by David Ryker
He reached the door to the eleventh level and used his thumbprint to open it. He lifted himself one more rung so that he could slide his feet through first, then activated the magnets in his boot to pull himself in and walk the twenty feet or so until the ringed corridor’s centrifugal gravity kicked in and the magnets automatically unlocked. Sloane struggled to do the same behind him. His narrow physique was more suited to the zero-G environment.
“Two will become many.” Kergan was finally starting to get used to the idea of sharing thoughts with his passenger, and when he spoke, it was as if he’d said something and heard it from someone else at the same time.
Sloane nodded as he sidled up to him. He didn’t have to speak—his passenger and Kergan’s were linked, which allowed for a rudimentary form of telepathy between the two men when they were in close proximity.
Kergan called up a holo-screen from his wrist projector. It was exactly 0900 hours. For a moment his mind flooded with the images of a hundred possible upgrades to the technology of the standard-issue device, just as it always did whenever he used anything on the station, but it quickly faded. He could call it up again if needed, but he knew Sloane was better suited to that side of things anyway.
He placed a palm on the screen outside the door and it slid open with a shoosh. The faces of twenty fellow guards greeted them as they entered the anteroom that adjoined the warden’s office proper. They were gathered for their standard weekly meeting with Sean Farrell. It was a requirement for all of them, even the ones who had just finished the overnight shift. The only guards who weren’t present were the four who manned the skeleton shift for the duration of the half-hour meeting. It was a rotating duty, so that every guard got to skip the meeting at least twice a year.
One of the guards, a beefy fellow named Khaled, lifted his chin in Sloane’s direction as they approached.
“What’s he doing here?” Khaled asked mildly.
He was no doubt wondering why a technician was at the meeting. The actual guards met regularly, but the other dozen staff who kept the station running usually kept to themselves, as far from the inmate population as they could be in such close quarters. Though classified as “guards” for legal reasons, they were nothing of the sort.
Smile and engage, Kergan’s passenger said in his mind. Now is not the time for attenuation.
“Just wanted to report on what happened on the surface yesterday.” Kergan was nothing if not a good do-bee who did as he was told.
“I heard about that,” said a tall, athletic young woman named Ridley. She’d been on station for about three months. “I heard you barely got off with your inmate crew.”
I’d like to get you off, Kergan thought with a leer. It was met with an instant reaction from his companion.
Focus, it said coldly. Now is not the time for mating.
Kergan felt a brief flash of shame, but managed to keep the blood from rushing into his cheeks. Sloane took a step closer as if sensing his companion’s embarrassment.
“The meteorite strikes presented a significant challenge,” he said. “Officer Kergan reacted to the situation admirably. He is worthy of your respect and praise.”
The other guards looked at the duo strangely, but said nothing. A moment later, the door to the warden’s office shooshed open and a silver-haired man in an expensive suit stepped into the room.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said gruffly as he folded his tall frame into the chair at the end of the room’s long conference table. “I’ve got more important things to do.”
As do I, thought Kergan. But now is not the time.
The meeting ended at 0922 hours, ahead of schedule. None of the guards had reported anything significant; Holden and Tait hadn’t even bothered talking about the brawl in the mess the previous day, since it wasn’t important to the warden and they were just as eager to get out of the meeting as the rest of them.
Farrell dismissed them all. As always, they waited until he stood and left the room before they rose and exited themselves. The others filed past Kergan and Sloane as they walked toward the door to Farrell’s office.
“Sir?” Kergan asked.
Farrell was already at his desk and didn’t look up from his screen. His office was spacious by Oberon One’s standards, with rich carpet and sleek furniture, including a large mahogany desk in the center of it. There was even a large porthole that looked out on the moon. Kergan thought it was by far the nicest room on the station, though he’d never seen Farrell’s personal quarters.
“What is it?” the warden snipped, his eyes still on his screen.
“Sloane and I were hoping to speak to you about the incident on the surface.”
Farrell sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s what your report was for, Kergan. I’m a busy man.”
“I thought it would be best not to discuss this in front of the others. This is more of a SkyLode matter, and I assumed you’d rather that business was kept behind closed doors.”
That got his attention. Farrell stood up and motioned for the two of them to enter. Once they were inside, he hit a panel on his desk that closed and locked the door behind them.
“What’s this about?” he asked. “I thought you didn’t manage to do any sounding before the meteorite strikes.”
“Is the room secure?” asked Sloane.
Farrell turned to him with a scowl. “As secure as it needs to be. And I’ll remind you to be cognizant of who you’re talking to, boy.”
“Sean Farrell,” said Kergan. “Born Sept. 9, 2034, in Boston, Massachusetts. Associate vice-president of SkyLode Corp. Indicted on war profiteering charges at the end of the Trilateral War in 2090. Charges dropped two weeks before your assignment to Oberon One. Most likely scenario is that the assignment was punishment for getting caught after SkyLode paid off the tribunals.”
