Paragon
Book Two of Legacy Code
Autumn Kalquist
Copyright © 2014 by Autumn Kalquist
Lyrics from the song “Better World” copyright © 2014 by Autumn Kalquist
Cover design by Damonza
Editing by Erynn Newman
Formatting by Polgarus Studio
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Diapason Publishing
www.AutumnKalquist.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Paragon / Autumn Kalquist—1st ed.
DEFECT
Defect: Part One
Defect: Part Two
Defect: Part Three
Defect: Part Four
LEGACY CODE
Legacy Code (Book One)
Paragon (Book Two)
Short Stories and Novellas
Legacy Code: Origin
(AutumnKalquist.com Newsletter Exclusive)
The Telepath Chronicles
An anthology featuring Fractured Era: Decode
LEGACY CODE Soundtrack
“Artificial Gravity”
“Better World”
Sign up for Autumn’s newsletter to get exclusive Fractured Era extras and be the first to find out when new books are released. You can sign up at AutumnKalquist.com
For Juan.
I know it’s a long road, and “every month is NaNo”, but thank you so much for always standing by me and cheering me on. Your unwavering support and love are what keep me going.
Tadeo’s pulse roared in his ears, and the darkness came for him. He’d had this nightmare before. About another girl, in an airlock on a different ship. But this was real. And the airlock control panel in front of him counted down the seconds until it would end.
The traitor, Era Corinth, screamed on the other side of the glass barrier, slamming her fists against it again and again. Red lights flashed in time with the alarms inside the airlock, and their warning drowned out her pleas. The hypnotic pulse of red swept over her tear-stained face, her naked breasts, her bare pregnant stomach.
Bile rose in Tadeo’s throat, and he turned his face away. Kit. Era reminded him of Kit. Why else would every bone in his body be telling him to save a traitor? Like Era, Kit had been petite, fine-featured, with short hair. And she… Tadeo gritted his teeth and pushed the memories away, like he had so many times before. He stole a glance at Chief Petroff, but the man stood expressionless, hands crossed over his chest.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Raines.” Chief narrowed his eyes, making the wrinkles around them deepen. “She’s a traitor. I meant what I said. I airlocked McGill, and I’ll space any other guard who goes in with traitors.”
Tadeo focused on the floor, his heart thudding unevenly. Mere minutes ago, he’d nearly freed Era and cost himself his own life. Terrorists on their ship. A traitor in the guard. Era, an innocent-looking girl, tampering with files they needed to settle on a new Earth. Why was all this happening now?
Scuffed tiles, scratched metal, blinking lights. The scene blurred before him.
The thumping of fists against glass stopped.
Tadeo glanced at the airlock, expecting Era to be gone, the airlock wide open, but she stood still. She held one hand to her swollen stomach and gazed down at the infinity tattoo on her other wrist—the symbol of her pairing with the dead husband she’d soon join.
Tadeo’s stomach lurched. Era’s pregnancy was defective and had been scheduled for termination in a few hours.
“They’re lying to all of us about the Defect.… They can save the baby.” Era had said that in a final attempt to try to convince them not to airlock her. She was hysterical. Delusional. She’d committed treason, and if he helped her, he’d die with her.
He’d broken the rules once with Kit. He’d never break them again.
The console blinked its final countdown. In ten seconds, Era would be gone, and this nightmare would be over—for her, at least. Sweat dripped down Tadeo’s back, and his stiff, navy guard suit stuck to him everywhere, not letting his body heat out or the stale sublevel air in.00:08
00:07
I can stop it.
00:06
00:05
00:04
00:03
She chose to commit treason. The penalty is death.
00:02
00:01
00:00
Sirens erupted in the control cubic.
Era was gone.
Tadeo’s chest tightened. The dark void of space gaped at him from the empty airlock, and he glimpsed the planet the fleet orbited—a half-circle of deep red. Soren. Swirling clouds the color of rust moved across its surface, and down below, noxious air and dust choked life from anyone suicidal enough to walk its surface.
Suicide. Era was gone, like she’d never existed. They’d never retrieve her body, and they’d rule this a suicide. Which is exactly what the president wanted.
Chief gestured to Era’s discarded suit and boots, and Tadeo grabbed them and followed him into the corridor.
The door slid shut behind them, and the heat and deep hum of the power core replaced the blaring sirens. Long, thin lume bars flickered from the ceiling every few feet, unevenly illuminating the scarred metal walls.
As Tadeo followed the chief down the corridor, his mind raced, trying to grapple with what had just happened. They passed a long row of storage cubics, finally coming to the one Nyssa had interrogated Era in.
The chief swiped his shift card across the scanner, and the cubic opened, revealing a small room with a single metal chair and silver case. The chief grabbed the case and shut the door. The lume bar above them flickered in an uneven rhythm, highlighting Chief’s silver-brown hair and bringing out the harsh lines on his face.
