Prodigal (Maelstrom Chronicles)

by Jody Wallace

  “Don’t know. Randall and I were on guard duty. Gotta go, somebody’s coming,” he said, before the walkie fuzzed off.

  Claire’s cadre of deputies and associates had established exit strategies for various crises. Rendezvous 409 meant meeting in the dilapidated warehouse at the end of the tunnel they’d used to bring Adam into the barracks. If nothing else, it would provide them privacy to decide what they wanted to do.

  Elizabeth was not part of this particular Plan B. Will was smart to have suggested it.

  Claire slapped on her multipurp and blaster bands, checking the batteries on her blaster. Nearly full. Jesus. Was she really going to defy a legit Terran organization to help Adam, the same man she’d tried to send to Yellowstone as recently as yesterday?

  No. No. This wasn’t about Adam per se, this was about somebody coming in here thinking they could confiscate her shit. If she let this happen, what would they come for next?

  The food stores?

  The Shipborn medical tech?

  Frannie and the other half-Shipborn children?

  Hell no. This was her town. She wasn’t surrendering anything to entities, to warlords, or to governmental bullies. They could all just fuck off.

  “Check the hallway,” she told Adam, sealing her tactanium vest. Adam was staying in Chanute. It was the principle of the thing.

  He glanced through the peephole. “Clear.”

  She appreciated the fact that he didn’t pound her with questions while she was trying to think. Scenarios whirled through her brain. Chanute couldn’t stand against the U.S. military or GUN without the help of the Shipborn, and…

  Well, hell. She grabbed her sensor array and implanted it. Her eyes watered with the sting. “Ship, we have a situation.”

  Ship responded after a delay. “Hello, Claire. What is your situation?”

  Its circuits must be hella busy—it rarely hesitated to answer her hails. Then again, the Shipborn had been doing a lot lately to preserve power.

  Claire hooked the walkie onto her belt so her people could contact her if needed. It couldn’t be used to locate her, and she doubted Ship would volunteer to trace her sensor array for the interlopers. “A Terran group, not sure who, is here to take Adam. Don’t know why, or what they plan to do with him.”

  “I have been monitoring some Terran communication channels. The group visiting Chanute is from the Global Union of Nations and is headed by Dr. Ditmer Sieders of the Netherlands. He is considered one of the finest—”

  “You didn’t think to tell me this before now?” she interrupted. The treaty between the Shipborn and the Global Union included an agreement that Ship wouldn’t monitor all Terran communication. She had no idea where Ship had gleaned this info and didn’t care.

  “Terrans are very curious. It did not surprise me when a team was assembled to further assess Adam Alsing,” Ship replied. “I did not think it would surprise you, either.”

  “I don’t think it’s assessment they have in mind. The surprise is the unannounced arrival and potentially hostile intentions.” What could she do to stop the Global Union from taking Adam? Deep within, she acknowledged a need to prove he wasn’t dangerous even though there were mysteries about him, even though mysteries in this day and age could be hazardous.

  Without asking permission, her mystery guy grabbed a handheld and stuck it in his waistband. She thought about vetoing the gun—it wouldn’t do to have anyone see him with a weapon if they were here to arrest him—but instead she just hassled him.

  “Don’t shoot your ass off,” she warned, and he raised an eyebrow.

  “I have no ass,” Ship answered. “Do you mean my rear hangar? My weaponry is not trained on that part of my hull.”

  “Talking to Adam.” She scanned the room quickly. Nope, not leaving anything behind. Except the damned cat, currently on top of a shelf next to the air vent, staring at them like it was recording their actions. “We’re headed out. Track us and tell Sarah what’s going on.”

  She and Adam slipped out the door and ran to the end of a hallway that was supposed to be a dead end. She fancied she could hear the tread of jackboots on concrete echoing behind them, cutting them off. She tugged on the sealed door, and it wouldn’t budge. Annoyed, she waved Adam at it.

  He managed it handily, just like the first time. They latched it behind them and raced down the dank passage.

  More footprints than she remembered marred the dust on the floor. What was up with that? Maybe someone had checked the passage for structural integrity since they’d had to use it the other night. They reached the end of the corridor, and her sensor array alerted her to several life signs in the warehouse but nothing else.

