by Sarah Fine
The scanner.
I let go of Christina’s hand and sprint toward the hallway, joined on the way by Angus, Kellan, and two other armed guards. We enter Angus’s office and are confronted by an echo of the carnage in the atrium—horrific, but on a smaller scale. Two guards lie sprawled in front of us, blood haloed around them and sprayed on the wall next to their bodies. There’s no one else in the office or the long hallway outside.
Angus lets out a strangled roar when he sees the bodies. “Get Ackerman down here now!” he shouts, and one of the guards with us peels off to get the doctor.
One of the guys on the ground is a Core agent. It looks like he was shot in the back of the head. But the other guy—a Black Box guard—is on his back, his lips gray and his eyes staring at the ceiling, his fingers clutching weakly at the hole in his chest. My mind does a lightning-fast reconstruction as I try to puzzle out whether it could be possible that these two shot each other. But nothing clicks into place. While I move past them to the storage room where the scanner is being kept, Angus sinks to the ground next to the guard, speaking in soft, comforting tones.
The door is hanging open, and the room is empty. I clench my teeth around the string of curses threatening to emerge. Race and Congers arrive, a little out of breath. “The scanner’s gone,” I say. “Whoever took it planned the perfect distraction.”
Race’s eyes glitter with fury as he gazes down at the dead Core agent. “McClaren, is your guard saying anything?” he asks Angus.
Angus shakes his head. “He’s in shock,” he says in a shaky voice, scooting back as Dr. Ackerman joins us. The doctor’s brown skin is sheened with sweat, and his eyes are full of horror and sorrow, but his movements are calm as he assesses the guard’s vitals and applies pressure to the wound.
It won’t help, though. I can tell that the guard is doomed. My eyes squeeze shut against the certainty of it. I rub my hand over my face and focus on Race and Congers.
“Someone in this compound has the scanner,” Congers says. “We need to alert all guards at the tunnels to the outside. No one goes in or out until it’s found.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Angus replies, getting up slowly as Kellan—who is trying to look tough but seems on the verge of breaking down—helps Dr. Ackerman move the Black Box guard onto a gurney. Angus disappears into his office, and soon after, we hear the low rumble of his voice as he communicates with the perimeter guards.
I nod at Kellan, whose broad shoulders are slumped. “The guards need to take the black light and do a systematic search. Use it like you did the scanner. Anyone with the B12 solution on their shoes or hands should be brought in for questioning.”
Congers and Race look surprised, but Angus comes out of his office and says, “It looks like your old-fashioned safeguard is the only one we have, because the surveillance cams have once again proved useless.” His mouth is working like there’s a bitter taste on his tongue.
Kellan glances at Angus. “No one’s going to like being under suspicion again, not when everyone fought the fire together, not when so many are hurt.”
Angus nods. “Don’t tell them they’re under suspicion, then. Try to be subtle. Scan everyone, even the injured, and then move on quickly. I’ll get the guards down in the residential building to round up anyone in their suites and make sure they don’t go anywhere, and the guards on the grounds will bring in anyone who’s not here already. But start the search.”
Kellan sighs and runs his hand through his curly brown hair, leaving it sticking up on top. “Yes, sir.”
My chest is tight as I look around the empty storage room one more time, and then head back to the atrium. Congers stays behind with Angus, but Race falls into step with me. “Do you have a list of suspects?” he asks as we emerge into the open space, where dozens of grimy, sweaty, injured individuals are still lying in rows, grateful to be breathing. Through the high glass walls, I see that the fire is well under control now, only faint wisps of gray smoke spiraling from inside the building. The hole I blasted in the wall is gaping now, because one of the fire trucks rammed right through the weakened barrier to get inside.
Leo is now hunched over Christina, and even from here, I can see their smiles. He’s brightened this horrible day for her, and I’m grateful. She’s not alone, and at the moment, she’s not scared.
