The Elderon Chronicles Box Set

by Tarah Benner

  “Private Jones and I volunteered,” says Jonah smoothly.

  “You’re here on orders from Captain Callaghan?”

  “Callaghan has been killed, ma’am,” says Jonah. “He was murdered by a humanoid bot posing as a member of Elderon personnel. First Lieutenant Greaves is now in command of the Space Force.”

  “I see.” Colonel Sipps looks taken aback by this news. “This sounds very serious.”

  “It is,” says Jonah. “Buford was working with Mordecai Blum, brother of Ziva Blum from BlumBot International.”

  Colonel Sipps’s eyes narrow. “How do you know this?”

  “He confessed. We have reason to believe the attacks were motivated by a family feud. Mordecai was disinherited by their father, and now he’s trying to ruin his sister’s company.”

  “That seems like a bit of a stretch.”

  “It’s not,” says Jonah. “We spoke to Mordecai earlier today.”

  “You’ve been in contact?”

  “Mordecai reached out to his sister. We just happened to be with her at the time.”

  “I see.”

  There’s a long beat of silence. The other officers around the table look stunned. A few of them are shifting in their seats, and a low rumble of murmurs makes me wonder if they doubt Jonah’s story.

  “What do you know about the shuttle crash?” asks Jonah, scanning the table full of officers. He isn’t intimidated — even if they outrank him.

  “We are still investigating,” says Colonel Sipps shortly. Judging by her tone, I can tell that she doesn’t feel the need to share what she’s learned with some Space Force sergeant.

  “I understand,” says Jonah. “I’m just wondering if you were looking at foul play.”

  Colonel Sipps frowns. “What sort of foul play?”

  Jonah takes a deep breath, as though he knows what he has to say is going to be hard for her to swallow. “I think the crash was intentional.”

  “Like a suicide mission?”

  “No,” says Jonah. “I think that someone else interfered . . . that they steered Buford off course intentionally so he would crash when he reached the base.”

  “We have not yet recovered the black box from the shuttle,” says Sipps. “But right now we’re investigating all possibilities.”

  “It wasn’t an accident,” says Jonah. “Buford trained with Maverick Enterprises in the space program for years. He was in the air force before that. He knew how to land a shuttle.”

  “Better pilots than Lieutenant Buford have crashed upon landing,” says Colonel Sipps.

  Jonah nods, but I can tell he isn’t buying it.

  The colonel is still staring at him as if she can’t decide whether to take him seriously or not.

  Finally, she asks, “You think it’s possible that Mordecai Blum could have tried to kill his accomplice?”

  “I think it’s more than possible,” says Jonah. “I think that’s what happened.” He takes a deep breath and glances at me, gearing up for what he’s about to say. “I think Mordecai was finished with Buford.”

  17

  Jonah

  After our meeting with Colonel Sipps, Maggie, Carl, and I are swept into the bureaucratic air force machine. Carl is taken in for questioning about the shuttle security procedures on Elderon, and Maggie and I are dismissed.

  Sipps makes it clear that she isn’t done with us yet. She’ll want to question us again after the shuttle’s black box is recovered, but for now she has bigger problems to deal with — for one thing, the security threat of unauthorized shuttles crash-landing on the base.

  Vandenberg is in chaos. Men and women in gray camo are racing around outside, and the hallways are filled with radio chatter. The entire base is on lockdown until further notice, which means Maggie and I are stuck here for at least a few hours.

  Maggie is fascinated. She’s never been inside a military base before, but I only feel impatient. Every second we’re stuck here, Mordecai gets closer to executing his plan — whatever that might be.

  If Mordecai did get rid of Buford, it was because he didn’t need him anymore. Either that, or he didn’t want Buford stealing his thunder when he enacts the next phase of his plan.

  That’s the worst-case scenario. If Mordecai is taking steps to ensure he gets all the credit, it must mean he’s planning something big.