  On the other side of this door might be their friends and might be a hell of a lot of trouble. What exactly did she think she could achieve? Hiding Adam? Sending him out of Chanute on the lam? Turning him, or herself, into a fugitive? Was she willing to shoot a fellow Terran over him? She set the blaster to stun, just in case, and hoped GUN would do the same.

  Dammit.

  Adam withdrew his pistol and copied her, ensuring his weapon was nonlethal. “What did Ship tell you?”

  “The people trying to get their hands on you are the Global Union. It formed when we found out about the aliens, like United Nations but bigger and a lot pushier. They’re not corrupt that I know of, but…” She let the suggestion dangle. “I don’t trust them. I don’t trust anybody.”

  “You can trust me, Claire,” Ship said. “Please reassure Adam Alsing that we will try to keep him from harm. I look forward to meeting him when he is allowed on board. I anticipate that should be soon. I have nearly convinced the trine to my side.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Ship says hi.”

  “My link with you can detect your facial expressions,” Ship announced. Unless a sensor array was disconnected from Ship’s network or set to private, Ship could access everything an array recorded, such as audio, video, and apparently muscle contractions.

  Adam studied the door in front of them. “Does this Global Union have the authority to arrest me?”

  She shrugged and placed a hand on the metal surface, wishing she could see through it. Her eyes were enhanced, but not Superman-style enhanced. “Probably,” she whispered back. “Don’t care.”

  “Because you can’t bear to let me go?” His shoulder brushed hers in the narrow corridor. “I’m flattered.”

  She scoffed—very quietly. “No, because Sarah said you were safe, and I don’t like people coming into my town trying to take my stuff.”

  Her stuff indeed. She didn’t feel like parsing whether she had additional reasons for keeping Adam in Chanute. She’d changed her fucking mind. Whatever. Sentient’s prerogative.

  “Ship,” she muttered into her array, “I don’t suppose you can tell whose life signs are on the other side of the door? Is it the good guys or the bad guys?”

  “I do not have that ability in buildings that have not been appropriately upgraded,” Ship said. “If they were using sensor arrays, I could identify them, but there are no arrays close to you. What are your intentions, Claire?”

  “Buy us enough time to turn this into a negotiation instead of a surrender, I guess. Here goes nothing.” She nudged open the door. Rusted hinges squealed a protest.

  First glance revealed the warehouse to be empty except for bars of sunlight streaming through chinks in the walls and ceiling. Bare lightbulbs flickered haphazardly due to wiring, not generators. The Shipborn had helped any Terrans who wished it to boost their solar, hydro, and wind power, and much of Chanute was hooked up, including escape routes.

  She and Adam slipped into the building. The door thunked closed behind them.

  “Who’s here?” she called.

  “Drop the weapons and put your hands up!” shouted a booming voice. “We’ve got you surrounded.”

  So. It was the bad guys.

  Adam glanced at her, and she nodded. She was wearing a tactanium vest. He wasn’t. Not worth th
e risk.

  He placed his pistol on the ground and raised his arms. She raised hers, too, hoping her parka sleeves would cover the blaster.

  “Sheriff Lawson, please remove any blaster bands you may be wearing,” another voice, a heavily accented one, added. Red dots of laser sights appeared all over Adam’s body, and hers, like measles. “I have it on good authority that you are probably armed with two bands, a knife, and a projectile weapon.”

  Shit. Somebody who knew her habits had tipped these guys off—possibly somebody who knew about Rendezvous 409. Voluntarily or involuntarily?

  “I’d be more inclined to do what you ask if you quit pointing a billion guns at me,” Claire said loudly.

  An unarmed man stepped out from behind a stack of empty crates. “You’re in no danger. We are here from the Global Union of Nations to apprehend the Chosen One and assess his threat potential.”

  Adam answered before Claire could. “Please don’t call me that. If I was chosen for something at one time, I’m not anymore.”

  He made no sudden movements, just asked to be called by his name, but the guy from GUN froze. Most of the laser dots switched from Claire to Adam. Idiots.

