Apocalypse Five: Archive of the Fives Book One

by Stacey Rourke

  Swallowing down a lump of unease, Detroit flicked on her heat sensory viewing. Two yellow shapes hovered in the distance, flickering in the territory of barely detectable distance.

  With the time crunch causing her pulse to pound in her temples, Detroit launched into a jog. Once she found the others, it would be up to them to determine if the area was salvageable, and if air purification could be accomplished. Simulations like this one were tricky, yet they had beaten it a time or two before.

  “Orion’s Belt, Auggie, take the blasted thing!”

  At the sound of voices up ahead, Detroit threw herself into a sprint. It would use up more of her precious oxygen, but the longer they were exposed to the airborne toxins the more detrimental they became. Reaching the ledge of a red rock wall, she placed her palms on the rough stone and edged herself around its narrow ridge with cautious sidesteps. She was careful not to let herself get distracted by the sharp plummet into certain death that nipped at her heels.

  Maneuvering around the bend, she found Houston and Augusta dangling at the crag of a cliff. Sprawled flat on his back on the ground, one of Auggie’s arms hung limply over the edge. His mask-free face was blistered and blotching from the air’s foul effects, and his gasping lips were already cracked and oozing. Squatted beside him, Houston took a deep drag from his own mask and offered it to his suffering teammate.

  Dashing over, Detroit slapped Houston’s mask from his hand. It landed in the dirt beside Auggie, seeping precious oxygen into the starved landscape.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, her narrowed eyes stabbing daggers of accusation at Houston.

  Ignoring her outburst, Houston scooped his oxygen mask off the ground. He brushed it off, then gently eased it over Augusta’s bubbled flesh. Auggie filled his lungs to capacity with a grateful gulp, then another.

  Detroit’s hands curled into fists at her sides as beads of anxious sweat streaked down her spine. “This is not protocol. Your mask has now been contaminated, and the pollutant hasn’t even been identified! Is your plan to get you both killed?”

  While holding his breath, the most Houston could do was blink back at her.

  “Saturn’s rings, you can’t talk. If I end up with face boils, I’m kicking your ass.” Adding a few extra expletives under her breath, she unhooked her own mask and shoved it in Houston’s direction.

  Drawing in a lungful, he squared himself to her challenge. “I’m going to get him the hell out of here. If that means we both have to breathe in a bit of the contamination along the way, that’s what we will do. Now, Detroit, before I hand back over the mask to you, is there anything else I can answer here? Maybe how to shake that chip off your shoulder? Or, how to extract the stick from your ass?”

  Detroit longed to lash out, but letting her lips part would mean allowing the poisons in. With the curl of one finger she beckoned for the mask as politely as possible. Only when she had it fixed back in place did she draw in a lungful of clean air and unleash her venom. “Did you bother to check his breathing apparatus? It could be a simple fix.”

  The mask shifted hands once more. “No, because I’m not the engineer of this group. That would be you. I was planning to call it an equipment malfunction and get him out of here.”

  Borrowing the mask, Detroit took a quick pull then handed it back. She crouched down beside Auggie, and followed the tubes on his tank to where his faulty mask had fallen. It dangled over the cliff’s edge, slapping against the rock every time the sand-pelting wind blew. Turning it over in cursory inspection, her stomach dropped. Two small screws secured the airtight seal of the tubing to the base of the unit. One was missing. Their equipment underwent rigorous examination before every mission. The idea of something so basic being overlooked made the act seem almost … deliberate.

  Forcing down the lump of unease scorching up the back of her throat, Detroit pushed to her feet and reached for her mask. “I could use a bonding agent to seal it, but his sores have already started to weep. We need to get him back to the medical bay. Where is his pod?”

  “Behind that bluff.” Houston jerked his head toward a ragged extension of the mountain that jutted toward the sky like clawing fingers.

  Detroit nodded her head as she crouched down to fling one of Auggie’s arms over her shoulders.

  Houston grabbed the other and the two hoisted him up. Swapping their lone mask back and forth, they dragged their teammate to his pod.

