The Disasters

by M. K. England

  We turn a final corner and come to a door, unlabeled except for a temporary decal above the lock mechanism declaring SPZ5 in bold letters. Malik turns to us and murmurs, near silent.

  “Once we unlock this door, it starts a timer. If we’re not out in five minutes, it trips a silent alarm.”

  I bite my lip, thoughts racing. “Okay, Malik, as soon as we’re in there, do a loop through the warehouse to make sure we’re alone. Disable any secondary security you can. Case and I will look for the device. What was the shelf code?”

  “Seven zero two WH,” Case replies, the numbers rolling off her tongue without hesitation.

  “Let’s do this, then. Ready?” I ask, turning back to Malik. He studies me for a long moment, then turns back to the door and holds up his fingers in a silent count.

  Three . . . two . . . one . . .

  Click!

  As soon as we’re inside, I take a quick scan of the layout: one long hall down the center, solid wall to my right, rows of shelves to my left. Case ducks down the first row to begin examining shelf labels, so I sprint to the other end of the stacks to start there. Malik takes off for the far end of the room, peeking down each aisle as he goes, totally focused on his task. He’s always been incredible at everything he does, my complete opposite. I’m glad to have him on our side.

  At first, the shelves seem to have no logical order to them whatsoever. Four hundreds are mixed in with fifteen-fifties are mixed in with boxes that don’t have a number at all. How the hell are we supposed to find anything in here? It’s been at least a minute since we walked through the door. Four minutes left.

  I try the next aisle, but find the same nonsensical grouping of numbers, no goddamn order to it at all, what the shit, people? I turn to try the next aisle when something in my brain finally rearranges, recognizes a pattern: the letters. The letters are grouped vertically and ticking downward, but aren’t in any particular horizontal order at all.

  “Case!” I say as loud as I dare. “The letters—”

  “I found it!” she snaps, tense and excited. “Help me with this!”

  I dart around the next two rows of shelves to find Case dragging a pair of footstools together in front of a row of crates.

  “There!” She points to a box just above my head. “Let’s lower it slowly, together. We don’t know if there’s anything explosive or toxic in there.”

  I climb onto my stool and grasp my side of the box, and with a “Ready, go,” we slide it inch by careful inch forward until we have all its weight supported on our forearms.

  “Careful now,” I say, my legs burning with the effort as we crouch lower and lower, bringing the box to settle on one of the stools. We set it down without a single bump, and the breath I’d been holding bursts out of my lungs just as Malik rounds the corner.

  “Two minutes,” he hisses, but Case waves him away impatiently.

  “There are no warning labels on this crate like there are for some of the others,” she says, pulling out her multitool. “We’ll have to risk it. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” I say, and help her pry the lid off the crate before I can let the sheer danger of the decision really sink in.

  And the weapon . . . looks like nothing. A bland metal box rests inside the crate, no displays, no wires. Just a brightly painted logo on the top: the concentric blue-and-green circles and bold number one of Earth First.

  “Well, this is definitely it, but—what are you doing?” My eyes go wide as Case begins unscrewing the top panel of the device.

  “There’s no way to tell what this thing does from the outside, Nax, what did you think I’d have to do?”

  Oh, stars, this is so cracked. Nothing for it, though. I take the top panel from her once she gets it free and turn on my tab’s LED to give her more light to work with.

  Case swaps the multitool for her tab and runs a scan on the device, then peers closer at a few of the components. Behind her, Malik starts bouncing on the balls of his feet.

  “Nax, we’re out of time, we have to—”

  A voice from Malik’s tab interrupts him. “Lieutenant Hall, we’re picking up a silent alarm from the SPZ. Your tab is synced to the lock. Report.”

  “Damn it,” he spits, then lifts his tab to reply.

  “Dispatch, just finishing up my SPZ rounds, stopped to inspect a loose vent cover. Sorry for the alarm.”

