Squads of guards clogged the corridors of level six, standing in front of the holo screens on the wall, seeking their patrol schedule for second shift. They moved out of the way when they caught sight of Tadeo and Zephyr heading to the brig.
The brig was the size of the command galley but looked like something that had been thrown together after the ship had been built. Like they’d knocked down the walls of a few storage cubics to cobble together holding cells. The bars didn’t even open with a shift card—they had locks and took an old-fashioned metal key. It was as if Infinitek—the corporation that had built this fleet—hadn’t planned on needing a brig.
Since the treason talkers they’d arrested had gone out on the transport early yesterday, the cells were empty, except for the one on the end. Nora Faust lay on the bunk sleeping.
Officer Holt, the gangly, orange-haired brig guard, looked up from his metal counter. “Lieutenant Raines.”
“Holt, I need to book this one. And I need you to release the medic to me.”
Holt’s face paled. “The medic just took a sedative.”
“What?” he snapped. “Who told you to give her that?”
“I… I’m sorry Lieutenant. Medics came up with her hourly dose. I thought—”
“Don’t allow it again. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Holt said, swallowing.
Tadeo shoved Zephyr toward the high counter. “This one assaulted another colonist. She gets the twenty-four hour minimum. Unless I decide she needs some more time in holding.”
“Information, sir?” Holt asked, activating his eyepiece.
“Zephyr Kerrigan, of the London,” Tadeo said. “Repository apprentice tech.”
Zephyr narrowed her eyes at Tadeo. “Repository apprentice tech. And future captain of the London,” she said, biting off each word.
Holt’s brows lifted, but he kept gesturing, logging her information.
Tadeo rolled his shoulders, his suit suddenly feeling too tight. Much like the suit Zephyr was wearing. It was like someone over on the Vancouver had her exact measurements and had manufactured it to hug her everywhere. Tadeo adjusted the sleeves of his suit as Holt moved around the counter and opened the cell next to Nora Faust’s.
“Give me my handheld,” Zephyr said.
“Can’t have it in there.”
“Give it to me. It’s mine.”
Tadeo ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. “You can apply to get it back from evidence in a few days. Then maybe I’ll release it to you.”
Tadeo removed Zephyr’s cuffs, and she shook him off and stalked into the cell. She sank down on the bunk inside and continued to glare at him as Holt closed the barred door.
“This goes to evidence,” Tadeo said, handing Holt the holo gear.
“Yes, sir.”
“Comm me the minute the other prisoner wakes up.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tadeo felt Zephyr’s eyes boring into him, but he didn’t look at her again.
His comcuff buzzed. Omar was calling. He answered as he exited the brig.
“We found more,” Omar’s voice came through Tadeo’s earbud—and he sounded afraid, breathless.
Tadeo froze. “More of what?”
“More empty containers of explosives—behind a wall panel in paired sector.”
“I’ll comm Chief.”
“Wait—there’s something else. One of the canisters says Zenith.”
“Zenith—”
“Finnegan here’s from the Perth, and he says Zenith is used to intensify explosions…” Omar paused. “The terrorists had at least five canisters of Artex powder. Zenith could make an explosion a hundred times stronger.”
Darkness and dirt. Sweat and pain.
The metallic-taste of the oxygen pack reminded Dritan with every breath that he was living on borrowed time. The rock pile seemed to waver before him, as if he stood in the center of a blistering hot power core. They’d barely made a dent in it—if they’d come any closer to the exit, he couldn’t tell. His painmod was wearing off, and they only had four shots and twelve hours of oxygen left. That was it.
My life is numbered in hours.
A sharp burst of fear turned his saliva bitter, and he swallowed it back. He’d been in tough spots before. When you looked into the face of death, you had to keep your kak together. A clear mind and determination keep men alive. That’s what his first crew leader had taught him. And Dritan had seen men survive terrible accidents before. But he’d seen more of them die.
