by Naomi Fraser
My jaw drops. “Of the sensors?”
Marcus nods, and his voice grows tight. “He believed the collision-free programming was his best work, and they’re virtually indestructible. His wife was hit by a drunk driver on her way home from the hospital. She and their infant son died.”
“Oh, that’s terrible.” Earlier he said his home planet was dying, but Tachyon is a thriving metropolis. “Your home planet is Tachyon, then?” I ask tentatively. “I thought you said—”
“No, they moved there for funding purposes. Tachyon corporations wanted a slice of the pie. Would you like to try it out?” he asks. “You look like your mind’s blown a bit.”
“No . . . No, that’s all right.” I retreat until my back thumps into a cold wall. “Oh.” I laugh nervously, and Marcus’s eyebrows rise. “I mean I don’t want the sensors to be in control of when and where I can get out of a car. The last thing I want is for other governments to know my exact location and every move.”
“It’s safe,” Constance says. “They control when you get out of a spaceship or hovercraft. There is an override option, but no one uses it. The population gets older every year all over the universe, why would they? It’s stopped buses going off cliffs, holiday deaths on the roads on the planets where they still use cars. No highway chases. Provided independence to the elderly.”
I rub the bridge of my nose. “I thought Oshiro had the latest in tech, but if this has been here for a while, then they really were behind.”
“And using you to get ahead,” Marcus bites, and his face drops in a frown before he says, “We don’t have much time. Let’s get a move on.”
I nod and match his stride, but still look around, fascinated by the different culture. The effect of all the metal is undeniable. Tall buildings block most of the light so nightfall comes earlier in the city. Yellow lights glitter in the windows of the huge towers. Blue lights flash from nightclubs and bustling eateries, combining with the smell of roasting meat and excited shouts. There’s closed-up jewellery and clothes shops, large department stores and hairdressers. Young Altese women wear tiny shorts and bras, giving out flyers at black nondescript doorways. We pass so many black doors, but none ever hand me the flyers.
“Why are all the women handing out flyers?” I ask after the sixth one. I frown. “They must be freezing, and there’s no name out the shop front.”
All three turn to gaze at me with wide eyes. “Um . . . It’s . . .” Marcus closes his mouth, and then he looks to Constance. “Help?”
Her eyebrows just rise, and she shakes her head.
“That’s . . .” Casey coughs. “The ladies are selling their . . . err . . . foot massages,” he croaks out.
“Oh.”
Marcus laughs and keeps walking.
I keep looking around me, wondering why they have a water problem to begin with. “Still there are no trees, no rivers, and it’s cold. I have a weird feeling about this.”
“Stick close,” Marcus orders, and his gaze rakes me. “And where the hell is your laser?”
“In here, Cap’n.” Constance pats her saddlebag.
“Hell in a hand basket.” He stops and spreads his hands wide. “Do I have to spell it out? Both of you need guns.”
Constance fishes out the weapon, hands it over, and then I flick the switch on the side, firing up the gun. I check the trigger and let my arm swing down, the metal heavy in my hand.
“Happy?”
His brief grin holds no trace of his former bossiness. “Getting there, beautiful. Now, where’s this APEC?”
I blink and frown at his endearment.
“Up ahead,” Constance says, lengthening her strides. “And don’t glare at me like that, Cap’n. I can’t hold the guide and the gun at the same time. I’m not getting lost. Victoria, do you think you can do anything for them?” she asks, casting me a glance.
“In regards to ending their drought? There is always something I can do. But they will not have thought of natural water flow. They are an artificial city, rather than a group of smaller communities. Their production has polluted the atmosphere above them and the ground below.”
“You sound so official when you talk like that.” Constance blinks at me, then stares ahead again. “So? What’s the plan?”
“I’ll probably have to make it rain, fill up any dams they’ve constructed and scout sites for well construction. I’ll see if any water tables can be brought to the surface—but, again, something doesn’t feel right here.”
She scratches her cheek and stares. “Like what?”
“The water . . .” I begin, “feels tainted, sick. You know, in ancient times water healers weren’t required to heal people by giving them water; we healed the universe by washing away all that is wrong.”