Farrell’s face reddened as his mouth curled into a snarl. “Listen, smartass, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull but I don’t appreciate my time being wasted by peons like you. Consider yourselves lucky that this station needs every single man on board to run it, or you’d be in a cell waiting on the next transport back to Earth.” He leaned forward and stabbed a finger at the two guards. “And believe me, I’m connected enough that you’d never have another job for the rest of your miserable little lives.”
“None of that is going to happen,” said Kergan. “Now shut up. This will go easier if you do.”
That made Farrell go apoplectic. His face turned crimson and a little vein in his forehead suddenly throbbed to life.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” he sputtered.
Kergan grinned. “I’m your new boss.”
A moment later, the air shimmered, and Farrell dropped to the floor like a bag of rocks.
Attenuation achieved.
7
“You can’t do this.”
It was two days later and Dev Schuster stood his ground while the other Jarheads—and the rest of the occupants of the prison mess hall—watched intently, their morning meal forgotten, at least for now.
This was something new to Quinn. In the two years since they’d arrived on Oberon One, he’d never seen anyone openly defy a guard. The fact that the first one was one of his own men gave him a twinge of pride.
“I can do whatever I want,” said Tait. He was bigger than Schuster, with a five o’clock shadow on his scalp and a face that looked too big for his head. “I’m a guard, you’re an inmate. Now get moving.”
Schuster crossed his arms over his chest. “No, sir. I respectfully decline this duty, under the terms of the Treaty of Shanghai, to wit: No prisoner shall be forced to perform a duty that directly relates to the acquisition of wealth by the corporate owner of a private prison.”
“You’ll get paid,” Holden grumbled. He wasn’t as big as Tait, but Quinn knew he made up for it in toughness. And temper.
Schuster shook his head. “Understood, sir. I respectfully decline.”
“Listen
, asshole—“
Holden put a hand on Tait’s arm just as the man was dropping his shock rifle into position from his shoulder.
“No,” said Holden. He turned to Schuster. “This isn’t a SkyLode duty, it’s a station maintenance job. And it doesn’t matter where you’re doing your time, every single inmate is required to help in the event of an emergency. That’s what this is.”
“Pull th’other one!” Maggott shouted. “What fookin’ emergency?”
Quinn held up a hand to silence him. Another brawl wouldn’t do anyone any good, especially with two armed guards on the floor.
“Stand down,” he said. “Officers, can I respectfully ask what the emergency is?”
Tait seemed to mull it over for a few moments before saying: “Problems with the station’s orbit. They need someone with a brain to work the equipment, and Schuster’s the only prisoner in this godforsaken place who fits the description.”
“I see,” said Quinn. “Could I have a minute to talk about this with Inmate Schuster?”
Tait and Holden exchanged a glance, then shrugged and nodded, making it clear they weren’t happy about the delay. Quinn took his friend by the elbow and led him over to where the other Jarheads stood, several meters away.
“Go with them,” he said in a low voice.
Schuster’s dark eyes flashed. “Respectfully, sir, I don’t have to follow your orders anymore. You said so yourself, repeatedly. Something is seriously FUBAR on this station, and I don’t want anything to do with it.”
It had been four days since the fight with the Yandares that ended with two of them being taken away by Kergan and Sloane. No one had seen the women since. Schuster obviously didn’t want to take the chance of suffering the same fate, whatever it may have been.
Quinn understood that, which made what he had to say next that much harder.
“This is our chance to find out what’s going on,” he said. “I wish there was another way, Dev, but right now, you’re the only one who’s been given a way in. I can’t force you…”
Schuster frowned. “But you can strongly urge me. Yeah, yeah, I know.” He heaved a huge sigh. “How do you know I won’t disappear like the women did?”
“I don’t. But I have a feeling that if you don’t volunteer, they’re gonna haul you away kicking and screaming. Or worse, in a stupor like those two Yandares. Plus, you’ll be working directly with Sloane, and he seems to be neck-deep in whatever it is that’s going on.”
Schuster was quiet for a moment before finally nodding. “If I wind up dead, I swear I’ll haunt your ass until the end of your days, Napoleon.”
“Spoken like a true Marine.” He chucked Schuster in the shoulder. “Good luck.”
Bishop and Maggott nodded somberly as Schuster passed on his way back to the guards. Then Tait and Holden flanked him and escorted him to the tubular passage in the center of the room, which would take them to the engineering level.
“I hope we didn’t just make a huge mistake,” said Bishop, watching the doors close behind his friend.
“He knew the risks,” said Quinn. “It’s imperative that we get to the bottom of this shit, and like it or not, Schuster is the first step. Now we need to figure out what the rest of us can do.”
It was a calculated risk. Quinn’s gut told him that something dangerous was afoot on the station, but he couldn’t have actually quantified it if someone pressed him. So they all had a few bad dreams and two inmates hadn’t been seen for a couple of days—what of it? Just about anyone in authority would laugh him out of their office if he came to them with such a story. Even Chelsea Bloom probably wouldn’t give him any more than a polite hearing before sending him on his way with a sleeping pill.
So he had to treat it as a mission, just like the hundreds he and his team had undertaken in the war. He had no idea if their survival depended on it, but even if it turned out to be something that could eventually be explained, a mission would give the Jarheads a way to feel like themselves again. To be effective again. To be Marines again. And that was worth the risk, as far as Quinn was concerned. Besides, they were already in prison for the rest of their lives—what more could anyone do to them besides kill them?