  We watch from a distance as the men and women on the ground begin searching the wreckage for Buford’s remains. The shuttle is practically unrecognizable. All that’s left is a twisted heap of charred metal and a fragment of the shuttle’s nose.

  We head over to the dining facility for breakfast and are followed by Chief Master Sergeant Skinner — the command chief of the base and Colonel Sipps’s right hand.

  Skinner is quiet, pale, and serious. He has a ring of dark hair around a shiny bald head and the sort of eyes that always look suspicious. I can tell he’s trying to keep his distance, but this isn’t the first time I’ve been followed.

  He was hovering nearby as we watched the investigation, and he finds a seat a few tables over as we help ourselves to watery eggs and mushy cafeteria potatoes.

  The familiarity of the military dining facility seems to settle my racing mind. No matter where I go, there are always overcooked hamburgers, sad little salad bars, and plastic cups that smell like bleach. It’s weirdly comforting when you spend your life on the move.

  Maggie and I get our food and sit down in silence. None of it looks very good, and I’m not ravenous enough to shovel it down. We came here just for something to do.

  “You think we should invite him to sit with us?” I ask as Maggie takes a greasy bite of bacon.

  “What?”

  I nod to my right, three tables over, where Skinner is sitting at my two o’clock.

  Maggie sets down her piece of bacon and chews thoughtfully, turning her head to the left. She must notice Skinner, but she doesn’t show it. She turns back to face me, raises her eyebrows, and reaches for a charred piece of toast.

  She takes a bite, sets it back down, and goes back to the bacon. She’s hardly touched her eggs. I think she’s just eating to maintain a sense of normalcy.

  I want to say something — something to reassure her — but I’m not good at this sort of thing. I’m not sure where she and I stand.

  Maggie isn’t my private, but she’s not a friend either. I’m not even sure why she agreed to come. She doesn’t owe me anything. But I asked her to come, and here she is. I’m both grateful and confused.

  As we sit here, I start to get this horrible feeling that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. I followed Buford because it seemed like the logical thing to do: get to Buford before he reaches Mordecai and keep them from gaining control of the bots. Instead, I’m stuck on an air force base three hundred miles from my company with no idea how to find Mordecai, let alone stop him.

  In that moment, I begin to worry that I made the wrong call. It was one thing when Buford was still alive — we had a link to Mordecai that could lead us right to him. But now . . .

  My horrible spiral of doubt is interrupted by a blur of movement three tables over. Someone is leaning over Skinner’s shoulder, delivering a message in a hushed voice.

  Skinner’s expression doesn’t change. He just gets to his feet, dumps his tray, and circles back to our table in a way that makes me think he knows I’ve been aware of his movement.

  “Colonel Sipps will see you now,” he says without preamble.

  Maggie’s face drains of color. She shoots me a worried look.

  I’m not sure why she’s worried. I’m the one who abandoned my post, stole a shuttle, and flew down here without a concrete plan.

  “It’s urgent,” Skinner adds.

  That’s enough to get my attention.

  We leave our trays and follow Skinner straight to the double doors. He leads us out of the dining facility and across the parking lot, back to the administrative building.

  But instead of taking us to the
briefing room, he leads us into a small office just down the main hall. He knocks once, and Sipps answers right away.

  Skinner pushes the door open, and she greets him with a curt nod. This must be her office. Everything is neat and tidy, and the back wall is covered in plaques.

  Colonel Sipps looks agitated, but I don’t immediately know why. She’s standing just behind her big wooden desk, but her body language says she’d rather be pacing.

  “You lied to me, Sergeant,” she says in a sharp voice.

  Shit.

  “You told me you were sent here by First Lieutenant Greaves to recover Scott Buford.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Ex-cuse me?”

  “I never said I was sent,” I say. “You asked me if I was sent by Callaghan. I told you Callaghan was dead. You assumed I’d been sent here by his replacement, and I never thought to correct you.”

