Paradise 21

by Aubrie Dionne

  Striker studied the old pirate as they descended on the platform into the alien ship.

  The years hadn’t been kind to the man. Sand, wind, and sun had beaten his wrinkled face, and he looked in severe need of a bath and a dentist. Offering him a canteen of water, Striker reminded himself this old fogey had ridden in with his mutinous crew. He couldn’t be trusted.

  Still, Striker allowed the man time to drink before questioning him. “How do you know my father?”

  Reckon nodded as if he asked a fair question and wiped dribbling water from his whiskered chin. “I’ll tell it to you straight. Drifter hired me to find and decode your map. I’m a coder by profession, like you and your father, and I needed the money.” He quirked an eyebrow and gave him a lopsided grin, showing a scattering of holes between his molars. “Times are tough, and I’ve run out of golden teeth. When I found out about Refuge, I wanted a spot there. You see, I’d like to retire to somewhere, shall we say, with a nice view?”

  He chuckled and nudged Striker with his shoulder before his expression grew somber. “Outpost Omega hasn’t gotten any better in the five years you’ve been on vacation.” His breath whistled between his good teeth. “It’s gotten worse.”

  “That, I can believe.” Striker raised his eyebrows and said no more, giving Reckon a cue to keep on talking.

  The old man cleared his throat. “So there I was, flying to Sahara 354, working on some way to crack the map, when a nanodrive pops out of my tool box.” His eyes focused on Striker’s, boring into him more than he’d like. “It was a message from your father.”

  He pulled a shiny object out of his front pocket and offered it to Striker. “You can watch it, if you’d like.”

  Striker slipped the nanodrive into his pocket. Maybe later, after he got the ship to fly, he’d verify it—after he helped himself to one of his new crew’s nanodrive readers. Right now, images of his father would only distract him from the mission. Between Drifter and Tiff and Aries, he had enough on his mind. “What did he say?”

  “If I helped you and brought you back, you’d take me to Refuge. Your father gave his word.”

  “I’ll keep to it.”

  The door to the corridor whished open and Striker watched Reckon’s eyes bulge as the inside of the ship lit up his crumpled face.

  “You say you’re a coder?” Striker put his arm around the old man’s bony shoulders. “Boy, do I have something to show you.”

  They walked to the main controls, where strange symbols flashed on the wall screens like old Earth’s Las Vegas at night. Reckon walked up to the nearest set of writings, and his gaze flitted back and forth. He muttered a curse under his breath as he took it all in.

  Striker clapped him on the shoulder. “Wanna help?”

  “That’s like showing a pirate an unmanned vessel and asking him if he wants to strip it for parts.” Reckon winked. “You betcha.”

  The old man’s presence lifted a weight from Striker’s shoulders and the mission’s impossibility didn’t loom as big. He wasn’t alone any longer. His own father had sent Outpost Omega’s second-greatest coder along for the ride. If there were a way to fly the ship and get Aries back, the two of them would find it. Smiling, he showed Reckon his scribbles on a piece of old metal. “This is what I’ve got so far.”

  They worked well into the next sunrise, assigning different symbols with numbers and plugging them in. The work took Striker’s mind off worrying about Aries and being disgusted with Tiff. He enjoyed immersing himself in the language of his lifework.

  After inputting a series of numbers and letters, they sat back, watching the screens fluctuate. The symbols flashed until one particular design emerged. Each screen came to rest with the same scattering of icons. A flashing cue came up on the main panel, and Reckon looked at Striker. “I believe the ship is asking you to engage.”

  Striker stood up and walked toward the control panel as if he’d met his destiny. A single panel pulsed with blue light. He hesitated, finger hesitating over the hieroglyph.

  “Go on. Push it.” Reckon’s voice was an encouraging plea behind him.

  Striker breathed deeply and traced the symbol. A sound, low and deep like an ancient beast awakening, rumbled beneath them, gaining force until it stirred in Striker’s chest. A diagram of the ship came up, glowing indigo light where two giant cylinders rested in the back.

