by Cheri Lasota
“Stop!” a new voice burst in. Someone must have entered the compartment. “What you're doing goes against all board protocols—”
“You don't understand what is happening here, Dextra,” Justice snapped. “Stay out of it.”
“I won't, mother. No matter what is happening, you have no right to harm another human life.”
So this woman—he knew her as a member of the Joint Command Procedural Group—was Alexandra Justice's daughter. He had never made the connection before.
“Dextra, leave this compartment immediately,” Alexandra said, grabbing her daughter by the arm. “This is not your concern.”
“O'Neal,” Graversen said, “remove this woman now.”
“No. You have to stop whether you want to or not. Nautilus Command has ordered an urgent meeting. We're docking to Nautilus within the hour. You all need to listen to me now.”
“What the hell is this all about?” Commander Edge shouted.
“Iranian militants unleashed a bird 90 minutes ago. Israel had no choice but to counterattack when they learned of a second bird aimed at Jerusalem.”
Solomon heard it in Dextra's lowering voice, saw it in her frightened dark eyes. It was the truth.
Alexandra gasped and Edge ripped the scalpel out of Solomon's palm, releasing a fresh wave of agony. The blood floated out in a bulbous gush.
“Result,” Edge demanded.
“Devastation. Nautilus Command has confirmed that nuclear winter is a mathematical certainty.”
Everything the world had feared after decades of waiting out the peace talks. All that he, himself, had feared. No escape now but this one chance. He could just see the hull of the SS Challenge coming into view out the window, docked at Nautilus and waiting. Never had that hunk of metal seemed more precious, more beautiful than it did right now. Soon, he'd see the Nautilus-11 Space Station itself, it's giant fractal arm reaching out like a spiral galaxy, reaching toward Andromeda and the promise of life on New Eden.
“A winter is confirmed by the International Consortium?” Graversen asked.
“Yes, I believe so. The board has called an emergency meeting. No exceptions. You must all join them in the Nautilus Command Module without delay.”
“Dammit. Dextra, tell them I'll be there after I've extracted the information we need. Nothing is more important than this.”
“No exceptions,” Dextra repeated. “They want to talk to you about this . . . About Reach Corp.”
That admission right there told Solomon beyond any doubt that the leaders of Challenge Command—Edge, Justice, and Graversen—as well as Nautilus Command and the board itself were in on this Reacher betrayal from the beginning. Not only that, but they were about to execute their plan to get the Reachers off the SS Challenge. Well, not on his watch.
Commander Edge suddenly pulled away from Solomon, obviously realizing that Dextra had given away too much. “I'll be back, Reach, and if you don't release the information we need, I will hurt you and every Reacher you care about in any way I can. Do not doubt me.”
He heard voices around him, only catching snippets here and there as he tried to steady his breathing and focus on anything but the pain.
“Stand guard, O'Neal,” he thought he heard Mads say.
“Dextra, I don't want you interfering with Challenge business ever again.” Alexandra's voice was low but commanding.
“You know I'll have to report this, Mother.”
“There's no one to report it to,” Alexandra said, her voice sarcastic.
“Go on. I'll come shortly after I've talked with O'Neal.”
“I'll be back in a moment, ma'am . . .” was O'Neal's professional reply as his voice trailed off.
Solomon closed his eyes for a moment and listened to the rustling of them all leaving the compartment, his pulsing hand somehow feeling disconnected from the rest of his body, his breathing labored and his body sweating.
But one remained. He could hear her heightened breathing.
“Are you all right?”
It was Dextra Justice.
“Chief Reach?” she ventured again.
He opened his eyes and just gazed at her as his sweat and fear and blood floated surreally around her. The feeling in the muscles of his bleeding hand came back in a rush, which made his fingers twitch and ache. She had an almost Asian or Dutch look to her slanted eyes, and her tiny mouth shimmered with near-black lipstick. Her dark hair was tucked neatly under her Nautilus-issued black leather cloche hat, and her black uniform outlined every sleek muscle in her limbs. He looked for a spark of humanity in her face. Something he could hold on to. It all lay in her eyes.
“It's Solomon,” he finally croaked out. He kept his gaze steady on hers, though he ached to see if anyone watched at the door. It was time to make this happen, and he needed every advantage he could get.
“Do you need . . . water?” she asked, though she floated back from him. “Something from the med kit maybe?”
Solomon decided to be straight with her. He knew only one thing would reach a woman whose life and work revolved around procedures and rules: the truth.
“Ms. Justice, I'm going to tell you what's really going on here, and then I will let you decide my fate and that of my crew.”
Dextra Justice's thin, sculpted eyebrows rose. Her surprise wasn't a shock, but Solomon had surprised himself. He had just put the lives of at least three thousand souls in this woman's hands, and he didn't even know her. As far as he knew, she was just another Founder stooge, always doing as she was told. But again, he saw a flash of something in those coal-lined cat eyes. It was sympathy, if not outright empathy. He had to try.
“Let me stop the bleeding first,” she said, deflecting.
Dextra didn't release the ties around his wrists. Rather, she took a foothold and rummaged around in the med kit for a nano-band. She pulled it from its casing and pushed herself nearer to him.
