by K. M. Ruiz
Keiko swallowed her anger and the desire to strike out. It wouldn’t solve anything here. “My loyalty to Ciari was never in question. Her loyalty to the Silence Law has never been in doubt. The only transgressions here are yours.” Keiko’s mouth twisted as she slung Aidan’s arm over her shoulder. “We’ll consider your offer.”
“An empath, Keiko. You need one. Now get out of my office.”
In an eye blink, they were gone.
Nathan returned to his desk, accessing the system again. A new download had come in last night that he needed to deal with. Sharra, given enough incentive, managed to accomplish the impossible some days. Who would have thought a human could be so much more useful than his own children?
Sharra had sent along two files. The first was confirmation of the back door now embedded in Erik’s personal computer system, where the most sensitive data on the upcoming launch was stored. Nathan forwarded that to the hackers in his Syndicate, whose job it would be to monitor and retrieve information. The second download was pure data.
He initiated an uplink with the records division of the Warhounds. “Get me everything we have on the Stryker known as Jason Garret. Check Samantha Serca’s reports first, then supplement it with nonduplicative files. I want it within the hour.”
“Sir.”
Retrievals were done at his discretion, no matter how hard Ciari had lobbied for the saving of her people in the past. Nathan could leave Earth without the psion Lucas had discovered, but he didn’t want to. The explosion on the mental grid after the fight in Buffalo must have been the breaking of Jason’s natal shields. Samantha’s last useful act was discovering that Stryker’s unique shields, but it wasn’t enough to keep her alive now that she had turned traitor.
A window popped up on the vidscreen again, stating that the second download was complete. Nathan opened the file and scrolled through the latest schematics of the Ark that lay docked in cold space behind the moon, its decks just waiting to be filled.
ELEVEN
SEPTEMBER 2379
PARIS, FRANCE
The Border Wars were instigated by first-world countries, so it was no great shock when they were the first casualties. France was hit hard, situated between countries that suffered just as badly. That nation had owned a stockpile of nuclear bombs at the beginning of the five-year stretch of war, all the excuse anyone needed to attack. Retaliation was inevitable for every country on Earth, in whatever way possible. France was no different in its response, and like many countries, it was wiped off the map by the end of the Border Wars.
Deadzones still covered the European continent, areas where nuclear fallout and lingering radiation made it impossible for life to take back the land. The Paris Basin was a toxic pit, a concentrated mess of pollution and nuclear taint that no one could live in. The Seine, that ancient waterway that carved through France, was a poisonous water route that twisted through and around the ruins of the city. Massive dams that had once graced the banks downriver to hold back the Atlantic Ocean had been destroyed or eroded over time. Salt water inevitably flowed into fresh, seeping deep into dirt to mix with toxic runoff. Pools of water and crawling fog were stained an eerie green.
Paris—flooded, abandoned, and lost—stretched out before Dalia in the early-afternoon sunlight. Dalia was one of Nathan’s best spies, a human capable of taking on any identity and owning it for the duration of her mission. She was unremarkable to look at, easily forgotten once she finished a job. Switching identities and appearances to gain information was her life, and Nathan owned all of them.
Squinting through the brightness of a clear, near-autumn day, Dalia scratched at the skin where the collar of her uniform rubbed against her throat. Beneath it, she wore a skinsuit specially tailored to block the lingering radiation in the Paris Basin. Her hard helmet was on the floor by her seat. People could work without a skinsuit, as bondworkers did, but the radiation levels were still high enough to damage DNA. The government’s Command Center was specially shielded, but people always took precautions.
The threat of certain death and ruined DNA kept people out of France, or should have. When records of Mars Colony, with its massive enclosed habitat, made their way back into the awareness of the surviving government, getting there became the number one priority. Surviving meant more than simply clawing one’s way into the Registry by any means necessary. It meant preparing to take up the mantle of a progressive society once again. The results of that effort stood before her beyond the Command Center, reflecting sunlight.