“A flood.” The beginning of a smile tips the corners of her mouth. “But then again, what’s wrong?” She shrugs and hurries to keep pace with us.
“Yes, that part is puzzling. My version seems to change every other day now I’m out of the facility and free of the Oshiro government.”
She laughs. “Nothing is as it seems in the ‘verse.” She clutches her bag tighter to her side as a man skims by her. “Bloody pickpockets, got to watch yourself around some of these planets. It would be so good to get your experience chronicled for future academic records.”
“Look sharp,” Marcus orders, leaning back against a wall. “This the place?”
I turn, staring at the imposing steel and stone building with hundreds of windows looking like square, yellow eyes cut into dark grey face. Marble steps lead to the building next door, but this one has simple concrete with metal railings. There’s no footman at the door, and a sign with the words, ‘Altiosn Peace Enforcement Corporation,’ hangs just above the doorway in plain, white letters.
Constance checks the guide, looks up again and audibly swallows. Her mouth hangs open. “Uh-uh.”
“Peace Enforcement?” I ask.
“An oxymoron,” Casey offers.
“Truth.” Marcus’s lips twitch, and he steps close to me in one lithe move. “You know how this goes down. The moment they send the money through, Chester will redirect it for the Med Gen. He’ll give us the okay, then you do your thing for them. We all return to the ship together. Got it?”
“Yes.” I tip up my chin to meet his unsettling blue eyes and then force myself to walk up to the door to press the buzzer. Nothing. I frown, wait a moment and then grab the knob, attempting to turn the handle to gain entry. “Constance is right. Something is strange. What’s wrong with this door?”
“Wait.” Marcus grabs my arm, his eyes widening and nostrils flaring. “Hear that?”
I tilt my head, and a high-pitched whine penetrates the air. “What is it?”
Marcus scans the sky then shouts, “Air Guard! Get cover!”
In a lightning-fast motion, he sweeps me beneath the safety of the overhang, his strong, muscled body forcing mine against the door. An electrifying tingle races through me as his intoxicating scent fills my lungs. He smells of rain after a hot day.
I can’t . . . I don’t think I’m prepared for a man like Marcus in my life.
The hard muscles in his shoulders ripple beneath my hands, and he grabs the laser to depress the trigger. He must’ve blown the lock out because the door swings open, and I fall back.
A huge shadow sweeps across the sky. People scatter, but some look up at an angular, grey spaceship emitting a laser light in circular waves, and everywhere the beam touches, the people stand still until the ship moves away.
I gasp in horror but can’t stop myself from squeaking out, “What on Echyion is that?”
“Air Guard scanners. They must have sensors. Inside now,” he orders next to my ear. “Before they find us.”
Constance and Casey jostle behind us, surging forward, but my knees go weak, and we’re almost across the threshold when I catch my left heel on a tiny step up. One hard shove from behind, and I fall backward under Marcus onto the floor.
With a muffled groan, his dark lashes sweep open, and his fascinating blue gaze locks onto mine before dropping to my breasts beneath the white singlet. I peer down and gasp. The outside curve of my breasts escape the edges of the fabric. So much for my eagerness to go without the corset.
My skin tingles everywhere he touches, and he straightens his arms, lifting his torso from me, but that only makes his lower half squash even harder into my thigh.
My heart flips over, and I stare up into his darkening gaze.
“You’re . . . mesmerising. There is no one quite like you,” he murmurs.
Breath stalls in my throat, and tiny shivers of sensation skim up my neck. I swallow, wanting to tell him I’m fine, and he can get up, but the feel of his body atop mine makes me feel like I’m a flower drinking in the sun.
Which is ridiculous. What’s happening to me? Is this . . . is he . . . ?
“You’ve known me for a day,” I say, my chest rising and falling like I’ve run a marathon.
“I just . . . um . . .” He lowers his head, his lips hovering inches from mine.
“Oh hell,” Casey mutters. “Don’t wanna ruin your moment, Cap’n, but we got company.”
