Spectra Arise Trilogy

by Tammy Salyer

  There’s a tinny clang in the background of the video feed. Alarmed, David quickly raises his head from his knees and my mouth goes dry as I glimpse his hardly recognizable face, thoroughly misshapen and swollen. Bruises cover everything and a deep laceration splits the skin above one eyebrow. His lips are torn in at least two places. But his eyes are the worst. The lids have puffed up to the size of tennis balls, stuck fast to his cheeks by a dried puslike fluid seeping from behind them. There’s no doubt that he’s reacting to the sound, but he can’t possibly see what it is.

  As quickly as the image appears, it’s gone. I remain leaning over the display, my body devoid of sensation for the moment, just waiting…for Rajcik, for the image to continue, for my screams to split the ship open and spill me into space. The room around me begins to recede, shrinking into blackness, and my focus dims down into two tiny points before my eyes. Finally my legs give out completely and I land on my hands and knees, torso clenching in dry heaves.

  “Erikson, hey, Erikson. Just take a deep breath.”

  Strahan’s words seep through a disconnected part of my brain. When had he come in? His hands gently grip my shoulders, senselessly trying to help me hold it together. And then everything in me suddenly breaks free from reality, from rational thought, from control.

  “NO!” I’m on my feet, flailing madly at his hands. If I get by him, I’ll knock Venus from the pilot’s seat and take control of the Sphynx, chase Rajcik down and kill him, the way I should have back on Spectra 6. The scorching desire propels me into a frenzy, wildly punching Strahan and lunging to get free of his grip, but it’s useless. He’s too strong, too prepared. My frantic onslaught is no more effective against his restraint than fire against water.

  “Take it easy, take it easy, Erikson.” He keeps talking, his voice too calm to punch through my anguish. But his grip is relentless and he presses my body firmly against the rear wall, not letting me free. “Calm down. We’ll get him. We’ll get your brother. Just take it easy.”

  My body isn’t listening to me anymore; it has come undone. This must be what if feels like to plummet so far into hopeless, agonizing despair that you become embedded in the bottom, glued and trapped, drowning in poison. I’m powerless to do anything but collapse against the wall, held up by Strahan. My eyes close, and I hope I never have to open them again.

  His warm breath puffs against my cheeks. “Look, Aly, we’re going to find your brother, okay? He may still be alive. Are you listening? Don’t give up, because we’re going to find him. We need your help. He needs your help.”

  I open my eyes and see his face centimeters away, rearranged into an expression I hardly recognize. His sepia eyes are filled with concern, staring into mine. Hot tears burn my cheeks. Patiently, he holds onto me, providing a solid foundation, letting me process the image of my wounded brother, but keeping me from harming anyone, or myself. Finally, my breathing steadies. Time begins ticking again and awareness creeps back. In another few seconds, I take a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

  He relaxes some of the pressure on my shoulders and I straighten up. “Are you all right?”

  Nodding is an effort, but I don’t trust myself to speak yet. The cockpit door opens and Vitruzzi steps hurriedly through, worry stamped on her face. Taking in the situation quickly, she doesn’t need to ask how I’d reacted. She looks at me and asks, “That was your brother?”

  Swallowing and swiping an arm across my hot face, I answer in a choked voice, “Yeah.”

  To Strahan: “Do you think that was a live feed or recorded?”

  With a final examination to make sure I’m in control, he lets his hands drop from my shoulders. “It had to be recorded. How could he get a live broadcast from the Fortress?”

  “Unless her brother’s not really at the Fortress. Do you think he could be using him as bait, Erikson? Trying to set a trap for us?”

  Vitruzzi’s questions pierce the shock-fog enveloping my brain. What would Rajcik have to gain by sending me footage of David, suffering and beaten, other than a sick sense of retribution for our betrayal? No, Rajcik isn’t trying to lead us anywhere that we’re not already going. He does know me well. He knows we’ll be coming to the Fortress and that he’s given me all the incentive I need. He knows I won’t stop until I find David, or we’re both dead.