  “Don’t be smart with me,” Sipps snaps. “You knew exactly what you were doing, Sergeant. Did you think I wouldn’t check?”

  I don’t say a word. I knew it was risky omitting that detail, but I’ve known plenty of officers like Sipps before. I knew she’d never trust me if she thought I’d disobeyed orders.

  “Oh, I know all about you, Sergeant,” she says in a smug voice. “I checked your file. I know all about your discharge from the army. I know that it was Captain Humphrey who vouched for you. He’ll be lucky if he’s not brought up on charges.”

  “For what?” I spit. I don’t give a shit what she does to me. But if Sipps thinks she’s going to drag Humphrey’s name through the mud, she’s out of her fucking mind.

  “For colluding with Scott Buford. My sources tell me that he and Captain Humphrey had extensive contact before Buford was sent to Elderon.”

  “What?” I snap. “No. That’s bullshit.”

  An odd look darts through Maggie’s eyes, but I don’t know what it means. I’m still glaring at Colonel Sipps, daring her to contradict me.

  “Regardless of how your old captain is involved, you are not authorized to be here. You disobeyed a direct order, deserted your company, and you stole —”

  But Sipps’s tirade is interrupted by another knock at the door. A flash of irritation skirts across her face, but the door flies open before she can answer.

  Skinner’s face appears around the door frame. He looks agitated — though not as keyed up as Sipps.

  “Excuse the interruption, Colonel,” he says. “But you should report to the briefing room. There’s been another attack.”

  Even after calling me a liar and a deserter, Colonel Sipps allows Maggie and me to accompany her to the briefing. I can tell she wants to send us back to Elderon, but there’s this small part of her that knows we could be useful.

  The officers from earlier are seated around the table, all of them looking grim.

  As soon as we file in and take our seats, Skinner directs our attention to the large screen at the front of the room and touches the desktop in the center of the table.

  Instantly, a newscast appears — a man standing in front of the gleaming glass structure that has been on the cover of every magazine on the planet.

  It’s the new Maverick Enterprises complex in the heart of Silicon Valley. It’s a cylindrical building whose uppermost level forms some weird Celtic knot — Maverick’s new logo that I’ve seen on every napkin and soap dispenser since I landed on Elderon.

  The building looks as though it’s made of mirrors, but the upper level is engulfed in flames.

  I’m standing outside the headquarters of Maverick Enterprises, which is being evacuated following an explosion. The investigation is still underway, but the blast seems to have been caused by an improvised explosive device. Several dozen Maverick employees are still inside the building, and authorities are conducting a search-and-rescue effort.

  Skinner mutes the newscast, and a dark feeling creeps into my stomach. Maggie is staring at the screen in horror, and I know she must be thinking of Van de Graaf.

  “I just got off the phone with the bomb squad,” says a captain from the other side of the table. “Investigators have confirmed that the explosion was caused by an IED in the robotics lab.”

  “The robotics lab?” I say, ignoring the fact that I’m not really supposed to be weighing in here.

  “Yes,” says the captain in a hesitant voice, clearly not used to answering to someone below his rank. “They spoke to a department head on the ground who was running late returning from lunch. Apparently, BlumBot brought in a rogue security bot that had been disabled. They were trying to study the malware. The police believe the IED may have been inside the bot itself.”

  “So we are officially calling this an act of terrorism?” says Colonel Sipps.

  “Unofficially, yes,” says the captain. “Officially, we are still awaiting word from the Pentagon.”

  Sipps nods, looking stressed. “Where are we at on the crash investigation?”

  “The aerospace investigation team has recovered the black box,” says Skinner.

  “And what did they find?”

  “The team is still parsing the mission thread that led to the crash, but it appears that the data was compromised.”

  “Which data?” asks Sipps.

  “Each mission from Colony One to Earth requires intel that is extracted from the common ground system. These are standard flight plans that the Space Force has compiled to be used in case of an emergency.”

  “Who has access to that data?” asks Maggie.