Dritan wedged his fingers beneath another rock and pulled. Darkness swam across his vision as he dropped the stone to the ground. Pain raced up his arm and left him gasping. The shock of it was worse than any cut he’d endured, worse than any of the times he’d been burned on the London. The sharp ache radiated from his fingertips to his chest, screaming at him to stop moving.
Then the world disappeared. When he opened his eyes, he was flat on his back, panting, pain raging through him.
“Corinth.” McGill was standing over to him, medkit in hand. “Here.” He took out a shot and plunged it into Dritan’s arm.
The pain faded until Dritan could breathe again. He was messing up his arm, and it might never be right again. But he couldn’t stop. If he had to choose between his arm and his life with Era, he’d choose life—even if that meant becoming a sublevel outcast, scorned like the other maimed Soren survivors.
He stumbled to his feet. “I’m going to check on Jan. She’s probably almost out of oxygen.”
“And what? You gonna give her one of ours?” McGill lifted the canteen to take a sip, and when he remembered it was dry, he threw the empty container down in disgust. “Does she have water, too? I say if she has anything left, you take it. You’ve wasted enough on her.”
Anger stirred in Dritan, surfaced above his exhaustion. He’d checked on Jan once already since he’d found McGill, and she’d been hanging on just fine.
“You think your life is worth more than hers?” Dritan asked, his voice rough. “Must be your exec sector mindset. Say it again, and I’ll be giving your packs to her. I’d save her before I’d save you.”
Dritan walked off with the last charged helio, leaving McGill to fumble in the dark for a glow bar.
“You know I’m right,” McGill called out as Dritan reached the crevice.
Dritan deactivated the helio and pushed his body into the space between the rocks. He began inching forward, back toward Jan. McGill wasn’t right. As long as he and McGill kept working, they all had a chance of surviving this.
Bad water dripped somewhere in the crevice, and his dry mouth ached in response. So thirsty. The cold walls pressed against him, sharp edges jutting into his skin. He made it through quickly, and then he was out to the other side.
“Jan, you still okay?”
No answer.
“Jan?” Dritan tapped the helio, and it floated beside him as he made his way toward her. When the light of his helio reached her, his throat closed up, and his legs weakened.
Jan’s eyes were closed, like she was sleeping, but the color of her skin didn’t look right. He hurried to her side and knelt to shake her.
“Jan. Wake up.” She didn’t stir, and her body felt ice cold beneath his fingertips. “Come on. You can make it through. We’re making progress…”
He shook her again, and her body slumped to the side. Dritan squeezed her oxygen pack. Still some left. She was not dead. He’d promised he’d get her out of here. Panic rose in him as he shook her again. Her body listed further to the side, and she didn’t respond.
“No, no, no.” His eyes burned, and he glanced toward her leg, at the puddle of blood beneath it. It had gelled, nearly dried up. She’d stopped bleeding a while ago.
“Jan!” He shook her again and held his ear to her chest. She felt colder than the rock. Stiff. He choked down a sob and sat back on his heels.
No breath. No pulse.
She was dead, and there would be no bringing h
er back.
Dritan propped her gently into sitting position and sank down beside her. His helio cast a yellow glow over her as he removed her mask and dropped it into his lap. Her skin was a mottled—blue-gray. She looked almost peaceful, like she’d died in her sleep.
Pain swelled in Dritan’s throat. He should have known right away she was dead. She’d died alone. He should have stayed with her.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
He rested his head against the wall beside her, and everything seemed to close in on him, suffocate him. His breathing came quicker, and he checked his oxygen pack. Still full.
It’s all in your head. Calm the fuck down.
He wasn’t suffocating. These walls were not caving in. At least not right now.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Jan had been right. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that she’d died down here—and for what? Nothing. She’d died for nothing, and he hadn’t been able to save her.
She’d been the only member of his crew to be kind to Era… even to Zephyr. She hadn’t held their exec level status against them as he knew his other crewmates had. She was one of the good ones. But death didn’t care how good you were.