Marcus jerks his head up, and he reaches for the laser, and a sharp knock to the side of my face makes me wince. “Ow.” My jaw numbs.
“Drop the weapon,” a metallic voice orders in Altese.
Marcus releases the laser in a measured slowness, and then shifts lower against my body with his hands up in the air, just enough so I can focus on the soldiers and twenty guns aimed at us.
Chapter Nine
“Get up,” the lead soldier grunts. “Hands where I can see them.”
A steel gun barrel swings my way, centring between my eyes. A vertical monochrome line sweeps my vision, eating into the colours of the room until all that remains is a white circle, looming before his body. Their bones almost glow. I can even pick out the weapons they’re hiding beneath their combat gear.
My heart is the size of a fist in my mouth.
“Now,” he barks.
Arms—up. Nothing. I wedge my hands beneath my bottom for leverage, and the thud of marching boots signals more soldiers. A prickling heaviness invades my limbs, and my heartbeat skips erratically. My vision pulls back another layer, and I see adrenaline flood the soldier’s bloodstream. Oxygen-rich cells rush toward his heart, lungs, and muscles. His pupils dilate in his preparation to shoot.
Cool sweat moistens my palms, spreading to my fingertips. I fold my arms over my stomach, clenching the singlet in my fingers. Water drenches my abdomen and legs, absorbing and refracting energy. A cold darkness swirls along my veins with an icy prickle of saturation.
I gasp. “If you want to live . . . get that gun away from me.”
Control yourself, my old master Astrakhan used to order, softening the demand with a smile when I’d cry during the video reels of universal atrocities. When you feel, you lose control. View this objectively.
It’s different now that I’m out. The barrel’s edges frost in a split-second, forming an ice plug. I can’t help . . . feeling. I close my eyes, trying to meditate on the idea of blue skies and clear oceans.
Not grey. Not pain. Not rage.
You’re half of me, Victoria. The memory of my mother’s voice lilts in my ear. Don’t deny this side, my side. I left you here because your father’s gift killed him.
But it will never kill me.
Power shoots up my body from my toes. Water surges in waves across the floor until everyone stands ankle deep. The soldiers’ bodies warp in the undulations behind the blue.
“Processing . . . Processing . . .” An electrical charge skims across the lead enforcer’s visor; a red wheel compass half-forming in the air, then fades just as fast to lines in the upper left-hand corner. The broadstream can’t connect to register my heartbeat, face, and name for future reference.
The soldiers drop their visors into the water. A small red light flashes in the corner of the room before a shrill alarm whines. Then the lights go off, and the blue of my aura reflects in the soldiers’ pale, shocked faces.
“Get her,” a soldier orders. “Guns ready.”
I shiver in rage. Hard ice crystals crack away from my skin, solidifying in the water, turning the walls to ice.
“Victoria.”
I cut my gaze to Marcus. His hands can’t penetrate the blue, but by the determined expression on his face, he’ll never stop until he does. My heart stutters with the realisation life outside the facility is not like it seems, but here I have a friend. There I had structure and an almost exacting logic. Most people are out to imprison or hurt me every chance they get. But not him.
“Marcus.”
He bites out, “Let me in. Take my hand.” He leans into the water against his chest. “Take it, Victoria,” he orders, pressing further into the swell.
Cries and shouts echo all around us, and the soldiers drop their frozen weapons. Their fingers and hands will be numb by now. “I won’t get the credits,” I say, lowering my guard a little. “I can’t save May or even help them with their drought.”
“We can still get out. Your sister will live.” His fingertips dip into the blue, and his hand grasps mine. “Got you. Hold steady.”
A sharp tug and then I’m upright, my wet face pressing against his shoulder, the thin cotton smelling distinctly of leather and gun smoke. His hard muscles bunch beneath my face, and my knees tremble.
“Let’s get out of here now. Listen, get the door clear,” he calls out to Constance and Casey. Then Marcus swings up his pistol, his large hand dripping wet, but he backs off toward the entrance. “Now if any of you want to live longer than three seconds, I suggest you don’t try to follow us,” he snaps at the soldiers who struggle to free their ankles from ice. “But it looks like that’s not going to happen anyway.”
