Paragon

by Autumn Kalquist

Bad water dripped somewhere in the crevice, and his dry mouth ached in response. So thirsty. The cold walls pressed against him, sharp edges jutting into his skin. He made it through quickly, and then he was out to the other side.

  “Jan, you still okay?”

  No answer.

  “Jan?” Dritan tapped the helio, and it floated beside him as he made his way toward her. When the light of his helio reached her, his throat closed up, and his legs weakened.

  Jan’s eyes were closed, like she was sleeping, but the color of her skin didn’t look right. He hurried to her side and knelt to shake her.

  “Jan. Wake up.” She didn’t stir, and her body felt ice cold beneath his fingertips. “Come on. You can make it through. We’re making progress…”

  He shook her again, and her body slumped to the side. Dritan squeezed her oxygen pack. Still some left. She was not dead. He’d promised he’d get her out of here. Panic rose in him as he shook her again. Her body listed further to the side, and she didn’t respond.

  “No, no, no.” His eyes burned, and he glanced toward her leg, at the puddle of blood beneath it. It had gelled, nearly dried up. She’d stopped bleeding a while ago.

  “Jan!” He shook her again and held his ear to her chest. She felt colder than the rock. Stiff. He choked down a sob and sat back on his heels.

  No breath. No pulse.

  She was dead, and there would be no bringing her back.

  Dritan propped her gently into sitting position and sank down beside her. His helio cast a yellow glow over her as he removed her mask and dropped it into his lap. Her skin was a mottled—blue-gray. She looked almost peaceful, like she’d died in her sleep.

  Pain swelled in Dritan’s throat. He should have known right away she was dead. She’d died alone. He should have stayed with her.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  He rested his head against the wall beside her, and everything seemed to close in on him, suffocate him. His breathing came quicker, and he checked his oxygen pack. Still full.

  It’s all in your head. Calm the fuck down.

  He wasn’t suffocating. These walls were not caving in. At least not right now.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Jan had been right. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that she’d died down here—and for what? Nothing. She’d died for nothing, and he hadn’t been able to save her.

  She’d been the only member of his crew to be kind to Era… even to Zephyr. She hadn’t held their exec level status against them as he knew his other crewmates had. She was one of the good ones. But death didn’t care how good you were.

  Dritan pounded a fist into the dirt and let out a growl of frustration. He pulled down the zipper of Jan’s suit, eyes burning, and removed the necklace she’d shown him, his fingers brushing her freezing skin.

  He held the necklace up to the light. It was a battered infinity symbol, taken from a broken machine. It must have come from metal recyc. He slid the necklace into his pocket and zipped it shut.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I promised I’d get us out of here. But… I’ll give Gavin your necklace. I’ll take Bella to observation. She’ll know how brave her mama was.”

  He lifted Jan’s canteen, still half-full, and drank a sip of it. The cool liquid coated his throat and took the edge off his thirst, filling him with relief. But all he felt was shame—shame that he could find relief while Jan sat next to him. Dead.

  He tucked her oxygen pack in his work belt and forced himself to walk away—leaving her alone in the darkness. It wasn’t her anymore. It was just a corpse. The Jan he’d known was gone.

  Dritan squeezed into the crevice just as a tremor ripped through the cavern. Adrenaline surged through his veins. He braced himself against the rocks, pulse roaring in his ears as the cavern shook around him. Rocks hit the ground on either side of the crevice, rumbling their awful promise—that he’d be trapped here between the wall and rock—with no way out.

  The quake ended, and Dritan called out in the direction of the main cavern. “McGill?”

  No answer.

  “McGill!”

  Still no answer.

  Dritan’s muscles bunched up, and he breathed rapidly in the darkness, too terrified to push ahead, to find out if the rocks had trapped him here permanently.

  None of us will make it out alive. Panic threatened to overtake him. Rescue hadn’t come. Maybe Jan had been right. Maybe the president wanted them dead.

  He’d failed Jan, and now he’d die just like she did, not able to keep any of his promises. And he’d failed Era, too.

