by Caryn Lix
But as Mom always reminded me, it wasn’t enough to inherit my citizenship—I had to earn it. Since Omnistellar Concepts only hired the best and brightest, that meant I had a lot of work to do. My position as a junior guard would help me in the future, but it offered no guarantees. Put your faith in Omnistellar, but work as hard as you can to deserve its trust.
So most of my life had been dedicated to the company—to work, to study, to training. Still, there were a few Omnistellar kids I’d always been close to. I used to have weekly chats with another junior guard I’d met at camp a few years back, and we hadn’t spoken in over a month. I made a mental note to contact her soon.
I wandered Sanctuary’s halls, grateful for the silence after the chaos of the last half hour. A thousand thoughts played through my mind, but I kept coming back to two: my parents splitting up and the drill. Did the drill weigh on their minds too? Had tonight’s events had any effect on Mom and Dad? For at least a moment, they’d believed themselves in danger. Maybe, just maybe, that was enough to rekindle some sort of spark?
Thinking of the drill brought a frown to my face. I still couldn’t quite convince myself that Sanctuary would come up with such a bizarre, outlandish series of events. I mean, I knew that the others had visually confirmed that all the prisoners were in place—I knew that. And there was no way to thwart Sanctuary’s AI.
But . . . what if the prisoners had somehow managed to infiltrate the computer? Part of me, maybe the part that couldn’t stop Mom and Dad from splitting up or doing whatever the hell else they wanted, itched to be sure. If the prisoners really did engineer an escape, wouldn’t this be the perfect time, with all of us exhausted and with our guard down in the wake of the drill?
If only there was some way I could get Sanctuary to discuss the drill . . . But the AI was cold and impersonal and not prone to conversation. I’d just have to take it on trust.
On faith.
But then, I’d taken my parents on faith too. I’d seen them as a unit. Maybe not a great one—they’d never been particularly loving or affectionate toward each other—but a unit just the same. A team. Now that team was crumbling. Mom always emphasized structure and routine, but when those things were ripped away, she hadn’t really given me the tools to deal with the fallout.
I covered every inch of the station: the empty common room (with Noah’s video game console dominating the area—I scooped the VR interface off Rita’s favorite couch before she could bury it in cushions again and Noah threw a fit), the storerooms with their perfectly lined crates of food and medical supplies, the exercise room. I hesitated there, tempted by the basketball court. Basketball was one of the few things I’d been involved in at my Earth high school, and the only thing I missed. But shooting hoops by yourself didn’t compare to a full-on game, and the solitary pursuit didn’t appeal to me now. Maybe Rita would spot me a game in the morning.
Sanctuary stretched around me like a comforting embrace: white, pristine, with steady LED lighting and rounded edges. I didn’t miss Earth, or at least not much. There were times when I’d kill for some real sunshine, not the UV rays we were required to sit in front of thirty minutes a day, and I wouldn’t mind a dish of actual ice cream. But the noisy bustle of a crowded high school, a busy city street, the constant buzz of traffic and pinging comm devices . . . Give me the gentle hum of an efficient space station any day. And you couldn’t beat the view, I reminded myself as I passed a porthole. I leaned against it, staring down at Earth, its lights twinkling so far away. So many lights. Earth was a busy place, with its efficient corporate cities and crime-infested government-controlled zones—unlike Sanctuary. In spite of tonight’s commotion, in spite of the prisoners beneath my feet, the station usually lived up to its name.
In some ways, the station was a mirror of Earth. The upper levels were corporate controlled, clean, organized, and safe. The lower levels, like the government-run areas on Earth, were the domain of the criminals. And I belonged firmly upstairs with the other guards and my parents. My parents . . . I sighed, staring at Sanctuary’s blank walls like they held some sort of answer. The more I thought about it, the more I realized my parents really had been more like an Omnistellar team than married partners. Their conversations revolved around work. When was the last time I’d seen them do something fun together, or discuss anything outside of Omnistellar? Somehow, the thought didn’t make me feel any better.
