“It’s time to show the Academy why they never should have kicked us out.”
Twenty
EARTH.
We pop back into normal space, and it’s the first thing I see—gorgeous ocean blue swirled with wispy white clouds, dancing through the black with its sole moon in orbit. Achingly familiar. And forbidden. If I get us too close to the planet itself, the automated orbital guns will take us out and rain our debris over our distant, untouchable families and friends. We may never be this close to them again.
Then I catch a glint of light off metal and kick the throttle up to full.
“Case, is that the transport?”
“Yes, and they’re about fifteen seconds from comm range with Ellis Station. There’s no way we’ll catch them, even at full power. They’ll know we’re on to them and set off the weapon as soon as they’re able.”
I slam my hand on the center console, spitting every swear word I can think of as my heart plummets into my stomach. After everything, this is how it ends? It’s bullshit.
“Look, this doesn’t change anything,” Asra says, getting her calm back, though she winces as swipes the back of her hand over her still-bleeding forehead. “Even assuming they hit the go button right now, it was about fifteen minutes from the start of the communication takeover to when they sent the signal on Tau’ri. And that transmitter must take an enormous amount of power to be able to send a signal over that distance, through A-space or however it works. It probably takes them time to recharge. We could still take out their transmitter before then. We have to try.”
Her words restore a modicum of calm to my screaming brain. “Okay, probably right, but still, we can’t just knock on the front door. How do we get through their shields and land on the station?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Rion says from behind me, and I jump. When did he come up from the turret? He smirks. “I have an idea to get us in there.”
Rion types on his tab for a few seconds, then projects an image into the air over the center console. A structure of some kind, with huge tunnels extending out one side, Earth floating in the distant background.
“Remember how I thought they might have been hiding personnel in the old abandoned station near Ellis before the attack?”
He stops and looks up to blank stares all around. I remember the conversation, but I honestly have no idea what this has to do with anything. He raises an eyebrow and points to the image.
“The two stations are connected by the tunnels,” he says, and I finally get it. I saw those tunnels out the viewport when I walked to the terminal to catch my fail ship home, before all this started.
“Is this image to scale? It looks big enough to—”
“Yes. We’ll have to shoot our way into the tunnel, but it’s big enough to fly through. We’ll need vacuum suits.”
“Go, then. Everyone get suited up. Case and I will follow as soon as we can.” I take a steadying breath as Rion and Asra retreat to the cargo bay, hear them meet up with Zee over the turret intercom. I’m doing my best to not obsess over the two and a half minutes it took us to come up with our plan. We can still make it. “Case, transfer control of the guns to my console.”
“All yours,” she says with a few confident keystrokes. Another button illuminates on the control stick, and I press it, switching from missile to guns. “Any point in trying to be sneaky about this?” she asks.
I shrug, angling us toward the waypoint Case provides me. “Probably not, but power down everything you can, then go suit up.”
A series of clicks, and Case slides out of her restraints as I start our final approach to the old station. She squeezes my shoulder, leans down to press a friendly peck to the side of my head, and is gone a second later.
The old station looms in the front viewport, a gargantuan tangle of buildings shrouded in darkness. Completely abandoned, from the looks of it. If Earth First ever used this place in the past, they obviously aren’t using it now. The connecting tunnels are barely visible in the darkness, made of clear reinforced polycarbonate that disappears in the shadows. Hopefully they aren’t bulletproof. I’m too worried about being spotted to turn on the external flood lamps, so a bit of reflected light from Earth is all I have to target by.
My finger tightens on the trigger as soon as I’m in range, raining bullets down on the lunar surface. A few go wide, kicking up clouds of white-gray moon soil that never settle back to the surface, but I adjust the approach until the bullets find their target. They slam into the curved top of the tunnel, and my throat tightens. Pockmarks appear in the surface, but the shots don’t punch through. I throttle back, giving more time for more bullets, but it’s starting to look hopeless, pointless, still no real damage—until a single crack finally appears, creeping along the length of the tunnel, then more, and more, until the whole top collapses in a shattering, glittering heap, leaving the tunnel wide open for me to thread the needle.
