by Zen DiPietro
But Brak didn’t pry either. And Fallon had an idea to tuck away for later use.
Fallon was doing her daily rounds on the boardwalk when all hell broke loose. When an emergency alert came through on her comport, she turned and ran. Fortunately, the brig was part of the Deck One security office, so she didn’t have far to go. She flew through the door and bolted past the security checkpoints, which all hung open and unstaffed.
She came to a skidding stop in front of the highest-security brig cell. The one she’d assigned to Colb. It stood empty, other than three of her security lieutenants staring upward in shock, where a neat hole had been surgically cut out of the ceiling.
“Report!” she ordered.
Lieutenant Mat Jenson pulled himself together. “We had him on continuous video monitoring and ten-minute physical checks, as ordered. Between one check and the next he disappeared.”
“Halt all departures and arrivals. Lock down all decks. No one without alpha-one clearance leaves their deck. Advise all personnel to remain where they are.”
Arin burst in. “Brief the legate,” she continued. “Arin, report to the captain when you’re up to speed. I’ll keep you posted.”
She ran for the lift. On the way, she used her comport to reach her team and bark out terse orders.
By the time she arrived at her office, her team was already inside. Peregrine sat, straight-backed, on the couch while Ross and Hawk paced. Any other time, she’d have complained about Raptor breaking through her security, but in this case she was glad he was already working on the problem.
“What do you see?”
“I’m isolating the Deck One office and brig’s electrical systems and all components leading to that area,” Raptor reported, his words clipped.
She wished she had a second hardlined voicecom display so she could work too. This was her station, and she didn’t want to stand around. But Raptor was the best, and she had to leave it to him.
“There,” Raptor muttered.
She waited for him to say more, but he only feverishly entered commands. Each time he swore, her anxiety rose.
Finally his fingers stopped their frantic activity and he pressed a hand to his temple, staring at the screen.
“What?” she demanded, moving to stand behind him.
“Two hours ago, someone wired the feed of a different cell to the circuit that was being monitored for Colb, which kept it from alerting anyone. Then they programmed a recurring loop of video, showing him sleeping. Someone cut through the bulkhead above his cell, bored a hole into the force field, and pulled him out.”
Precious few people would have the tools and the skills to do such a thing.
The room went still. Quietly, Fallon asked, “How many ships have departed in the past fifteen minutes?”
Raptor’s voice was equally quiet. “Two.”
“Was either of them fast enough that we won’t be able to find it?”
“One of them was.”
“Then that was his ship.” Her words fell like rocks.
They all stood frozen. Even Hawk was stunned silent. It was impossible. They’d put every security precaution into place.
Finally, Peregrine spoke the words they were all thinking. There was no other conclusion, since Fallon and Raptor had locked Dragonfire down so tightly that even the Ghost himself couldn’t sneak in. They’d also been vigilant about investigating every person they allowed on the station.
“We lost him. And it was an inside job.”
They searched every floor, scanned every conduit. Then they crawled through the triple-reinforced conduit above the brig’s holding cell. Fallon peered through the hole, down to the empty cell below. The tools it would have taken to do that and to create an opening in the force field could be nothing but Blackout issue.
Which begged the question: Who was helping Colb? Maybe someone backed by a rival government? Was the traitor a member of the other half of Blackout? A double agent? Fallon had no answers. Everyone on Dragonfire had been accounted for. As far as they could tell, no one had left with Colb. Which meant Colb’s ally was still on the station.
Once they’d done everything they could, her team, along with the captain, gathered in her office and sat in silence. Fallon knew exactly why no one spoke. Once they did, they’d have to start pointing fingers.
This job had required access, skills, and Blackout tech. That meant the only people on the station who could have pulled off this jailbreak were the five members of Blackout.
After an exhausting conversation, Fallon dismissed everyone, including Hesta, from her office. They’d somehow managed to avoid speaking of the thing they all knew but didn’t want to discuss. They’d focused instead on managing this situation for the citizens of Dragonfire.
Fallon had appearances to keep up and upset people to soothe. As the chief of security, most of this job landed squarely on her shoulders.
She made a station-wide announcement about a fictitious training drill and praised the security team as well as the residents of the station. She extolled the virtues of such a well-protected station and assured them of her continued confidence in its safety.
Her security staff knew it was bullshit. They’d done plenty of drills in the past but never anything like this. And though she’d ordered the staff aware of Colb’s escape to say nothing to anyone, she knew they had many, many questions. But they followed her orders, and several of her more senior officers made themselves conspicuous in public, smiling and making people feel safe.
She would have done the same, but it would have been too much. Too obvious. So she remained in her office until the end of her shift, which was what she’d do on a normal day. But inside, she seethed.
Logic and her training both demanded that she consider Hawk, Peregrine, and Raptor as suspects. But to do so would break something in her she’d never get back. She couldn’t doubt them any more than she could doubt her own innocence.