I drifted through corridors until my mind stopped racing and my heartbeat returned to normal, and I was about to turn toward home when I noticed my feet had carried me to the prison entrance.
I glanced at the heavy door, chewing on my bottom lip. Technically, I wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near here. I didn’t have the authorization, and I sure as hell didn’t have the permission of my commanding officer, aka Mom.
But nothing actually stopped me from going through those doors. As a junior guard, I had full access to the entire station—necessary, in case of a real emergency like the one we’d drilled for tonight. And I guess Sanctuary’s little stunt was preying on my mind, because I suddenly realized I wasn’t going to sleep unless I saw, with my own eyes, Danshov and Hu in their cells.
For the briefest of seconds I contemplated grabbing a stun gun, the image of the shadow on the video feed still fresh in my mind. I rejected that out of hand. The videos would catch me entering the prison, but no one really monitored them unless something went wrong. If I took a stun gun, though, Sanctuary would create an official armaments record, and I’d have to answer a lot of questions when Mom reviewed the logs.
But I didn’t need a gun. I trusted Sanctuary. The prisoners were secure. I just . . . needed to see.
I skimmed my thumb over the reader. The keypad turned green, giving me thirty seconds to enter my nine-digit code. I punched it in from memory, and the screen dissolved, showing me a picture of a door opening.
Because even though I’d passed the battery of intellectual, psychological, and physical tests necessary to gain an appointment on Sanctuary, I definitely needed a picture of the door opening to tell me what was about to happen.
The door slid aside in a fairly predictable turn of events, and I stood gazing down the stairs.
Aside from a brief tour the day we arrived on the station, I’d never actually been in the prison levels of Sanctuary. Most contact with prisoners was completely automated. The AI managed feeding and herded the prisoners to their jobs in the manufacturing and data entry rooms within prison boundaries. After, it guided them back to their cells. Sanctuary’s skeleton crew made sure nothing broke down and dealt with any recalcitrant prisoners—those who weren’t convinced by the turrets lining the walls and the AI’s dispassionate voice directing them. Mom came down once a week to do a visual once-over and check in with everyone, and in the case of a medical emergency, Jonathan stepped in. There was no reason for most of us to ever see a prisoner. There was no reason—and that was Mom’s voice in my head—for me, a junior guard, to ever see a prisoner.
But curiosity got the better of me. I’d started here because I needed to confirm the two prisoners were in their cell. Now I wondered: What exactly went on down there? I mean, I’d seen the video feeds, constantly monitoring the cells. The prisoners lived strictly regulated lives, shuffling between their work space, their gym-based physical activity sessions, and their cells.
But what was it like?
Now was the time to find out. Mom was distracted and not likely to notice what I was up to. I doubted she’d examine any log from after the drill. That was my mother to a T. Right now, she’d be poring over the drill report, analyzing it, trying to catch any potential mistakes before her superiors on Earth so that if they spotted a problem, she’d have a solution ready. I smiled at the thought. If I grew up half the Omnistellar citizen my parents were, I’d be plenty proud. And part of guarding meant taking risks—listening to your instincts and following your hunches, even if they seemed to go against the grain.
I took a breath and ent
ered the dark stairwell.
Darkness and sound. Sound and darkness.
Alert, but without focus. Direction, not goal.
Heat and motion and pain and anger and
HUNGER, always the hunger, always the drive.
They advance.
They pursue.
They adapt.
They control.
They are, as they are, as they have been.
And in the distance, sanctuary lies in wait.
THREE
ON A SCHEMATIC, SANCTUARY ALWAYS made me think of a microphone, a bubble with a cylinder stretching beneath. The prison sectors occupied the bottom five levels of Sanctuary, with the command hub on top. I was heading all the way down.
An air of gloom pervaded the stairwell. In stark contrast to the hall I’d just exited—brightly lit, friendly, with large windows and white walls—this was a narrow set of metal stairs wrapping in on itself into oblivion below. Each level illuminated only when my foot touched the floor, meaning I was constantly descending into pitch darkness. The landings all looked the same: identical doors with bright red numbers marking the sector. A scene from Robo Mecha Dream Girl 5 flashed through my head. The evil corporate headquarters Yumiko led her mechs through looked just like this. Evil corporations were a common theme in entertainment these days, and I had to admit that the idea of an all-powerful corporation like Omnistellar going rogue was pretty exciting, at least in fiction.
