None of this seemed right.
Sif realized she was surrounded by security personnel.
“Commander, Colonel, it’s time to leave,” Johansson said coolly. “I have orders to take you to your quarters immediately, until this area is secured and we know there’s no danger to the rest of the facility.”
Sif looked at the group of guards surrounding her and Hunter and decided they really didn’t have a choice. “Okay, fine,” she spat, wiping the dead man’s blood from her hands on her trousers. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Fuller was shocked when he saw the two astronauts—they weren’t supposed to be here. They should’ve still been on Level Two. Thankfully, they weren’t hurt. If they were injured—or killed—the opportunity they presented to move the cause forward might have been lost forever.
These two came from a different time—better, more humane—and would realize what needed to be done, once they knew the truth.
They had the tools to end this, once and for all.
Fuller decided it was time to make contact.
Chapter 50
Sif wasn’t surprised she and Hunter were put in the same quarters. It would be much easier to keep track of them—and listen to their conversations—if they were in the same room.
After the explosion, they were led by the security detail straight to the elevator and ascended to the second level. Once there, Johansson took them directly to a small set of temporary quarters located at the entrance to one of the housing tunnels. “We need you to stay here for a while, at least until we can verify the area is safe,” he said. “We’ll keep one of our security personnel right outside in case you need anything.”
And to make sure we don’t go anywhere.
Their quarters—an apartment, really—had a main room with a couch and chairs, a small refrigerator, and two rooms at the end of a short hallway that shared a full bathroom between them.
“Looks like we’re Jack and Jillin’ it,” Sif said as she took inventory of the room. As far as she could tell, there were no cameras. She searched for something to write on. She spied a pad of paper and a pen beside the fridge.
“The explosion,” Hunter said. “Are you thinking what I’m think—”
Sif held her index finger to her lips and handed him a note.
They’re listening, maybe through our uniforms. We have to be careful what we say.
Hunter read it, nodded, gestured for the pen.
You’re probably right. That was a bomb attack, wasn’t it?
Sif nodded. “I’m thinking we were darn lucky to get out of there alive. I don’t know what exploded, but it had to be some sort of mechanical malfunction or something.”
“Maybe so,” Hunter said, playing along.
“I need to get out of these clothes,” she said. “I’m filthy.” It was true—she was covered in dust, and her hands were stained with the blood of the man she had watched die—but it was also how she figured she and Hunter could talk in private. She scribbled on the note, handed it back to him.
Leave the uniforms in here. The running water should mask our conversation.
“You’ve got first dibs on the shower. I’ll wait,” Hunter said as he removed his uniform. Sif did the same. They laid the uniforms on the couch and made their way to the bathroom. “I’ll be quick,” Sif said, for the benefit of whoever might be listening.
Hunter followed her into the bathroom. She was glad to see that showers hadn’t changed that much in the past 193 years. She turned on the water and shut the door.
“Okay, now we can talk,” she said.
“That bomb was planted by the guy you were trying to help.”
“Agreed. He was close enough to it that it blew him apart, but he was smiling, Hunter, like he was glad it had gone off.”
“Do you think it was meant for us?”
“I don’t think so. When he saw me, he knew who I was—called me ‘astronaut’—and didn’t seem surprised that I was alive. If he was trying to kill us, I sure couldn’t see it in his face. The weird thing is, he was desperate to tell me something before he died.”
“I saw him trying to speak. Did you catch any of it?”
“I did,” Sif said, remembering the man’s strange warning. “He said, and I quote, ‘The old ones, they have no souls.’”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I have no idea. There’s something else, too. I heard one of the guards talking, telling someone that the fifth level was secure, and there were no breaches.”
“That’s interesting, considering they’ve only told us about four levels.”
“Exactly. Which means they don’t want us to know about it.”
Hunter shook his head. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this place, Sif. I can’t explain why, but I do.”
“It feels like an ant colony—everyone has a function in life, their own little tasks to perform, and that’s all there is. I think the concept of freedom went out the window while we were away.”
“At least in here,” Hunter said. “Litsa’s people seemed pretty free.”
“Yes,” Sif agreed, “they did. There’s something else, too. I can’t put a finger on it, but it’s as if they’re walking on eggshells around us, trying to make a good impression. They need us—that much is obvious—because ‘we have the key to destroying the Riy.’ If that’s even true.”
“Okay, let’s say it is true. We have something they need, but they don’t have the means to take it from us. We have to want to help them. Tracking?”
“Tracking.”
“I don’t buy the whole relocation story, either. I wanted to . . . It seemed reasonable enough at first, but now I’m not so sure. From what Litsa told us, these people aren’t trying to help anyone. She was scared to death of them.”
“So you think her side of the story was more accurate?”
Hunter sighed. “I know I said we needed to hear both sides. Well, I have, and I’m not convinced this side is telling the truth. At least not the whole truth.”