Platforms, hundreds of them, stood above the wastewater and ruins, all holding space shuttles. Running through the middle of those platforms was a long launch ramp that curved into the sky. Built by government scientists and enslaved bondworkers, shielded against lingering nuclear taint, the shuttles were waiting to be filled by those lucky enough to be in the Registry.
“Shuttle Prime, this is Command, do you copy, over,” the government’s head of operations said into an uplink where he stood some meters away from Dalia.
“We copy, over,” the pilot said.
Dalia trained her eyes back on the vidscreen in front of her instead of the view beyond the large plasglass windows. Her role here was in operations, just one of many bodies contracted out of government-controlled scientific divisions. She’d worn her latest identity as a scientist before, just not here. Studying the vidscreen, Dalia watched the shuttle’s system come online, the same information showing on other terminals.
“Weather looks like it’s holding. We’ve got clearance for launch, over.”
“Copy that, Command, over.”
“Begin preflight calibration and start countdown, over.”
The countdown went smoothly, months of practice simulations enabling the crew to launch on time and without difficulty. The shuttle roared down the curved ramp, thrusters burning a bright line through the sky as it launched, smoke and vapor trailing in its wake. This was one of the larger shuttles, capable of carrying three hundred people and supplies. Today, it carried only three-quarters of a full load as it fought gravity and left Earth behind, the shuttle’s route rigidly plotted on the vidscreens in the command room.
The crew on that shuttle would begin the final preparations on the Ark for its passengers, joining the lead group who launched six months ago. Dalia watched the shuttle until it wasn’t even a pinprick in the sky, the smoke trail dragged to pieces by the wind. A soft beep brought her attention back to her console, an arriving encrypted message requiring her attention. She tapped in a few commands, downloading it to a separate folder. A background filter was already running, keeping the download from being discovered by the central command system. She’d crack the file later and retrieve her new orders from Nathan. At the moment, she had other duties to perform.
“Sir,” Dalia said to her supervisor. “Preparing for communications with the Ark in fifteen hours and counting.”
She set the clock, the numbers winding down.
PART THREE
Vitiate
SESSION DATE: 2128.06.29
LOCATION: Institute of Psionics Research
CLEARANCE ID: Dr. Amy Bennett
SUBJECT: 2581
FILE NUMBER: 596
“I’m tired,” Aisling says. The nurse taking a vial of her blood for testing doesn’t look up.
“We’re almost finished, Aisling,” the doctor says from where she stands behind the nurse, watching the procedure.
The nurse pulls the needle out of the girl’s arm and places a small bandage over the hole in her skin. Aisling leans her head back and stares at the doctor, wires framing her face.
“There’s nothing special about my blood,” she says.
The doctor waves the nurse out of the room. Only when they’re alone does the doctor step closer and stare down at her small patient. “It’s not your blood we want.”
Aisling slowly nods, the wires swaying with the motion. “You can’t see what I see, but you want to. That’s why I’m here, isn’t i
t?”
“We have records of people that don’t exist and years none of us or our children will live to see because you refuse to help us.”
“Everyone has their part to play.” Aisling blinks rapidly, the machines changing pitch. “Right, Threnody?”
“What about us?” the doctor asks sharply.
“You’re running out of time.”
TWELVE
SEPTEMBER 2379
AMUNDSEN-SCOTT SOUTH POLE STATION, ANTARCTICA
They flew straight into the polar night until even the ocean became impossible to make out as darkness filled the sky. They passed over the Ross Ice Shelf, shuttle lights cutting through a blackness lit only by long streaks of green. The aurora australis guided their way from time to time, a brightly glowing ribbon in the sky. Maps drawn across hologrids surrounded the navigator’s seat. They showed only two points marked on the continental outline of Antarctica. Twenty minutes later, the shuttles flew over the first point, McMurdo Station an invisible ruin below. It had long since given way to the elements.
