Edge of Darkness

by Vikki Romano

  “Just fucking tell me!” Calder said.

  “GenMed has what appears to be a small space station in S6.”

  Calder’s jaw dropped at that information, and he closed his eyes. This was no cut-and-run mission where he’d go up in his rig and bomb the shit out of a random satellite. This was a space mission, plain and simple. S6 was part of the outer exosphere, one of the Mars sectors. You got there in a shuttle or a rocket. And it was governed by the Global Astronautics Agency. You didn’t just show up unannounced.

  “Jesus Christ,” Calder said. “So now what?”

  “Well, you and I are the only ones on the team with astro clearances. And even then, I’m going to have to pull some pretty hefty strings to get a shuttle.”

  “Yeah, I kind of figured as much. Is it doable? I mean, is this a long shot?”

  Gage ran a hand over his short hair and scratched his head.

  “It’s doable, but it’s not going to be easy. You need to get a couple hours of re-certs in before you go up.”

  “I figured that as much, too. Get me on the list and I’ll do it today.”

  “No, not today. You haven’t slept or eaten since we got back. Sleep deprivation in the G room is bad news. I’ll schedule you for later this week.”

  Calder sighed and nodded. Gage was right. His head needed to be clear and focused.

  “I hear you.”

  “And I do have some good news,” Gage said, standing and going to his desk. “Hatch came through on some new units for us.”

  He opened a drawer, grabbed a cardkey, and tossed it to Calder.

  “Seriously?” Calder asked. It had been so long since anything had gone his way, he was beginning to wonder if it ever would again. This was definitely good news. The couch in his office was destroying his back.

  “This is the address,” Gage said, handing him a card.

  Calder looked at it. Kent Island.

  “Isn’t this down near the harbor?”

  “Yup. Nice places, too.”

  “You don’t want us closer?”

  “You have S2 access. It’s a fifteen-minute hop. Besides, you need this. It’s a nice place, peaceful. Take some time for yourself, at least a couple of days. This trip up to S6 could take a couple of weeks, maybe a month. You need to be on your game when you leave.”

  Calder clenched his jaw at that. As much as he knew he needed to rest and get his head straight, he just could not find the strength to tear himself away from Sierra’s side. She needed him there.

  “As long as you call me the minute she wakes up,” he said. “Then I’ll go.”

  “You know I will. That’s a given,” Gage agreed.

  Calder nodded hesitantly then made his way out of Gage’s office. He gathered a few things from his own office before going back up to the clinic to check on Sierra one last time.

  “She’s still asleep,” Joannie, one of the med techs, said as she changed out Sierra’s IV and tapped info into a pad.

  Calder looked over her shoulder, trying to get any info he could, but he wasn’t a med tech and none of the info made sense.

  Joannie chuckled, blanked the screen, and turned to him.

  “She’s going to be OK,” she said kindly, giving him a soft smile. “We already have her scheduled to have a psych eval once she’s awake so we can see where she’s at.”

  Hearing those words made his blood go cold, but he nodded, knowing it was not only necessary, but vital.

  “Thanks,” he said, then went to Sierra’s side, took her hand, and gave it a squeeze. “I’m heading home. Please notify me if there’s any change.”

  “Will do, sir. Go get some rest. She’s in good hands.”

  Forcing his feet to move, Calder turned away from Sierra’s bed with a heavy heart and left.

  He loaded his rig with the stuff he’d grabbed from his office and set a course to his new place.

  He tried to doze a bit during the trip, but too many things were running through his mind. And too many of those things were about her, how she would react, how she would cope.

  Would he be able to help her? Save her from herself? And how could he save her if he couldn’t even save himself?

  Without another thought, he punched at the dash and cranked up the music. It was the only way to drown out the voices in his head before his doubt drowned him.

  When he finally pulled up to the group of buildings huddled behind the east-facing dunes, he found himself itching with anxiety and trepidation. And he was stunned by what he saw.

  His apartment in New York was nowhere near shabby, but it was no West Side digs, either. It was noisy, dark, and, at times, a bit gritty. Not that it wasn’t safe, but he felt better when he had a weapon on him there.

  This place was paradise in comparison.

  The clusters of blue-gray buildings and their sun-washed roofs sat behind a sprawling gated fence that made the place look like a country club. Coming to a halt next to the guard booth, he held out his ID.

  The guard smiled broadly.

  “Mister McKenna, welcome to The Shoals.”

  Calder blinked. OK, this was seriously weird.

  “Thanks for having me,” he answered, withholding a chuckle.

  “You’re in section B, unit 2.” The guard leaned out of the booth and pointed. “Right at the circle and the second building on the left. Here’s some info for you as well.” He handed Calder a brochure. “If you have any questions, feel free to contact the clubhouse.”

  “Clubhouse?”

  “Yes, sir. On the far side of the circle. There’s a theater, a pool, a full gym, and a concierge service if you need anything else.”

  “Thank you,” Calder said with a smile, and pulled his rig through the barrier once it dropped into the ground. He watched as it came back up behind him.