  “As you wish, Mr. Alsing,” the man responded.

  If she wasn’t mistaken, the guy’s accent was Dutch. “Dr. Sieders, I presume?”

  “I see you have been informed of my arrival.” He wore a black overcoat, a suit, and dress shoes. Who wore suits anymore? Or bothered to shine their shoes? “I had hoped this would go peacefully, Sheriff Lawson.”

  Her sensor array pinged, and Ship said, “I have notified your territorial emissary Hurst MarelJorik of the situation. He is coming to negotiate on your behalf. Stall for four point two minutes.”

  Hurst was a Shipborn emissary. She had no idea how he could help Terrans negotiate with each other, but she’d take what she could get.

  “It can still go peacefully,” she assured Sieders while listening to Ship. GUN was pointing, well, guns at them. Did Hurst plan to spirit Adam away from here if they tried to take him? What kind of trouble would that cause?

  “That depends on your cooperation,” Sieders said. “I have paperwork signed by the Global Union Ambassadors already on file with your mayor permitting the retrieval and quarantine of Adam Alsing. It’s all quite official.”

  She tried not to alter her expression when Hurst chimed in on the channel Ship was using. Only she could hear him, but the situation was nerve-wracking.

  “I believe I can negotiate a satisfactory accord,” Hurst assured her. Of all the Shipborn emissaries assigned as liaisons to the various territories on the planet, he’d immersed himself the most deeply in Terran culture and its people. Claire suspected he was a sly one, though most people considered him harmless and goofy. “I have a way with Terrans. Fear not.”

  If she replied to Hurst, Sieders and his men would notice her array. It tended to go mostly invisible in her thick hair and shouldn’t glow as long as she only used it to receive messages.

  “How much do you know about Adam, Dr. Sieders?” She didn’t lower her hands; she could shoot with a blaster band from almost any position. “Did you read the report from the Shipborn stating that Adam’s not a threat? I can arrange for you to meet the scientists. They’re just outside of town.”

  Sarah and Cullin’s report had been distributed to the heads of governments and other interested parties yesterday. Clearly their attempt to get in front of the rumor mill with facts hadn’t worked all that great with GUN.

  The doctor removed a sheaf of paper from an inner pocket. “Regardless of what the report claimed, the Union is troubled by what the Chosen…Mr. Alsing’s return means, even if the Shipborn aren’t.”

  “Nobody said they weren’t troubled,” she corrected. “The scientists are busy dissecting a pod like the one he was found in.”

  “Yet they have no answers.” Sieders checked over the paperwork. “Lieutenant Edgar?”

  Soldiers emerged around the building, some up in the rafters, all pointing their guns at Adam and her. The one wearing an officer’s uniform moved to stand beside Sieders.

  “Jesus, Sieders, I’m a badass, but this many guys is overkill,” Claire remarked. What had GUN expected to encounter? An army?

  The Shipborn?

  Or just the Chosen One?

  “They aren’t for you, Sheriff Lawson, though your attempt to evade us does you no credit,” Sieders stated, not taking his attention off Adam. Did he expect Adam to morph into a monster?

  “Your showing up here to kidnap an American citizen without even an attempt at diplomacy does you no credit,” she retorted.

  Sieders frowned at her. “If you do not disarm yourself immediately, you will be disarmed. We’re authorized to use whatever force we deem necessary.”

  Slowly, she complied, tossing her goodies to the ground, far enough to seem out of reach, but close enough to snatch if she moved fast.

  At least until a soldier trotted forward and confiscated them.

  “You can’t keep those,” she said. The Shipborn tracked their tech, especially weapons. “They’re assigned to Chanute.”

  “Your possessions will be returned after we depart with Mr. Alsing,” Sieders said. “I have some papers here I need him to sign.”

  Claire had no weapons left except the microblade in her belt buckle, so she crossed her arms. “How about not? General Nikolas and Ship asked me to accommodate Adam close to where he was found, so that’s what we’ll be doing.”

  “They don’t have the authority to make decisions for Terran citizens,” Sieders told her. “We do.”

  “What are you a doctor of?” Adam asked. “Do you know something about me that the Shipborn don’t?”