“Which means they’re hiding something. And it’s something that might cause us to choose not to help them. Right?”
“Exactly.”
“So what do we do?”
“Lucas said it’ll take him a week to have enough of the culture ready for the flyer. That gives us a few days to scout around and see what we can find out.”
“Easier said than done. They’re keeping pretty close tabs on us.”
“Come on, Navy. You guys can do anything, right?”
Sif grinned. “How silly of me. I forgot about that.”
“But first, you’re going to get in that shower. For real. And don’t use all the hot water.”
She watched him carefully turn the doorknob to leave, but there was something else. “Hunter, wait.”
He turned.
“When we met President Carlisle, I couldn’t help but think I’d seen him somewhere else before.”
“Funny,” he said. “I had the same feeling.”
“And Dr. Mattis, too. Same thing. He was so familiar it was almost creepy. As soon as I saw him, I knew what his name was going to be before he even introduced himself.”
“Déjà vu, huh?”
“Maybe, but I don’t think so. I just can’t explain it right now.”
“Maybe you’ll be able to think more clearly after you wash that blood off.”
Sif looked down at her hands, and was sickened. “Yeah. I’ll be out in a minute or two.”
“Take your time, Navy. I can wait.” He shut the door behind him and stepped into the main room, and was startled by a knock on the door. Jesus, that was close, he thought. “Yeah?”
“Sir, we have clean uniforms for yourself and Commander Wagner.”
Hunter thought about throwing his uniform on again. “Oh, screw it,” he said to himself. He opened the door, in his underwear. The guard was still posted outside, but another guard stood in the doorway with two folded uniforms in his hands. H
e held them out, and Hunter took them. “Thank you, Mr.”—he glanced at the man’s name tape—“Fuller. Just what we needed.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
Hunter closed the door, and laughed. “That should start some rumors.” He tossed the two uniforms on the couch—and noticed something sticking out between them.
When Sif stepped from the shower a few minutes later, Hunter met her at the door, note in hand. “You’re gonna want to see this.”
Chapter 51
Sif sat in Beagle’s cockpit, familiarizing herself with all the modifications. She had to admit, the Alliance techs did some amazing work. Beagle’s fuel system was completely converted to burn synth—which reduced the ship’s gross weight and added quite a bit of additional power—and both the guidance and communications systems were completely overhauled with new, printed parts, all based on the schematics retrieved from the Alliance’s databases. Externally, Beagle looked good as new. So far, all the internal systems seemed to be working perfectly, as well. Even their space suits—retrieved from the Dak by the Alliance—were repaired.
Sif was running through the final steps of the prelaunch checklist, with Hunter sitting in the other seat. “Ground power, stable and online.”
“Check. Stable and online,” he verified.
“Disconnect circuit arm and disarm, in the green.”
“In the green.”
“Ignitor system . . . Shit, they changed it.”
“It’s green.”
“Oh yeah, I see it. In the green. Check.” She set her checklist against her leg. “I think she’s ready to fly, Hunter.”
“As ready as she’ll ever be. What about you? Are you ready to fly?”
Sif looked at him and smiled. “Are you kidding? I’m always ready to fly.”
During the last communication window with Lucas, he asked that at least one of them return to Resolute to assist him with launching the cargo landers and readying the flyer. The culture of modified B. subtilis was almost ready for loading. They were still on schedule.
Sif decided—unilaterally—that she should be the one to go, and Hunter reluctantly agreed. She would help Lucas with the lander loading and launches, as well as with the flyer’s final prep. Once the flyer was launched, and the equipment and supplies were safely down on the surface, Sif and Lucas would return to Earth in Beagle, leaving Resolute in Liv’s capable hands—the AI would be tasked with keeping the ship in orbit until one day, maybe future astronauts would be able to squeeze through her hatch once again.
It wasn’t an easy decision to abandon Resolute in orbit, but they all agreed there was really no other choice. Their lives were on the surface now, not in space.
But there were still some questions that needed to be answered before they decided exactly where their lives would be spent. And it wasn’t necessarily here.
What they learned tonight would be key to that decision.
After the explosion, which was blamed on an unfortunate fuel leak, according to the official story provided by Captain Johansson, they were allowed to wander the facility—all four levels—without any guides tagging close behind. They were still being watched but were given free rein to explore what President Carlisle called their “new home.”
All areas were open to them . . . except for one.
It was on Level Four, near the location of the bomb attack.
And tonight, that was exactly where they were going.
With a little inside help.
Fuller glanced at the time readout on his sleeve. In a few hours, their plan would go into motion. It was risky, but not any more risky than contacting the astronauts. He laid his organization on the line, hoping these two people from the past would agree. After second-guessing himself for an entire day, knowing that they just as easily could have taken the note he slipped between their uniforms straight to the president himself—the female left the mark exactly where he instructed. A boot scuff, left side of the hallway near their quarters. Unnoticed, except by him.
