by Caryn Lix
“Copy that, Commander,” said Dad grimly. “We’re on our way.”
Mom stared at the screen a moment longer, then shook her head. “Damn it,” she said. “All right. They need backup. I’m going in, and Noah’s coming with me. Kenzie, you’re in charge here.”
“What?” My head jerked straight up. “Mom, I—”
“It’s ‘Commander,’ Kenzie. And there’s nobody else. Jonathan has to man the airlocks, and Colton and Rita are in combat. You know the stakes. We can’t risk those prisoners escaping.” She spared me a rare smile, allowing my mother to crack through the commander’s facade. “There’s not much to do up here except keep an eye on the monitors. If anything happens, call me.”
I drew a deep breath. If there really was a prison break, Dad needed her. And . . . well, just maybe this fiasco would be the glue that bound them back together. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll try to find the prisoners on the video feed.”
“I know you will.” For a second she looked like she might hug me, but she settled for a smile, a touch of pride in her expression. My own heart swelled in response. I loved my work, loved being a citizen of Omnistellar Concepts—but I loved it even more when I got that uncharacteristic look of approval from my mother.
The door slid shut behind Mom and Noah, enclosing me in the small control chamber by myself, and my pride faded beneath near panic. Red lights continued in periodic bursts through the room. The window behind me showed an endless sea of stars, Earth barely visible in the lower corner. It occurred to me how easily someone could destroy that window, even with its thick glass—at which point I’d be blown into nothingness.
I wasn’t used to being in the command center on my own. Mom never left me alone here, and as an underage guard, I didn’t have to take night shifts. Not that “night” had much meaning in space, but we kept to an Earth schedule, and I had strict limits on how many shifts I worked and what I was allowed to do.
To be clear, my job description did not include taking command of the entire station during a prison break. That Mom had abandoned me showed her desperation. A coil of hope unwound inside me. What was she afraid of ? The possibility of a real prison break—or the possibility of Dad in danger?
I couldn’t quite get my head around what was happening. My parents had worked together their entire adult lives. Not even Mom’s promotion two years ago that had elevated her to a superior position seemed to bother them, but Dad was never superambitious. He liked his job and it never bothered him to take orders. That worked well because Mom liked to give them. Sure, they’d argued more lately, but I’d assumed . . . what?
Another time, I reminded myself. Mom always said work and the company came first. She’d put a ton of trust in me, and I had to make sure I earned it.
I returned to the task of unraveling the video feed. The cameras would pick up any escaped prisoners somewhere. Impossible not to. Every inch of Sanctuary was under constant surveillance. That meant I had a lot of feeds to browse, but I only focused on cameras in sector 5. I wasn’t sure how these two prisoners had managed to escape their cell, much less program a loop into our video feed, but I knew for damn sure they couldn’t escape their sector. It was literally impossible. Any attempt would send the station into shutdown, to the point of venting oxygen and killing everyone on board—guards included. It wasn’t my favorite thing about Sanctuary, but like everyone else, I accepted the necessity. We simply couldn’t risk the prisoners escaping. Their containment came before everything else—even our own lives.
What I was really looking for was another glitch. If they’d somehow managed to get into a server room and loop the video in their own cell, maybe they’d managed it in another area. And if they had, I’d know where they were, or at least where they planned to be.
My comm unit sputtered, making me jump, but it was just Rita. “Are you in position, Commander?”
“Affirmative,” Mom’s voice said over the comm. “Nothing on our end.”
“Ours either. Let’s get moving. We’ll meet you in the middle.”
“Copy that. Radio silence until then.”
I drew another shaky breath. “Get it together, Kenz,” I muttered out loud. “You did not ace every single one of your training camps by panicking in a crisis.” The reminder of my past successes steadied me, and I set myself to rooting through video, letting anything not from sector 5 drift aside. I found my parents and tucked their feeds at the top of my screen to keep an eye on them. At least this way, if someone got the jump on them I could shout a warning.