  Case switches back to her multitool and deftly removes six tiny screws holding a bright blue board into the device. She swaps the screwdriver for a pair of clippers and, with a tiny snick, severs the wires holding the board in. She shoves it at me, then snatches the top panel back and replaces it on top, shaking her head, her mouth hard. What exactly am I holding here? Is it going to kill me? I start to ask, but the dispatcher speaks up before I have the chance.

  “Lieutenant, we’re not seeing you on the cameras.”

  Malik’s eyes burn into mine, desperate and angry. “Really? That’s strange,” he says, his voice high and strained. “I’ll swing by IT on my way out, see if they can have a look at it. Maybe those guys who got fired screwed something up, eh?”

  Wow, he sounds fake as hell. He can lie about as well as I can. Family trait, I guess—we’re painfully honest. The responding silence isn’t encouraging, so I nudge Case’s boot with my toe and shove the board she gave me into my back pocket.

  “Leave it,” I say. “They already know what we’re here for. No point in concealing it. Where’s the other one?”

  Case shakes her head. “There was only one on the shelf. The other one’s missing. Probably already deployed, ready for . . . whatever.”

  Of course. Of course it is. Nothing we can do about it now.

  “We’re out of time,” I say. “We need to go.”

  Then my tab is the one to chime, a new voice call from Asra demanding attention. Shit. I accept the call as we run for the door.

  “Asra?”

  “Guys, you have incoming, and I have bad news.” Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and my heart seizes.

  “There was a scheduled message on the server that just went out. Another reminder message, like the one Case found at the embassy on al-Rihla, but this time . . .” She swallows hard. “Nax, they’re testing the weapon to make sure it works in less than an hour. On Tau’ri. My ammu and sister are there, we have to—uh-oh.”

  Her head whips to her right. A loud clang, shouting, muffled voices—and the line goes dead.

  I pull out my chem gun and look to Case, running at my side.

  “Is this thing in my pocket going to kill me?”

  “It’s just a receiver, was hooked up to a powerful signal repeater. No time to analyze it right now. That’s how it’s activated, though—by receiving some kind of trigger signal. I have the scans to look at later.”

  We come to a stop on either side of the door, our guns at the ready. Malik trots up behind us and pulls out his own weapon.

  “There’s a quick way back to the parking lot from here. Follow me and—”

  I cut him off with a sharp wave. “We’re going back for Asra first.”

  Malik shakes his head, impatient. “There’s no time, she’ll have to meet us outside if she can. They’ll be all over this sector, and—”

  “We’re going back for her, Malik. You don’t like it, you’re on your own,” I snap.

  Case meets my gaze, we exchange a nod, and I hit the door controls.

  Seventeen

  THE SECOND THE DOOR ROLLS back, before I can even see what’s beyond, I squeeze the trigger.

  One body down, then another by Case’s gun. Two more left. I drop to a crouch just inside the door and press my back against the wall, cold metal biting through my shirt. Breathe, breathe, turn—three more shots, one of which splatters across a security officer’s jacket but fails to touch bare skin. Malik, towering above me with his own chem gun, nails the last two on his own with frightening accuracy.

  Clear. For now.

  I motion for Malik to take the lead. />
  “Are you going to help us get her back?”

  He searches my face for a moment, a longer moment than we really have time for. Please, Malik, I think at him. Trust me.

  Something in his face shifts, and he nods, takes off down the corridor, back to the security wing.

  We stop to check around every corner, encountering pairs of security officers more often than not. Malik is a wicked good shot, and with Case and me as passable backup, we manage to get back to where we started with a trail of unconscious people in our wake. We had the element of surprise up until now. The moment that changes is the moment this gets really dangerous.

  We round the final corner and . . .

  Yeah, now we’re screwed.

  In the middle of the hallway, one security guard has Asra’s arms locked behind her back. One pulls the door to the head of security’s office closed. And two have their guns aimed straight at us.

  Think fast.

  “Okay, okay, you got us,” I say, holding up my hands, gun clenched tight.

  “Drop your weapons!” one of the guards barks.

  “Hey, it’s cool, we’ll do that, okay? We’re gonna drop,” I say, meeting Asra’s eyes on the last word. She winks at me. I tap my index finger against my gun, then point to the left. I have no idea if the others saw, but here goes nothing. I hold my free hand in front of me in a placating gesture.