  Following the directions, he pulled into the spot marked for his unit and stepped out of his rig. He grabbed the box from his trunk, walked up the gravel path, and, following the arrows, jogged up the stairs and across a breezeway to a door marked B2.

  He popped the card into the lock and shoved the door open.

  It was a spacious unit, much bigger than any of the places he’d ever had.

  The foyer was large and opened to a sitting area. A fireplace on one wall and floor-to-ceiling French doors on another.

  He dropped the box on the couch, went to the French doors, and pushed them open.

  His senses were immediately overwhelmed with the scent of the bay on the breeze, its undertones of salt and sand soothing him. He took a few steps and leaned his arms on the sun-bleached railing that wrapped the deck. He watched as sailboats bobbed and glided in the glistening waters of Eastern Bay off in the distance.

  Yeah, he could get used to this.

  He stood there and watched life go by for what could have been hours, and felt some of his tension leave him. The moment thoughts of Sierra surfaced, though, he shook his head and thought of other things. Like his impending trip to S6.

  That was until his stomach growled angrily.

  The kitchen was huge. Dark marble-topped whitewashed cabinets surrounded an expansive island with a sink, stovetop, and bar area. The stainless steel fridge was twice as big as any he’d ever had. And opening it, he was thrilled to find that it had been stocked.

  He pulled out some sandwich fixings, stacked the bread with meat, cheese, and lettuce, and, grabbing a beer, headed to the living area to eat and relax.

  The vid screen reacted to him immediately, and he quickly sequenced it to his voice and had his favorite sports channel running as he dug into his meal. After watching some football replays and a few minutes of depressing global news, he decided he needed to get some sleep. His head was swimming and he knew he was exhausted.

  The bedroom was off the back of the condo, in a wing of its own, with a monstrous en suite bathroom.

  Forgoing a shower, he went to the massive king bed, stripped, and fell
into a fitful sleep.

  As exhausted as he was, he tossed and turned.

  Kicking off the sheets, he sat up and rubbed his fingers through his hair. He wouldn’t find sleep, not while he was tied in knots.

  Drowsily heading to the bathroom, he stood at the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. Gage was right--he looked like shit. Aside from being unshaven, his face seemed drawn and gaunt. His eyes were dull and darker than normal. Barring all the physical signs of his exhaustion, he didn’t see himself in the mirror.

  Not the person he knew.

  Was this because he was worn out or because he was someone else now? He looked deep into his own eyes, not liking what he saw.

  He looked over his chest, poked at his skin.

  He didn’t feel any different.

  Then again, the monster, unlike him, was asleep now--but for how long? And could he trust that he could always control what was inside him, what was itching to come out?

  No, he wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  He had spent several hours at the retest facility completing all his physicals and getting his certifications updated. If he hadn’t already been exhausted, he definitely was now.

  After four days at his new place on Kent Island, surrounded by the scenic coast and aquatic wildlife, even after feeling somewhat at peace, sleep evaded him.

  The nightmares were something he was used to. With vivid flashbacks from the wars, he’d wake up panicked and in a sweat, but now these horrid dreams were peppered with visions of Sierra and the other members of his team being blown to pieces. In most instances, he was in some kind of bubble, pounding and yelling for them to get away, but they could not see or hear him. He was helpless. Always so helpless.

  He woke up terrified, the same as he always did after only a few hours of fitful sleep, and it was wearing him thin.

  Their team’s flight doctor pulled him aside after his last physical had been completed, noting his angst.

  “You’re healthy, there is no doubt about that. The added benefit of your augment’s DNA booster makes you a miraculous healer, which in your line of work is no small trick,” he said as he tapped away at his pad, finishing up the paperwork to clear Calder for the mission ahead.

  “You’re right, it’s saved my life more than once,” Calder said as he pulled his t-shirt on and tucked it into his pants.

  “And though you check out fine in every other section,” Doctor Brackenridge said, “your emotional state has not escaped me.”

  Calder gripped the bridge of his nose, not knowing how to respond. He could say he was fine, but he knew he wasn’t. One look in the mirror and he could see he looked like he was aging exponentially.

  The doctor set his pad on the counter and turned back to him, crossing his arms.

  “You’re still having nightmares,” he said pointedly. “You told Doctor Ellison as much during your psych eval.”

  “Yes, I am,” Calder answered. “It’s the PTSD.”

  Brackenridge nodded and looked Calder over.

  “Are you still taking your meds?”

  Calder grumbled to himself.

  “No, they make me jumpy, twitchy. I can’t have that in my line of work.”

  “Being sleep deprived won’t do you any favors either,” the doctor said, then grabbed his pad and began tapping. “I’m giving you a new prescription for a patch. Slow release, non-opiate.”

  “What is it and does it have any side effects?”

  “It’s a new synthetic neuro buffer. Tamps down the anxiety a bit. It’s used by Parkinson’s patients, cures them of the shakes. It does other things that will help you calm down.”

  “What about my augment, and the trip?”

  “If anything, your augment will benefit from it, since it’s already built its own buffers. And your trip isn’t until next week. You can start this tonight, and if you react at all, stop taking it. No harm in trying.”