As I sifted through vids, my nerves quickly turned to frustration. Not one flicker, not one bit of movement, that didn’t originate from my own people. Was it possible the feed hadn’t looped after all? Had I sent Mom on a wild goose chase?
And then, movement did catch my eye. But it wasn’t from sector 5.
It was directly outside the command center.
TWO
FOR WHAT FELT LIKE A full minute, I didn’t breathe. I enlarged the video feed and squinted, and . . . there it was again. A glimmer of something at the very edge of the camera’s view, barely noticeable to anyone less careful than me.
Right outside the door.
My throat clenched. I searched my memory for the prisoners’ power lists. Invisibility? I was almost sure there was a prisoner who could turn invisible. That meant shadows might be my only clue before they found a way in. Or . . . maybe not? Did invisible people cast shadows? Who studied that sort of thing? But I definitely saw something flickering out there. . . .
My heart caught in my throat for another second before I pulled myself together. There were protocols to follow here, damn it, and I wasn’t going to be the one who let things fall apart on her watch. Besides, the door to the command center was reinforced and magnetically locked. Unless I opened it from the inside, no one was getting in without the proper codes, powers or not. And the prisoners couldn’t access their powers, not without performing some pretty major self-surgery.
Of course, they should also have been vaporized the second they managed to escape the prison, but there were only so many things I could worry about at once.
Keeping a watchful eye on the camera feed from outside the command center and another on the feed showing my parents, I activated my comm link.
Nothing.
I blinked. Comms couldn’t be down. I saw Mom talking right now, and Dad nodding in acknowledgment. They were clearly having a conversation. So only command comms short-circuited? How in the name of all that was holy was this even possible?
And that was when it came to me. This whole mess—it really was a drill. Was it a bit intricate, even for Sanctuary’s advanced AI? Definitely, but we had been warned when we first came aboard that in addition to the regular drills the computer conducted, several times a year we’d experience a more detailed simulation designed to test our mettle.
Still, that didn’t change a thing. First of all, on the off chance I was wrong, I couldn’t afford to throw open the door and announce, “Hey, prisoners, come on in!” Second, assuming it was a drill, the computer recorded every movement we made, every decision, every action, for later analysis. It was almost as important to follow regulations now as in a real emergency. Every panicked decision, every breach of the rules, reflected negatively on Mom, and of course on me.
And every positive action was another feather in my cap, another reason for the other guards to good-naturedly roll their eyes behind my back, another step toward my own eventual command. And if I was really lucky, I might even earn a word of praise from my parents.
No pressure or anything. But still, my growing certainty dulled the panic gnawing at my gut. I stared at the monitor until my hand steadied, gave my head a shake, and started pulling up the visual code for the comm system, ignoring the flickers of movement on the hallway feed. As I’d suspected, they increased in frequency the longer I ignored them—Sanctuary’s AI, probably, trying to get my attention.
I hesitated for a moment,
watching those shadows. This really did seem complicated for a drill. What if I turned my back on them and they turned out to be real? What if they caused damage to the station while I analyzed the code?
I shook off the thought. Real or not, there was only one way to stop them. I pulled up the visual code, trying to keep a wary eye on the shadow screen at the same time. The communications were a lot more complicated than the turrets, full of ifs and thens and ors, but after a few minutes I located the problem. Once again, someone had inserted a faulty loop into the code, blocking my communication with Mom. I copied it before I deleted it; if deleting it didn’t solve the problem, I’d paste it back in before anyone noticed. That was the awesome thing about visual coding. You could always save an earlier document, remix to your heart’s content, and reload the old version.
Anyway, it turned out I didn’t need to mess with reloading, because as soon as I deleted the faulty loop, Mom’s voice blasted out of my wrist. “—ing systems. Kenzie, if you don’t come in right now, I swear . . .”