Then he suddenly flashed back to the visions they’d been forced to endure, and his gut froze.
“What c’n the rest of us do, Cap—uh, Lee?” asked Maggott. “I wanna do my part.”
“You’re ready for orders?”
The others nodded. Around them, the rest of the inmates who’d been watching the situation with Schuster appeared to have lost interest and gone back to their meals. All except one, who was still looking in their direction. It was the leader of the Southern Saints, the largest inmate gang in Oberon One. Quinn filed it away for the moment.
“I need you to get in touch with your Earthside girl, Geordie.”
Bishop raised an eyebrow. “Ellie?” There was a wariness in his tone. “What does she have to do with this?”
“You’re the only one of us with anyone on the outside,” said Quinn. “The rest of us have no family that’ll still speak to us, and no girl to miss us.”
Maggott’s expression darkened. He’d been abandoned by his wife when he was court-martialed and convicted. Every call he made back home had been rejected, so he’d finally given up after about six months. Schuster had a huge extended family, but they all lived in one of the poorest areas on Earth. Even if they had access to comms technology, they’d have a hell of a time trying to power it.
Quinn himself had been an orphan since his early teens, and he’d lost touch with what little family he had left early in the war. He’d been with women in his life, but none of them had ever been a long-term relationship, and he’d given up hope on ever finding one when they threw him in prison.
“How’s she supposed to help us?” asked Bishop. “She doesn’t even have a job. It’s not like she can get a lawyer or anything. I tried calling one when my parents passed away, but as soon as I gave them the address, they hung up. None of them will go that far into the slums these days.”
“We don’t need a lawyer,” said Quinn. “Even if we could afford one, it wouldn’t do us any good. There’s only one person on Earth that we can rely on if we need help. You know who I’m talking about.”
Bishop nodded warily. “But he’s on the other side of the world from Ellie.”
“I know, but he’s all we’ve got. No one else in the Marines will give us the time of day.” Quinn shook his head. “Especially if we came to them with the flimsy story we’ve got so far. We need to recon and gather intel. If it turns out to be something that needs to be stopped, we need to get that intel to Earth.”
“What foor?” Maggott griped. “They abandoned us here. What d’ye reckon I owe them besides me arse to smooch?”
Quinn glowered. “You took an oath, Marine. You can’t revoke it just because you don’t like your current circumstances. Rah?”
Maggott looked at the floor. “Rah, sir. I mean Lee.”
Quinn couldn’t hold back a grin over the old line. “What am I gonna do with you, big guy? It’s like trying to train an ox.”
“That’s a good question,” Maggott said. “What are ye gonna do with me? Awaitin’ orders, sir.”
“I need you to do what you do best: look intimidating, and back it up if and when I need you to.”
He grinned. “Y’need mooscle, then?”
“Yep, because I’m going to be stepping into the belly of the beast, and I’ll need a beast of my own if I’m going to survive it.”
8
The hatch shooshed open in front of Dev Schuster, and the guard floating to his left, Tait, motioned for him to go through into the corridor. He and Holden had flanked Schuster on their descent through the tube to the engineering level that was one floor below the reactor that powered the station.
They all acclimated to the gravity and made their way to the door of Oberon One’s primary maintenance bay. It was low-ceilinged, its walls lined with
work stations and control panels. Schuster saw Sloane standing in the middle of the room, scrutinizing a holographic screen that appeared to be giving him the station’s status readouts. Three others, who Schuster assumed were the other technicians, milled around, checking screens and manipulating control pads. Beyond them was an open area that looked to Schuster like a practical lab for testing equipment.
Sloane looked up from his screen and nodded to Tait and Holden, who nodded back and left the room without another word.
“Schuster.” Sloane’s voice sounded strange and cold coming out of such a young man. “Approach.”
He did as he was told, scanning the area as he walked. He took in as many details as he could, using his nimble brain to note where everything was and what its function likely was. The other two techs glanced at him, but otherwise didn’t react to his presence.
“Sir,” he said. “Uhm, reporting for duty. Ready for orders.”
Sloane glanced at him again, and Schuster was suddenly sure that there was a vast void behind the man’s eyes, as if they were made of dark matter and entire universes of empty space, cold as the grave. It passed just as quickly as it had come, but Schuster still had to clear his throat and blink hard to regain his composure.
“What did Tait and Holden tell you that you’d be doing here?” Sloane asked.
Schuster shrugged. “They said there was a problem with Oberon One’s orbit, but they didn’t give me any specifics.”
“Hm.” Sloane turned back to the holoscreen. “That was a lie. By me, not them.”
What the hell is going on here? “Sooo…” Schuster ventured. “If you don’t mind my asking, why did you lie to them?”
“They are incapable of understanding even the fundamentals of what I’m doing, so it would have been impossible for them to relay it to you properly. It was most expedient to tell them something they could actually repeat.”
“O-kaay,” said Schuster. “So what is it you’re actually doing?”