  Considering how Auggie’s head lolled from side to side, Detroit pointed out the one issue with their strategy. “He can’t initiate launch.”

  Houston took one last breath and swung his legs over the side of the pod. Situating himself in the seat, he helped Detroit lower Augusta down beside him. He clapped his fist over his heart in an A-5 salute, then tapped the button to lock the pod’s hood into place. The moment it sealed with a click, air flowed, and systems were go for launch.

  Stepping back, Detroit said a silent prayer that a missing screw was the last equipment failure this mission would hold. She shielded her eyes from the fiery glare of blast off, watching the sleek lines of the ship meld with the skyline. Only after they vanished from sight did she key in a code on her cuff and open a communication channel with the AT-1-NS. “Command, we have encountered a 326. Repeat, A-5 reporting a 326, system malfunction. Mission aborted.”

  Rock crunching under her boots, she trudged back to her own pod with one thought quickening her steps. Augusta had been plunged into a world with unbreathable air the day after publicly questioning all their team stood for. How could anyone believe that to be coincidence?

  The moment she was free from her purification shower, Detroit shrugged on the first robe she found and stomped from the restricted access launch pad. Her determined stride was interrupted by the swarm of AT-1-NS gossipmongers swarming her, all armed with moment-capturing holoimagers.

  “There seemed to be distention in the ranks in today’s mission, Team Leader Detroit. Will disciplinary actions follow?”

  “Did we see more than an oxygen tank being exchanged between you and Houston? Is love in the air of the A-5 barracks?”

  “Two men were sent with you on this mission, to only one female. Is gender bias an issue among the universe’s most famous team?”

  Forcing a tight smile, Detroit shoved her way through the eager huddled mass. “Meet me in the mission debriefing room at seventeen hundred hours. I will gladly answer any questions I can then.”

  They were still shouting questions after her as Detroit held her robe tight and jogged down the hall. After checking the gym, dining room, and his private quarters, she finally found Houston in the med-bay treating his exposure abrasions with a little quality time in the Healing Chamber.

  It took the last of Detroit’s self-control to let the door slide shut without forcefully slamming it. By the time she spun in Houston’s direction, fire coursed through her veins in a deadly blaze. “What the hell were you thinking? You had no idea what you were exposing yourself to! You saw the effect it had on Auggie with limited exposure. Why would you subject yourself to that?”

  “Glad to see you got back to your pod without incident.” Houston clicked the laser treatment off and kicked his bare feet over the edge of the table. Clad in black cotton pajama pants, the matching T-shirt hugged the muscles of his chest like it always dead. Houston’s approved wardrobe was always a little snug. “Nice robe, by the way. Isn’t that mine?”

  “Do you want the damned thing back?” Detroit demanded, pulling open the terry cloth fabric enough to hint that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “Is that what needs to happen for you to talk about what a dumbass move you made out there?”

  Houston let his gaze enjoy a leisurely walk over her curves. “You drop that robe and conversation will be the last thing on my mind.”

  “Ugh!” Detroit huffed, tucking her robe closed. “Don’t channel public persona Houston. That guy is an ass.”

  Holding his hands out in front of him, Housto
n turned them over to inspect his regenerated skin. “You know, you subjected yourself to the same contaminants. Or are we just skimming right over that part?”

  Her nostrils flaring in annoyance, Detroit dragged her tongue over her top teeth. “Augusta had breathed in far more of the pollutants than you. Speaking of, have you checked on him? It would do you good to see what could have happened to you.”

  Houston wet his lips, hopped off the bed, and padded across the floor to close the distance between them. “I took him to medical and stayed with him until they got him stabilized. The wounds to his skin were superficial. His lungs, on the other hand, were scorched. He’s going to have to be submerged in the oxygen tank for a day or two, but he’ll be okay.”

