by Dan Moren
Eamon threaded his way to the front of the work crew and advanced to meet the trio. Eli frowned—there was a tension in the air, as though someone was about to throw the first punch.
“It’s about time,” said the tall, thin man. “We were starting to think you wouldn’t make it before the end of our shift.”
Eamon shook his hand. “Sorry about the delay. Name’s Mike Collins.”
“Carl Tan. Glad to meet you. You filling in for Denison?”
“That’s right. He’s out with the flu, so I drew the short straw. Guess I’m lucky I got my antivirals this year, huh?”
Tan issued a short, bitter bark of a laugh. “Lucky, right. Shall we get this done?”
“By all means.”
“This is our acting head of security, Lieutenant Gregorovich—”
“First Lieutenant,” the uniformed man interrupted, drawing himself up.
Tan plastered a smile on his face and turned back to Eamon, rolling his eyes slightly. “First Lieutenant Gregorovich. And this is our head of research, Dr. Graham.”
Graham? A faint memory surfaced somewhere in Eli’s mind even as Eamon was shaking the woman’s hand, a slight smile on his lips. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Graham.”
The woman wasn’t good enough to hide the glimmer of recognition in her eyes, which had lit up as soon as Eamon had taken her hand. Eli frowned, his brain rifling through a virtual database of faces and names, sure that he’d seen her before. During his time in the service, maybe?
“And you, Mr. Collins.” The voice was light and girlish—girlish?—with a barely contained edge of flustered excitement under it.
Graham. Graham, Graham, Graham—Graham? A bell rang in Eli’s head and he almost bit his tongue in surprise. In his mind’s eye he saw a girl about ten years old, trailing behind him and Eamon as they played skip-the-stones in front of 17-North. Even seven-year-old Eli had been able to tell that the girl was smitten with his older brother; there was, after all, her constant—usually whining—insistence that they not leave her behind. Eli, for his part, had been annoyed by the competition for Eamon’s attention, not to mention the persistent presence of a girl who, by definition, hampered the clearly guy things they were doing, like poking a dead bird with a stick or daring each other to sneak a drink from their father’s bottle of whisky. Eamon had confessed to him one night as they’d been falling asleep in their bunk beds that he had no interest in the girl—his fancy had been struck by a rather older woman: his sixth-grade teacher Ms. D’Angelo. But Eamon, in his infinite twelve-year-old wisdom, had never been one to toss away something that he might need some day, and Lucy Graham—for that had been her name—had seen to it that he never lacked for answers to math or science homework, something at which she, unlike the brothers Brody, had excelled.
It wouldn’t be fair to say she hadn’t changed a bit; after all, it had been probably a decade since last he’d seen her. But it was unquestionably her. She’d grown a little taller and filled out some, though she still had the waifish figure she’d had as a kid, as though she might blow away on the next strong breeze. And now she just happened to be working on this station. If that’s a coincidence, I will buy a hat and then eat said hat.
The welcome party had returned to the pressure door, where Gregorovich was thumbing the control pad. A light above the door blinked green and the hatch slid open, admitting the lieutenant, who apparently wasn’t used to standing on chivalry. Tan, on the other hand, gestured at Dr. Graham, who smiled and inclined her head as she walked through, followed by him and Eamon, who glanced over his shoulder and nodded slightly to Kelly.
To Eli, who even after nine years away knew his brother better than almost anyone in the galaxy, the nod might as well have been a full-motion video message. In his mind, he found he could see exactly how this was about to go down. His pulse quickened as Kelly acknowledged the nod and proceeded to form up the work crew. Movement behind Eli caught his eye and he glanced over to see the severe-looking woman he’d noticed at the bus stop drifting slowly back toward the airlock door they’d come through.
Eli’s muscles had gone tense, his hamstrings almost painful in their tautness. At Kelly’s glare, he got in line with the rest of the crew and followed them through the pressure door into the station proper, giving one last lingering look over his shoulder at the woman, who slipped back through the open airlock door into the transport.
