Zephyr swallowed and balled her hands into tight fists. “We’d all be luckier if you were gone, Paige. In fact, I’m sure I could arrange it.”
Paige arched an eyebrow. “You command level kids think everything orbits you. But the truth is…” She paused for effect, then spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “No one wants you here.”
Zephyr went rigid with anger, and the other girls exchanged tense looks. Zephyr pressed her arms to her sides, willing herself not to slap the smirk off Paige’s face. She wasn’t going to get in trouble over this stupid glitch. Paige had been born to techs and never had a shot at being more than a tech. And she wasn’t even a good tech. Mali had chosen Era, not Paige, to be head archivist, and that had been the best revenge.
Zephyr stalked out of the cubic without a word and took shaky breaths as she weaved her way through the crowded corridor, desperate to get to the stairwell. She still had time before first shift. She’d hide out up in Observation until the last possible moment.
She was breathing hard by the time she reached the observation deck. It was nearly empty at this hour, just a few colonists and children sitting on benches. She made her way to the front and sat down.
Soren filled up most of the view, its swirling red-orange clouds moving across a toxic surface. Deadly beauty. Nothing could survive down there naturally. That planet was as broken and defective as every colonist in this fleet. And if Zephyr’s hunch was right, the president might be planning to stay there.
Zephyr’s gaze moved to the half-circle of metal beside the planet, the jumpgate, and the lump in her throat grew. The gate was a promise—a promise that a better world waited for all of them. But not for Era. Not anymore. She blinked rapidly and tried to calm the wave of grief that threatened to overwhelm her.
Why, Era? Why did you do it?
They’d talked about suicide once before, just before the fleet had reached Soren. An old, sick man on the London wasn’t able to get a spot in Paragon’s hospice, so he airlocked himself. The enforcers there turned a blind eye when one of the elderly chose to end it that way. Some wanted a quick death, not the slow, painful one power core sickness brought.
Era and Zephyr were sitting on Observation when they overheard a paired couple talking about the suicide.
“I knew that man,” Era said. “His son works with my father. He shouldn’t have shamed his family and friends like that. It was selfish. Cowardly.”
Zephyr stared out at the stars and tried to locate the other dekas in the distance. “Well, I think he was brave to do it. If they told me I wouldn’t have nonstop drugs for my final miserable days, I’d airlock myself, too.”
Era’s face darkened, and she squeezed Zephyr’s arm, hard. “You better never do that. As long as I’m alive, I demand you stick around.”
Zephyr rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll suffer through it if you suffer through it. Deal?”
Era had smiled. “Deal.”
Zephyr’s windpipe closed. Breathe, Zephyr. Calm down.
I should have been there.
She’d left Era alone when she’d needed her most.
A man in a green maintenance suit crossed in front of Zephyr, carrying a small blond child of three or four. He walked to the glasstex, and Zephyr tensed. Go away.
The man crouched before the glass and put the little girl down.
“Bella,” he said. “That’s where Mama went.”
The small child pressed both hands to the glass and then cast a blue-eyed look up at her father. “When’s Mama coming back?”
Zephyr’s hand went to her chest. Had this man’s wife gone down to Soren with Dritan’s crew?
The father grabbed the little girl’s hand, encompassing it in his own. “Mama…” He broke off and cleared his throat. “This time Mama won’t be coming back.”
“Why not? She always comes back.”
“She went down to the planet to work for our fleet, but there was an accident. And she can’t come back.”
“But I want to see her now.” The little girl’s voice rose.
Zephyr started to stand, but the wave of grief threatened to overtake her, and she sank back down on the bench, tears filling her eyes.
“I know you don’t understand now,” the father said, “but you will. And you still have me.”
Bella pulled away and pressed her face to the glass. “I want to go down there and see her.”
Her father wrapped a loose arm around her shoulders and turned to look down at the planet, too, his face twisted with grief. A thin woman in a maintenance suit passed before Zephyr’s blurring vision to reach them.
“Lanar,” she said, “first shift wants the details on the generator repair. Wes called up for you.”
Lanar sighed. “I just got off night shift. But I’ll be right there. Can you take Bell back to caretaker?”
The woman rested a hand on Lanar’s shoulder. “I will.”
Lanar lifted his daughter in his arms, and she began to cry and wriggle in his grasp.
“No—I want to stay here.”
“Hush,” the woman said, hissing the word. “You’re much too big to cry.”
The little girl’s face crumpled, and she buried her face in her father’s shoulder to muffle her sputtering cries.
As they walked away, Zephyr wiped at her eyes and trained them on the planet.
She’d swallowed her pride and begged her father for weeks to transfer Era and Dritan to the Paragon. In the end, it was probably her mother who had convinced him, just to keep the peace. But what if Zephyr had kept her mouth shut? Would Era and Dritan still be alive now?
She breathed deeply, and it took a few moments to calm herself as she stared out at the planet through a blur of tears. But as the grief faded, something hotter replaced it, something aggressive. A hot flame of anger erupted in her belly.
