by Tammy Salyer
Not sure what to say, I finally break the silence: “You’re working late.”
“Yeah,” he replies curtly, then shifts his gaze toward Rob and nods in a manner that borders on unfriendly. “Cross.”
“Strahan.”
“I’ve been wondering where you were all day.”
“Busy. Working. We’ve got a lot to finish up before the transceiver’s operational.”
“I know, but…” I stop myself. I’m not going to get into this with him here. “Tomorrow should be just as busy. I should get going.”
I haven’t left the saddle of the sandbike and a flick of the engine switch brings it purring to life.
“Good night, Aly,” Rob says as I roll forward.
I nod at him and turn the bike around as I approach Karl. Stopping in front of him, I ask, “Do you want to ride together?”
He gives me a noncommittal shrug and restarts his bike. Within seconds, we’re clear of the mine and riding beneath the not-quite-black night sky toward his place. Once we arrive, he pulls around to the back and parks next to Desto’s assault motorcycle, its huge faring and projecting rifle barrels giving it the look of a monstrous insect in the starlight. I stop next to him and kill the engine.
Stepping off, I stand squarely in front of him. “Karl, what’s going on? Something’s bothering you. Why don’t you just tell me what it is so I don’t have to guess.”
Avoiding my eyes, he lights up a smoke and says nothing for a few seconds. Long enough to frustrate me. Then: “Look, Aly. I realize you’ve got a history that I don’t really know much about. There’re things in my own past you probably wouldn’t care to hear about. But it’s not easy when—”
I cut him off, “Karl, Cross is someone I knew in another lifetime. What he said at Vitruzzi’s last night, and whatever he may have said when he was over here playing cards, that’s all history. It has nothing to do with…with us.” I almost said, It has nothing to do with how I feel about you, but something stopped me. It’s never come naturally for me to talk about my feelings; for soldiers, emotions don’t factor it to how we operate. I’d been in the Academy and then the Corps since I was fourteen and become a person of actions, not words. Talking things out doesn’t give me the instant resolve that I’m used to. Maybe I’ve never learned how to express myself, but so far, Karl has seemed to understand me just fine. What’s changed?
He stamps out the cigarette and puts the butt in a container sitting next to his dwelling’s adobe walls. Standing there with his arms at his sides, his back straight, he looks almost like the mien of some primeval ruler about to pass judgment. At times, that immobile stance makes me feel safe, protected, like I have someone solid to rely on when things get tough. Other times, like now, his way of looming silently, almost stonewalling me, infuriates me to the point that I want to shake him.
“How are things between us, Aly?”
The question hits me like an unexpected backhand and I wince, knowing Karl sees it. Immediately, I want to explain myself, to tell him that it’s only surprise that makes me react in that way. But I can’t do that. Don’t even know how. What could I say to him that he doesn’t already know? How can I tell him my feelings for him without it sounding awkward and insincere, or worse, like a lie?
So, instead of telling him the truth—that I would die for him if necessary, that since meeting him, I’ve learned what it means to actually live, what it’s like to share everything that matters with another person in a completely selfless way—I say, “You tell me.” Because I need to hear it before I can say it. I need to know that if I go out on a limb and leave myself naked and vulnerable, I won’t be out there alone.
There’s a subtle shift in his expression, something more felt than seen, and I know I’ve stung him. If only he would understand that I can’t expose myself like that no matter how bad I want to. I can’t let myself get hurt.
He looks away over my shoulder and sighs. “I’m not sure I even know. Good night.” Then he walks inside, leaving me standing alone in the night.
SEVEN
The next day begins the same as the one before, and every one before that during these past few months. Bodie and La Mer ask me out to the dish for a couple of hours—my petite hands make it easier to fit together some of the smaller components—and after I’ve done what I can to help them, I head out to the firing range with Desto to test some weapons. I don’t bother lying to myself that mostly what I’m doing is finding ways to avoid Karl this time, wanting to drown with distractions the panicked feeling that had started the minute he’d closed the door on me last night.