Being the last person in line, the pressure door slid closed after Eli and he joined the rest of the work crew in a nondescript gray corridor that could have been on any ship, base, or other installation he’d visited in the last decade. With no windows and only a few doors—all of them closed—the only things that caught Eli’s eye were the half-dozen long colored lines on the floor.
Tan was apparently in the process of explaining this feature as Eli entered, waving a hand at the floor. “… for the different sections of the base, of course. Yellow takes you to the docking bay while blue takes you to the research section of the base, green leads to the commissary, purple to the infirmary, and red to the secured areas.”
“What’s at the end of the rainbow?” Eamon asked with a grin, nodding to the end of the hallway where most of the lines disappeared behind a heavy door.
Tan smiled wryly. “That’s the main entrance to the base.” As if alerted by the attention, the door whirred open and a dozen men and women, dressed in blue jumpsuits of a piece with Eamon’s crew, trooped through. They looked tired and haggard, shuffling their booted feet against the floor and stooping under the weight of the heavy rucksacks they carried. Their expressions brightened somewhat as they beheld their replacements, and a ragged cheer issued from among their midst.
“Right on schedule,” said Tan, waving his crew toward the pressure door. “Speed it up if you want to make it home in time for the fireworks, huh?” Even that encouragement didn’t seem enough to overcome their obvious weariness. As they filtered by Eamon’s crew, more than one of them could be heard offering good-natured jeers and advice.
“Hope you brought your thermals; heating’s on the fritz.”
“Stay away from the ‘coffee’ …”
“… loose wiring in section eleven that should be looked at …”
“… whole bottle in the supply cabinet in the infirmary …”
There were a few nods and smiles from Eamon’s crew, but for the most part their expressions stayed grim and fixed as the current crew headed into the docking bay.
“Ooooh, well aren’t you a serious lot?” said one, a heavyset dark-skinned man, in a mocking tone. “Probably why you don’t mind working on the Emperor’s Birthday, huh? Well, don’t worry, we’ll have a drink for you—maybe two or three.”
“Hey,” called Tan, “stow it, would you, Thompson?” He shook his head. “I’m going to have to listen to two hours of that on the way home.” He extended his hand to Eamon. “Good luck to you, Mr. Collins. See you again sometime.”
“Thanks,” said Eamon, shaking his hand again. “Safe trip.”
Tan tipped him a salute and followed his crew through the pressure door. Eamon’s eyes darted to Kelly, who moved into a position next to the door’s controls.
“All right,” said Gregorovich, straightening up. “Now that the shift change’s over with, let’s get you guys to work. First thing’s first, you’ll need to log the—”
Had it not been for having fought next to him in dozens of scraps throughout their adolescence, Eli never would have seen the punch coming. But there was a telltale drop in Eamon’s right shoulder as he brought his hand around and cold-cocked the lieutenant—first lieutenant—in the jaw. Gregorovich didn’t get a chance to put up a fight, his eyes rolling back into his head and his body twisting with the momentum of the blow as he collapsed to the ground. Eamon reached down and unfastened the man’s pistol from its holster, then stuck it in his own belt.
“Let’s get to work,” he said, turning to the crew, then looking back at Dr. Graham.
Fo
r her part, while the woman in the lab coat had looked startled at the sudden assault of an Illyrican officer, Eli noticed that she didn’t look particularly surprised. As though the forecast had called for rain, but the first big fat drop had just landed on top of her head.
“Lucy, my dear,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it theatrically. “You did perfectly.”
Her eyelids fluttered at the compliment and she smiled hesitantly. “He’ll be okay, right?” she said, tilting her head at the man on the floor. “I didn’t want anyone getting hurt and, oh, I know he’s a nuisance, but he’s not a bad person.”
“As long as everything goes according to plan, he’ll be fine.” Eamon patted her hand. “You have my word. Now: the rest of the security complement?”