In reality, of course, the corporations did a way better job of managing things than any government ever had. The corporate-controlled cities were safe, civilized, and clean. It was the areas that remained under government control that were cesspools of crime and disarray. When the governments first started selling off entire cities to private corporations, there was an outcry—which lasted all of a month, at which point people in the corporate cities realized how much better off they’d become. Bankrupt governments couldn’t provide for their citizens. Corporations could. Still, the idea of the evil corporation kept recurring in fiction, maybe because government citizens always resented corporations for excluding them.
When I hit sector 5, I repeated the actions I’d performed above, scanning my thumb and entering my code. After a moment, the door slid open, and a wave of cold air washed over me. Apparently Sanctuary didn’t feel the need to keep the cellblocks at the balmy seventy-two degrees we enjoyed throughout the rest of the station.
I pulled my sweater tighter around me and stepped into the corridor. Dim lights lined the floors, reminding me of emergency lighting on the shuttle that had carried us to Sanctuary. All at once I was on that shuttle again—nervous, excited, twisting my neck to stare as Sanctuary revealed itself above me.
The sleeping prisoners melded with the shadows in their cells, leaving the faces featureless blurs. They were there, though, and lots of them—ten cells, eight holding two prisoners, the rest empty. The boys were in the first half, the girls farther on behind a divider.
It gave me pause. The prisoners weren’t used to seeing guards. A teenage girl strolling through their midst, especially one wearing a guard’s uniform like me, could cause chaos. But no one seemed awake. No one lifted their head at the sound of the door opening, and I didn’t hear whispers or shouts of alarm. So I braced myself and stepped forward.
Instantly, the door slid shut behind me, and my heart leaped into my throat. I looked over my shoulder, and the comforting glow of the screen pad reassured me. There’d be a few more hoops to jump through before I could open the door from this side, but I knew how, having seen Mom do it during the tour. Calm down, Kenz, I ordered myself silently. Even if every prisoner in this room woke at once, they were all controlled—locked behind bars and chipped so they couldn’t use their powers. As long as I stayed out of reach, the worst they could do was yell at me. I could handle yelling.
I made my way past three cells to where Danshov and Hu stretched out on their respective beds. Danshov had his back to me, his massive body curled in on itself to fit on the cot, and Hu’s arm was draped over his face. Their chests rose evenly, as if in sleep.
All at once my errand seemed ridiculous. There they were, right where they were supposed to be. What had I expected? I guess the combination of the late night, the sudden alarm, and Sanctuary’s strangely detailed drill had gotten to me. Shaking my head, I retreated toward the exit.
“Hello.”
I froze. The voice came from behind me—low and tinged with amusement, not at all the voice of a prisoner woken from a sound sleep. I pivoted to find Hu perched on the edge of his cot, watching me from the shadows. He was still naked from the waist up and was hunched forward with his elbows propped on his thighs. I couldn’t make out his expression in the darkness, only the sharp line of his jaw.
Hearing him speak was like hearing a sound in the darkness of an empty room. Somehow I hadn’t expected any of the prisoners to acknowledge my presence. “Hi,” I said cautiously. What did you say to a prisoner? After three months on Sanctuary, this was my first time actually speaking to one. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He shifted to his feet in a single fluid motion and crossed the cell. Without quite meaning to, I retreated another step, bringing my back against the wall. Hu draped his arms through the bars, grinning at me. “Oh, I wasn’t sleeping,” he replied. “None of us are.”
I blinked. At the same moment, the other prisoners sat up, then moved to the cell doors, staring at me like I was a creature in a zoo. Their gaze pinned me with an almost physical force. I drew a shaky breath. They were the ones in the cages. They could stare all they wanted. At the end of the night, I was the one walking out the door. “Well,” I said, “then I’m sorry I woke all of you.”