  Calder agreed, but the thought of starting a new drug filled him with dread. He’d never had good outcomes with any of them.

  For years after the war he’d bounced from one prescription to another. They were always “trying” something new, but nothing ever helped him, only made things worse. Some made him twitchy; some made him lethargic or more emotionless than he already was. He didn’t need that.

  And his body had already adapted to the lack of sleep. He’d amp up on coffee or protein drinks if he needed a boost, but lately he didn’t seem to need them. His augment reserved his energy, and when he was down for the night, even if he didn’t find sleep, he could relax enough that he felt like he got some rest, as if it set his brain on some kind of idle mode.

  Doctor Brackenridge cleared his throat, and Calder looked up at him.

  “You need to do this, Calder. Your peace of mind is paramount in all things. You know that.”

  “Yeah,” he managed to get out as he hopped off the table and shrugged on his jacket.

  “You can pick it up on the way out,” the doctor said, walking him out of the room. “And let me know how it goes this time. Don’t just throw it in the trash.”

  “Yeah.” Calder smirked, shook the doctor’s hand, and left.

  His mind wandered on the entire trip back to the condo, jumping from apprehension about the new meds to wondering how Sierra was getting on. His brain had been a fucking ping-pong ball all day.

  Gage had messaged him two days earlier to let him know that she had been released to a sort of physical therapy section and that as far as he could tell, she was fine. He didn’t offer any details and Calder didn’t ask for any. If she was, in fact, fine, she’d tell him herself when she had a chance. Hopefully.

  Sitting on his new deck every evening after his rounds of testing and certifications, he would look out on the water and watch the boats, feel his body relax, and he would think of her.

  Not just of her, but of them. Together. Apart. So many scenarios played through his mind.

  He needed to be with her--not just for selfish reasons, but because she would need him to guide her through the transition with her augment. It was a stupid excuse, and he knew in the end he was being selfish, but he had to hold on to that if she gave him no other option.

  They hadn’t parted on good terms before all this happened. She had been angry at him, and he was even angrier at her. He’d found out earlier in the week that Eric, her fiancé, had died of wounds he received at GenMed. And even with that, he didn’t know where he stood. Did she even know or remember what had happened to Eric, or had she lost those memories during the implant surgery?

  He didn’t dare ask, not yet, not until he could figure out where her heart and mind were. And if they weren’t anywhere near him, he’d have to accept that and move on without her. He couldn’t burden her with his guilt.

  And maybe that was the better idea in the end. It had been how many years since Kayla? Twelve? Thirteen? He still hadn’t come to terms with her death, and he hadn’t been able to have anything more than one-night stands since. Emotionless sex, no connection. That had suited him, but not anymore.

  He hadn’t told anyone about his fiancée, not even after Gage started to dig about it. It wasn’t something he wanted to relive, because that guilt was buried with everything else in his past. Opening up that part of him might break him now.

  They had been high school sweethearts, and Calder couldn’t have landed a sweeter, more devoted woman. But as his father pushed about his future, as he ground him down about what he was expected to be, how he was expected to support her, something changed in him.

  They would become like his parents. Like her parents. Him always stressed and working, her stuck at home with kids she really didn’t want, but had out of obligation. On the weekends they’d have to paint on those faces and smile and shake hands with the country club set, marveling at each other’s wealth and bragging about the things you had that they didn’t.


  He didn’t want that. He never had.

  His idea of a perfect life would to just be happy being in the other person’s company. He didn’t care what kind of fucking china they had in the dining room; he cared that his wife would love him no matter what he did… and Kayla didn’t.

  When he broke it to her and his family that he’d chosen to join the military, they both reacted with equal antipathy. This was not what they expected from him, not what he was supposed to do.

  After a time, Kayla gave in. She still loved him, even though she knew they would end up at a barracks and not in a six-bedroom mansion somewhere upstate, but when he broke the news about his augment and what it would do to him, it devastated them all. Especially her. Beyond the point of recovery. No matter how he would try to soothe her and let her know that he would still be who he was, she, like Sierra, had an aversion to biotech. The thought of it repulsed her.

  News of her suicide while he was on active duty was what broke him. Was what tore his heart from his chest and removed emotion from his life.

  After that, he was what the army wanted him to be: an emotionless shell willing to do anything because he had nothing else to lose. He was the perfect soldier.

  Years later, when he joined the task force, Sierra was the only woman who ever made him question his lack of emotion, his lack of wanting someone around. She was different in so many ways, and as much as he wanted her, he didn’t want anything even remotely emotionless with her. He wanted to know all of her.

  He knew her in the simplest sense through their daily interactions, having worked as partners, and he knew some personal things about her, things he’d picked up along the way. She liked her coffee so white and sweet that she may as well not add coffee. She despised the sound of anyone chewing gum. Her favorite color was orange and her favorite scent was cinnamon. And she had a beautiful voice. On occasion, when a favorite song came on in the rig, she would hum or sing along, and it always soothed him. Made him smile.

  Her love of music was as broad as her love of food. She tried all kinds of both and loved just about all of it, but her favorite of each was Hispanic. Spicy food and spicier music.