We burst out of APEC, and Marcus takes a second, then sprints along the dark wall, keeping to the shadows. In the distance behind us, a few cars cruise past, the drivers talking to passengers, hands nowhere near the wheels. Where the buildings make the air grey, the circular light from the Air Guard glimmers between high rises, and all the people stop to stare upwards. Rings of light touch the ground then retract back up into the ship.
Why do people allow this to happen? In the training facility, remote viewers or Astrakhan’s ocular cameras monitored my location, but I thought when I left that kind of surveillance, I could enjoy more freedom.
What kind of place is it on the outside?
I bounce against Marcus’s body with each jolt, clinging closer to his warm neck, until he sets me on the ground beside Constance who gasps for breath with one hand against the wall.
“Wait . . .” she pants. “I need . . .”
“Did you bring your puffer?” he asks.
She shakes her head. “In my bag. They took it.”
His piercing stare rests on her. “Take a minute. Breathe.”
My sight kicks into x-ray, and the white muscle of her heart pounds behind her ribs.
“That was so . . . traumatic,” she huffs out.
“I can help.” I slide my hand along her arm, but my gaze zeroes on her lungs, swollen airways and tight muscles. Inflammation hinders her breath. Energy twists around my fingers and soaks into her arm in creeping blue tendrils that soothe her narrow airways. “I’m cooling it down a bit, and then you’ll run longer.”
Her mouth parts, and her breathing slows then steadies. Her gaze drops to my hand, and then roams to her wet elbow and the water dripping onto the pavement. She stands still for a minute, licking her moist lips and then straightens from the wall. “I can breathe. I’m not thirsty anymore, either. Amazing.”
I withdraw my hand from her skin. “I didn’t give you too mu
ch. You won’t feel sick. I practiced on children who sometimes would stop breathing when they exercised.”
“What happened back there?” she asks in a murmur. “How come you never told us you could do that?”
I look up to her pale face, and then shake my head and shrug. She’s not talking about the ambush, but my loss of control. “I’ve been out of the training facility for just over two years, and I spent most of that time on Oshiro making sure they wouldn’t hurt my sister. Yet, I sometimes have difficulty—”
“Now’s not the time to make a fuss.” Marcus herds us beneath an overhang leading out onto a busy road. More self-driving cars come up and zoom past. The road goes straight ahead, tall light posts changing signals so the cars stop. “We need to figure out how to get back to the ship.”
Casey opens a pack on his hip and inserts a bud in his ear. “Sarah? Sarah, come in. We’re headed back. It was a trap,” he says into the radio. “Have you had trouble on board yet?”
I hear radio static, but Constance tugs on my arm. “What did you do with their guns?” she asks.
“Who cares what she did with their weapons?” Marcus shrugs. “She stopped them; that’s enough for me.”
I inch closer to him, unable to stop my knees from shaking. A large puddle fills the pavement, and water drips from my hair. A heavy unease prods my stomach. I still haven’t gained control. “We should hurry before they come for us,” I say, stepping forward to merge into a crowd of busy people.
Marcus draws me tight to his side with a firm grasp on my waist. The tremors stop, and he whispers in my ear, “Careful. Don’t run there yet. Wait for my lead.”
Shivers skate across my skin, but I resist the urge to lean into him and nod instead.
Casey holds up a fist. “On three.”
“We’ll never make it,” Constance whispers, the skin shrinking around her eyes. “There’s the Air Guard and sensors are everywhere. Cameras, too.”
“Don’t get Victoria all worked up now,” Marcus presses me harder to his side. “I’m not plannin’ to swim back to the ship.”
Casey points ahead, and then Marcus drags me into the crowd beside Constance. People wear long pants to fight the chill, and heavy woollen jumpers and beanies. Some have eclectic headwear and hair styles, strange black makeup, and piercings. Just before the end of the street, they pull me toward the shadows in an alley between two high-rises. Casey checks for people, then we run down the dark corridor, and Marcus wraps his hand around mine.