“Relax your hand, Chief Reach,” she said, touching his forearm lightly.
Without thinking, he did as she told him. After wrapping the nano-band loosely around his palm, which was bleeding into the air around them quite freely now, they both sat quietly watching the nanobots slowly tighten the thrombin coagulant at its core around his skin. He flinched when she pressed to secure it. Then she did the same with his bloodied finger.
Dextra shifted her body to face him squarely.
“All right, Chief. Now you can tell me.”
Solomon nodded, fiddling with the band and flexing his fingers to test mobility. “Ms. Justice, I've given my life to Reach Corp, to the design and construction of these Asteria ships, to the Founders. In return, they promised me—in a signed contract—that they would guarantee safe passage for those I care for: my employees and their families. It's what we've worked so hard for. It's why we've sacrificed our lives up here for decades. It was all for our joint survival.”
“What changed? Did you not—”
“Up until this day, I gave them everything they ever asked of me. But no more.”
“Do you mean that you refuse to repair the propulsion system?”
“That is correct, Ms. Justice.”
“You would allow the deaths of so many innocents? Why?”
“Challenge Command, including your mother, betrayed us. They have secretly been letting unauthorized people come up via the Tolux Sky Elevator lifters in recent weeks. I just discovered this today. When I questioned Commander Edge about it, he refused to answer.
“He wouldn't tell you what they are doing up here?” she asked.
“No. Do you know?”
Dextra shook her head and glanced out the fenestella.
“Don't misunderstand me, Ms. Justice. If I did not play this hand, I surely would be signing the death warrants of innocents; except in that case, it would be the deaths of my loyal crew and their families. The deaths of innocents are on my hands no matter how this ends, Dextra.”
His informal use of her first name surprised them both, as
he could see from her raised eyebrows and slightly dropped jaw. But even as he said it out loud, he realized merely a glimpse of the gravity of the choice he had made. The people were innocent on both sides of this game for survival. And he was the chess master who had dealt a check to the Founders. Right now, Dextra Justice was his opponent. This was a dangerous game to play with not only a stranger but a Founder.
“If you were in my place, what would you do?” He hated the way his question sounded, but he was starting to feel a panic rising in his chest along with the pain in his hand.
She pursed her lip, glanced down at his bandaged hand, and finally met his gaze head on. “I'm just thanking the Creator that I am not in your position, Solomon.”
It was his turn to raise his eyebrows. Was he getting through to her? But why would she choose his obligations, his employees over her own family and coworkers? Still, she did not answer. He should have started with a lie. Worked her over. Schemed out a way for her to free him from his restraints.
“But if you were, Ms. Justice . . . I want to know.”
What he wanted to say was that he needed to know. Those working in her procedural group were chosen for their exceptional skills in viewing ethically grey situations dispassionately with an eye toward the regulations aboard ship. When any situation arose requiring their assistance, it was most often their group who would make the final decision and not the station and ship's commanding groups. Given this, he knew she ought to have the right answer, ought to know the right course of action.
He suddenly felt fear pricking at his eyes. But he would not give into that. He had no more time, no more pieces to play but the truth. He had laid it all out before her, and now he would wait.
Solomon watched Dextra's eyes with such intensity that he started seeing flashes of light like the Cherenkov radiation streaks the old astronauts complained about before NASA invented better shielding. But as he gazed at her, watched the careful deliberation in her eyes, he saw a change come over her that he hadn't truly expected.
Her eyes never wavering from his, she released her foot from its hold, and then slowly, deliberately, began to untie his wrist.
“I've seen you around, Solomon Reach,” she said, touching his hurt hand lightly. He studied her unearthly pale skin against his own brown skin. The difference was like a solar eclipse to his eyes. “You're a good man.”
Somehow, hearing that from a woman, from a Founder, from the daughter of the woman who had just condoned his torture made him angry. He had no idea why. It was the “in” he needed with her. It was an open door to take advantage. But now he had an overwhelming itch to punch a hole in the wall. He made a fist with his good hand and blew out a breath. Maybe it was because he was mad that he had been put in this impossible situation by posturing politicos in the first place. Damn them all.
“I think we should go to that board meeting and present your case,” she said flatly.
“You actually think they'll listen?” It came out sarcastic, but he genuinely wanted to know.
“Maybe not my mother,” Dextra said with a faint smile, “but others on the board might.”
“I'll talk to them,” was all he could muster.
What else could he say? He was about to betray her just as they had betrayed him. He could look at it as an eye for an eye, but in his mind he had no choice. He had an obligation to thousands of people, and if he did not act, he would have their deaths on his hands. He would not abandon them to the Founders.
“You will do the right thing, Solomon?” The question in her eyes was one of trust.
He nodded, unable to speak the words.
She finished untying his wrists, then. And for a moment, as she pulled the ties from his ankles, he stretched his smarting hand and curled it up against his chest. A tiny crust of drying blood flecked off from the nano-band to float past the Reach Corp patch on his red leather uniform.
“We need to get you to Nautilus Med Bay first.”
“No, bleeding's slowing down, and it doesn't hurt as much.” He rather thought that might be true. He glanced at the slider's window. No sign of the guard, O'Neal.