  Era had looked so devastated when he’d stepped onto the Soren transport. Her brown eyes had been tear-filled, despairing. He’d thought he could protect her from pain. But he was just a sub. How could he have been so stupid? His parents had died out in space, a hull breach repair gone wrong. No one could get to you fast enough out there. Now he’d suffocate, just as his parents had.

  Dritan’s eyes burned, and he rubbed at them. How would Era deal with his death? She’d been raised above the rest of them, protected. She didn’t understand true deka society—the unspoken laws, the rules you had to follow. She hadn’t grown up working the dangerous sublevels. She hadn’t lost dozens of people the way he had.

  Her father had been lead tech on the London, and she’d fallen apart when he died. What would Dritan’s death do to her? Who would take care of her this time? No one had ever needed him the way Era had.

  Dritan closed his eyes and swallowed. He should just stay here in the crevice. Then, as his oxygen ran out, he could imagine the power core humming around him and pretend his death would be for the good of the fleet—that he’d been fixing something important in the sublevels.

  But his death would mean nothing.

  After you died in the fleet, you got to live on in the Infinitek way. The Seattle turned corpses into compost to make fertilizer for the Meso. But if he died down here, he’d just rot. And if they ever found his body, they’d incinerate it. That was the sick, disrespectful way they handled the dead on Soren.

  A clear mind and determination keep men alive. His old crew leader’s voice reverberated through his skull.

  Clear mind. Determination. That’s how subs survive.

  How could he give up now, in the final hours? He couldn’t quit. Not now. If death wanted him, he’d fight it every step of the way. He had to try to get out. To keep his promises.

  Dritan took a deep, sputtering breath and pushed out toward the other side of the crevice. He barely breathed as he extended his arm to check and see if the way was still open. It was half-blocked.

  He tightened his grip on the edge of the boulder and propelled himself forward, lurching out of the space, dragging his body against jagged edges.

  When he broke through to the other side, he choked out a laugh, relief flooding him that he’d escaped the crevice. But he still had to dig his way to the exit.

  When he threw his helio into the air to search for McGill, his momentary relief faded.

  McGill was right where he’d left him, but he wasn’t awake. Dritan rushed over to him and knelt. Dritan shook him, but he didn’t move. His oxygen pack had red-lined. It was gone, or nearly gone. Dritan clumsily retrieved Jan’s oxygen from his belt and replaced it. He looked closely and saw McGill’s chest still rose and fell.

  “Wake up.” Dritan shook him, but he didn’t respond. The bandages on his leg were soaked through, and drops of blood leaked from them, pooling beneath his leg, reminding Dritan of his failure to save Jan.

  He took another drink of water, and the hollow space in his gut filled up with something new, something more powerful than fear, more powerful than anger or grief. This new strength surged through him, and he got to his feet and headed for the rock pile blocking the exit—blocking the path to the recyc fan Jan had believed would be there.

  He would work for as long as his oxygen lasted—with or without McGill. He lifted a stone and dropped it to the ground.

/>   You’re not taking me today, Soren.

  Tadeo stood in Central corridor beside Chief as the squads arrived, lining up along the wide corridor outside Central. The only sound in the silence was the squeaking of dozens of boots on smooth tile.

  But his heart beat a staccato rhythm in his chest, so loud he was sure someone else must notice. He took a swig of his water to cool his dry throat. There was a bomb on the Paragon. There had to be. What sort of damage would five canisters of Artex and a canister of Zenith do?

  Whatever thrill he’d experienced over his own subterfuge was long gone. This was serious now—and it was too late for him to waver from his chosen path to protect his mother. Tatiana might be dead, but her actions could bring his whole family down with her. He had to find this bomb, and find a way to protect his family from the fallout, no matter what happened next.

  Omar and Kiva stood in the squad at the front, their expressions stiff, unreadable. Sweat beaded on their foreheads, but if any of the guards were experiencing anxiety over what they’d heard or seen, none showed it.