“I’m here!” I shouted, wincing at the volume. I grinned in spite of myself at my success. For a moment I considered voicing my concerns about this being a sim, but what was the point? Mom would only scold me for letting that interfere with my doing my job. Bringing my volume under control, I continued, “Sorry, I lost comms for a bit. Someone piggybacked code into the system and locked me out.”
“How the hell did they do that?” Rita demanded, her face twisted into a scowl.
Mom glowered, presumably aware of Sanctuary recording every word for later analysis. Before she answered, though, Noah spoke: “Kenzie, why’d they cut you off ? Everything okay up there?”
“I don’t think so,” I replied. “I’ve got movement on the video feed from outside the command center.” Now that I was in communication with the others, I tapped the screen, bringing the outside corridor into sharper relief. “Just shadows so far, but definitely not natural. Someone’s there.”
“Damn it!” Dad swore. “Kenzie, do not open those doors.”
I scowled, catching the slight twitch of Noah’s lips. What was I, a child? “Yeah, I know. Doors are locked and will stay that way until we’re clear.”
On one of my minimized screens, my parents met. They held a brief, hurried consultation off-comm. I hesitated, torn between watching them for any sign of rekindled romance and carrying out my duties in the command center, but my parents were professional as always—Mom could have been talking to Jonathan for all the emotion she showed. Rita positioned herself at the corridor entrance, firearm at the ready. Noah glanced at the camera and winked. An unbidden smile danced across my lips.
“Okay,” Mom said. “We look clear down here, so I’m thinking this was a distraction. I’ll leave Colton and Noah on guard. Rita and I will check in with Jonathan and make our way to you, Kenz. Hang tight.”
Everyone had calmed down in the last few minutes, and I got the sense their thoughts mirrored mine. Sanctuary had messed up in making this sim too unbelievable. Yeah, we’d been shocked when prisoners had escaped their cells, somehow gained server room access, and created a looped video. It was unusual, but not completely unfathomable. But throw in an escape from their actual sector—like I said, Sanctuary knew to blow the airlocks if that happened. And while the server rooms provided access to some of Sanctuary’s more basic systems, there was no way to disable a major security backup from anywhere but the command center.
Of course, that sheer unbelievability was enough to give me pause. Why would Sanctuary make a drill this unrealistic? I shook my head. The shadows hadn’t done anything. The code was fixed. It was a drill, and even if it wasn’t, we were going to get to the bottom of it in a heartbeat.
Sure enough, the next few minutes played out quickly. Now convinced the server room was clear, Dad and Noah advanced to the prison, where they confirmed that all prisoners—including Danshov and Hu—remained in their cells. A minute later, Mom and Rita burst into the command center corridor, weapons at the ready and shouting for surrender, and in response, the alarms turned themselves off. The lights returned to normal, and the AI’s pleasant voice flooded the PA system. “This has been a test of the emergency preparedness system of Sanctuary’s team. There is no emergency. Please resume your scheduled activities. Debriefing will occur at zero nine hundred hours tomorrow morning. Thank you for your cooperation.”
I groaned. 0900? A glance at my wrist comm told me it was already after three. We’d been dealing with this so-called emergency for two hours now, and adrenaline was coursing through my system. I wouldn’t fall asleep any time soon.
Mom’s face was a tight mask of fury when she came through the door, but she was too professional to complain. Rita, on the other hand, let loose a slew of enraged comments the second she saw me. “Can you believe this?” she fumed, dropping onto a stool. “Not only does the system drill in the middle of the night, it picks the most impossible scenario it can come up with, one that has us running our butts off all over the station. Of all the ridiculous—”
“Rita,” interjected Mom sharply. “If one of those kids ever does escape, we have to be ready to do whatever it takes to stop them. Just one of them could destroy the world as we know it. I think a few hours of lost sleep is a small price to pay to make sure we’re ready, don’t you?”