“Gonna be a tough flight the rest of the way,” Matron said as she stretched in her seat. The sound of metal popping was uncomfortably loud as she rotated her arms in ways real limbs couldn’t bend. Her cybernetic replacements were covered in synthskin, but these moments reminded Lucas that she wasn’t all flesh and bone.
“Wind is gonna be a bitch. Here’s hoping the deicing coat we put on the shuttles holds up after the Arctic.” Matron glanced over at Lucas, who was in the navigator’s seat. “You want to comm them or should I?”
“When we’re past the mountain range,” Lucas said as he continued to monitor their route. “Piggybacking off the government’s satellites is easier to do farther inland.”
“You’re the boss.”
They kept one eye on their instrumentation and the other on the dark around them. They couldn’t see the Queen Alexandra Range as they approached that small subset of the Transantarctic Mountains, which spanned the frozen continent. All they could rely on was the computer as the shuttles flew over snow and ice far below.
Like the Arctic, Antarctica was relatively untouched, only two areas of the continent having been inhabited when the bombs first fell. Most of those eight hundred people had been pulled out by their respective countries at the time due to distrust. The abandonment of McMurdo led to the abandonment of the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station as well. The domino effect meant no one should have remembered that either place ever existed, but Lucas had a knack for finding abandoned history.
Thirty minutes later, Lucas started an uplink, one with a noticeable lag in sending and receiving. “South Pole, this is Alpha shuttle leading Operation Deep Freeze, do you copy, over.”
The uplink hummed for over a minute before someone answered. “Alpha shuttle, this is South Pole. We copy, over.”
“We’ve got nine shuttles en route and our ETA is one hour, over.”
“Thought you were bringing more’n that, over.”
“This is all we’ve got. Be ready to transport, out.”
Lucas cut the connection.
Matron gestured at her terminal. “Get me a route.”
Lucas silently plotted her a vector, and she waved her thanks at him when he finished. Night flying was always dangerous, especially when one needed to land in unfamiliar terrain. They saw the lights of the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station well before they arrived. The illumination wouldn’t make it any easier to land on packed snow in the middle of the polar night.
The spotlights shining through the dark illuminated the improvised airfield. Tiny figures milled about near two half-buried buildings, one in the shape of the letter E, but with a fourth little leg added on, and the second, which looked like a dome. Bumps protruded from the icy snow, eroded foundations of buildings that no one could live in anymore. The shuttles landed in careful unison.
Matron stared through the windshield at the group making its way across the airfield. “She’s grown,” Matron said as she went through the postflight protocol.
“Children do that,” Lucas replied. He slid the hood of his insulated skinsuit over his head, sealing the skinmask to it for protection against the dangerous cold.
The Strykers were waiting for Lucas by the cold-storage units when he finally made it into the cargo bay. From a nearby seat, Kristen yawned behind her skinmask, gleaming dark blue eyes tracking her brother’s every move. Samantha sat beside her, expression ruthlessly blank. Lucas curled his fingers at his sisters in a commanding gesture, expecting them to follow him out.
The cargo door opened, letting in a blast of freezing air. Even sealed against the elements behind skinsuits and heavy clothing, it was impossible not to feel the cold. Jogging up into the shuttle, leaving wet footprints behind her, came a slim young woman. Behind the skinmask she wore, her face was as black as Matron’s, her smile one of vast relief.
“Shit, Ma, took you long enough to get down here,” the stranger said as she was pulled into a fierce hug by Matron.
Matron gave herself a five-second reunion before putting her only child at arm’s length. “You put on weight, Zahara,” Matron said with a decisive nod. “Didn’t think that was possible down here.”
“You’d be surprised at what the hydroponics lab can produce. None of us starved.” The woman turned to face Lucas, jerking her thumb in the Strykers’ direction. “They ain’t scavengers.”
“Like mother, like daughter,” Lucas said, a hard smile pulling at his mouth.
