Sanctuary

by Caryn Lix

  The med bay wasn’t much of a walk—Sanctuary was not large, if you didn’t count the prison. It was basically a dome divided into four parts: one for the command center; one for work spaces like the medical bay and shuttle dock; one for the kitchen, common room, and gym; and one for living quarters.

  You were just as likely to find Jonathan in the med bay as anywhere else, including his own room. Fortunately he wasn’t there when I arrived, presumably having gone home to sleep like a sensible person. I wiped the sweat and apple from my face and hair and examined my wrist. I’d twisted it, but I didn’t find any real damage—hardly even a twinge when I flexed it.

  I sank against the examination table, struggling to catch my breath. This entire errand was beyond stupid. I had only two goals now: to avoid the prison cells like the plague, and to make sure my parents never, ever found out about this little exploit.

  Against my will, my mind drifted to a memory I’d tried to suppress from three years ago, when we’d been stationed briefly in a government city. The local government had been in the process of selling its land to the company, and Omnistellar asked my mom, who was between assignments, to scout the city in advance of closing the deal. My parents warned me to keep my distance from the other kids, emphasizing that I was an Omnistellar citizen, not some government brat. But I was fourteen, and lonely, and desperate for friends. I’d been invited to a party by a girl at my new school, but my parents absolutely refused to let me go. I’d never seen my mother so furious. “You owe everything to Omnistellar,” she seethed. “We owe everything to Omnistellar. Without the company, you’d be living in hovels alongside your new friends. I will not watch my only child behave like common government trash.”

  At the time, I hadn’t understood what Mom was so worried about. It was just a party, after all—and while my parents spent their days negotiating the new Omnistellar prison and the corporate city takeover with government representatives, I was stuck with these kids. It couldn’t hurt to make friends. So I climbed out the bedroom window, resolutely ignoring my screaming conscience, and made my way through the dark streets to the girl’s house.

  It turned out that my mom was right. The town kids all got by on the most basic governmental support, without any of the perks that came with citizenship in one of the major world corporations. And they all recognized me on sight as different. My clothes, my attitude, my demeanor—everything set me apart, and I had no desire to fit in with their violence, their drinking, their drugs. I also wasn’t in a hurry to inform them that if Omnistellar did take over the city, any of them whose parents didn’t get corporate jobs would find themselves kicked out of their homes and sent on their way with a tiny corporate stipend as a buyout. I didn’t feel guilty, exactly—it was the way the world worked. But it was awkward hanging out with them, hearing them talk about their hopes for the future if Omnistellar took over. I spent less than an hour at the party before slipping out the back door and heading for home, cursing myself every step of the way.

  Every city had a curfew, even the government ones, and it was now well after dark. The streets were quiet. I kept to the alleys to avoid drawing undue attention—curfews are never strictly enforced, but Omnistellar security was moving into this town, and if they picked me up, my parents would die of embarrassment.

  It didn’t take long to realize I was being followed. I closed my eyes in annoyance and tightened my fingers, tensing and loosening my muscles in preparation for combat. It never crossed my mind to worry—guns were so strictly controlled that no one outside the corporations had them, so the worst I could expect on government land was a pocket knife. I was more than confident in my ability to take on a thug or two.

  Still, avoiding conflict was always better, so I put on a burst of speed, rounded a corner—and came face to face with one of the tiniest girls I’d ever seen, a little waif no more than nine years old. I drew up short, startled. She wasn’t what I’d expected. “Excuse me,” I said, moving to step around her.

  She blocked me. I sighed. “Come on,” I said. “You don’t want to do this.”

  Her eyes flashed. I took a deep breath—and all the oxygen vanished. I struggled to draw in air, but it felt like someone had closed a hand around my throat. I dropped to my knees, clawing at my throat, spots swimming in front of my eyes. I was vaguely aware of the girl slipping behind me, putting her hands in my pocket. . . .