  When each of the ten squads—eighty men in all—had lined up in formation, Chief called them to attention.

  Every guard stood taller, each pair of eyes trained on Chief and Tadeo.

  “There may be a bomb on this ship,” Chief said, “and if there is, we’re going to find it.”

  Tadeo saw a flicker of fear pass over a few faces, but it was quickly squelched.

  “The substance you are looking for may be mixed in a plasstex container, probably clear. It’s the only grade that will melt under high heat and activate Zenith and Artex. The powder will look gray beneath the plasstex. Artex is black, and Zenith appears as larger white crystals mixed in.”

  “When heat is applied to Zenith and Artex, the bomb will explode. You will know the Zenith has been activated by heat if the white powder glows. And then you’ll only have a few minutes before the explosion happens. It cannot be deactivated once activated. If that happens, we must get it off this ship as soon as possible.”

  Now a few murmurs rose up from the ranks, but a stern glare from Chief quieted them once more. “It won’t get that far,” he said. “We’ll find these explosives and dispose of them. You are to tell no one what you know or what you are searching for. You will finish searching every job the terrorists did while aboard this ship, and we’ve chosen a handful of trusted maintenance workers to aid your search. You’ll report to me or Lieutenant Raines if you find anything. Do not attempt to handle the explosives without us present. Do you understand?”

  A chorus of ‘Yes, sirs’ filled the corridor.

  Tadeo and Chief stepped out of the way as the squads began their march down the corridor—toward the sectors each had been assigned to search.

  Kiva, Omar, and the rest of the president’s personal squads stayed behind.

  “You will go to command level and escort the board members to executive sector for a meeting,” Chief said. “Protect them at all costs. I will meet you there to escort the president. Sergeant Omar, you lead. I need Lieutenant Raines with me.”

  Omar nodded and gestured, and all of them marched down the corridor after the others toward the stairwell.

  Chief headed toward exec sector, and Tadeo walked fast to keep up, until they reached the double doors that separated the rest of guard level from executive sector.

  Chief ran his shift card over the scanner, and the doors slid open, exposing the empty corridors beyond. “The executive sector is the only sector we know for sure is safe,” Chief said. “We did a sweep after we airlocked the traitors. But I want you to do another sweep. Check behind every panel before the meeting starts. The president wants us both there, but I need to brief her first.”

  “Are we looking for a traitor from the Perth?”

  “No. Zenith’s made on the Beijing, and Artex is made on the Perth. It’s too dangerous to manufacture them together on the same deka. I think we’re looking at a Moscow traitor. Someone from supply got a hold of this. Maybe traitors on the Beijing.”

  Tadeo swallowed back a bitter taste in his mouth. “Sir, you keep saying Perth colonists couldn’t have done this, but… McGill was from the Perth. Maybe—”

  Chief halted and pressed his index finger into Tadeo’s chest, making his suit stick to him. “I told you never to speak of McGill.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Chief searched Tadeo’s face. Then, apparently satisfied, continued on to the conference cubic.

  Lume bars glinted off shiny new panels at the end of the exec corridor. This was the spot where the hull breach had happened less than two weeks ago, after the terrorists had sabotaged the panels. The breach had taken on a new meaning now that he knew his mother’s spy had sabotaged it.

  Tadeo swallowed. “What kind of damage could this amount of Artex and Zenith do?”

  The chief swiped his shift card before the executive conference cubic and looked at Tadeo. His face had gone pale, and beads of sweat had collected on his forehead. “That much could take out more than a few levels. If you put it in the right place, it could cripple the ship beyond repair.”

  “Would you need special knowledge only a mining worker would have?”

  “No,” Chief said. “You just combine them together and apply high heat. That’s it. If someone wanted to make a bomb and knew nothing, this would be the best way to do it. During the meeting, you stand—you don’t sit. And you don’t say one word unless the president directly asks you a question. And if the board asks about your mission, you leave Era out of it. Focus on the terrorists. That’s an order. Now search this cubic.”