Phoenix’s security apparatus—of which he was a part—was watching the two astronauts closely, reporting on their movements and on everything they said. It was obvious the two were suspicious about the complex and had decided between themselves that they might not be getting the entire truth. He promised to show them that truth and hinted at who they would be saving if they agreed to let him.
The people they were brought here with—the girl, Litsa, and the three others—were important to the two astronauts, so much so that it was decided that they be kept on Level Two far longer than normal. They were drugged, complacent, but the Old Ones wouldn’t let the ruse last forever. They only had to be kept there long enough for the astronauts to do what was required of them. After that, Fuller knew exactly what would happen. Hopefully, he could prevent it, but their fate wasn’t as important as accomplishing the one goal both the Old Ones and the Resistance shared. The threat from the Riy was real—even the Old Ones dreamt of the day when the creatures no longer roamed the planet—so that part of the plan still had to move forward. And it would. But after their flyer was released, and the eradication of the Riy had begun, another plan would be put in motion.
The Resistance knew what they wanted the astronauts to do. And when. If the timing was off, the results would be catastrophic. For everyone.
Fuller knew what he was about to ask them to do would seem insane, but tonight, he hoped they would see—for themselves—that it was the only way.
Once he had learned the secret for himself, he had prayed for a day of reckoning to come, and it had, delivered to them by three astronauts from the past.
And their ship, Resolute, was the key.
Chapter 52
Sif sat at the table across from Hunter as they ate their evening meal. She was a little nervous, but Hunter looked just as cool as always. If he had any butterflies, he sure wasn’t showing it. She’d been picking at her food for the past five minutes, trying to choke it down.
Hunter noticed. “You need to eat, Sif.”
“I’m not that hungry, that’s all.”
“Oh, come on. Would you rather have a tube of corned beef and cabbage? Maybe some delicious roast beef paste?”
She smiled and took another bite of her meat. Bison again, but she had to admit, it was pretty good. Her stomach wasn’t cooperating, though. She washed the food down with her water, looking through the glass to steal a surreptitious glance at the time readout on the wall. Twenty minutes to go.
They were right about the explosion. It was a bomb, planted by the same people who placed the note between their uniforms. The Phoenix Complex—the last hope for humanity—had an active insurgency on its hands, and for better or worse, they were about to jump right into the middle of it.
Litsa and the others were in danger—the note didn’t say why or how, but it was enough to convince her and Hunter to get involved with a group of people they knew nothing about. Sif left the mark on the wall exactly where she was told and hoped it was obvious enough to be seen. Come on, Sif, she tried to convince herself, quit worrying so darn much. You’ve been in bad situations before.
She watched Hunter glance at the time. He placed his napkin on the table and pushed his chair back. “I’m about ready to hit the sack. We’ve got a long day tomorrow. I want to run another set of sims on Beagle’s launch profile.” Just loud enough to be heard.
“Yeah,” Sif said, “sounds good.” They would head back to their quarters and get ready, allowing their watchers to assume they were tucked away safely for the night. They would move right on the hour.
Together, they walked from the mess area on Level One and headed for the elevator.
“Subjects have left the dining hall, transiting to Level Three.”
“Copy. Level Three, subjects coming your way.”
“Level Three copies.”
Fuller was sitting in the control center, trying to look disinterested as the supervisor tracked the astronauts’ moves. They left exact
ly as planned and right on time.
So far, so good.
When they got back to their quarters, Sif pulled the couch away from the wall and found exactly what was supposed to be there—two sets of security uniforms, helmets, and masks—placed there sometime during the day when they were working on Beagle. They were to put them on, the note said, and wait.
She grabbed the notepad.
Are you nervous?
Hunter scribbled back.
No, but I’m damn curious why they’re risking so much to show us something.
Sif nodded and started to change out of her uniform and into the security uniform. As she expected, it fit perfectly. Hunter changed into his, too, and they both sat down on the couch.
Five minutes left.
“You know, you never told me about that scar on your leg,” Hunter said, hoping a little conversation would calm her nerves.
“My what?”
“The scar, right here,” he said, patting his thigh. “I saw it while we were in the cave.”
“Oh, that,” she said, a little embarrassed that he had noticed it. “Russian AA-11 Archer. Hit close enough to spray my Hornet with shrapnel. Crazy Russian pilot thought he could bag a Super Hornet, but he didn’t know I was flying it.” She smiled at him.
“When the hell did that happen?”
“Hmm, let’s see. About two centuries ago?”
Hunter laughed. “A Russian, huh? Flanker?”
“Nope. Su-50.”
Hunter’s jaw dropped. “That was you?”
“Yep. Little old me. Dipshit should never have engaged me.” She paused, realizing what he just said. “Wait, that mission was black. How do you know about it?”
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