She clenched her hands into tight fists and let the heat fill her up. Hate for Tadeo and his ugly words, anger at the president for the regulations that had forced Zephyr to leave Era last night. And rage at the planet, at the half-finished jump gate, at the way the fleet and its stupid rules had killed her only friends.
But there was nowhere to put her anger, nowhere to direct it. She tried to numb it, too, but it didn’t fade.
Zephyr should have been there, but she hadn’t been the one to push Era over the edge. No. It had been the president, sending Dritan to Soren. And the medic, telling Era she had to abort her child. Zephyr wanted them to pay for what they’d done—but how?
First shift buzzer sounded, and Zephyr let out a little scream and jumped off the bench, feeling helpless. Who did you blame when someone ended their own life? You could only blame the person who took it.
But you couldn’t punish the dead.
∞ ∞
Zephyr made her way up the near-empty stairwell toward the Repository on level four. She was already late and had thought of skipping shift again, but unlike the grief she’d been drowning in yesterday, only anger flowed through her now—like molten metal. Simmering in her cubic would do her no good.
When she reached the landing, she stopped before the wide metal doors. Era had loved this place so much.
Zephyr passed her shift card over the scanner and stepped through the doors. Tall silver archive cabinets ran along the walls beyond the glass panel that bisected the space. All Era had wanted was to care for these archives like the model colonist she’d been.
Heat burned in Zephyr’s chest as she passed the busy comm waiting area and headed for the archivist station. They needed the archive files to settle New Earth someday, but the Repository had never held any fascination for her. Her family had the files they needed on the London for manufacturing. Every deka had files for their specialization. And that was enough. The Repository had other files, research from Earth, information on settling a new planet. But what use could they be right now, especially when only the president and board could access them?
Zephyr stared at the tile floor as she approached the
archivist station, and her throat closed up. Two nights ago, Era had curled up right here, right in front of the station, sobbing after finding out Dritan had died. Mali, the head archivist, had helped Zephyr try to soothe her. Maybe she should ask her for a transfer to get away from this place.
Mali stood behind the station working. Her dark-skinned face was blank and her posture rigid. She had cared for Era, too. She might be the only person on this ship who shared Zephyr’s grief.
Mali looked up from the station, her eyes swollen and bloodshot. “You’re late. And you missed your shift yesterday.”
Zephyr handed Mali her shift card. “I’m surprised you’re even here.”
“The work must still be done. No matter what.” Mali got out a handheld and eyepiece and swiped Zephyr’s shift card to log the gear into the system.
“Don’t you even care?” Zephyr asked, her voice cracking.
Mali didn’t look at her. “I have to log data into the archives this shift. I need you—”
“Look at me,” Zephyr ordered.
Mali pursed her lips and handed Zephyr the holo gear. “You may be a future deka captain, but here, you’re a tech apprentice. Don’t speak to me that way again.”
“How can you just—”
“Era airlocked herself.” Mali shook her head, like that was all the justification she needed for acting like Era wasn’t dead.
“And you can just go on… like it didn’t even happen—”
“You need to get to work.” Mali twisted her wrist to activate her eyepiece. “If you miss another shift, I’m transferring you out of here. There’s a waiting list a hundred deep for this place. You’re lucky to have a job here. Act like it.”
“But Era—”
“I’m done talking about her,” Mali snapped. “She shamed herself and abandoned this fleet and her duties. There’s nothing else to say about it.”
Zephyr tensed her jaw. “I thought you cared about her.”
“I did. But a better world awaits.” Mali’s voice was distant now. Empty. She gestured in the air, working again. “The fleet must move ever onward. As we all must move on. You’re witnessing comms today. Go.”
Zephyr tried to ignore the anger ripping a hole in her chest and stalked toward the comm station. The fleet must move ever onward.
One day had passed, and the only other person Era had spent time with had already moved on. They would all move on… Everyone would act this way if she tried to talk about Era. She and Era had done it, too, when people talked about suicides. It was shameful. How could Era do this?
Zephyr reached the comm station as more colonists entered the Repository, come to record messages for loved ones on other ships. An old tech, Henry, worked the station.
“I’m witnessing messages today,” Zephyr said to him. “Where do you want me?”
The man looked at her through aged, watery eyes and gestured to one of the comm cubics. “Cubic eight is fine.”
Omar and the squad weren’t at mess when Tadeo arrived, so he grabbed a quick breakfast and headed straight to the conference cubic across from Central Records. They hadn’t arrived yet, so he activated his holo gear and began searching through files on the terrorists, gathering a list of every job Sam, Dritan, Jonas, and Tatiana had ever done aboard the ship.
Then he ran a search, looking for anything unusual, any shift card usage that seemed at odds with their work schedule. At first nothing came up. They’d checked in everywhere they were supposed to. But what if they’d been working to cover for each other?
He searched again, this time looking for shift card usage during their shifts.
The results populated, and Tadeo sucked in a breath. There were dozens of instances where each of them were places they shouldn’t have been—outside their usual work sectors. It would take hours to analyze and cross-reference everything here with the data he had on the import and export workers.
A knock sounded on the door, and Tadeo went to open it. Omar stood outside with Kiva and the rest of the squad arrayed behind him.
“You ready?” Omar asked.