Dritan pounded a fist into the dirt and let out a growl of frustration. He pulled down the zipper of Jan’s suit, eyes burning, and removed the necklace she’d shown him, his fingers brushing her freezing skin.
He held the necklace up to the light. It was a battered infinity symbol, taken from a broken machine. It must have come from metal recyc. He slid the necklace into his pocket and zipped it shut.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I promised I’d get us out of here. But… I’ll give Gavin your necklace. I’ll take Bella to observation. She’ll know how brave her mama was.”
He lifted Jan’s canteen, still half-full, and drank a sip of it. The cool liquid coated his throat and took the edge off his thirst, filling him with relief. But all he felt was shame—shame that he could find relief while Jan sat next to him. Dead.
He tucked her oxygen pack in his work belt and forced himself to walk away—leaving her alone in the darkness. It wasn’t her anymore. It was just a corpse. The Jan he’d known was gone.
Dritan squeezed into the crevice just as a tremor ripped through the cavern. Adrenaline surged through his veins. He braced himself against the rocks, pulse roaring in his ears as the cavern shook around him. Rocks hit the ground on either side of the crevice, rumbling their awful promise—that he’d be trapped here between the wall and rock—with no way out.
The quake ended, and Dritan called out in the direction of the main cavern. “McGill?”
No answer.
“McGill!”
Still no answer.
Dritan’s muscles bunched up, and he breathed rapidly in the darkness, too terrified to push ahead, to find out if the rocks had trapped him here permanently.
None of us will make it out alive. Panic threatened to overtake him. Rescue hadn’t come. Maybe Jan had been right. Maybe the president wanted them dead.
He’d failed Jan, and now he’d die just like she did, not able to keep any of his promises. And he’d failed Era, too.
Era had looked so devastated when he’d stepped onto the Soren transport. Her brown eyes had been tear-filled, despairing. He’d thought he could protect her from pain. But he was just a sub. How could he have been so stupid? His parents had died out in space, a hull breach repair gone wrong. No one could get to you fast enough out there. Now he’d suffocate, just as his parents had.
Dritan’s eyes burned, and he rubbed at them. How would Era deal with his death? She’d been raised above the rest of them, protected. She didn’t understand true deka society—the unspoken laws, the rules you had to follow. She hadn’t grown up working the dangerous sublevels. She hadn’t lost dozens of people the way he had.
Her father had been lead tech on the London, and she’d fallen apart when he died. What would Dritan’s death do to her? Who would take care of her this time? No one had ever needed him the way Era had.
Dritan closed his eyes and swallowed. He should just stay here in the crevice. Then, as his oxygen ran out, he could imagine the power core humming around him and pretend his death would be for the good of the fleet—that he’d been fixing something important in the sublevels.
But his death would mean nothing.
After you died in the fleet, you got to live on in the Infinitek way. The Seattle turned corpses into compost to make fertilizer for the Meso. But if he died down here, he’d just rot. And if they ever found his body, they’d incinerate it. That was the sick, disrespectful way they handled the dead on Soren.
A clear mind and determination keep men alive. His old crew leader’s voice reverberated through his skull.
Clear mind. Determination. That’s how subs survive.
How could he give up now, in the final hours? He couldn’t quit. Not now. If death wanted him, he’d fight it every step of the way. He had to try to get out. To keep his promises.
Dritan took a deep, sputtering breath and pushed out toward the other side of the crevice. He barely breathed as he extended his arm to check and see if the way was still open. It was half-blocked.
He tightened his grip on the edge of the boulder and propelled himself forward, lurching out of the space, dragging his body against jagged edges.
When he broke through to the other side, he choked out a laugh, relief flooding him that he’d escaped the crevice. But he still had to dig his way to the exit.
When he threw his helio into the air to search for McGill, his momentary relief faded.
McGill was right where he’d left him, but he wasn’t awake. Dritan rushed over to him and knelt. Dritan shook him, but he didn’t move. His oxygen pack had red-lined. It was gone, or nearly gone. Dritan clumsily retrieved Jan’s oxygen from his belt and replaced it. He looked closely and saw McGill’s chest still rose and fell.