  “The engines!” Striker shouted, feeling hope surge within him. “We’ve done it!”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Escape

  Coffins, ejected from the New Dawn’s hull, soared into the void of space like fallen dominos in a twisted game of fate. Aries watched the spewed corpses drift away as workers in oxygen masks and lab coats placed her own withered and frail body into a metal box. Impossibly plush cushions pressed in on her and she couldn’t wiggle her arms free. She opened her mouth to shout at the workers, but they ignored her pleas and closed the lid on her casket, silencing her screams.

  Had they made the coffins airtight? Would her body explode from the lack of pressure in a second or would she run out of oxygen in minutes? Aries held her breath as the conveyor belt took her from the pressurized chamber to the exit door at the rear of the New Dawn.

  Red lights flashed in warning as the room depressurized and a whish of air ejected her into space. She watched through a small, clear window in the casket as the ceiling changed from white tubes to stars. A sense of weightlessness came over her as the metal coffin flipped over and over in space. Finally, she was free. The New Dawn grew smaller in each view as the casket rotated. The levels of lighted walkways and gravity simulator rings around the torpedo-shaped frame looked like a child’s toy.

  She released her breath. At first it was a relief, but slowly, as she choked on the remnants of air left, the sides pressed in and her world went black. She tried to open her eyelids, but they stuck like glued velvet over her eyes. She opened her mouth to scream, but she had no air left to make a sound. Deaf and blind, she ceased to exist.

  …

  Aries coughed as she awoke. She’d kicked her sheets off the bed. Sweat seeped through her white tank top. As she adjusted from one hell to the next, she realized something in the room had changed. The stool near the writing table had been moved across the room. Someone had visited while she’d suffered another drug-induced sleep.

  Sitting up, she saw a single red rose with a mini-screen beside it on the metal table near the door. Instantly, she thought of Barliss. Would the man never stop playing the game? It wasn’t for her benefit. He maintained this façade for the rest of the Lifers.

  As she rose from the bed, fighting dizziness, she felt like some miscast actress in a tragic play, assigned a role she never wanted and didn’t fit. Sighing, Aries picked up the mini-screen. She clicked the monitor on, recognizing her mother’s stilted handwriting as she read her own name.

  Aries,

  We always wanted what was best for you. Get well.

  Love, Mom and Dad.

  The formal and concise message didn’t sound like her parents at all. Still, she recognized the same writing that had neatly penned her name on her textbooks growing up. Was the cryptic message all they allowed her mother to write? Or was she too afraid to divulge more?

  Aries studied the rose. Of course, it was a copy, an imitation. The last rose bush had died hundreds of years ago on old Earth. She remembered a picture in her history book of mourning crowds around its last, ravaged leaves. Her mother knew Aries had torn the picture out and taped it to her bedside. Maybe she was trying to tell her something.

  Biting her lip, Aries looked down at the rose. The satin petals were oddly square, as if its maker didn’t truly know the curve of a rosebud. She picked it up and held it before her, twirling it around in her fingertips as a blur of red.

  Something fell from the petals, clinking on the floor like a chip of metal. Aries’ first thought went to the video cameras. She cast a glance around the room. She didn’t want to draw attention to the gift.
Placing the rose back on the table, she sat on the bed and scanned the floor for the item while feigning sleepiness.

  A glint of silver caught her eye in the corner near the door. Aries walked over and covered it with her bare foot. Next, she shuffled back to the bed and pulled up the covers. Using her toes, she grabbed the object and brought it underneath the bed sheets. Kicking it up to her hand, she held a tiny circuit board: a key to opening her cell door.

  Her parents really did wish the best for her if they’d smuggled in a way for her to escape. A wave of love for them overcame her.

  Barliss hadn’t given her a new locator. She didn’t know if his negligence was due to the fact he’d locked her up, or that she knew how to disengage the beacon. Whatever the case, he wouldn’t be able to find her easily. Although he’d probably assigned guards to watch over the escape pods, she could hide for days or even months in the inner workings of the ship without being found. That would give her enough time to plan another escape.