  Sieders regarded Adam for a long moment, as if undecided whether he merited a response.

  “I hold doctorates in psychiatry and neuroscience,” he conceded. “I don’t presume to understand the aliens’ technology, but I understand the inner workings of the human—Terran— disposition more accurately. The Shipborn admitted they don’t have a complete grasp of amnesia, and it’s one of my specialties.”

  Adam’s shoulders relaxed, and Claire wanted to kick him. Was he buying that claptrap? “You think you can fix me? Help me remember what happened to me?”

  Sieders, apparently taking Adam’s response as a cessation of hostilities, gestured to his team to stand down. “That remains to be seen. There are many theories on where you have been for the past two years, and we must determine the accurate one.”

  “My personal theory is I’m a clone of myself.” Adam lowered his hands. “One of me just wasn’t enough, boys.”

  He was quoting Guy Lassiter. Wonderful.

  Whatever other dumb thing Adam planned to say was interrupted by the arrival of Emissary Hurst. He poked his head through the doorway, looked surprised, and said, “There you are. I thought I’d never find you.”

  A male of medium height and medium brown skin, Hurst MarelJorik could have passed for a Terran of Middle Eastern descent if you ignored the tactanium arm that had rendered him more useful as a noncombatant than a soldier. Considering he rarely wore a sleeve over his prosthesis, it was hard to miss.

  Once inside, Hurst smiled widely and brushed snow off his shoulders. The winter weather had taken a turn for the worse.

  “Greetings, Earthlings,” he said, as if this were a pleasurable encounter instead of a tense standoff full of weaponry and ire.

  “How did you get past the guards?” Sieders glared at Hurst and then his lieutenant. “Did you authorize this, Lieutenant Edgar?”

  “Of course not,” he replied, sending a soldier outside to check on the others.

  Claire met Hurst’s gaze, but it told her nothing. Should she cheer or duck? He’d either created an international—ah, interstellar—incident by neutralizing a bunch of Terran citizens or he’d convinced the guards to let him through.

  Knowing Hurst, it was the latter. He could be…disarming, and it allowed him free
doms other Shipborn didn’t get.

  “We didn’t expect any Shipborn today, Emissary Hurst,” Sieders said bluntly. “In fact, we didn’t invite you.”

  “That’s why I’m so late. I pride myself on my punctuality. Time is of the essence.” The lively statesman adjusted the lapel of his elegant grey suit. He’d adopted Terran clothing instead of the plain uniforms most Shipborn wore. “So this is the famous Adam Alsing. I never had the opportunity to meet you before, but I do enjoy your movies.”

  Adam inclined his head. “Thank you. I haven’t seen them yet myself.”

  Hurst started toward Sieders, hand extended in greeting, but found himself immediately speckled by laser dots. He halted, eyebrows raised. “Surely there’s no need for weapons at a diplomatic meeting.”

  “We’re not here to negotiate. We’re here to take the Chosen…Adam Alsing into custody,” Sieders said.

  “Oh, I shouldn’t think so.” Hurst’s silver arm dangled by his side. From what Claire had observed, he didn’t use it much. “We need him here for more tests.”

  Claire watched the byplay carefully, wishing she were more adept at interpersonal relations. She was a punch and shoot kind of diplomat. But even she could see Sieders was seriously ticked off. He’d been confident about riding roughshod over some backwater buffer zone sheriff, but a popular Shipborn emissary was another story.

  “It’s not safe.” Dr. Sieders slapped the paperwork against his palm. “Where has he been? Why has he shown up now, so soon after shades have begun appearing in the buffer zone? Why was he in a pod the Shipborn can’t identify?”

  “The scientists haven’t had enough time with the pod, but they’re very dedicated. They will identify it,” Hurst promised. “Don’t give up on them so soon, Dr. Sieders. They have already discovered that, despite the heavy shade residue, the pod is inert. Harmless. Like Adam Alsing.”

  “What do you mean by residue?” the lieutenant asked. “Was it full of shades at some point?”

  “The scientists didn’t say that,” Hurst said. “Many things on Terra contain shade residue.”

  “So you don’t know if the pod was used to transport shades into the buffer zone?”