Avoiding the thoughts rolling around my head like loose cannonballs on a ship’s deck anytime I’m not busy is priority—so I stay busy. While Desto and I practice until we’ve sweat through every fiber of our clothes on the range, we get word that they’ve finished wiring the final pieces to the transceiver. The test will be tonight and Karl, Vitruzzi, and Venus take the Sphynx off-world toward Spectra 4, preparing to wait for the transmission scheduled to be sent at 2030 hours. Less than five minutes after hearing this, Mason’s pings us both simultaneously.
“What now?” Desto wonders, cueing the go button on his VDU.
“You two, we were just hailed by an Admin security ship. They’re landing in less than ten minutes. Get your asses to the mine on the double.”
We drop the rifles we’d brought into a crate and cover it with a tarp, hoping no one bothers to come out here and take a look. Scrambling onto the back of Desto’s bike, I grip his waist as he guns it. We jump onto the dirt track leading to the Beach too fast and the front wheel starts to skid off the edge of a brief incline, spraying rocks and pebbles behind us and guaranteeing us a more than a few abrasions if we go down. In a synchronous movement that would seem graceful if the stakes weren’t so high, we lean together to regain a balanced center of gravity and the wheel rights itself.
We reach the mine where the settlers inside are working in a frenzied but orderly burst. There are plenty of items littering the cavern that a destitute group of non-cits can’t easily justify having, and tucking them away or making them appear more derelict than they are is top priority. Admin security never travels out this far, so we’ve been surprisingly lax about keeping things that might be suspicious under lock and key. It’s much too late now, but the realization of how incredibly stupid we’ve all been is drilling into my skull. More than stupid, we’ve been crazy not to take better precautions. Yet the reality is that there is no reason for Admin security to be here. They only handle civilian centers. Anything criminal or suspected of being criminal on the Spectras gets automatically dished out to the Capital Military Corps.
Vitruzzi, Bodie, and Karl are loping from the Sphynx’s hold as a blast of air wafts down the tunnel from the mine entrance. It can only be one thing—a ship landing. Spotting us, Vitruzzi says, “Desto, get the vault squared away and hide. Take them with you.” She waves a hand toward David and La Mer—just pulling their sandbikes in after having come from the transceiver—and I.
Desto breaks into a trot, slapping La Mer on the shoulder as he goes by in a manner that says follow me. David turns to go after them, but I stand beside Bodie.
“What do you have in the control room that we need to do something about?” His deep-set blue eyes widen for second, and he glances at Vitruzzi as if wondering if she knows why I’d be crazy enough not to get out of sight. “Bodie! What’s in there that could tip them off about the security worm or the transceiver?”
Finally realizing what I’m getting at, he grasps my forearm, saying to Vitruzzi, “Com room. You have to scramble the last day’s outgoing transmissions,” and starts to pull me along as he makes for the control room.
“There’s a safe-box dug into the floor beneath the holodisc reader. We need to throw in some of the terminals Jeremy and I used to track and crack the satellite programs. Most of the other equipment doesn’t matter; they can’t prove what’s stolen and what’s not.”
He s
ounds as if he really thinks that matters, but I keep my mouth shut and run along beside him. The noise of a large vehicle echoes from the mouth of the tunnel as I pull the control room doors shut behind us. Not much time.
Doug Mason sits at the monitoring station and jumps to his feet as we enter. “What are you doing here, Erikson? They’re right outside, for God’s sake.”
Neither of us answer as Bodie runs toward the central bank of computers lining the far wall and starts pulling datablocks from their connectors. “Keep an eye outside, Aly. Let me know if they’re coming in. Doug, help me out with these. We need to cover all the evidence of the satellite hack.”
I press up against the door and stare through the shatterproof window. My Derg is in my hand, though I don’t remember reaching for it. Hard to see outside through the thick, nearly translucent material. People look like wavering ghosts as they hustle about and the Sphynx and Red Horizon are large gray beasts taking up the cavern’s bulk.
A track–propelled transport vehicle rolls into my limited field of view and stops about ten meters outside of the control room. “Hurry it up, Bodie,” I whisper. “They are right outside.” He curses, then grunts as he shoves the holodisc reader aside.