“There’s only six of them,” she said, waving her free hand and clutching Eamon’s with her other. “Two in the security office, two on patrol, and two off-shift, probably sleeping or eating. The rest of them got recalled planetside two days ago. Something about riot threats. But,” her face creased with worry, “a courier arrived just before you did—an impromptu spot check by an IIS major.”
It was going to take more than that to break Eamon’s rhythm. “Alone?”
“Yes, alone.”
“Did you catch the name?”
“Shankar—Major Jagat Shankar.”
“Major Shankar,” Eamon mused, his eyebrows raised. “Interesting.” He turned to the crew. “It doesn’t change our plans. Kaye, Lapan, take care of the patrol; Quinn and Tarik, the security office; Covell, Keisuke, find the off-duty pair and contain them. Radio in if you find our … unexpected guest. Eli, you’re with—”
There was a sigh as the pressure door slid open and, in a flash, Gregorovich’s pistol was in Eamon’s hand and aimed at the door. But it was just the woman Eli had seen lurking in the docking bay. She held her hands out defensively and Eamon put his weapon up.
“Everything okay, McKenna?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.
“Airlock’s hard-sealed from the outside and the docking clamps are locked in tight. They’re not going anywhere until we release them or they cut their way out—and seeing as that’s reinforced steel and titanium, that’ll take a while.”
“Excellent,” said Eamon, grinning from ear to ear. “As I was saying: Eli, you’re with me.” He scratched at his beard, then turned to Lucy. “Now, I think it’s time we said hello to Tarnhelm.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
As his time in the military had mainly been composed of the four years he’d spent at the Illyrican academy, Eli had been thoroughly drilled in command hierarchy, operation planning, and basic tactics. His older brother had clearly picked up something of those topics as well, though they weren’t necessarily as formalized as what you might find among, say, an elite cadre of Illyrican shock troopers. Still, there were vestiges of military precision in many members of the team he’d assembled. Kelly, in particular, moved with an assurance and unconscious fluidity that reminded Eli of the Illyrican marines he’d encountered.
They’d passed through the main entryway into Aran Base, at which point the crew fanned out in different directions, teams of two splitting off as Eamon had instructed. Eight of the original work crew remained, including Eamon, Kelly, McKenna, Gwen, and Eli, plus three others—Ibanez, Clark, and Lyngaas.
The two cargo containers were brought into the base on their humming repulsor fields. Only the first one was opened, though; the second just hovered idly. The open container yielded a full complement of small arms for the work crew: pistols, rifles, and the occasional scattergun. Apparently they’d been divvied up ahead of time, for there was no bickering over who got what—just a mechanical process of the crew filing by and grabbing a weapon, checking it, and then moving on.
They were also one short, Eli realized as Gwen pulled the last weapon, a pistol, from the container. A mix of relief and regret washed over him: On the one hand, it stung, like being picked last in gym class, but at the same time he had little desire to shoot anybody. He looked up at Eamon, who was conferring with Kelly. “So I’m supposed to what, throw a wrench?”
Eamon, for his part, didn’t seem too apologetic about it. “Our bags were already packed. Just stay back and you’ll be fine.”
Until the shooting starts, at which point I’ll be a big fat bullseye. His upset stomach had faded for the most part after he’d touched down on the base’s solid ground, but it was in full force again at the prospect of armed confrontation. Sure, he’d had training, but there was a big difference between flying into combat with a safe, sound cocoon of steel and carbon fiber at your beck and call and running in with a gun and a prayer.
With Lucy Graham to lead them, Eamon’s squad followed the red line painted on the floor, tracing it down a winding path of identical-looking corridors, punctuated only by anonymous metal doors. Eventually, all of the other colored ribbons peeled away down junctions or behind those faceless doors until the only thing that remained was the red path.
That eventually terminated at a heavy, reinforced blast door. Eamon put a hand on the small of Lucy’s back, gently pressing her forward, and the worry on her face was wiped away with determination. She stepped up to the scanner attached to the door and placed a finger on it; soothing green light pulsed around the digit.