I hold my breath, too afraid to even blink as I kick in the mag coils and throttle back as far as I can, slipping the ship through the hole in the roof of the tunnel. I have to fly on instruments alone, which I always find completely nerve-racking. It’s too dark to have a good visual sense of distance. I have no idea where the edges of the hole I made are, but I haven’t heard any horrific screeches yet, so I take it as a good sign. My eyes are drying out from the lack of blinking, but I’ll kill us all if I look away. The internal comm clicks.
“Nax,” Case begins, “do you think—?”
“Not now,” I snap, regretting the sharpness of my tone, but I don’t have the extra brainpower to formulate an apology right now. I force the tension out of my shoulders and watch the altimeter carefully, making twitchy little micro-adjustments as needed to keep the ship from touching the ragged edges of the tunnel. Then we’re through, the Kick’s mag coils catching the iron rails lining the bottom of the tunnel, and I throttle up as much as I dare in the darkness. One minute to the station at this speed.
“I wish I could turn on the lights, damn it,” I mutter to myself, then raise my voice so Asra can hear me over the comms. “Any chatter from the station yet?”
“Nothing that concerns us,” Asra replies, her voice calm and even. Good. I’m hoping they won’t notice us until it’s too late. How many minutes have passed? We’re so close. Thirty seconds.
“Y’all might feel some vibrations back there,” I say, thumbing the weapons back over to missiles. “I’m making us a door.”
The tunnel curves slightly, and there’s Ellis Station, straight ahead in the distance. I tweak our alignment, then, at twenty seconds out, pull the trigger again. Our only missile fires from underneath the Kick’s nose, rocketing forward and slamming into the vast cargo doors that connect the station to the tunnels. The doors evaporate, along with the next several rooms beyond, and there must be just enough stray atmosphere from the station to carry the sound, because a deafening boom reverberates through the ship, echoed by shouts of alarm from the others.
Holy shit. Case was right. Big missile.
I bring the ship to a smooth stop right outside the destruction and tear off my restraints, flipping switches as I go. Out the door, down the central hallway, and into the cargo bay, where the others wait, mostly suited up and ready to go. Zee dabs at the gash on Asra’s forehead with careful precision, tapping down the edges of a small butterfly bandage, then steps back to let Asra wipe at her fresh tears and put on her helmet. Rion holds my suit out for me, helps me step into it and zips the front from navel to neck, then fits the slim helmet over my head and fastens it to the suit. Case shoves my tab in a pocket, already synced to the helmet comm, and presses a chem gun into my gloved hand with a grim smile. Asra sets the ship to lock after us, and it’s time.
“Ready?” I ask, raising my gun in salute.
Four affirmative responses. Everyone fidgets in their own way, betraying their nerves at going back to the place that rejected us. We have to do this, though. We have to.
I lead the group down the ramp and into the demolished cargo area, my steps clunky in the magnetized boots that keep us from floating off in the low lunar gravity. The edges of the metal still glow red in some spots, and I can feel the heat radiating even through the thick vacuum suit. The landscape around us is cold and desolate by comparison, all gray rocky sand. I gently kick a tiny rock and watch its lazy trajectory as it goes tumbling through space. Weird.
“Is it strange,” Zee asks, “that we’ve been to three different planets in the past week, but our own moon is the one that feels the most alien?”
“I was just thinking the same,” Rion says, his voice tinny through the helm speakers. I have to agree. The trees and sunlight might be different colors on the other worlds, but at least they had . . . something. This barren landscape feels forbidding. Even with our mag boots gripping the ground and the wrecked structure all around it, it still feels like I could go flying off into space at any second, like I’m closer to the void. A shiver runs up my spine, but I force my mind to the task at hand. We’re about to come upon an interior door that wasn’t blown away by the missile. This is where it begins for real.