  Sipps shoots her a dirty look, but I can tell she’s wondering the exact same thing.

  Skinner looks nervous. “All we know right now is that some or all of the data used for this mission was incorrect.”

  “How can that be?” asks Colonel Sipps.

  “We don’t yet know how this data came to be in the flight plan,” Skinner admits.

  This is not what Sipps wanted to hear. “What do we know about Mordecai Blum?” she asks.

  One of the officers sitting near me speaks up. “Mordecai Blum is the son of Israeli-born robotics visionary Benjamin Blum. He attended UC Berkeley for his undergrad and earned his master’s degree at Stanford. He worked at his father’s company as a programmer — a low-level job for the son of the founder — before being promoted to a division of high-risk robotics.”

  “Security bots?” I ask, not caring when Colonel Sipps shoots me a death glare for speaking up in her meeting.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay . . .” says Sipps. “I need more.”

  The young officer scans the desktop in front of him, and a few still images of Mordecai flash across his feed. “Benjamin Blum’s will stipulated that his personal wealth be divided between his children equally, but he named his daughter as the sole heir to his company.”

  “He disinherited Mordecai?”

  “It appears so. A few years ago, Ziva Blum needed to raise additional capital to amp up bot production. Increased competition put BlumBot at risk of being surpassed as market leader. This led to her decision to sell to Maverick.”

  “And Mordecai was forced out?”

  The young officer scans his feed, picking out a few press releases and swiping through Mordecai’s dossier. “Mmm . . . no. His sister negotiated positions for herself and all existing employees, including her brother.”

  “That was nice of her,” says Sipps with an eye roll.

  “Mordecai was sent to Russia to oversee the bots tasked with arms disposal following the denuclearization program of 2072.”

  “Interesting,” says Sipps. “Get me more on that. It’s no coincidence that Mordecai was in Russia just a few years ago when the Bureau for Chaos was losing its foothold. It’s possible he was radicalized there. He might be working with the Bureau, for all we know.”

  The young officer scrambles to learn more about Mordecai’s time in Russia.

  “There’s no chance that his father’s family has any ties to terrorism?”

  “No, ma’am. Benjamin B
lum’s family remains in Israel. We already looked into all of Blum Senior’s siblings . . . Two of his sisters are still living, but no one in either family has ties to any terror organization, and Blum Senior barely had contact with his siblings after he moved to the US. This was before his children were b —”

  The officer stops speaking. He’s staring at the muted screen, where the camera shows a funnel of thick black smoke billowing on the horizon.

  “Another explosion?” asks Maggie.

  Skinner touches the desktop to unmute the newscast. A female reporter is standing in front of another building — a rounded white structure with a single band of windows on each floor. An aerial photograph of the building shows that it’s shaped like an infinity symbol. It’s the California headquarters for Continuum — the company that collects data on every person alive.

  This explosion appears very similar to the blast that detonated at the Maverick Enterprises building. Authorities have not yet released their findings on what caused the explosion, but many eye witnesses are saying that they believe an IED could be the cause . . .

  The feed switches to a terrified-looking man wrapped in a foil blanket. He’s being interviewed in front of an ambulance.

  Skinner touches the desktop again, and screens all around the room illuminate with footage from every major news network in the country. Most of them are broadcasting from outside the Maverick building. Only a couple have picked up the story of the second attack.

  As I watch the information ticker along the bottom of the screen, my stomach drops: At least twenty people are dead, with dozens more seriously injured.

  “That’s the second attack in less than an hour,” says Colonel Sipps. “Has no one made contact with the Pentagon?”

  “I just spoke to them, Colonel,” says a man who just walked in. “They’re deploying the national guard. They want eyes on the valley.”

  “All right,” says Sipps, springing into action.

  I’ve heard enough. Catching Maggie’s eye, I jerk my head toward the door. She takes the hint, and we slip quietly out of the room. No one tries to stop us.