Outside of her team, who could she trust? Brak? If Brak wanted Fallon dead, she would have died during her brain surgery, and no one would have been suspicious. So Brak was unlikely to be an adversary. Still, Brak had been in contact with Krazinski early on, and those interactions had been part of what had made her believe Krazinski was the one behind it all. And she had the skill to manufacture the things that had been in development at that secret lab.
Nevitt’s treatment of Fallon had changed drastically several months ago. Cold resentment had turned into eager participation in a rebellion. What if Nevitt hadn’t been helping her, but setting her up by letting her think she’d created a safe hideout?
What about Ross? He’d been in on Avian Unit’s inner workings. Had he taken incredible risks to gain their trust?
Fallon didn’t want to pace her quarters, so she walked the station instead. She took a slow, ponderous tour of each deck while she played devil’s advocate to every instinct she had. When she found herself passing Wren’s quarters, she paused. Maybe the one person she could trust was the one person she’d trusted before, when she’d had no memory.
All roads led to Wren.
So she rang the chime and before she could change her mind, Wren answered the door.
“This is a nice surprise. Come in.”
She followed Wren in. “You changed the color.” The walls were now a bright, sunny yellow.
“I needed something different. Something happy. You know?”
“Yeah.” She did.
“You okay?” Wren’s face was pinched with concern.
“Fine. Why?”
“I can tell when something’s bothering you.”
Fallon relaxed her face, her shoulders, and told the rest of her body to do the same. “I’m fine.”
Despite her wishes, her instinct told her not to tell Wren the truth. Fallon’s instinct had served her well, and though it was contrary to what she wanted, she wasn’t about to ignore her gut.
“Okay. Good.” Wren brightened. “I was going to watch a holo-vid. Want to jo
in me?”
“You didn’t have a date tonight?” Fallon forced humor into her eyes, though she didn’t feel the least bit lighthearted.
“Nah, I was tired. Wanted a night in. I was thinking I might put on some classic vid and fall asleep watching it.”
“I’m tired too, actually. A holo-vid would be great some other night.”
“Did the drill today create a lot of extra work?” Wren looked sympathetic.
“Yeah, it did.”
“How about a drink? I can tell you about the engine manifold I worked on today, then you can finish your drink and run away before I even get to the part about the switch gaskets.”
Fallon smiled. “That sounds about right, actually.”
So she sipped a Zerellian ale, listened to some technobabble, and let it distract her slightly. Afterward she gave Wren a light kiss and returned to her quarters.
Somehow she knew that Raptor wouldn’t visit her that night. She wouldn’t visit him, either. Each knew that the other should be considering them as a possible traitor. She already knew she couldn’t do that, but maybe he was a better BlackOp than she was. She’d give him room, just in case.
“In the end, a spy is always alone.” She turned off the lights and pulled the blanket up to her chin.
It was the last line in a book she’d enjoyed as a teen. For the first time, she truly understood it.
When Fallon woke up the next morning her situation was the same, and she felt no better about it. But she still had a job to do.
She went for her morning run with Brak. She reported to Nevitt. She worked through security diagnostics and protocols and continued her search for the meaning of “put your head to the ground.”
She’d exhausted all linguistic databases and come up with only two matches, but neither seemed applicable to her situation, even in the most abstract sense. So she continued to search for phrases that involved “head” or “ground.”
Stomping ground, covering ground, shaky ground, common ground. Head of state, head of security, department head, head of the line, head over heels, kick in the head.
He could have meant her head specifically. It had been through a significant experience. If Krazinski had been referencing her injury, though, what did he mean by putting her head to the ground?
She blew out a breath and went back to the beginning. To the message on the chip.
Krazinski wanted her to figure out what he’d said. He wanted her to join up with the rest of PAC command. Maybe he was genuine, and maybe it was a trap, but either way, this was a puzzle he intended for her to solve.
That meant she should already have everything she needed to figure it out.
Okay, her head. Putting it to the ground. What if he meant electrical grounding? As in, using what was in her head to complete a circuit, through which current could flow.
So what the hell would that mean? The original implant was gone, leaving behind only the damage it had caused. The new implant Brak had given her worked differently. Did Krazinski know that she no longer had the implant Blackout had given her? If he didn’t, his clue was useless.
She could talk to Brak and see if she had any ideas, since she had much more intimate knowledge of the technology. Fallon had no choice, really, if she wanted to pursue this angle. Brak had the data from the research station as well as her own expertise.
What other angles could Fallon work? She sent her chair into a spin and watched her office become a swirl of motion. She closed her eyes.
Without Krazinski, she was left with Colb. As her chair slowed to a stop, she reoriented herself toward the security vaults across the room. Priyanomine made the storage as tamper-proof and durable as possible. And within one compartment lay the splitter Ross had given her.
She could have used it. She could already know everything Colb knew.
If Blackout had ordered her to do that, before all this had happened, she would have. Now she had to weigh morality versus reality. Had she made a mistake in not using what was available to her?
But all this had started because someone had developed technology acknowledged by all PAC members to be wrong. One person’s decision could change the outcomes of billions of lives. Could reshape history.