Zahara didn’t seem to mind his coldness. “You know it. But, hell, if you brought ’em, we’ll work ’em.” Zahara patted one of the large cold-storage units bolted to the deck. “These the precious cargo?”
“Observant as always, Zahara.”
Zahara shrugged, ignoring the glare that Samantha turned on her for the familiar way she addressed Lucas. “It’s what you pay me to be. We’ve got the dome open and snowcats ready for hauling. How much are you gonna be teleporting?”
“None of it,” Lucas said, gesturing at the others. “Jason here is your telekinetic.”
“For half the load,” Jason said. “If that. I need a fucking break.”
Zahara eyed Jason before sighing in exasperation. She crooked a finger at him. “Follow me. Let’s get you a visual.”
“I take it you don’t need an explanation on the functions of teleportation.”
“Been working with Lucas for years. I know how you telekinetics work.”
Jason followed the younger woman outside, sliding through the crowd gathered at the bottom of the ramp. Matron tracked her daughter’s path for a second or two before refocusing her attention on her people.
“All right, everyone. Listen up,” Matron called out. “Getting out of Buffalo was worse than getting out of DC two years ago. Lost about as many people, but we don’t got time to grieve right now. So choke back whatever arguments you’ve got and get to work. We’ve got cargo to shift.”
Matron expected her people to obey, and she had Everett to help make them toe the line. Lucas watched her call out orders, content for the moment to let her organize the work flow. Quinton came to stand beside Threnody, watching the scavengers.
“You’re not up to playing stevedore, Thren,” Quinton said, glancing over at all the cargo strapped down in the shuttle.
She bristled at the implication she couldn’t pull her weight. “Watch me.”
“I have. You’re going to undo everything we’ve done to keep you breathing.”
“He’s right,” Lucas said. “You’re not helping with this, Threnody. Get inside the station. Korman needs to look you over.”
“Korman?” Threnody said. “That doctor with biomodifications for eyes?”
“The very same.”
“I don’t need to be operated on again.”
“Which is good, since he’s probably drunk.” Lucas shrugged at Quinton’s angry expression. “He’ll be coherent enough to run some tests.”
Quinton shook his head. “
You want me to trust some goddamned drunk with Threnody’s life?”
“No. I’m telling you to trust me. Now get to work, Quinton. Threnody? Get inside.”
Lucas walked away. Kerr drifted over, giving Threnody a sympathetic look. “You can’t really argue with him. He got us this far.”
“Yeah,” Threnody said as she started down the ramp. “Makes you wonder how much further he’s going to take us before he finds a reason to discard us.”
Kerr nodded. “Come on, Quinton. Let’s do this.”
As Threnody headed for the nearby station, Quinton and Kerr moved to join the scavengers, all of whom had separated into small groups charged with operating gravlifts and a dozen old-style cargo sleds hooked up to ancient-looking machines with flat tracks in place of wheels. They joined a work queue, adding their strength to hauling out boxes of seeds and other items, and organizing them into piles for teleportation into the dome.
The cold-storage units in every shuttle were unbolted and gravlifts used to pry them out. They were transferred onto cargo sleds, stabilized with heavy metal chains and hooks, then driven down a brightly lit icy path. Kerr rode along with the first load into the snow-covered dome. The entrance looked as if it had been carved into one side of the dome, the road they were on canting downward at a slight incline. They drove through the entrance at the bottom, the way braced by walls of ice whose weight Kerr didn’t trust.
Zahara and Jason were still looking the place over, Jason needing to know the dimensions of the dome and the placement of everything inside to form a safe teleport. It looked as if various rooms had once existed inside the dome before the scavengers tore the interior apart to form an open space. Kerr jumped off the vehicle and let the scavengers start unloading the cold-storage unit.
“Are you going to be all right, Jays?” Kerr asked as he approached Jason.
“I’ll be fine,” Jason said as he squinted up at the geodesic ceiling. “This needs to be done. I can do it quicker than the machines.”