“Come in here, Sergeant,” Tadeo said.
When the door slid shut behind Omar, Tadeo began to pace in front of the table. “I need you to take the squad and at least one maintenance worker—find Gemma from yesterday. Tear apart every repair job the terrorists did. I need to cross-reference data to see if I can find any leads. It would go a lot faster if I had help…”
“I’ll stay. Send Kiva and the squad to search,” Omar said.
Tadeo stopped pacing. “But can she can be trusted?”
Omar looked offended. “If I say she’s trustworthy, she’s trustworthy.”
“I wanted an extra person for this mission, but…” Tadeo shook his head.
“You know how many games of chips I played with that girl?” Omar asked. “She’s a terrible liar. Loses every time. You can trust her. And when you need her, she always shows up. Plus, Chief approved her. She’s good.”
Tadeo met Omar’s sincere gaze, and for the first time, he felt the chasm that had formed between them. They’d never been that close, but now they were miles apart.
Tadeo had seen death—had caused it. He’d airlocked a traitor secretly in the night and learned a member of the guard had worked with terrorists. His own mother was a traitor. He knew too much now. His naive view of the fleet had been shattered forever, but Omar still believed everything he used to.
“What?” Omar asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Nothing. I do trust you. More than Kiva. So… I want you to lead the squad on the search. Kiva can stay with me.” Tadeo popped the cube out of his handheld. “Here’s a list of every job the terrorists did.”
Omar took the cube, but he looked unhappy. “Yes, sir.”
“Let them all in, Sergeant.”
Omar opened the door, and the squad filed in, backs straight, eyes alert and fixed on Tadeo.
He crossed his arms behind his back and stood tall. “Sergeant Omar will be in charge today. You will be tearing apart every job the terrorists performed while on this ship. Practice extreme caution—we believe they may have rigged more than one job to fail.” Tadeo made eye contact with Omar and nodded. He opened the door.
“Sergeant Kiva, you’re staying with me.”
Kiva looked at him, confused, but she stayed put as the rest of the squad filed out.
“Sit down.” Tadeo slid the cube case to Kiva from across the table. “Here is a list of every single repair the terrorists made, and every time their shift cards were used starting ten months back when they arrived, up until the day they were airlocked. I want you to collect and sort every instance where one of them was anywhere other than their job sector.”
“Yes, sir, but… Sir, can I ask you something?”
“Speak.”
“Why are we investigating all of this now? What’s going on?” Her voice had an edge of fear to it.
Tadeo folded his arms across his chest, heart rate picking up. “We’re merely checking to ensure they did nothing else to sabotage this ship.” His voice came out strong, soothing.
Kiva nodded, a look of relief passing over her face.
He’d have to tell her more than that, or she wouldn’t be useful to him. But not yet. Because he had something else he needed to do.
“Sir, is there anything I should be looking for in particular?” she asked.
“Just anything out of the ordinary. I need to get more information from the archives. Start sorting the data by name, date, and sector, and I’ll be back soon.”
“Yes, sir.” Kiva activated her eyepiece. She opened up the metal box, revealing dozens of small data cubes, picked one up, and slid it into her handheld.
Tadeo headed out the door, his heart pumping hard in his chest. A spike of adrenaline surged through him as he strode toward the stairs. The data on those cubes couldn’t answer the questions he really needed answers to.
Maybe the most recent Meso transfer
s were dead or had been cleared—but his mother had acted guilty when he’d confronted her.
Someone else was spying for her… and could have been working with Tatiana. He needed information from the archives. He had to break the rules—and lie—if he wanted to find answers.
∞ ∞
Tadeo’s pulse raced as he passed through the sliding doors of the Repository. Sweat dripped down his back, and his suit stuck to him as if he’d just come from the sublevels.
The large room opened before him, reminding him of one of the helio sectors on the Meso. But this space was lit with lume bars instead of a superhelio, and it ended too soon at the glasstex barrier that ran from one wall to the other.
Beyond the barrier, the archive boxes marched along in straight rows, extending back to the dim reaches of the level.
Tadeo strode past the comm station. It was busy in here, the benches packed full with colonists waiting to record messages. The low murmur of the waiting crowd quieted as he passed. Tadeo headed for the archivist station and kept his eyes straight ahead on the archives beyond the barrier.
The memory cubes in each box stored the data they’d need once they found New Earth. They’d relearn ancient farming techniques, restart entire manufacturing chains. Only they’d do it the right way this time. This time, the planet would not be destroyed. There’d be no gen-modded plants, no gen-modded bacteria. Humanity would finally get the chance to start over.
A little twinge of regret ached in him. This place had always represented something pure—the hope of a better world. But now it seemed different, touched by rot after his mother’s confession, altered by what Era did. His chest flared hotter than a helio at the thought of Era deleting files, destroying their future, and he quickened his pace. Messing with the archives carried a high price, and she’d paid it.
When all this was over, he’d make his mother see who the real enemy was. And it wasn’t the fleet’s government. Yet here he was—about to break government rules because of her. Every archive cube order came from the president. And he had to convince the head archivist to pull records he had no official order for.
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