  For reasons she didn’t want to admit to, tears welled behind her eyes. Not of sadness, or fear, but blind rage. Before she knew what she was doing, Detroit lashed out, slapping one of Houston’s stupidly perfect pecs. “Stop being so damned casual about this! You could have died! You’re lucky it’s not you floating in goo just to breathe! You took a stupid risk and put yourself in jeopardy without even considering the consequences!” Detroit pulled back to hit him again, only to have him catch her wrist and pull him to her.

  Glowering down the bridge of his nose, Houston’s voice deepened into a growl. “The consequence would have been Auggie’s death. Don’t you dare pretend if you were in my place, you would have let that happen. That would be a bald-faced lie. It’s you that’s always preaching we’re a family. You would’ve shared a mask with him, and dragged him to safety by yourself if I wasn’t there. So, you tell me why it’s any different that I played the selfless hero this time?”

  “Because it’s you,” Detroit barked back, ripping her arm free from the sizzle of his touch. “Like it or not, you’re the heart of this team. We can’t function without you. Which means you’re not allowed to do anything stupid that would tear you away from us.” Her hand darted in for another glancing smack.

  Pulling himself up to full height, Houston shoved his hands in his pockets. His face settled into a stone mask. “The team can’t function without me? That’s what’s behind this mid-afternoon slap fight? By the way, you’re the leader of the most powerful unit in the galaxy. Stop hitting like a space-wobbler.”

  Detroit started to argue, only to pull up short at the odd term.

  Houston lifted one shoulder at her obvious confusion. “When you’re in your pod and they send makeshift asteroids to shake your ship? They don’t do any damage, but give you that little shudder? I call those space-wobblers.”

  “What?” Balling her hands into white-knuckled fists at her sides, Detroit fought the urge to unleash the full extent of her training on his smug face. “You know what? I don’t care. Because you’re right. I am the leader. A position I got because you didn’t have the spine for it. And tonight, you almost cost me an intricate part of my team.” Stepping in body-skimming close, she jammed one finger into his chest. “Don’t do it again.”

  “I don’t remember you getting this upset about Juno’s little stunt on the dam. Yet, I do it once, and it inspired you to hunt me down for a little one-on-one time?” Dipping his head, the warmth of his breath whispered over her cheeks. “What part of this is supposed to be a deterrent?”

  Detroit ground her teeth to the point of pain as her face warmed with equal parts fury and embarrassment. Unable to form an adequate counterpoint, she swiveled toward the door.

  “You know,” Houston interjected with nonchalant indifference, “I didn’t even hear you coming when I gave him my mask. I was just going to fling him over my shoulder, run like hell, and hope for the best.”

  The words hit her like a punch to the gut, igniting a white-hot rage. Spinning on the ball of her foot, she lunged for him. A snarl tore from her teeth and she was on him in a blur. “You stupid son-of-a-bitch.”

  Her intention had been hand-to-hand sparring. Instead, she wove her fingers into his hair and crushed her lips to his as fury gave way to a different kind of passion.

  His body swelled in response. Ravenous hands gripped the small of her waist with the sole purpose of molding his form to hers. The salty-sweet bliss of her lips was a delicious heaven that earned an appreciative moan rumbling from his throat.

  That slight injection of reality snapped Detroit from her spell. Shoving herself away, she pressed the back of her hand to her lips and halted him with one raised finger. “This … never happened,” she gasped, fleeing from the scene before either of them could question her moment of exposed desire.

  Houston chased her as far as the door, where he caught the frame as he leaned out to call for her, “Detroit!”

  She didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. Sprinting down the hall, Detroit held her flapping robe tight to her chest. Only when the door to her private chambers hushed shut behind her did she dare to exhale. Her back pressed to the wall, she melted to the thick weave of her sunset orange rug. Tonight, she sampled the forbidden. The window of her heart had been cracked open just enough to let a breeze of truth waft in. She should be furious with herself. A mental lashing, and lengthy self-evaluation was necessary. And, she would get right on that … just as soon as she could wipe the smile off her face from the lingering tingle of Houston’s kiss.