  The chief hurried out, and Tadeo took a deep breath, looking around the cubic. A wide table took up the center of the room, and a holo screen filled one wall. He needed to be looking for the explosives, not stuck in this room. Yet… yet he’d wanted to be invited into this room since the day he’d arrived.

  The most important decisions in the fleet were made here. Right here at this table, they decided the fate of every colonist on every deka. The captains had their own laws, but they had to follow any laws made here or risk losing command.

  Could his mother be right? Did everyone have spies on every ship? Was no one to be trusted?

  Tadeo licked his lips and pulled off the first panel. He could never let anyone discover the link between Tatiana and his mother. It would mean forfeiting his mother’s life. And if they learned he knew the truth…

  It would mean forfeiting his own.

  ∞ ∞

  Tadeo finished checking the last wall panel before the first board member arrived. Then he stood in the corner of the room, back straight, and waited. Sweat soaked through the underarms of his suit, and his hair stuck to his forehead.

  A faint beep sounded from the scanner outside the door, and it slid open. Tomas Nielsen, representative of the Meso and the Oslo, strode through the door. His broad shoulders took up the frame, and he peered at Tadeo from over a beaked nose, scowling as he took a seat.

  “You going to tell me what’s happening?” Tomas asked, folding his hands on the table.

  “Sorry, sir. I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “I guess I should expect Nyssa to invite an inexperienced half to the meeting.”

  Tadeo fought to keep his expression blank. Tomas knew exactly who Tadeo was, yet he’d been rude to him each of the few times he’d ever addressed him.

  The door slid open again, and Farida Mittal, representative for the Perth and London, and Jon Lau, representative for the Kyoto and Beijing, walked in.

  Farida was shorter than Tadeo but several inches taller than Lau. Her youth and beauty were a stark contrast to his age and girth. Her long space-black hair was pulled away from her face, and she wore a strained expression. Did she know about the bomb? They all seemed to be uninformed. Otherwise, they’d be in a panic, no doubt.

  Tomas grunted as the two took their seats. “About time you showed up.”

  “We’re not late.” Jon ran a hand
over his ample stomach and gave Farida an annoyed look.

  The door opened again, and Nyssa, Chief, and Nassef Yasin, representative of the Dubai and Moscow, strode in.

  Nyssa took her seat at the head of the table, and Chief stood against the wall behind her. Nyssa’s face was pale, and she looked exhausted, like she hadn’t slept since Tadeo had last seen her.

  Nassef sat beside Farida and tapped his long fingers against the tabletop. He was dark-featured and tall, taller even than Tadeo. He was an imposing man, whose face was impossible to read. If he already knew about the explosives, he wasn’t showing it.

  There were six chairs, and one was still empty.

  Nyssa cleared her throat. “Where’s Nicolas?”

  Tomas snorted. “Probably passed out in his drink.”

  “We’ll wait a few more minutes.”

  “Everyone who matters is here,” Tomas said.

  “It’s important we’re all together when I tell you why I’ve called this meeting,” Nyssa said, folding her hands before her.

  Tomas scowled again and folded his arms across his chest.

  They waited a few more moments for the Vancouver and Seattle representative, and finally, the door slid open, and Nic Gonzalez stumbled through. His normally tan skin looked gray beneath the lume bars. As he took his seat near the corner where Tadeo stood, the scent of stale sweat and quin liquor wafted over.

  Tomas pointed a finger at Nic. “This is the last time you come to a board meeting drunk.”

  “I’m not drunk.”

  “You—”

  “Stop.” Nyssa pounded a fist on the table and everyone looked to her. “This is not caretaker sector. And I won’t put up with this.”

  Tomas grumbled but shut up. Nicolas screwed the cap back on his canteen.

  “One hour ago,” Nyssa said, her voice hard, “we found empty containers of explosives beneath the wall panels in paired sector. The terrorists we airlocked were planning something. We may have a bomb on this ship.”

  Voices erupted around the table, everyone shouting at once. Only Nassef stayed silent, his face a blank mask. Tadeo took a deep breath and pressed his back into the corner.