  I shake my head. “No. He’s trying to keep us close. He wants revenge.” There’s no longer any need to emphasize how cruel he can be. They’ve finally seen it for themselves.

  From the corner of my eye I see Bodie and Desto join the group, standing just outside the flight deck hatchway. They must have heard me scream. Venus has turned around to look at me, for once entirely still, a sympathetic frown etched across her pale face. The depth and sincerity of their concern is real, making me uncomfortable. At what point did they start caring about my brother?

  Vitruzzi glances around the room, taking in everyone’s condition. No one says anything, as if we’re all waiting for the next thing to happen. Finally, she says, “Okay, this is it. Karl, you and Bodie take the controls for a couple of hours and give Venus a break. Stay alert. Rajcik is unpredictable. Everyone else, take a break too. We’re not going to get many chances from here. We’ll all get back together in the com room in four hours. According to the coordinates, we’re within three days of the Fortress. That’s all the time we have. We need to make some decisions. Any questions?”

  No.

  “Erikson, can I talk to you in private?”

  My legs are stiff as I follow her off the flight deck. Before we’re out of range, I hear Desto say in a low voice, “Man, that was some of the most fucked-up shit I’ve ever seen. For Rajcik’s sake, I hope her brother’s alive.”

  Rajcik’s a dead man. Whether I find David or not.

  * * *

  We step up a short stairway into the com room, situated astern and above the flight deck. After closing the door, she turns and says, “Look, Erikson, I know you’re only with us because you’re hoping your brother still has a chance. But there’s something I have to know.” Her focus is intense, uncompromising. “We don’t know how old that video is. He may already be dead. You realize that.”

  She pauses, and the words seep like acid into my brain. “Yeah. I know that.”

  There’s deep concern in her eyes, but her voice doesn’t waver as she asks her next question. “What if he is? Are you going to stick with us if we get in there and don’t find anything, or maybe just his body? I have to know how far we can count on you to go.”

  It’s a fair question, but one I don’t have to think about. “I’m in this until the end, Vitruzzi.”

  She stares at me for another second and nods. There is zero equivocation in my plans, and she knows it. Maybe she can see that if David is dead, the only thing I’m going to care about is revenge. Which means, no matter what, I’m in to the bitter end.

  * * *

  It takes me a few minutes to get myself together after talking with Vitruzzi. Standing in the washroom of my bunk and splashing cold water on my face gives me a chance to think deeply for the first time about how I’m going to cope with it if we don’t find David alive. The thought has always crouched in the recesses of my brain where dark and hateful things live, things I rarely allow myself to think about. Now as I stare into the mirror, cold water dripping in rivulets down my nose and cheeks, the same resolve that helped me escape a loveless home, then desert the tyranny of the Corps, and has now freed me from Rajcik’s control, is still there. If there’s a chance David’s alive, I’ll search every centimeter of that station until I find him. And if he’s dead, nothing in the universe will keep me from finding Rajcik and ending him.

  EIGHTEEN

  The sound of Brady’s voice over the intercom yanks me harshly from a restless sleep.

  “Everyone to the com room! An Admin patroller is boarding us. Get your asses up here now!”

  Panic and adrenaline send sparks of electric saliva shooting into my mouth. Within seconds, I�
�m fully dressed, jamming the Mini-Derg into my boot and racing to the com room.

  The crew piles inside, everyone strapping on or zipping up the bits of equipment they’d grabbed on the way, and Brady lays out the situation. “They pinged us two minutes ago. Routine sweep ship. They said they’re looking for a fugee. I’m sure they mean you.”

  There’s no way to interpret the look he gives me. “How could they know where I am?”

  “Not the issue. We have to get you hidden. Go to the ammo vault with Desto.” He turns to him. “Hide in the fire control room. We’ve got legal manifests that put us in the area, so, as long as they don’t find you, we shouldn’t have any trouble. Stay put until I give the all clear. They’ll be here in five.”

  I’m already on the way to the vault by the time he’s done talking, with Desto following closely. Once we get inside the ammo vault, he uses the interior keypad to open a hidden hatch in the floor.