  “On the count of three, we’ll drop, okay? It’s fine. Here we go. One . . . two . . .”

  On three, we dive for the cover of the hallway opening and Asra goes dead weight, pulling her arms free from her captor’s grip. He scrambles for her, but she dives between his legs, kicking at his ankles with her hands cuffed behind her back, and he’s distracted enough that I manage to lean around the wall and land a hit on the top of his bald head. A chem pod whizzes straight past my ear, and I slam myself back against the wall, my lungs burning with a heady mix of panic and breathlessness. There’s a heavy thud as Malik drops another guard with a crack shot, followed by running footsteps, getting closer, what are they—

  Case slams the heel of her hand under one guard’s chin as he rounds the corner, and his teeth make a sickening clack before he drops to the ground, a smear of chem from Case’s gun dripping down his neck.

  The last guard is smarter. He comes in low and fast, and takes Malik out at the knees, toppling them both to the floor and landing in a flurry of kicks and punches. It’s impossible to aim, no way to shoot without possibly hitting Malik too, and I am not carrying his ass out of here.

  Screw it.

  I holster my gun and dive into the fray, wrestling one of the guy’s arms away from Malik’s throat and pressing a knee hard into the small of his back with all my weight. Malik breaks the guard’s grip and slides out from under him, a pair of handcuffs at the ready. He snags the other arm and pins it, and the snick of the cuffs signals the end of the fight. The guard thrashes anyway, kicking at Malik’s shins, then flops over on his back.

  “Over here!” he shouts at the top of his lungs. “They’re in the security wing!”

  Malik pumps a shot of sleep chem straight in his face. The guy slumps a moment later, silent.

  No time to recover. I race back around the corner and find Asra struggling to get to her feet without the use of her hands. Malik follows close behind, rifling in his pocket. He withdraws a small ring of physical keys, the kind used for mechanical locks, and inserts one into a tiny hole in Asra’s handcuffs. Digital locks just aren’t a great idea for some things.

  Asra shakes the feeling back into her hands, then yanks her tablet from the pocket of her former captor.

  “Nearest exit?” she asks.

  Malik looks over his shoulder, then back down the hallway.

  “Follow me.”

  We meet little resistance after that. Malik leads us through service corridors, into maintenance access hatches, and down ladders that lead to basement passages. A few small patrol groups give us a bit of trouble, but before long Malik bangs through an unmarked door and out into the frigid night air. We sprint side by side, him slightly ahead, guiding us back toward the car. Then he slows suddenly, pulls his tab from his pocket. It vibrates in a repeating pattern: long, short short short. Long, short short short.

  “It’s Brenn,” he gasps, then takes the video call. “This is a very bad time, is everything okay?”

  Loose bits of hair stick to Brenn’s sweaty face, and the image wavers as if held in a hand that can’t keep still. Not her hand, because she’s got hers busy with flight controls.

  “Don’t come home,” she says, her eyes on her flying rather than the tablet. “Place is surrounded. We’re en route to the garage. I’ve instructed the crew to have the Kick refueled and ready to fly by the time we get there.”

  “Are Rion and Zee okay?” I shout, hoping the tab will pick up my voice.

  “They’re fine, they’re with me. Zee’s holding the tab. Rion is wrangling the dog in the backseat.” A deep, throaty bark distorts the speaker, followed by a string of colorful swears. A blur of dark-skinned arm and honey-colored fur streaks past in the background, and Brenn breaks off to shove a hand behind her. “We’ll be there and ready for you in ten. Be careful.”

  “You too,” Malik says, and ends the call just as an aircar slides down the row of parked vehicles and straight into our path. Six police officers spill out, taking cover behind their doors. We dive behind the nearest car before the shooting can start.

  “I was hoping not to have to use this,” Case says, digging in the front pocket of her borrowed security vest. She pulls out something small and shiny.

  One of the grenades from Jace’s warehouse.