A few of the prisoners laughed, but they didn’t sound amused. One girl in particular laughed a little too long and loud, her voice echoing through the shadowed, empty corridors. I glanced nervously in the direction of her cell, but it was too dark to see any of the girls.
When I returned my attention to Hu, his roommate had joined him at the bars. I blinked, surprised someone so big moved so quietly. “Pretty,” Danshov acknowledged, looking me over.
From farther down came an annoyed Irish accent: “Who’s pretty?”
Danshov chuckled. “Easy, Mia mine. Just observing.”
An ominous thud reverberated through the cellblock, and Hu grinned at me. “Great. Piss her off, why don’t you? You sure know how to pick your enemies.”
My mom always said I didn’t think through the consequences of my actions—usually with a hint of teasing in her voice, but genuine concern underneath. I hated to admit it, but this time, she just might have a point. “All right, I have to go. Good night.”
“What’s your hurry?” Hu’s eyes glittered, and he suddenly became menacing without moving a muscle. “We haven’t seen a fresh face in . . . what is it now, Alexei? Two months?”
“ ’Bout that.”
“We get lonely,” called someone else, and the prisoners laughed.
I resisted the urge to retreat another step. Sixteen sets of eyes fixed on me with unwavering hatred. Maybe they couldn’t hurt me, but the force of their malice was like a wall pushing against me. Whatever lapse in judgment ( your own arrogance, Mom’s voice corrected) had driven me into this room, it was time to go. There was a reason they kept these prisoners isolated. Powers or no, bars or no, they were cruel, physically fit, and dangerous.
Without another word, I headed for the exit. I deliberately kept my pace steady, my eyes fixed on the dim red glow of the door in the distance. The prisoners hooted and shouted as I advanced, but I ignored them. My heart thrummed in my chest, my muscles taut and poised for violence. No matter how many times I chanted the refrain in my head—they can’t hurt you, they can’t hurt you—my body refused to listen. I was poised on the precipice of fight or flight, desperate to escape this cage and its cargo of malice.
I’d almost reached the exit when something hit the side of my head. I stagg
ered and leaned against the wall to steady myself. A half-eaten apple rolled away beneath my foot. Actually, I almost tripped on it. The blow hadn’t been that hard, but it had been completely unexpected—only shock kept me from crying out. They wouldn’t have heard me anyway, because the second the apple connected, the hyenas erupted into howls of laughter, jeers, threats, and taunts.
My control broke.
I bolted for freedom, their shouts echoing off the walls and chasing me onward. I stumbled over my own feet in my haste, smashing my wrist on the ground as I landed. I didn’t even stop. In a single motion I pushed myself to my feet and shot for the door.
My fingers trembled so badly it took two tries to scan my thumb and three to enter my code. Then I did a retinal scan and a voiceprint and entered my secondary code. The voiceprint took the longest, because with the prisoners shouting in the background, Sanctuary had trouble picking me out of the mix. At long last the door slid open, and I almost fell through it in relief.
“Hey!” shouted someone behind me.
Every other voice had gone silent.
I hesitated halfway through the door for a moment and then, against my better judgment, turned into the darkness.
I barely made out Hu’s form twisted in his cell, his face pressed against the bars. “Come visit us again sometime,” he called.
I drew a steadying breath, salvaging what remained of my dignity. “I’m not a big fan of how you treat your guests.”
“See you soon,” he replied, his voice losing its mocking intonation, making the three simple words a threat.
The laughter rose again, and I fled.
* * *
I detoured to the medical bay before I went home, knowing I couldn’t let Dad see me smeared with fruit, my hair disheveled and my wrist throbbing. He was probably asleep, but if anyone found out I’d been in the prison, my job would hang in the balance. And even if the crew was willing to lie for me, I couldn’t face the derision in their expressions. I liked Sanctuary’s guards, and I thought they liked me, but every now and then I caught their rolled eyes, their annoyance when I raced to find the solution to a problem before they did. They never seemed to understand that I wasn’t trying to show them up. I just had that much more to prove.