The mechanical sound of an electric motor hums through the air as the hatch to the safe-box opens—I hadn’t even known the thing was there. A quick glance over my shoulder catches him tossing the datablocks inside hastily, then clicking a button on the remote in his hand to close the hatch again. Pushing the disc reader back, he tucks the remote inside a storage drawer and grins. “We’re good.”
Appraising him calmly, I ask, “Any other handy nooks where a person my size might fit?”
His grin fades like chalk in a rainstorm. “Maybe they won’t—”
“Shh!” I hush him with a sharp chop of my hand. Four security personnel have emerged from the interior of the transport and stand a few meters away. The control room doors are thick, but I don’t want to chance anything drawing their attention to us. Bodie steps up beside me and activates the door’s electronic lock.
Brady walks into view outside, his gait fast and aggressive. I glimpse him run his hand over his VDU and it gives me an idea. Moving the Derg into my left hand, I unlatch the tiny earpiece housed along the edge of my own VDU and insert it into my ear. Then I turn the unit on, already set to the channel the regular Sphynx crewmembers use.
Brady’s voice comes through clearly. “What are you doing here?” Not the warmest greeting I’ve ever heard.
A member of the security team steps forward. It’s difficult to make out her rank or features, but her voice carries through Brady’s VDU with authority. “Are you in charge here?”
“This is a free settlement. There’s nobody in charge.” The officer who’d spoken stiffens. Brady continues, “Why’s an Admin security team here?”
“The Political and Capital Administration is undertaking a census of all the primarily non-citizen settlements and colonies on the Spectra planets. Your cooperation, or lack of it, will be noted.”
Bodie and Doug have pressed in next to me to watch through the window. At the officer’s words, we exchange a brief, troubled glance.
“A census? Why?”
“Sir, that information is relevant to neither our mission nor to you. Now, is there any population accounting or tracking system here that we can look at, or will we need to do a walk-through of the settlement and take count ourselves?” The way her voice drops at the last part makes it clear that if the Admin team is forced to do a head count, it won’t be fun. For anyone.
Brady stands in obstinate silence, staring her down. After a few seconds, he says flatly, “There are 125 people in Agate Beach.”
“And do you have a list of their names, ages, and citizen status?” Her response is quick and nearly as toneless as Brady’s. She’s been doing this for a while and has probably dealt with worse hostility than his.
I can almost hear Brady’s thoughts. His detestation for the Admin is part of his physical being; when the subject of the Obals-based government comes up, it’s nearly as visible as a malignant growth would be. He’d probably like nothing better than to reach out for the officer’s handgun and use it to pummel her self-important face to the other side of her head. Of course, that wouldn’t do much good for him or for the larger goal of getting the Admin crew well and away from Agate Beach. He says, “Wait here.” Giving them a list of the settlers is the quickest means of making them disappear.
His figure moves out of view and the officer turns to the other three personnel standing behind her. Only a faint murmur of their voices passes through the thick divider between us and we can’t tell what’s being said. Two of the security team crew set off deeper into the mine, apparently sent on some kind of reconnoitering mission. The officer and the remaining crewmember begin walking toward the control room.
We all lean away from the window instinctively but there’s no way to see in. The room is much dimmer than the cavern and the window is too thick and mottled for visibility from their side.
“If they come in, Aly, you hide inside one of the equipment lockers. You’ll fit,” Mason growls in my ear.
I’d rather throw myself into the engine housing of an MCACS—being stuck in small spaces makes me feel like I’m napping in my own coffin—but I keep calm by telling myself they won’t be able to get in.
The officer reaches the door and tugs against the handle. Her face is centimeters from the window and I peek through. The insignia on her uniform shows she’s a Chief Class II from the Obal 8 Security Squadron. They’re a long way away from home. What the hell could the Admin be doing a census for anyway?
She tries tugging the outer handle first left then right to open the door, but it’s not moving. She puts her face up against the window and the three of us withdraw quickly. Her voice is faint but clear as she says to her subordinate, “Locked. We may want to take a look inside here when that Spectre comes back.”