“Okay, listen up,” I say. “They’re probably sending people to investigate the explosion, so we should expect shooting almost immediately. Rion and I will take point. Case can navigate for us. Asra, stick with her in case there’s security in our way. Zee, watch our six, and shoot or kick anything that moves.”
I blow out a breath and will my heart to stop jackhammering. “Any questions? Comments? Last-minute genius ideas? Prayers, hymns, interpretive dances?”
Asra shrugs and gives me a watery smile. “Lā hawla wa lā quwwata illā billāh.”
My ammi used to say that every time she left the house for a patrol shift. “There is no power or strength save in Allah.” A bit of protection. A little slice of home. I return Asra’s smile and nod an acknowledgment. We’ll have to go back to check on her sister as soon as this is over. It must be eating her alive inside.
I check the chamber on my chem gun and flick off the safety, then deactivate the mag grip in my boots. Case bumps her shoulder against mine as we approach the door, singing a few bars of a peaceful little tune under her breath. Something about a blue boat. I raise an eyebrow at her, and she grins.
“It’s my favorite hymn. Bit hard to believe in the ‘inherent worth and dignity of all people’ when some of those people insist on committing genocide. I thought it might inspire me.” She shrugs and goes back to her song, the whispered notes echoing off the inside of her helmet as she taps at her tablet while we walk. When we’re a few steps away, she spins around and projects the publicly available map of the station into the air between us.
“I’ve got a trace on a large energy signature that looks to be right about here.” She points, and a blip appears on the map. “It’s one of the server rooms, so that would make sense. Beyond this door are maintenance hallways I don’t have a map for, though, so I’ll guide us as best I can.”
I take a deep breath. “Okay. Once we find and disable the transmitter, we should find a computer terminal where Asra can pull up information about where the devices have been sent. We send it and all the other data we’ve pulled to the GCC, post it publicly on the web, send it to news outlets, transmit it as far and wide as we can on Earth, and repeatedly. Just in case the devices can somehow still be activated in person.”
Case nods. “And . . .” She pauses, swallows. “Maybe we can sign our names to the communications. Make sure it’s known that we’re the ones who did it. Maybe they’ll drop the charges against us if we do.”
Rion snorts. “Assuming we live long enough to get arrested in the first place. Let’s face it—our plan is to walk in and start shooting. No problem, yeah? Back in time for tea.”
And just like that, the tension breaks and we all collapse into nervous giggles. This is truly, completely cracked. Ah well.
Zee claps a hand on my shoulder. “Seriously, hotshot,” she says, her grin fading, “It’s been a strange couple of days, but you got us here. Thanks for leading us, Captain.”
“Yeah,” Case agrees. “Thanks, Cap’n.”
Asra gives me a loose salute with her trademark sly smile, and Rion yanks me into a one-armed, space-suited hug. I’m horrified to feel wetness pricking in the corners of my eyes, and I pull Rion closer for a minute to give myself a chance to blink it away. The tightness in my throat eases, and I manage to grind out a quick “Thanks.”
We’ve come a long way. I’m really gonna miss these faces when this is all over. Watching everyone go their separate ways is going to eat me alive—assuming I am alive after this.
Part of me is weirded out by how quickly this kind of super-dangerous, hastily constructed plan has become business as usual. Part of me is ready to vomit my guts out. But the part that surprises me, that’s growing fast now that we’re here, is what I could almost call . . . brave. Determined.
No, scratch that. Fucking pissed. These are the murdering assholes who killed off an entire station of people. Who ruined Case’s, Rion’s, and Zee’s plans to serve on the colonies. Who executed half a planet of innocent people, maybe Asra’s sister, and they’ll do the same to my brother, all because they disagree with settling the stars. Disgusting. Now I wish that missile had been bigger.
Time to move. I take a slow, deep breath, then nod.
“All right, rejects. Let’s blow this thing and go home.”
