “Era airlocked herself.” Mali shook her head, like that was all the justification she neede
d for acting like Era wasn’t dead.

  “And you can just go on… like it didn’t even happen—”

  “You need to get to work.” Mali twisted her wrist to activate her eyepiece. “If you miss another shift, I’m transferring you out of here. There’s a waiting list a hundred deep for this place. You’re lucky to have a job here. Act like it.”

  “But Era—”

  “I’m done talking about her,” Mali snapped. “She shamed herself and abandoned this fleet and her duties. There’s nothing else to say about it.”

  Zephyr tensed her jaw. “I thought you cared about her.”

  “I did. But a better world awaits.” Mali’s voice was distant now. Empty. She gestured in the air, working again. “The fleet must move ever onward. As we all must move on. You’re witnessing comms today. Go.”

  Zephyr tried to ignore the anger ripping a hole in her chest and stalked toward the comm station. The fleet must move ever onward.

  One day had passed, and the only other person Era had spent time with had already moved on. They would all move on… Everyone would act this way if she tried to talk about Era. She and Era had done it, too, when people talked about suicides. It was shameful. How could Era do this?

  Zephyr reached the comm station as more colonists entered the Repository, come to record messages for loved ones on other ships. An old tech, Henry, worked the station.

  “I’m witnessing messages today,” Zephyr said to him. “Where do you want me?”

  The man looked at her through aged, watery eyes and gestured to one of the comm cubics. “Cubic eight is fine.”

  Omar and the squad weren’t at mess when Tadeo arrived, so he grabbed a quick breakfast and headed straight to the conference cubic across from Central Records. They hadn’t arrived yet, so he activated his holo gear and began searching through files on the terrorists, gathering a list of every job Sam, Dritan, Jonas, and Tatiana had ever done aboard the ship.

  Then he ran a search, looking for anything unusual, any shift card usage that seemed at odds with their work schedule. At first nothing came up. They’d checked in everywhere they were supposed to. But what if they’d been working to cover for each other?