  And then she was gone, leaving me gasping on the ground. I staggered to my feet, feeling in my pockets. The little brat had taken my corporate ID, my omnicard. It wouldn’t get her far without my retinal scan and fingerprint, but it was enough to make a few purchases before I reported it stolen—which meant I’d have to explain to my parents how it had gone missing.

  That had been my first encounter with a superpowered anomaly, and my last. We didn’t see much of them. I knew they existed, but people were apt to think of them as happening somewhere else. There were a lot of anomalies in prison, of course—something about the power seemed to go to people’s heads—but the news often mentioned anomalies living in relative obscurity throughout the world. I didn’t know any personally, or didn’t know that I did. Most people viewed anomalies a little suspiciously, so they tended to lead quiet lives. I was grateful for that. I knew intellectually that most anomalies were probably harmless. But after my encounter with that girl, I couldn’t even think of them without my heart skipping a beat.

  The little monster who attacked me was more than a thief. She could have killed me easily. Even if there was a way to avoid telling my parents what had happened, I had no choice but to report her to Omnistellar. They never caught her, which meant she was still out there. I wondered how many bodies were now stacked at her feet.

  In the end, my parents were more understanding about the whole thing than I had any right to expect. That almost made it worse. For days afterward I woke gasping for air, reliving that moment of sheer helplessness as oxygen drained from my lungs.

  One night I awoke from one of those nightmares to find Mom sitting at the foot of my bed, her face lined with exhaustion. “Mom?” I murmured, sitting up.

  “Shh.” She stroked my hair back from my face and eased me into bed.

  “Have I been waking you up?” A wave of guilt suffused me. “Bad enough I snuck out in the first place.”

  “Kenz.” She offered me a rare, genuine smile. “You made a mistake. It happens. But when I think about what that monster could have done to you . . .” Her smile faded, and her fist clenched in the blanket. “Even when you mess up, I’m here for you,” she said finally. “Never forget that.”

  It was the last time we ever discussed the incident, but after waking up with Mom by my side, the dreams faded, and I gradually stopped thinking about what could have happened that night.

  Until now. The helpless feeling I’d had in the prison had been exactly like how I’d felt in that alley, even with the prisoners chipped, without their powers. If one little girl had managed to choke the life out of me without lifting a finger, imagine what that crowd of kids could do with their powers intact.

  But their powers weren’t intact. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to be calm. Everything was okay. I was human. I was allowed the odd stupid decision. I hadn’t done any harm, and the prisoners were safe in their cells.

  I took another moment to compose myself, then headed home. The door to our quarters slid open, revealing the dark living room, maybe only half the size of my bedroom back on Earth. Track lighting along the floor illuminated the area—small couch, comfortable rug, bookshelf, and doors leading to my parents’ room, my room, and the washroom. No light came from anywhere else. Dad wasn’t even awake, which meant my medical detour had been a waste of time. Still, I was glad to avoid his probing and questions. I’d been gone at least double the twenty minutes I’d promised.

  I slipped into my bedroom and shed my boots and jacket. My comm device beeped, reminding me to charge it. Groaning at the delay, I climbed out of bed, popped the device ou
t of its metal gap in my left wrist, and connected it to the power outlet. I ran my fingers over the crevice in my wrist. When I’d first had the device implanted, seeing that metal outline where there once had been flesh was bizarre for a few days. The direct implantation allowed me much more control over the device, though, and it had soon become a part of me. If I’d had it in that alley three years ago, I wouldn’t have had to worry about mugging. I could’ve signaled for help even without air. I would never be without my device again.

  Sleep shouldn’t be a problem now—my eyes burned with exhaustion, and a huge yawn split my jaw. I climbed between the sheets and dropped my head to the pillow. Darkness enveloped me in its gentle embrace.

  Until something occurred to me.

  See you soon, Hu had said. Why? What did he mean? He’d only said it to rattle me, I was sure of it. Or almost sure.

  But it was enough to keep me awake the rest of the night.