  Chapter Six

  Lansing’s lightning-fast fingers clicked over the keys, typing the programming coordinates handed down to her from the designers into the simulator. With her digital eyes transfixed on the screen, the Undertaker’s tone was even more monotone than usual as she read back the data presented. “Solo mission constructed by designer DB3245. No added weaponry. Countdown begins in T minus three minutes. Team Member Detroit should be suited up and beginning pod safety protocols.”

  After zipping up her Lycra bodysuit, Detroit kissed the lucky piece of flint—a souvenir from her first mission—that dangled from a silver chain around her neck. Hands on the edge of the pod, she heaved herself into her well-traveled chariot for one. “Team Member Detroit is suited up and initiating countdown protocol,” she confirmed. Acting primarily on muscle memory, she typed in the same codes she had countless times before. “So, a solo mission, huh? Apparently, I have a problem area that needs work.”

  “Respiratory functions will be online in 3 … 2 … 1.” A click and steady hum punctuated Lansing’s statement, announcing the activation of Detroit’s oxygen filtration system. “I have no prior knowledge of the reasoning behind this chosen mission. It could be preparing you for a worst-case scenario of every one of your teammates being exterminated. Or, it could be punishment for scheduling an unscheduled press conference and then failing to appear.” Only then did Lansing’s head jerk Detroit’s way with a robotic twitch. “My apologies. That was one of those moments, wasn’t it? The kind you hate when I fail to utilize my human emotion programming and come across as a—”

  “A robot slag?” Detroit finished for her, taking a hit off her oxygen tank just to make sure Augusta’s issue wouldn’t be repeated. Finding it in working order, she let the mask fall to her chest until needed. “It’s a character flaw I’ve learned to love you in spite of. That said, there’s no need to sugarcoat the solo gig. I’m being put in an A-5 timeout until I learn from my mistakes … whatever the designers feel they may be.”

  Robotic gears whirring, Lansing gave a confirming nod and returned her attentions to the computer screen. “You’re in a timeout, and I’m an emotionless robot. Remind me how it was we found ourselves in the lead position of the Apocalypse Five?”

  “Far as I can tell?” Detroit tucked one arm, then the other, under her safety harness and buckled it into place. “It’s either my sparkling personality, or your stellar tits.”

  “The curve of my breastplate is metal and completely ornamental.”

  “So is my personality. That can’t be it, then.”

  “Never forget: We are alive within mysteries. Wendell Berry.” Lansing’s expression softened to the closest she came to a smile. “Return trajectory rou
ted and programmed for autopilot. According to my calculations, there is no evidence of yesterday’s problematic situation repeating.”

  The pod was beginning to close, but Detroit’s hand darted out to stop it. She could feel her face instantly bloom a bright tomato-red, and her shocked squawk landed a few octaves higher than anything resembling normal. “Situation? There was no situation. Why would you think there was a situation?”

  Lansing glanced up with her head tilted in confusion, her hands hovering over the keys. “Because Augusta’s breathing apparatus malfunctioned. Some may consider that potential threat of fatality a bothersome turn of events.”

  “Oh, that.” Retracting her hand, Detroit settled back into her seat and silently cursed her lack of composure under the slightest questioning. “Yeah, that simple glitch could have ended much worse. Lucky thing we got him out of there in time.”

  “I concur,” Lansing seconded. “Pod lid closing … if you allow it to this time. Kindly don’t die out there, or I’ll be melted down and sold for parts.”

  “You would make a handsome bar stool, or maybe some form of abstract art. But, I’ll do my best,” Detroit lobbed back before the lid slid into place and sealed with a click.

  Others might have considered their sign-off dismissive. To Detroit and Lansing, it was the equivalent of a hug. Okay, maybe not that cozy. More like a handshake of solidarity, signifying neither wanted the other dead or repurposed.

  “Weapons system, online.” Detroit rattled off her readouts as she fixed her oxygen mask into place. “All sequences are go. I am ready for the sweet serenade of my robot mistress.”

  “Welcome, Detroit,” the emotionless recording kicked in.

  “And there she is.” Detroit sucked air through her teeth, biting her lip in pantomimed desire. “She sounds saucy tonight. What do you think she’s wearing?”