Which left her with only one question: How could she shape it back the way it was supposed to be?
Hoping Brak could help her find some of the answers she needed, Fallon asked her to come up to her office. It was a long shot, but she couldn’t afford to overlook any possibilities.
“I’m sorry. There’s nothing left of the original implant, and no way to simulate its activity.” Brak lifted a shoulder in contrition, though she had nothing to be sorry for. “The implant I gave you is entirely different. If you’re supposed to somehow use the device you had, that’s just not possible.”
Fallon smelled the vinegar scent of Brak’s regret. If she’d had any lingering wisps of doubt about Brak’s loyalty, that would have ended them. Briveen couldn’t fake their emotive aromas. Some with great self-control could suppress them somewhat, but they couldn’t manufacture a scent they didn’t feel. Just as they were excellent lie detectors, they were terrible liars.
“I thought as much.” Fallon reclined into the sofa cushions. “I’ll have to hope that isn’t the key I need.”
“I could manufacture an implant like it, modeled on the research from the lab. Theoretically.”
Fallon didn’t have to think about it. “No. Bringing more stuff like that into existence is the opposite of what we’re trying to do. Besides, I could never ask that of you.”
“Good. I’m not sure I could have actually brought myself to do it.”
“I’m glad we won’t need to find out,” Fallon agreed. “Do you have any ideas what else ‘put your head to the ground’ could mean?”
“There’s an old saying on Briv.” Brak executed a series of words, growls, and tonal sounds that Fallon could never hope to reproduce. “Roughly translated, it means, ‘She who keeps her head near the ground, can best protect her eggs.’ It’s generally used to caution a young person to be patient.”
“Hm.” Fallon thought it over. “It’s possible that Krazinski was telling me to be patient and wait for my opportunity. Or that I need to stay in place and protect what’s in front of me.”
“Either would seem to make sense. But which would it be?”
“I don’t know. It could be neither. I’ll have to keep looking.” Fallon rubbed her fingers over the short side of her hair.
“I’ll help with whatever I can,” Brak said.
Fallon started to thank her, but her voicecom display made a sharp sound that she’d only ever heard during practice drills. But no drills were scheduled. She and Brak locked eyes, then rushed to the display on her desk.
Admiral Sokolov, Commanding General of the PAC, appeared on the screen. He looked like a kindly yet regal grandfather with his steely hair and gentle gaze.
“Citizens of the Planetary Alliance Cooperative, and friends. Today I must inform you that our government has been the recipient of a terrorist threat that we deemed highly credible. Do not be alarmed by this. We are strong, and always prepared to protect every station and every planet within our alliance.
“Once we verified the threat as credible, we immediately instituted the necessary protocols to ensure our collective safety. Jamestown has been vacated and temporarily disabled, so that no combatant may use it for their own purpose.” His kindly face showed no worry, and his voice was as warm and smooth as a hundred-year-old Sarkavian brandy.
“Do not be alarmed. This is a protocol that keeps PAC command and the entire cooperative safe and strong. Anyone who attempts to attack us, I can assure you, will not succeed. As always, if you have any personal concerns, please contact your local representative, who is already aware of the situation, and your concerns will be addressed.” He paused, smiled, and said, “We are already on the trail of these terrorists, and will bring them to justice. Even a mere threat to the PAC will not
go unanswered. Good day, my friends and family.”
The message ended. Brak clacked her teeth in agitation. “That guy’s so smooth, I could almost believe him.”
“Me too.” Fallon understood why command had been forced to issue a statement. Any day, someone might notice that something was wrong at Jamestown. She only hoped that Sokolov’s statement fended off panic.
“Do you think local representatives were already contacted?” Brak asked.
“No. Maybe leaders of PAC bases. Major installations. Everyone else will be expected to play along and say that yes, of course they’re well aware, and there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Funny government you have,” Brak said.
“Hey, your world is a PAC member too, even though you maintain your own planetary government. Most of the time, PAC procedure works. But in times of crisis, a few corners get cut here and there.”
Fallon watched as messages for her began to roll in. They started as a trickle, then became a stream. “I see my work is cut out for me for the rest of the day.”
Brak chuckled. “I’ll let you get started. I have my own work to do.”
“What are you working on now?”
“A pair of cybernetic legs. Farming accident.”
Fallon cringed. “You’re a good person, Brak.”
After Brak left, she indulged herself in a sigh of resignation before answering the first message.
Fallon made a station-wide announcement to reassure everyone, and thought she did a damn good job of it. She even tied in the “training drill” that had locked the station down, explaining it as an abundance of caution and preparedness. She continued responding to messages. Mostly, people just wanted to be reassured. Each time she talked to someone, she felt their tension ease.
Not that people weren’t still worried. They’d have to be idiots not to be concerned about their government disabling its own headquarters and moving to a secret location. But near-panic ebbed to reasonable levels of worry. No doubt the same scenario was playing out in thousands of locations across the PAC zone.