“Lieutenant Raines.”
Tadeo stood straighter, throwing his shoulders back at the tone in Chief’s voice. Guard training had ingrained it in him, made it a habit.
“Yes, sir.” Tadeo’s voice came out deep and strong, like he wasn’t ready to puke all over the chipped, grease-coated tiles.
“Night shift bridge crew will see the alarm on their consoles soon,” Chief said roughly. “They’ll send an emergency maintenance crew down the main stairwell to close the airlock. I’m taking stairwell B to the president. Take C. Shred the husband’s shift card on command level and drop the traitor’s clothes down the textile recyc chute. Understood?”
Tadeo tightened his grip on Era’s suit and boots, and a hand went to his pocket, tracing the shape of her husband’s shift card.
“Raines. Do you understand?”
Tadeo focused on Chief’s creased face. The president had said this all had to be done in secret—that the colonists would panic if they found out Era had tampered with the archives.
But who else had they interrogated down here—airlocked without anyone knowing? McGill had been Chief’s right-hand man before he’d been sent away—no, before Chief had airlocked him.
“Yes… sir. But Chief—about McGill…”
Chief’s nostrils flared, and he stepped closer, poking a finger at Tadeo’s chest. “You keep your mouth shut about him. No one needs to know we had a traitor in the guard. Not anyone. That’s classified information.”
“But, sir, how…” Tadeo’s voice came out strained, uncomprehending. “He was in the president’s guard—he was second only to you.”
“And now, by the pres
ident’s choice, it appears you have replaced him—”
“But how did you—”
“McGill was a traitor,” Chief sneered. “You don’t need to know the specifics. Lieutenant Raines, do you sympathize with the traitors? Because that’s what it looked like back there.”
Tadeo clenched his jaw tight. “No, sir.”
“Then do not misstep again. Do not ever disobey a direct order. I wouldn’t want to airlock the heir to the Meso, but I’m sure they’d have no problem finding your replacement.”
Tadeo swallowed back the bitter taste in his mouth and challenged the chief’s hostile glare with one of his own. That this man, a former tech, should be the president’s most trusted guard, and Tadeo, son of a captain, had to do everything he said without question… it wasn’t right. But the chief had earned his position, and Tadeo would do his duty for as long as he was in the guard.
“Answer me, Raines. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Yes, sir.”
“You do not speak of this mission. Not to anyone.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Recyc those things,” he said, pointing to Era’s belongings, “then meet me at command level lounge. The president wants to brief you. Don’t get caught.”
He turned and strode down the corridor, silver metal case in his grasp, and didn’t look back.
Tadeo wiped the sweat from his brow and started running. A rush of adrenaline surged through his veins as he headed down a side corridor. He sprinted past dented metal walls and turned left at the first cross-corridor, toward stairwell C. The main stairwell met this sector, and if he didn’t get through it fast enough, the emergency crew might see him.
Most of the fleet’s recent traitors had been subs, working down here. Miles of dark corridors, hidden spaces to do things you didn’t want to be caught doing. The sublevels were the seedy underbelly of every ship—the place where you could get away with breaking the rules. Kit resurfaced in his mind, along with the thrill he’d felt every time he’d broken the rules with her. This felt like that. Exciting. Forbidden.
The corridor widened, and high ceilings replaced the cramped feel of the earlier sectors. The hum of the power core was even louder here, and the acrid scent of hot metal reached his nostrils. He slowed to a walk to get his bearings.
Tangles of thick metal pipes extended deep into the sector on either side of him, and a low barrier comprised of metal slats separated the walkway from the pipes. Was this sector heating—or life support? He was certain this was the way to stairwell C, but he didn’t know the sublevel sectors well on this ship.
Loud voices echoed down the corridor and seemed to bounce off the ceiling and meld with the vibrations of the core. Another shot of adrenaline spiked through Tadeo, and his heart beat a wild rhythm against his rib cage. He could not be seen down here.
He glanced around, but there was nowhere to hide unless he leapt over the barrier. The space between the metal slats and the pipes left barely enough room to stand, and he didn’t have protective gear on. Let’s hope they aren’t heating.
He leaned over the barrier closest to him and spit. His saliva hit the nearest pipe and oozed down the rusted metal. Not heating, then.
The voices grew louder. Tadeo dropped Era’s belongings over the divide and took one more look down the empty corridor. Then he leapt over the barrier sideways, wedging his body in the tight space.
Every muscle tensed as he peered out between the slats, and sweat burned his eyes. Would they come this way? Would they see him? His navy blue guard uniform might blend in with the dirty gray color of the pipes behind him. Maybe.
He should be afraid, worried, but all he felt was a thrill at the thought of getting caught. Then he saw it.
Kak.