  Aries forced herself to calm the storm of anxiety rising inside her. She had to think clearly. Third shift would be the easiest time, since most officers and Lifers slept. She looked around for any indication of the time, but the nurses left the florescent lights on all the time. How long ago had Doctor Pern visited? An hour ago or an entire day? The medication blurred reality. She struggled to string her memories together in a cohesive timeline.

  Impatience bubbled up inside her. The longer she waited, the more chance they’d find the penny-sized circuit board. She yearned to find out what had happened to Striker. What if every second counted?

  Aries got out of bed, walked to the door panel, and inserted the key. Strange electronic noises fizzled in the main panel as the circuit unloaded a virus. Numbers flashed on the screen and the metal melted away. Taking the stool as a weapon, she peered into the corridor.

  “Hey!” One guard jumped up from a desk by the door. Aries lunged, swinging the legs of the stool at his groin. He backed up, too startled to move in time to deflect the blow. She hit him and he went down in a crumpled heap.

  She turned to see another guard pressing the touchscreen on the wall. Before she could get to him, a siren sounded in a high-pitched wail.

  “Stop where you are.” He held up his laser. Aries threw the stool at him and sprinted down the corridor without looking back. She ducked as she heard him fire and felt blasts whizz past her, but she managed to turn the corner before he got a clear shot.

  The alarm rang in her ears, loud enough to wake someone from a coma. Soon, guards would pour into the surrounding corridors. Aries could already hear men shouting. She kicked in a vent screen where the wall met the floor, her bare toes stinging with pain, and wiggled inside. She heard the guard’s boots stomping and reached for the screen, her fingers scrambling around the edges. She replaced the metal grating as the guard turned the corner. His boots ran by her as her fingers disappeared between the ridges. She refastened the edges of the screen into the wall.

  Two three-by-three-foot air shafts branched out from the central vent where she hid. One would take her into the air duct cleaning system, and the other would spiral up to the central humidifier and oxygen conversion tanks located above the forest’s bio-dome. She’d learned this in her first ship schematic class. Thanking her teacher for making her memorize every detail, Aries scooted into the shaft that led to the bio-dome.

  She could hide in the tanks for days without being detected. All she needed was a stash of food and water. Aries pulled herself up to the first junction. Here, she could lie flat and pull herself forward on her elbows. She huffed her way through miles of pipeline, licking condensation puddles along the way.

  She reached an end unit used for utility purposes. She had a ways to go before the bio-dome, but her pace slowed and her stomach rumbled, so she curled up to rest. Aries remembered Striker’s lizard bake and smiled. She’d eat it now. Nostalgia came over her and she sniffed back tears. She missed him more than anything.

  Lying in the cold shaft, she wondered if he had given up on her.

  …

  “The first input connection will be the most painful.” Dr. Pern brushed the back of Barliss’ neck with a wet swab as he lay, facedown, on the operating table. Her cold fingers made his skin prickle with goosebumps, and he felt like a chicken waiting to get its head chopped off. A cold sweat broke out down his back underneath the skimpy hospital gown, and the hairs on his bare legs stood up.

  His voice came out weaker than he intended. “The commander said it would be painless.”

  “Once the initial procedure is done, yes.”

  Barliss tightened his palms into fists and suppressed an urge to spring up and run out of the operating room. Initial connection was the first physical step in the process, and he’d already signed the papers accepting the position. He couldn’t back down because of a small procedure with a drill. It’d happened sooner than he’d expected, but the commander had ordered the connection done immediately. Barliss could understand his reasons. The old man must be eager to set his replacement up before he wasted completely away. The New Dawn couldn’t fly without a brain behind the helm.

  “You’ll experience a brief sense of displacement while the ship attaches to your consciousness. Your mind may wander into memories of your life. When you wake, you’ll be connected to the mainframe. Your state of consciousness will be forever heightened.” Doctor Pern’s voice sliced through him. He shivered. He could feel her hovering above him like an angel, or a reaper, come to claim his soul. “Put him under.”

  An assistant injected a needle into his arm without hesitation. She pulled the tip out, and the initial sting receded. Her voice was calmer than Doctor Pern’s and had a kind ring to it. “Count down from ten.”