“Wake up.” Dritan shook him, but he didn’t respond. The bandages on his leg were soaked through, and drops of blood leaked from them, pooling beneath his leg, reminding Dritan of his failure to save Jan.
He took another drink of water, and the hollow space in his gut filled up with something new, something more powerful than fear, more powerful than anger or grief. This new strength surged through him, and he got to his feet and headed for the rock pile blocking the exit—blocking the path to the recyc fan Jan had believed would be there.
He would work for as long as his oxygen lasted—with or without McGill. He lifted a stone and dropped it to the ground.
You’re not taking me today, Soren.
Tadeo stood in Central corridor beside Chief as the squads arrived, lining up along the wide corridor outside Central. The only sound in the silence was the squeaking of dozens of boots on smooth tile.
But his heart beat a staccato rhythm in his chest, so loud he was sure someone else must notice. He took a swig of his water to cool his dry throat. There was a bomb on the Paragon. There had to be. What sort of damage would five canisters of Artex and a canister of Zenith do?
Whatever thrill he’d experienced over his own subterfuge was long gone. This was serious now—and it was too late for him to waver from his chosen path to protect his mother. Tatiana might be dead, but her actions could bring his whole family down with her. He had to find this bomb, and find a way to protect his family from the fallout, no matter what happened next.
Omar and Kiva stood in the squad at the front, their expressions stiff, unreadable. Sweat beaded on their foreheads, but if any of the guards were experiencing anxiety over what they’d heard or seen, none showed it.
When each of the ten squads—eighty men in all—had lined up in formation, Chief called them to attention.
Every guard stood taller, each pair of eyes trained on Chief and Tadeo.
“There may be a bomb on this ship,” Chief said, “and if there is, we’re going to find it.”
Tadeo saw a flicker of fear pass over a fe
w faces, but it was quickly squelched.
“The substance you are looking for may be mixed in a plasstex container, probably clear. It’s the only grade that will melt under high heat and activate Zenith and Artex. The powder will look gray beneath the plasstex. Artex is black, and Zenith appears as larger white crystals mixed in.”
“When heat is applied to Zenith and Artex, the bomb will explode. You will know the Zenith has been activated by heat if the white powder glows. And then you’ll only have a few minutes before the explosion happens. It cannot be deactivated once activated. If that happens, we must get it off this ship as soon as possible.”
Now a few murmurs rose up from the ranks, but a stern glare from Chief quieted them once more. “It won’t get that far,” he said. “We’ll find these explosives and dispose of them. You are to tell no one what you know or what you are searching for. You will finish searching every job the terrorists did while aboard this ship, and we’ve chosen a handful of trusted maintenance workers to aid your search. You’ll report to me or Lieutenant Raines if you find anything. Do not attempt to handle the explosives without us present. Do you understand?”
A chorus of ‘Yes, sirs’ filled the corridor.
Tadeo and Chief stepped out of the way as the squads began their march down the corridor—toward the sectors each had been assigned to search.
Kiva, Omar, and the rest of the president’s personal squads stayed behind.
“You will go to command level and escort the board members to executive sector for a meeting,” Chief said. “Protect them at all costs. I will meet you there to escort the president. Sergeant Omar, you lead. I need Lieutenant Raines with me.”
Omar nodded and gestured, and all of them marched down the corridor after the others toward the stairwell.
Chief headed toward exec sector, and Tadeo walked fast to keep up, until they reached the double doors that separated the rest of guard level from executive sector.
Chief ran his shift card over the scanner, and the doors slid open, exposing the empty corridors beyond. “The executive sector is the only sector we know for sure is safe,” Chief said. “We did a sweep after we airlocked the traitors. But I want you to do another sweep. Check behind every panel before the meeting starts. The president wants us both there, but I need to brief her first.”
Fractured Era: Legacy Code Bundle (Books 1-3) (Fractured Era Series) Page 30