My eyes settle on Brayton, who’s on his feet, his arm slung over Ellie’s shoulders. Without thinking too much about it, I head over there, noting that Kellan is slowly walking along the rows of patients, the black light on, staring at their hands and shoes, looking for the incriminating fluorescence. Most people seem too thrashed to even notice him, which must come as a huge relief to poor Kellan. Brayton and Ellie eye him with suspicion, though.
I quicken my pace. Rufus is still sitting in his wheelchair, and Christina and Leo look up as I approach. Rufus sneers at Race. “Happy now? We’re defenseless. Easy pickings.”
Race regards him somberly, no doubt recalling all the shouted accusations from Rufus during the board meeting last night. “I have over a hundred agents here, some of whom are gravely wounded. One of whom has just been shot in the back of the head. Angus has ordered the perimeter guards to forbid anyone to go in or out. We are caught here, just as you are, but the difference is that we are on unfamiliar ground and vastly outnumbered. Tell me the logic behind accusing the Core of creating this tragedy.”
Rufus’s face becomes a mottled maroon shade. “Tell me why we never had a fire in our factory until you H2 came onto our compound!”
“Maybe the H2 aren’t the only ones here,” I say.
“Everyone’s been scanned,” Brayton replies wearily, looking like he could collapse again at any moment. “Rufus does have a point. And now we all need to prioritize rebuilding and getting everything back online. All I’ve been hearing since I arrived on this compound is that we’re under threat of imminent attack.”
“We’ve already taken care of the bigger threat,” says Leo, his pride glowing through the sooty smears on his skin. “We got the satellite defense shield working.”
Race squeezes his eyes shut at Leo’s careless disclosure.
“That’s incredible,” says Brayton. He looks at me. “I heard rumors you were having trouble accessing the satellites. It’s a relief to hear they were wrong.”
“But it won’t help us much, considering there are already scout ships here,” growls Rufus. “Just like scanning everyone didn’t help us. But go ahead and scan us all again if it makes you feel less helpless, boy. Oh, wait. I see Kellan’s already at it.” He glares at the young Black Box guard, who is trying and failing to look casual as he walks toward us, holding the wand light over every person he passes, whether they’re upright or lying unconscious on the floor. I’m relieved to see that the wand light resembles the scanner from a distance. But then Kellan passes it over a Core agent, and the faint blue light stays blue. Rufus sits back. “That’s not the scanner. What the hell is he doing?”
Leo’s eyes go wide when he realizes it’s the black light, and before I can stop him, he blurts, “Someone tried to steal the scanner again, didn’t they? Did they get it?”
Race’s jaw clenches, and he looks away. We’re playing a game of secrecy, and Leo’s giving out information left and right.
Rufus throws up his hands. “Now the scanner’s been stolen? I didn’t think I could be more ashamed of being part of The Fifty, but apparently it’s still possible.” His hands close over the wheels of his wheelchair. “I’m leaving.”
Race steps in front of him. “The compound has been sealed until we find the scanner.”
“I’m a patriarch of The Fifty!” Rufus shouts. “And no H2 will ever be my master!”
Kellan meets my eyes briefly as he raises the black light and approaches Ellie and Brayton, who looks weak but defiant as he turns his gaze to me. “This wand light test was your idea, wasn’t it?
What do you think you’re going to find, Tate?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Alexander,” Kellan mumbles. “It’s just a precaution. It won’t take more than a second.”
“We were right here when the lights went off,” Brayton says quietly, his eyes locked on mine. “All of us were.”
Kellan shrugs and moves closer. I stop breathing as the light slides over Brayton’s fingers, twined with Ellie’s. Nothing. Kellan shines it at their shoes. Nothing. Brayton and Ellie’s other hands. Nothing.
I relax a little. Then Kellan moves to Rufus.
And as soon as the light hits the Bishop patriarch’s chubby fingers, the fluorescence is nearly blinding. Kellan’s eyes go wide. “Guards!” he shouts.