  Climbing in behind me, he slides the door closed overhead. “Keep quiet. We’ll shake these guys fast. Nothing to worry about.”

  It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dimness, helped by the glow from a console anchored against one of the steel walls. The background hum of the Sphynx’s engines begins to grow quieter and a couple minutes pass before they stop altogether. The ship’s slowing motion creates the disconcerting feeling of reaching the vertex of an arc, hovering for a moment, and then plunging back downward in an unchecked dive. There’s a sharp jerk as the Admin ship’s boarding shuttle connects with the external airlock, reinstating the sense of gravity. Standing totally still, I listen with my entire body, trying to hear what may be happening on the cargo deck. Of course, it’s futile; the overhead bay floor is engineered with thick steel plating designed to sustain the ship’s integrity in the case of a ballistic attack, muting all sound and cutting us off from everything happening above. We’re locked in the dark with no way to control the situation.

  But not helpless. One benefit of being on ship for nearly ten years in the Corps: I know my way around a flight control deck and weapons systems. A quick investigation of the fire control console and I easily locate and enable the target acquisition sensor. Desto doesn’t notice, standing at the top of the stairs with his pistol drawn, waiting for a reason to jump out like a bogeyman jack-in-the-box. The image display lights up sharply with a schematic of the Sphynx floating inside a dull green circle, overlaid by a grid pattern. I’m seeing a 360-degree view from the perspective of the ship’s current position relative to everything outside. Triangulated guidance points hover in the display’s upper corner, waiting to be trained on their objective. The diagram only shows a one-kilometer circumference, which is nothing but emptiness. Placing my fingers on the zoom controls, I’m able to enlarge the visual area. As I do, the image of the ship shrinks on the screen, but now I can make out the Admin sweep ship about three klicks from our stern. Zooming closer, I get a bead on her main generator and bring both missile guidance points to lock on. If anyone at the Sphynx’s helm is also attempting to operate the system, apparently this console has override power. Good for me. A single, nonrepulsed missile from the Sphynx could blast the Admin ship into dust if I hit it right. And if anyone comes through the hatch besides one of the Sphynx’s crew, that’s exactly what I’ll do. One strike and you’re out, two and you’re annihilated, you bastards.

  Desto turns and sees what I’m up to. “Erikson, what the hell—?”

  Both of us suddenly freeze in place as the door to the weapons vault above opens and footsteps belonging to two or three people enter the room. The cargo bay floor may be soundproof, but noise travels more easily from the vault through the hidden hatch. Desto’s eyes move in a plane from the hatch, to me, to the console, and he gives me a short nod. He knows what I’m doing.

  “Your manifests look legitimate, Captain Vitruzzi. We just have to check every room in case you have a stowaway. Someone you don’t know is here, of course.” A male voice. Unfamiliar. Probably the Admin ship’s commander.

  “I understand, Major.” Vitruzzi’s composure is unearthly; even through the floor she sounds as cool as ever. Knowing she can lie so convincingly marginally increases my sense of security.

  “I have to admit,” the man continues, “it’s rare for a citizen to have such a generous contract. An unarmed ship carrying this caliber and volume of weaponry could create problems if it were to get into the wrong hands.”

  What is he implying? Is he playing with us? My head is tilted, my ear toward the ceiling trying to hear his voice more clearly, looking for a cue that it’s time to render the Admin ship into fragments of unidentifiable space trash. Vitruzzi says nothing, but I can imagine the way her jaw clenches at his barely concealed accusation. More footsteps overhead.

  “Sir, everyone on the ship is accounted for. One thing seems out of place. We found an extra bunk that has recently been occupied. It’s empty now, but there are no passengers listed on the manifest.”

  Shit. They found my bunk. There’s a grating sound and I picture the insufferable officer rotating on his boot heels to face Vitruzzi. “Captain?”