  He only got to seven.

  …

  Barliss opened his eyes and saw Gerald’s flabby face leaning over him, wearing the ship’s former workout jumpsuits. “You had quite a fall. Are you all right?”

  “I guess so.” Barliss looked down the length of his body and wiggled his toes inside his sneakers. He wore his orange jogging jumpsuit with the New Dawn symbol on the right shoulder. Gerald gave him a hand towel to wipe the sweat from his face.

  “Let’s call it a day. I hear they’re opening the last case of wheat beer in the lieutenants’ quarters. Care to let me in?”

  “Sure.” Barliss brightened with the thought of drinking. He needed a reward for attempting the impossible workout regime dictated by the Guide. At least a number of higher-ups had seen him running long enough to make an impression. He had a reputation to build.

  Gerald pulled him up to his feet with a heave and they both stared as a group of young ladies entered the track at the opposite end.

  “Would you look at that? Mrs. Macy’s gym class. All the graduating pretty women destined for computer-designated mates.” Gerald sighed. “If only we got to choose.”

  Barliss scanned the crowd with mild interest until his eyes fell on a head of blazing auburn locks like a miniature sunset in a barren land. A perfect heart-shaped face turned in his direction with eyes flecked blue like cosmic dust. He’d never seen such a beauty in all his life. As the young women jogged around the track, he watched her progress, wondering how he’d never seen her before.

  “Hey, speaking of which, why haven’t you been set up with anyone yet? You’re ten years older than me.”

  Barliss shrugged, although he’d been dodging the system for years now, lengthening his bachelorhood by bribing the computer analysts. “Guess they haven’t found one for me.”

  “Those girls will be up for their assignments soon. Imagine the lucky guys…”

  As Gerald drooled on the track, Barliss watched the beauty smile at her blond-haired friend. The two ladies broke away from the crowd and ran with athletic grace, their slim legs propelling them forward like gazelles.

  Barliss decided he’d make another trip to the computer mainframe. Maybe Gerald was right. It was about time he was paired
off, and he had the exact woman in mind. All he had to do was come up with something special to tempt the analysts, something stowed away in the archives of old Earth, like a pack of cigarettes or a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

  An alarm sounded in his ears and Barliss looked around the track for an emergency, but the other runners kept their pace as if they didn’t hear it. Gerald smirked and rubbed his hands together, perhaps contemplating his future mate, and the pair of women giggled, pushing each other off the track.

  Barliss’ memory faded as the alarm grew louder. Something was wrong on the New Dawn and needed his complete attention. He sighed, unwilling to give up this last vision of Aries running free.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Ascension

  “Reckon, check on the excavation of the ship and get the others. We’re taking off!”

  Striker smoothed his hands over the controls, his emotions surging. This ship would take him to Aries. He’d see her again and set her free. Together, they’d reach Refuge.

  He grabbed her locator and punched in the coordinates of the New Dawn. A sky chart came up and Striker decoded the symbols as fast as his mind could tick. Estimated travel time was forty-eight hours. Striker’s eyes widened with hope. That was it. The alien ship could reach the New Dawn’s position in a mere two days.

  Tiff, Drifter and Loot walked in, followed by Reckon holding his laser at their backs. Drifter hunched over, lurking like a ghost waiting to strike. Tiff and Loot were covered with sand, crusted over from head to foot as if the desert gods had dipped them in batter and breaded them whole.

  “’Bout time you came to get us.” Tiff’s hard-edged voice reminded Striker of a knife lunge.

  He ignored her and looked to Reckon. “How’s it look out there?”

  “They managed to uncover most of the engines. Enough, I’d say, for takeoff.” The old man’s voice bubbled with eagerness.

  “Good, because we’re getting off this sandy rock.” Using the tip of a wire, Striker traced another set of hieroglyphs on a giant crystal touchpad and the rumble of the engines heightened. Tiff and Loot’s work impressed him, but he wasn’t ready to make nice with the woman who’d betrayed him. The boy, however, had never done him harm. He glanced over at the kid. “You may want to find a secure seat.”