  FOUR

  THE NEXT MORNING PROMPTLY AT 0900, all six guards gathered in the debriefing room off the command center. Mom’s uniform was rumpled, her lipstick smudged. The rest of us didn’t look much better. Noah was never much use before his morning coffee, which he clutched like a life preserver. Rita continued to sulk over the events of the night before. Only Dad and Jonathan looked completely composed, and I scanned my parents for any sign that last night had had some sort of effect on them. Maybe the moments of fear and stress had made them realize they belonged together. Maybe they’d worked things out.

  But no. I realized that Mom had spent most of the night in the command center and Dad had gone straight to bed after the drill. If anything was going to change, it wouldn’t be now. They hadn’t had a single moment to talk.

  “All right, everyone,” Mom announced, rubbing her hand over her face. “Here we go.”

  I sat up straighter in my chair as Mom connected us to the bigwigs on Earth, who proceeded to analyze every second of last night’s disaster.

  “I’m sure you were surprised by the timing and intricacy of the drill,” Colonel Trace said at last, a smile playing on her lips. She’d always had a strange affection for the station’s AI. “I must confess that it’s our fault. We’ve asked all Omnistellar AIs to increase security.”

  Mom’s brow furrowed. “Any particular reason?”

  “Nothing official, but we always like to be prepared. The fifty-year anniversary of the probes is coming up, and we still don’t know where they came from or why they resulted in the anomalies. With that in mind, well . . . as I said.”

  I frowned. I’d forgotten about the fifty-year anniversary. Why was it on Omnistellar’s mind? I suppose they were just being cautious. After all, it was widely accepted that the strange alien probes that appeared almost five decades ago were responsible for the superpowered kids who popped up a generation later, so it made sense they’d want us to be careful. But I couldn’t remember any special preparations for any previous anniversaries. What made fifty the magic number?

  Before I could ask any questions, Trace pushed on. “Sanctuary has a lot of tricks up her sleeve, but your team performed reasonably well.” Her eyebrows tightened. “I can’t say we were overly pleased with your decision to leave a seventeen-year-old girl in command of the entire station, of course. . . .”

  “Colonel,” said Mom briskly, “with all due respect, the auto-turrets had turned on us, and we were struggling to deal with the situation in a—”

  “But,” Trace cut in sharply, casting Mom a withering look, “we must admit that Kenzie conducted herself with the maturity, insight, and professionalism we expect from an Omnistellar citizen, not to mention a member of the Cord family.” For the first time that morning, her gaze found mine, and a smile crossed her lips. “Well done, Kenzie.”

  “Thank you,” I managed, fighting to control the stupid grin spreading across my face. It was almost enough to make me forget Hu’s parting shot from the night before.

  Trace had more to say, naturally. The postmortem went on so long my eyes grew heavy. Several times I rattled myself awake when my head slumped forward. Across from me, Noah was doing the same. Rita kicked him under the table and he jerked upright, barely stifling an exclamation, and glared at her before returning his attention to the screen. I didn’t blame him. Rita kicked hard, as I’d learned the other night during mandatory team-building movie night. Apparently she also had issues with people talking during a film or, as she put it, “providing nonstop commentary.”

  It was almost lunchtime before we finished. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and sagged in their seats. “Sorry about this,” Mom said, “but I need you for a few minutes longer—everyone except Kenzie. You can go work on your school assignments.”

  I hesitated, torn between insisting on the full involvement due to me as a member of the team and accepting the fact that I actually did have about four hours of homework to cram into the two hours before my shift. Mom arched her eyebrow, and I decided against this fight. I grabbed the hoodie I’d tossed over the back of my chair and exited the briefing room into the command center. I took a moment to enjoy the privacy. This was the station’s nerve center, and I rarely spent any time here alone—not counting last night, when I was too panicked to enjoy it. I ran my hand over Mom’s black leather chair at her workstation. Did I dare? I glanced over my shoulder at the closed door, then sank into her chair and propped my feet on her console. With a thought, I triggered my comm device, linking to Sanctuary, and gazed at the resulting feeds as they scrolled past me.