“Chief,” another crewmember says, approaching the door. “We just received a message from headquarters.”
“What’s the gist, Corporal?”
“An Obal 5 security crew has taken casualties due to an uprising of prisoners they were transporting to Keum Libre. They want us to reinforce that crew and help neutralize the prisoners.”
“They want us to aid a prisoner transport crew?” The officer sounds about as happy as if she’d just heard she’d be mopping up sewage spills with a hankie for her next mission. “Don’t they have anyone closer?”
The corporal instinctively remains silent.
The chief continues, “It can’t be any worse than leapfrogging around the Spectras dealing with a bunch of backward primitives. We’ll get that list from the local honcho and head out. Shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes from now. Corporal, send headquarters our ETA to rendezvous with Obal 5’s crew.”
“What about checking this room, Chief?”
“Forget it. By the look of that transport ship and this Eleanor Vitruzzi’s contracting status, they have plenty of things in there that they shouldn’t, but that isn’t our problem. We’ll ping HQ, let them figure out what to do about it. Maybe send a Corps squad down to clean up.”
“Roger, Chief.”
As we wait behind the control room door, it occurs to me to wonder if David and La Mer had had time to cover the transceiver. What better piece of equipment for drawing very unwanted attention? The three security personnel turn and walk back around the far side of the transport vehicle, causing us to lose visibility. I take a breath of relief as Brady returns and hands the officer a small disc.
Without even a nod of thanks, she motions her team to load the transport and climbs aboard last. The transport executes a six-point turn to pull headfirst out of the mine. When the sound of its engine has faded to a dull growl, I push through the control room door and jog up to Brady.
“What the hell was that about?” I ask.
His eyes don’t waver from the retreat
ing vehicle as he says, “Something is very wrong.”
* * *
It’s late evening by the time everyone is back at the Beach, and we all meet in the main cavern so La Mer and Bodie can fill us in on the transceiver’s status. The entire population of the settlement has maneuvered their way into the subterranean hanger, a hundred-plus warm bodies barely making a dent in the vast space. Rob has taken the ’Rize up ostensibly on a test flight to check out their patch job on the broken reversals. They should be in orbit somewhere near the southern pole of the planet and outside of regular communication range waiting to hear from the Beach.
With so much going on, the crew hadn’t had a chance to regroup and speculate on why the Admin would be taking a census of the Beach and other settlements like it. Vitruzzi and Brady had been AWOL since the security team left.
The crowd is restless; most of the people here have marginal interest in the transceiver and the effort it took to build it. They have little to do with the other planets and don’t crave any connection, especially at the risk of Admin retaliation. But they also see the benefits of having people like Vitruzzi with her Admin connections and Bodie with his in-depth scientific background to help keep the colony afloat and healthy. They grudgingly accept the transceiver as a necessary means to ensure their continuity. They know only too well that if you live outside the law, you still have to be prepared for it to find you.
As I look over the group, I don’t see in them many similarities to me—I’m the outsider here. Most of these people have never experienced the benefits of citizenship. The majority were born in non-cit colonies on the Spectras or their moons and have never set foot on a planet with clean air or organized development. Some are miners that were either abandoned when their mines ran dry or escaped Admin conscription, having been forced into labor on planets too harsh for softer citizens to inhabit, much less tame. A handful are like Vitruzzi and Bodie—citizens who found life under the Admin’s thumb even less appealing than the hardships that come with being out here on the fringes. And then there are Desto, David, La Mer, and I—the only deserters in the bunch. We share an intimate familiarity of the costs of citizenship with the other citizens or former citizens here but have lived our lives on a tangent far removed from those who’d suffered since the day they were born. I’ve always thought of myself as tough, but I’ve never had to fight the very elements of the planet I live on for the sake of basic survival. The people here have taught me what it really means to be strong, and how to not only survive, but to thrive, without the Admin pulling my strings. It’s made me realize that the years I spent with Rajcik may have gained me some coin, but they cost me nearly as much as if I’d stayed in the Corps.