Twenty-One
ON THE OTHER SIDE OF the door, our touchy-feely share-time feelings fade away behind masks of forced calm. Despite the brave face I put on for the others, the paranoia is running deep. I’m afraid to breathe too loudly, lest the station’s inhabitants discover that the rats in the walls are actually vigilantes with a collective death wish. Alarms blare through the hallways: decompression warnings, intruder alerts . . . and a request for all available reinforcements to report to deck AA23.
“Case? Are we—?”
She nods. “AA23. Time to go.”
The air quality analysis readout in my helmet is green, so I retract the face shield and take a deep breath in. The smell of the Academy’s recycled air gives me an immediate rush of sense memory: I’m back at my interview, standing flat backed before the panel of officers, my dress slacks stiff against my legs. Sweating bullets and so full of naive hope. Feels like years ago.
Case guides us quickly and quietly through the dimly lit corridors, Rion and I on either side of her with guns at the ready. Case, Zee, and I each brought some of the chem grenades we stole from Jace’s warehouse, not willing to risk the traditional kind with the vacuum of space pressing in, but “all available reinforcements” makes me feel like a few little grenades won’t be enough.
The lights overhead flicker, then dim by half, throwing the hallway into dancing shadows. I hold my breath as a live announcement interrupts the blaring alarms: “Power has been temporarily rerouted for charging. Three minutes to transmission.”
Oh god, it’s happening.
Bang! Something whizzes past my ear, and I hit the ground on pure instinct, scrambling to face our attackers.
“They’re here!” a man shouts over his shoulder, around a corner. Footsteps echo up the corridor; more coming, and the man has taken cover, is lifting his gun, aiming at Zee, can’t let it happen—
I pull the pin from my chem grenade and chuck it down the hallway, bouncing it off the wall behind the man and down the side hallway. A shout, then it explodes with a bang and a wet splatter of sleep chem. A bit of the green liquid sprays into the main hallway, and the man who shot at us slumps over. No more footsteps come from that direction.
I want to relieve the man of his gun, but there’s no time. Less than three minutes. Gotta find that transmitter. Case has already set off down the hallway again, running full tilt this time, her tablet stashed away, a grenade in one hand and a chem gun in the other. She must know exactly where we’re going now. Around the first corner, all clear. Next corner, g
renade, turn. Around the next corner, clear. Around—shit!
I slam into the chest of a man at least six inches taller and broader than me and see Rion do the same out of the corner of my eye. The man’s enormous tree-trunk arms pin my elbows to my sides so I can’t aim my gun, can’t hit him, can’t do fucking anything—except go dead weight and slip straight down through the circle of his embrace.
My ass hits the floor, and I swing my gun up, squeezing the trigger, releasing a steady stream of chem pods. Most soak harmlessly into the man’s clothing, but all it takes is one. A single pod splatters against his forearm as he aims his own gun at my forehead. His finger tightens on the trigger, his mouth hard with determination—then his eyes slide shut, and he staggers forward. I roll out of the way just in time as he comes crashing down gun first, his head hitting the deck with a loud crack.
Adrenaline blasts through my system; my hands shake as Rion helps me to my feet, and my fingers refuse my brain’s command to let go once I’m up. He clutches my hand right back as we step over the bodies of the two men, following Case’s lead down another branching hallway.
“Ninety seconds to transmission. Prepare for a power surge.”
Rion’s eyes meet mine, wide and fearful. This is it. This is—
Case skids to a stop in front of an unmarked door. A keypad next to it glows red. Asra curses under her breath and presses her tablet to the wireless maintenance interface, swiping and tapping with incredible speed.
“The door will open the second this works,” she breathes, her words nearly silent. “Be ready.”
I motion for Rion and Case to stand to one side of the door, while Zee and I crouch on the other side. I slip a new canister into my gun, and Zee hefts our last remaining grenade. My heart flutters in my chest, fast as a rabbit’s panicked heartbeat, and my head spins with the dizzying cocktail of urgency, frustration, sheer terror. The others look just as bad off: shallow breaths, flushed faces, nervous twitches.
The Disasters Page 23