Rita inclined her head, taking the rebuke good-naturedly. But I hesitated. Every other drill we’d experienced had been simple—an alarm, a loose wire, a broken camera. They took fifteen minutes to resolve and didn’t involve the possibility of escaped murderers. Yes, Sanctuary was supposed to run more involved drills from time to time, and I’d been prepared for that possibility. But I kept coming back to the same question: Why make this one so unbelievable, so over the top? “Mom,” I said cautiously, “this does seem like an excessive drill. Are we absolutely sure—?”
She held up a hand, cutting me off. Anger rose in my chest, but quickly vanished when I saw the exhaustion on her face. I’d forgotten Mom had been on duty before all of this happened, and had probably only stumbled into bed a few minutes before the alarm. And then, of course, there was everything with Dad. Mom was good at hiding her emotions, but the stress of separation had to take a toll. “We’ll review everything in the morning,” she said. “In the meantime, I want you all to grab a few hours of sleep.”
“I’m on duty,” Noah pointed out.
Mom nodded. “I’ll take your shift. You can stay if you want to,” she added, forestalling his objection, “but I’m going to be up analyzing the data and preparing my report. No point in both of us losing sleep.”
Noah glanced over at his screen. “Then I’ll take the command center shift you’re scheduled for tomorrow. No, don’t argue, Commander,” he said with a grin, stopping her before she could interrupt. “You can’t stay on duty twenty-four hours a day. We need you fresh and alert.”
For a moment Mom teetered on the edge of a rebuke, but her face collapsed into a smile. “You’re right. Thank you. I’ll gratefully accept your offer.” Her face recomposed itself into more familiar, stricter lines. “Now, to bed—all of you.” She raised an eyebrow in my direction. “Especially you.”
Ignoring protocol, I crossed the room and hugged her fiercely. She hesitated a second, then sighed and returned my embrace. “You did a great job,” she whispered against my hair. “I know it’s been a tough night. I’m proud of you.”
I ducked my head to hide my blush, conscious of Rita and Noah watching me in the background. “Mom,” I couldn’t resist saying, “we are sure this was a drill?”
She pulled back, frowning, and examined my face. “You heard Sanctuary.”
“I know. I just . . .”
She hugged me again. “Don’t let it get to you. Sanctuary’s foolproof. Put your faith in Omnistellar, Kenz. Now get some sleep. Everything will seem clearer in the morning.”
When I broke away, Noah’s and Rita’s smiles were faintly condescending, but not unkind. I resisted the urge
to make an obscene gesture in their direction and turned to where Dad beamed at me. “Come on, kiddo. Let me take you home.”
I faltered, the events of the night playing through my mind. “I’m kind of amped up, Dad. I’m going to go for a quick walk, burn off some energy. I’ll be home in twenty minutes. Promise.”
“Promise accepted,” he replied. My parents are used to me wandering. I mean, it’s a space station. Sure, it’s full of murderous teenage criminals, but they’re all on the lower levels. It’s not like I can get lost or anything’s going to happen to me. Back on Earth, on the other hand, I had a curfew of nine p.m. on school nights, ten on weekends. It was ridiculous, and I complained bitterly about it at school—but most of my real friends were other company kids, and they got it. Half of them had similar restrictions.
The thought of my friends made me wince. I’d more or less ignored them since moving to Sanctuary. But it was difficult to keep in touch, between our morning briefings, my assigned studies, and my three-hour shift before dinner. And I’d never been the most social person. I kept to myself a lot, learning about Omnistellar’s guidelines and regulations.
Put your faith in Omnistellar, my mom had said. It had been a refrain in my house from the moment I was born. Where other families had prayers or rituals, mine had unwavering loyalty to corporate guidelines. My parents were shining examples of corporate citizens: calm, controlled, competent, responsible. I couldn’t let them down by running around like some government kid. Corporate citizenship beat government citizenship hands down, and Omnistellar citizenship beat all the other corporations combined. Omnistellar’s people wanted for nothing. A government citizen might starve in the streets, and a lesser corporation might let their workers get by on the bare necessities. I’d always had the best of everything, and my mother made sure I didn’t take it for granted.