Four of them rush over before Rufus has a chance to move his wheelchair anywhere. “Take him to the designated holding area,” Kellan says in a shaky voice as Rufus begins to rise from his chair. Kellan wrenches his weapon from its holster and points it at Rufus’s head. “Don’t push this now, Mr. Bishop. I don’t have that scanner to see if you’re really who you claim to be, so I’m going to have to judge by your level of cooperation.”
“I was right here,” growls Rufus. “This is outrageous.”
“But you might be working with someone who wasn’t,” says Race. “And we know you tried to get into the room with the scanner.” He nods at Rufus’s hands.
Rufus’s mouth snaps shut, and he sinks back into his chair. His eyes glassy with rage, he allows the squad of guards to wheel him from the atrium. He holds his head high and looks neither left nor right. Everyone else watches in shock.
Movement to my left brings my attention back to our little group. Brayton is sagging against Ellie, who is struggling to hold him up. He weakly raises his head and looks at Race. “I need to talk to Angus,” he says, his words garbled. “He doesn’t . . .” His head lolls, and he groans.
“I need to get you back to your room,” Ellie says firmly.
“Infirmary,” he mumbles.
“There won’t be any space in the infirmary. They’re dealing with enough. But I can get Dr. Ackerman to—”
“I’m fine,” Brayton mutters. “I can go by myself. You stay here and . . .”
She rolls her eyes. “Shut up, Dad.” And with that, she guides him slowly toward the front exit, headed for the dorms.
“Maybe Christina should get back to the dorms, too,” Leo says quietly.
She props herself up on an elbow. “No way,” she rasps, looking at Manuel, who nods at her.
“What are you talking about?” I take a step closer to her, recognizing that look of determination on her face. “Remember an hour or so ago when you almost died?”
She pushes herself up to sitting. “Remember why we’re here in the first place?” she says, rubbing her chest, which makes my fists clench.
Manuel walks over, each step looking like an effort. “We were onto something when the fire broke out,” he says in a hoarse voice. “We need to see if any of the combat vehicles survived. We don’t have the luxury of days, do we? We were told the Sicarii could attack at any time, and now that we’ve been decimated . . .” His look is hard—he’s heard the tales of the scout ships, and he’s seen the injuries and destruction they caused.
I put my hands up, sweat beading at my temples from the heat of my frustration. I need to get away from here. I need to punch something. All of this feels like my fault, but I can’t fix it or control it. Everything is so far out of control, in fact, that I’m not even sure where to start. The factory is destroyed. The scanner is gone—and maybe Rufus Bishop is behind it. So many people are dead or hurt.
Where would all of us be if I’d never taken that scanner from my dad’s lab?
It feels like a great chasm has opened in front of me, threatening to swallow me whole.
“Tate.”
My attention snaps back to Race. “What?”
“We have things to do.” He inclines his head toward the elevator, guiding me away from Leo, Christina, and Manuel, who are already talking among themselves about how they’re going to reenter the factory.
“We need to post guards around any terminal that can access the satellites,” I say quietly. “Leo just announced to the entire atrium that the shield is live. If there’s really a saboteur—”
“It’s done,” says Race. “I did it before the fire was even under control.”
“Good.” Of course, if those scout ships attack, even that might not help. If the Sicarii can gain control of this compound, they could take the shield down themselves, opening the door once again for a massive invasion. “Rufus was right about one thing—we’re sitting ducks.”
“Then we should get to work.” He moves toward the elevator.
“On what?” I snap, staying where I am. I’m so tired. I’ve done everything I knew to do. And we’re still facing defeat.
He hooks his fingers around my elbow and leads me toward the elevator. “On figuring out why the Sicarii want the scanner.”
“Seeing as it’s been stolen—how do you propose we do that? Do you really think Rufus will talk?”
“Let Angus deal with him for the moment. He’s well-equipped to handle that, and he’ll call if he makes headway with Rufus. What he can’t do is figure out our technology.” He presses the DOWN button, and we wait for the elevator door to open. “Your father built the scanner and the satellite system—and he did it by using the wreckage of the spaceship.”