  “We took a non-cit passenger from Letum Uti to Dro’an. Dropped him off yesterday. You can verify that with my nav-planner.” That same casualness. There’s no hidden challenge in her voice, but if they look and the nav-planner hasn’t been fixed to show landings on the two Obal moons—landings we didn’t make—we may get a trip to the Fortress after all. Of the one-way variety. My fingers dance jerkily on the targeting console, ready to launch the eagles.

  “That’s all right, Captain. I know there are numerous difficulties involved in living on the nonsettled planets. Anything to make a little extra cash, right?” I can’t speak for her, but I’d like to bust the smug bastard in the mouth.

  “Thank you, Major.”

  His portable manifest reader emits a beep as he shuts it off, saying, “Your cooperation has been excellent. I’ll make a note of it. We’re done here.”

  Their footsteps retreat and the vault door slides shut again. That was too fucking close, but it doesn’t mean they’ll be leaving. I’ll just keep my eyes on them for a while, see what happens. Fifteen minutes later their shuttle flies into view and docks, their engines spin up, and they’re gone. Sitting in the semidarkness waiting for Vitruzzi to give the all clear, I’m thinking now would be a good time for another slug of that paint thinner Strahan and I had been drinking a few short hours ago.

  * * *

  “We’ve swept the ship for surveillance devices. Come on out.”

  Vitruzzi stands at the top of the hatch and beckons. She doesn’t have to ask twice; two hours of killing time in this dungeon, time that should be spent working on the Fortress op, is plenty.

  “What did you find?” Desto asks, coming up behind me. Despite the sober inquiry, I can practically feel his eyes crawling over my ass.

  “Usual. Bugs, a couple of imagers. We fried them. Venus says the ship’s out of range, so they’re not coming back to ask why.”

  That’s all I need to know.

  After grabbing a box of compressed fruit blocks and a jug of water from the galley, I head directly to the com room, prepared to spend every remaining minute locked inside with the disc. Three days left. Three days until I know whether David is alive or dead. Thirty-six hours until I spill every drop of the toxic sludge that stands in for Rajcik’s blood. Everyone lives for a reason, and I have two.

  Strahan and Bodie walk in. Barely glancing up, I nod and quickly return my attention to the plans.

  “Anything new?” Bodie asks.

  “Not a goddamn thing.” My voice is strained in frustration.

  I feel Strahan’s gaze, like a hot ray of light, resting on my face. When I look up, he’s passing me the jug of water. “Let’s see what we can see.”

  Bodie takes a seat and Strahan leans against the reader, their scrutiny equaling mine. For a while, no one talks, the time seeming to pass instantly, and far too slowly. Even after manipul
ating the schematic’s angle, shifting perspective in new ways, and changing structural overlays, it still feels as if I’m staring into a blacked-out window and seeing nothing but my own reflection mocking me. The plans are impenetrable, like a fucking Gordian knot.

  Leaning against the back of a chair, I recite the same litany of questions we’ve all gone over a hundred times. How are we going to get in there? Where are the prisoner cells? How much more time do they have? What the hell are we missing? Our last chance to figure out how to achieve the impossible is being shot away like so many wasted bullets.

  According to the plans, a bank of surveillance satellites encircles the station, picking up everything within a ten thousand kilometer perimeter. It’s completely impossible to get close to the thing undetected.

  That’s if we’re right about where it is.

  Brady, proving the word “optimism” isn’t in his vocabulary, had earlier voiced the practical reality that the coordinates we have are only good as long as the Fortress doesn’t move. At this point, a week after Rajcik gave them to us and two weeks since they were originally stolen, it’s entirely possible that the station is no longer where we expect it to be. On Spectra 6, Rajcik had said something to the crew about picking up the call signs for a supply ship en route. Was that all he was picking up? It would have been easy for Rajcik to give us bogus coordinates, and why wouldn’t he have? He had told Vitruzzi that he would see us at the Fortress, so it seems that the coordinates are correct, but…what if? He could easily have been bluffing.

  The unknowns are piling up too high. The only way to maintain my focus, and my sanity, is to assume the station is where we expect it to be and concentrate on the central problem.