  “Slide your weapons out from behind the vehicle and come out with your hands up!” one of the officers calls.

  Case’s grip on the grenade tightens. “I’m going to aim for the cars on the other side. I don’t want to kill anyone. As soon as I throw, run for it. Ready?”

  Asra, Malik, and I all nod. Case closes her eyes, blows out a long breath, and heaves the grenade into the next row of parked cars. We’re up and running for a full two seconds before the explosion grenade detonates, and a wave of heat and sound hits us from behind. Angry shouts, secondary explosions, a scream—no time to look back. The car is in sight. We’re almost there.

  “Nax,” Malik calls. “Catch!”

  My hands raise automatically to catch the thing flying at my face. A digital key fob, the Mazda logo raised in gleaming silver—the key to the car. I double-click the button to unlock the doors and fling myself into the driver’s seat, hitting the ignition as the others pile in.

  Sirens wail in the distance, drawing closer by the second. I glance behind me to make sure Asra and Case are strapped in, check Malik in the passenger seat, and floor it. Forget about proper flight lanes and speed limits—our only chance is to lose them. I take us up and over the entire parking deck, weave around a ship coming in for a landing, and turn into the maze of streets at the heart of Center City. Malik barks directions at me, taking us down shortcuts and backroads, through pop-up neighborhoods and modular construction sites until the sirens fade farther and farther into the background din of the city.

  It isn’t until we’re flying full-out over the highway back to Brenn’s that it hits me.

  Malik is in this car.

  Malik, with his scar, who I nearly killed last time he flew with me.

  My breath chokes me from the inside, my airway seizing up as my knuckles go pale on the steering wheel. I try to remember my breathing exercises, try to count, but all I can hear in my own head is white noise turned up to max, blocking everything, turning my vision darker, darker. . . .

  “Nax!”

  I suck in a ragged gasp at Malik’s shout, feel his fingers bite into my shoulder. He gives me another good shake and leaves his hand there, a comforting presence, just like when he used to help me with my homework, or teach me something on the computer. It works, a bit. Once my breathing begins to slow, he
speaks.

  “Nax, you’re an incredible pilot. That flying you did back there, in the city? Mind. Blown.”

  I huff a little self-deprecating laugh, but he cuts me off before I can say anything.

  “I mean it. You’ve got this, Captain.” He squeezes my shoulder once more, then leans back in his seat and grins, as casual as if we were driving down to the Outer Banks for the weekend.

  “Now fly.”

  Eighteen

  WE SLIDE TO A STOP at Brenn’s garage and hop out of the aircar at a dead run. I’m fairly sure we lost the cops on the outskirts of town, but I’d rather not wait around and find out. I hope I can channel some more of Malik’s confidence, because with this next part, Asra’s family hangs in the balance.

  Zee, Rion, and Brenn are waiting for us at the base of the Kick’s boarding ramp, and the crash of relief I feel at the sight of them takes me by surprise. I pull Rion into a tight hug the second I’m close enough, burying my nose in his uninjured shoulder, and reach out to grab Zee’s hand. Rion smells like dog, but I’m too relieved to care, and it reminds me a bit of home, anyway.

  “Everyone on board,” I say, waving them all ahead. “We gotta go. Is the dog already inside? Do we need anything else?”

  Brenn and Malik lock eyes, and Malik turns to me, arms folded and shoulders tense. “We’re not coming with you.”

  My heart clenches. “What? You have to, Malik, we never found the other device, it could—”

  “Yes, it could, but we have friends and other family here, Nax. We have to get them to safety too. You go, do what you have to do. We’ll be right behind you.”

  Then he pulls me into a hug.

  My arms don’t know how to respond at first, stunned still, limp at my sides. We haven’t hugged since before the accident. It’s been years.

  But he’s my brother.

  My arms come up, and I clutch handfuls of his jacket, fight back the catch in my throat.

  When he pulls back, he meets my eyes dead-on. “I meant what I said. You’ve changed. You’re not the person who got in that wreck. Those people”—he gestured up the ramp—“they trust you with their lives. And so do I. You can handle this.”