A harsh tone sounded and the doctor cleared her throat. “Graham, Lucy. Authorization epsilon-epsilon-phi, 3263827.” It beeped again, and then the loud rumble of machinery came to life as the door split along its diagonal, with each side retracting into the wall.
Anti-climactically, the corridor onto which the door opened looked much the same as the one that had led to it, with the exception of large signs with bold text screaming AUTHORIZED ACCESS ONLY. Eli’s natural inclination to obey such posted missives made his stomach lurch, but Eamon stepped forward without hesitation, squeezing Lucy’s shoulder as he passed.
“Certainly got her under his thumb, hasn’t he?” a voice murmured from next to Eli.
He raised an eyebrow at Gwen, who was watching the pair thoughtfully. “What, you jealous that he’s already got a girlfriend?”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “Oh, your brother is charming enough in his own way, but he’s not my type.”
“I don’t suppose you prefer scruffy, ne’er-do-well former janitors?”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“Consider it fully unminded,” she said with a snort, walking after Eamon and Lucy before Eli could summon a reply.
I tell you, if we make it out of whatever this is alive, I’m going to buy that woman dinner.
Sighing, he followed after her, along with the rest of Eamon’s squad; the heavy blast door slid closed behind them, clanking shut with a deep, funereal boom. Gwen’s eyes were focused straight ahead, so Eli quickened his stride to fall into step with his brother. Eamon glanced sideways.
“Something I can do for you, Lije?”
“Who’s Tarnhelm, exactly?”
Eamon gave a faint, cryptic smile. “It’s a game-changer, that’s what it is. The Illyricans are planning to fundamentally alter the nature of their war with the Commonwealth. They’ve been stuck in a stalemate for five years, ever since the decimation of the Imperial Navy—an event for which, if I recall, you had a front row seat.”
The screams of his squadronmates, cut off by static, echoed in his head. “Yeah, I was there,” said Eli tightly.
“Well, I’m trying to prevent the Illyricans from going back on the warpath.”
“So this is about what? You saving the universe?” Eli tried unsuccessfully to keep the skepticism out of his voice.
Eamon shrugged. “Call it what you will.”
“Well, I don’t think philanthropy and heavily armed commandos traditionally go hand-in-hand. Come on, Eamon—what the hell are you trying to do here?”
“Same as always,” he replied, his jaunty mood fading. “Keep the Illyricans on their toes, remind them that Caledonia is not and will never be theirs.
”
“You going to make a big sign that they can see all the way back home?”
Eamon jerked a thumb at the second cargo container, which was being pushed after them by the brawny man named Clark. It slid quite easily and noiselessly on the repulsor field, but there was something about it that made it seem heavy nonetheless. “Something like that. Let’s just say that they’re not going to be able to ignore this.”
Color me not reassured.
They took a left at a T-junction where a pressurized door slid open to admit them into a room that looked a great deal like the docking bay in which they’d arrived. This one, however, was devoid of cargo containers; instead it was full of banks of displays and computing hardware, all of which were buzzing happily along, filling the room with a din of whirring machinery.
But that wasn’t the room’s most prominent feature: that was a large transparent viewport of reinforced glass that spanned the length of one wall. It looked out onto Aran’s barren, rocky landscape of gray hills and craters. The base itself had apparently been laid out on the edge of a large chasm, which provided a spectacular view. But the window also provided a vantage on a somewhat less impressive man-made feature: a flat, gantry-garnished launch pad, at the center of which stood a very large, very boxy, astoundingly ugly ship. A lengthy white umbilical tube stretched out from the ship and apparently connected it to the base via a pressure door at the other end of the room.
Eli glanced at his brother, whose face had suddenly lit up.
“There we go,” Eamon murmured. He slapped Eli on the shoulder. “Eli Brody, meet Project Tarnhelm.”
“Project Tarnhelm? We came here for that hideous thing?”
“That hideous thing,” said a sharp voice, “is the result of years of research and hard work.” Lucy Graham had come up next to them, her face turned alien by the bluish light of the displays that hovered around the room. “Something I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about, Elijah Brody.”