  This would be mine someday—command of a prison like Sanctuary, or maybe even the big adult prison, Carcerem. I wasn’t limited to the prisons, of course. Omnistellar Concepts was the largest, most diverse corporation in the solar system. Still, its prison wing was its most prestigious. Ever since the world’s governments had outsourced most of their services, competition to provide those services had been fierce in everything but law enforcement. There, Omnistellar reigned supreme and unquestioned, and I was proud to be part of it. Some of that came from my parents, especially Mom. She was about the most patriotic person I’d ever met, refusing to so much as draw a breath that violated company guidelines, and constantly drilling into my head that Omnistellar’s rules and regulations were for more than safety—they were the core of civilization. Case in point: I’d played fast and loose with the guidelines last night by going into the prison, and what had it bought me? A sleepless night and a face full of fruit.

  Something thudded in the conference room, and I shot guiltily to my feet. I wasn’t doing anything wrong exactly, but it would definitely be embarrassing if the crew caught me acting out my fantasy of command. At that awkward thought, I jogged out the door and headed for the living quarters.

  A few minutes later I stretched out on my bed with a tablet, remotely connected to a distance learning center in Edmonton, Alberta. Yumiko winked down at me from her mech suit in the Robo Mecha Dream Girl 5 poster plastered across the ceiling. I grinned at her affectionately. Yumiko was opposite me in every way: a Japanese citizen, no corporation to call her own, orphaned as an infant, fighting her way through the streets of Nuokyo until she discovered a unique mech piloting ability and took on the evil fictional corporations. Fortunately Mom wasn’t really into manga. If she’d realized that element of the story, she probably would have outlawed RMDG5 the first time I picked it up. Mom only watched Omnistellar-sanctioned news outlets, though, so I’d been able to follow Yumiko since the very first issue. Something about her always spoke to me. Over the years I’d come to think of her as a real person—even as a friend. Oh, I knew it was ridiculous. I wasn’t delusional. But sometimes when I couldn’t sleep at night, I’d stare up at the ceiling and imagine myself in Yumi’s world, piloting mechs and living life on the edge, until I drifted into sleep. Omnistellar provided me with lots of real-world adventures, but they were all strictly controlled. While of course I was extremely grateful for every opportunity I’d had because of Omnistellar, a tiny part of me—the part that
had made me sneak out to go to that party three years ago—longed to experience life outside the rigid restrictions of corporation citizenship.

  Yumiko gave me the freedom to experience that. I’d even played the Robo Mecha Dream Girl 5 game, and I was not a gamer. But exploring Yumi’s world in VR? I actually played the whole thing through seven times, and completed all the side quests besides. I loved every second of it. Noah had tried to get me into some other games after that, but none of them held the same magic. There was just something about her world. Omnistellar wasn’t a huge fan of RMDG5, since it played on the whole evil corporation thing, but they didn’t outright disallow it, so neither did my parents. And as long as they never found out the plot of the story (which, providing it never made its way onto Omnistellar’s banned books list, they shouldn’t), I would stay safe to enjoy it in peace.

  Yumiko’s newest exploits summoned from an icon on my tablet, and I was so tempted to lose myself in the mech world of Nuokyo, but duty called. My family might be falling apart, but if I let my homework slide too, I might lose my position on Sanctuary. Whatever happened with Mom and Dad, I wasn’t letting go of something I’d fought this hard for. And while Yumiko’s world might be an awesome place to visit, this was where I had to live.

  Munching on a bag of freeze-dried strawberries, my favorite treat, I tried to focus on the most tedious lecture possible on historical literature, because I would definitely need to identify the characters in some Shakespearean tragedy to effectively guard prisoners on a space station.

  It was even harder to concentrate than usual. Trace’s mention of the fifty-year anniversary of the probes had caught my attention, and my mind kept drifting to the night before. A shiver raced down my spine as I recalled the way the prisoners had risen in their cells, like wild animals waking in their cages.