The one thing I haven’t explored yet. A reluctant, grim smile creeps onto my face. Maybe that’s where we’ll find the answers that will save us. Maybe that’s where I’ll discover the key to all my dad’s plans. Maybe that’s where I’ll find him again. “Okay. Let’s go take a look.”
SIXTEEN
AS WE ENTER THE ENORMOUS VAULT-LIKE STORAGE room where the wreckage is stored, I talk to Race about what I suspect. “This stuff was stowed on the defense ship that escaped the H2 planet, but I think the Sicarii must have gotten some demonstration of what the scanner tech could do when Congers’s ancestor went to that final meeting. Congers himself said as much a few days ago. It can be made into a weapon.”
“True, but maybe it wasn’t that powerful, or else his ancestor would have walked away,” says Race as we flick on the lights.
“We don’t know that. It could have been so powerful that he couldn’t control it, or that it took him out, too.”
Race peers down at the twisted hunks of wreckage. “You think they’re after the scanner here because they know exactly what it can do.”
“And maybe because they want to use it against us.”
I kneel next to the biggest piece and brush some of the dust from its surface.
“Then I hope Rufus Bishop and whoever’s working with him hid the scanner well,” he says in a grim voice.
I turn to him. “Do you really think he’s responsible for the theft?”
“Aren’t you the one who laid the fluorescent powder trap?” he says, his red eyes glinting with something like amusement.
“Yeah, but Rufus was in the atrium the entire time.”
“That doesn’t mean he didn’t scope it out prior to the factory fire.”
“I know, but . . .”—I can’t believe I’m saying this—“I think Rufus is a bigoted, paranoid asshole. But I also think he’s extremely intelligent and has his own code of honor.”
Race’s mouth tightens like he’s about to laugh. “Well said. So you think a Sicarii took it? Or do you think he is a Sicarii?”
I press my knuckles into the tile floor. “No idea. How are they here, if we’ve scanned everyone repeatedly and no one is orange?”
“Perhaps Dr. Shirazi will have some answers after she completes the autopsies.”
I nod and return to my inspection of the wreckage. Most of it looks like ordinary-yet-severely-damaged, high-tech gadgetry, in that th
ere are screens and chips and wires. “Maybe we should pull some of these chips out and see if we have any way to interface with them.”
Race’s eyebrow arches. “It’s quite advanced.”
I mirror his expression. “And yet somehow, my dad built an entire satellite shield from it. And look.” I point to one open control panel. There are fingerprints along its edge, and inside . . . “It looks like something’s been removed.” There are ports within the compartment, little odd-shaped holes that are strangely familiar.
“The scanner has ports that looked just like those,” I blurt out as the connection is forged inside my mind.
Race leans in, squinting. “You’re sure?”
“Fairly. I thought the ports on the side of the scanner were USB, but they weren’t shaped quite right. There were three of them, though.” I jab my finger at each of the three holes where something used to connect.
“So your father removed the chips,” Race says slowly, clearly turning over possibilities in his mind. “And the scanner has ports identical to these—”
“I said it looked like they were, but—”
He holds up his hands, granting me my uncertainty. “It had ports similar to those. So if we knew what they were—or if we could find the missing pieces that fit into them—we could figure out what the scanner’s full capabilities are.”
“Which would be awesome if we actually had possession of the scanner,” I say with a humorless laugh. I move to a crumpled piece of debris as tall as my hip and touch one of the chips inside a gaping crack in the panel. As soon as I do, the hunk of metal scrapes along the floor and falls back before I can catch it. The thing splinters, spilling and scattering a dozen different components and chips that had been nestled within.
I go to pick up a few of them, but Race grabs my wrist. “Don’t.” He nods at one of the chips, which is oozing something viscous and brown onto the tile. “We have no idea what that is.”