His shift card lay on the floor, bright white against the grease-stained tiles. His throat constricted, and the thrill faded. His card must have been knocked off his suit when he dove over the barrier. If the subs saw it and picked it up, they’d know he was down here when Era died.
“The maintenance airlock,” one of them called.
They were close. Too close for him to get to the card in time.
“Sector seven,” yelled another.
Tadeo held his breath and counted the sets of boots as they pounded past. Four sets. The sublevel emergency crew.
Not a single boot touched his card.
When their voices receded, he let out a breath, waited several more seconds, then hauled himself over the divide. He grabbed Era’s gear, shoved his card in his pocket, and took off down the corridor.
His chest lightened, and a giddy feeling overtook him, the old feeling of doing something wrong and getting away with it.
He sprinted faster, pushing himself, and his muscles responded, remembering what it was like when he had free run of the Meso. How he’d run the open levels of the deka he grew up on for miles and miles.
He didn’t slow down until he reached stairwell C.
Tadeo bounded up the stairs, the only sound his own boots echoing through the shaft. No one should be moving through here at this hour, not during night shift—since the president had instituted a mandatory curfew.
As he rounded each landing, his gaze hit the numbers engraved in the metal doors. When he reached level seven, command level, his legs ached from his rapid ascent. He rested his hands on his knees and took deep breaths. There would normally be guards standing here, but not tonight. Chief had made sure of that. He almost smiled at his success.
I just airlocked a girl.
A sick feeling raced through him, killing his buzz. He wiped his brow and unzipped his pocket to draw out his shift card.
When he passed it over the scanner, a red light came on. The scanner beeped a warning.
Bloody piece of kak. He ran the card again. Another beep, and the red light blinked, insistent he didn’t have the clearance to access this level.
Tadeo stiffened and slowly looked down at the card in his hand. It was scuffed, dirt and grease embedded in the scratched surface. It was far too filthy for the brief moment it had been on the sublevel floor. Tadeo turned it over, and his heart rate sped up again as he saw the name stamped on the card.
DRITAN CORINTH.
Era’s husband’s shift card. He fought the urge to drop the thing. Dritan had died on mining duty on Soren, but before that, he’d worked in the sublevels. They’d used his card to access the airlock, so it would look like Era had taken advantage of her husband’s access to kill herself.
Now it would be logged into the system after Era had supposedly used it to commit suicide out a maintenance airlock. He’d fucked up. Majorly.
Tadeo shoved the card back in his pocket and clutched Era’s boots and suit closer, hands trembling as he patted his other pockets for his own card. He briefly considered going back down a level and taking a different route.
If anyone checked the records…
But they wouldn’t. No one would check. They had no reason to. Chief gave the orders, and he knew what really happened. There’d be no real investigation. And if there was, Chief would take care of it. Everyone would believe Era went out the airlock with that card.
He found his own and took a deep breath as he passed it over the scanner. This time the light turned green.
Fresh air filled Tadeo’s lungs as he entered command level. The lume bars gleamed at quarter-power, as they had in the stairwell, but they all worked, unlike in the sublevels. The tiles were scuffed, but still white and uncracked. Everything was newer, cleaner up here—here where he really belonged. Tadeo’s boots squeaked against the tiles; the only other sound was the life support fans whirring in the night.
Dritan’s card seemed to heat up and give off a glow in his pocket. If anyone chose that moment to open their cubic, make their way to the shared lavs… they’d wonder what he was doing, in full guard uniform, carrying a tech suit and boots in the dead of night shift. He needed to do this fast, get it over with, and go meet Chief and the president.
He hurried through the level, listening for the whoosh of doors opening in the corridors, but soon he was past living quarters, and he reached recyc at the back of the level.
Chutes lined the far wall, each labeled with the type of recyc they accommodated. Tadeo breathed hard as he tossed Era’s boots down the textile chute and then opened all the pockets on her suit, checking for her shift card or anything else that could identify the ex-owner. But her pockets were empty. He tossed the suit down after the boots.
A series of shredders and compactors stood against the opposite wall, and Tadeo worked fast, shredding Dritan’s card in the machine designed to break down plastic. As the tiny flecks dropped into the bin, his shoulders relaxed, the tight knot in his gut dissipated. He sent the chips down the plastic recyc chute.
As the last of the evidence disappeared, the dregs of Tadeo’s adrenaline drained from his system and left his legs wobbly.
He grunted, sinking against the wall to support himself, and stared blankly at the recyc chutes.
Era’s wide brown eyes leaking tears, one palm over her swollen stomach, that damn infinity tattoo on her wrist.
He glanced down at his own wrist, at the teardrop shape there—one-half of an infinity symbol. He’d get the whole thing—like Era’s—when he paired.
Zephyr. What would he tell her? He’d been spending time with her lately… acting like they were matching up. She’d seemed close to Era. But Zephyr was the future captain of the London. There was no way she could have known what Era was really into.
I killed her.
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