“O'Neal won't be gone long—”
“And he won't be too keen on this particular plan, so we should hurry,” Solomon interrupted, putting the cover back on the scalpel and slipping it into his pocket. He had a feeling if he saw Edge again today, that little instrument would come in handy. He would certainly enjoy a bit of payback anyway.
“Agreed,” Dextra said, glancing down the short hallway and leading the way out of the compartment. Solomon stayed close behind her.
“Hey!” Solomon heard O'Neal yell from the far end of the corridor behind him. “Get back in there!” he yelled, his face contorted with anger.
Solomon swung his body around, his adrenaline kicking in. He had just one idea for how to neutralize O'Neal, and he figured he had a 50-50 shot at it. The guy was rushing him fast, and he braced his arm against the slider's edge, his boot firmly secured in a foothold at the base.
Solomon reached out and grabbed the DOT unit on his wrist just as he floated near. Using the guy's momentum, he yanked him through the slider's opening, and then let him go while ripping the comm unit off his wrist. O'Neal gave a shout, as did Dextra next to him. The guard flew toward the far bulkhead, and Solomon rushed to pull Dextra away and close the slider before the guard could recover.
The guard rolled to face him and immediately touched off against the bulkhead to come at him again. Solomon nearly had the slider shut. He just needed to lock it with his emergency passcode. Challenge Command gave him way too much access control—a fact they'd be lamenting shortly.
He saw the guy reaching out for the codebox just as the slider fully slid closed. Solomon hoped he had set the manual emergency lock in time. But there was no help for it. At least the room's comm unit was disabled. The guard wouldn't be able to alert anyone until someone walked by.
“Solomon, stop!” Dextra grabbed his arm and tried to pull him away from the codebox. “You can't lock him in there. It's against protocol.”
He needed to secure Dextra and fast.
He shoved the guard's comm unit into his pocket and maneuvered upside down while rummaging in his uniform pocket for the scalpel. He kept his eyes on her as he ripped off its cover. Her eyes widened in shock and fear, but he didn't miss the undercurrent of anger in her eyes.
Before she could pull herself away from his grasp, he had her by the arm.
“Let me go. I won't—”
He pulled her back up against his chest and held her as she struggled.
“I didn't want to do this, Dextra,” he said, and she froze when the point touched her throat, and his bandaged hand covered her mouth, “but I can't risk going into that meeting and pleading my case to the board. There are too many possibilities for failure. I have an obligation to my people, to honor the promise I made to them years ago. They are counting on me. Everyone who is currently aboard that ship is meant for New Eden; Reacher or Founder makes no matter.”
She struggled to talk, but he held firm.
“Those people trying to hitch aboard? They didn't earn this. Let them build new ships using my designs. Let them work for two decades on a new dream to save themselves and their children. This ship is about to set sail, Dextra. Do you want to be on it?”
He turned her, so that he could look her in the eye. His knife was at the ready, and he tried to make it clear with his eyes that he would kill her if she didn't answer.
“Do you want the last seat on that ship, Dextra?” He moved his hand away slightly so that she could speak.
“If I refuse?”
“Why would you? I'm offering you life. A life you were already meant for. One of those cryo beds has your name above it. It's still yours if you want it.”
She said nothing but turned her face away.
Solomon frowned at her. He didn't have time for this. Didn't have time to think about his own betrayal of her trust.
“
I'll make the decision for you,” he said, voice firmer than he meant. She struggled, but he pressed the scalpel harder to her throat.
“You can't do this, Solomon. This isn't—”
“I have to.” He slipped a hand over her mouth and used his feet to maneuver. “I have no choice.”
With his foot, he touched off the bulkhead and floated them both down the corridor toward the back of the deserted Trafero. Even if she didn't seem to value her own life, Dextra Justice would be a valuable bargaining chip in his bid to save the Reachers. If he must, he would use her against them.
Solomon held tightly to Dextra's small waist as he pushed them through the docking module that snaked its way toward the T4, or Transporter Hatch 4, where passengers and crew disembarked from the Trafero 2 and initially entered the Nautilus-11 Space Station.
Just before they rounded the last corner of the long docking module, he stopped and turned Dextra to face him.
“There's a guard stationed around the corner. If I let go of you, are you going to cooperate?”
“You don't keep your word. Why should I?”
“You know there is much more to this than the two of us. Lives are at stake. Lives I must protect. Do you want to help me keep them safe, or do you want me to leave you behind on the Trafero? You have three seconds to decide.”
She glared at him but on three, her gaze softened slightly.
“I'll go with you—if only to keep an eye on what you're up to.”
Solomon almost smiled. Ah, women. Control freaks, the lot of them.
He nodded. “Stay behind me and give nothing away. Be cordial and say hello. If he asks, we're on our way to the Joint Command meeting but we're running late.”
“If I'm cordial, he'll suspect something.”
Solomon raised an eyebrow.
“What? Flip is a complete moron who hits on me every time he sees me.”
He raised both eyebrows and pursed his lips to keep from smiling at that. He couldn't blame the guy. She was a beautiful woman. “Understood.”