Retaliate

by Alex Albrinck

  The first shook her head. “And the need to get everyone, everything alive. No people, no animals…”

  “No grass, no trees…”

  “Brutal,” the third summarized again, and the others nodded in agreement. “I need to see everything alive in the zoo after seeing the display of what’s happened on the surface and know we’ll have the resources required to begin the terraforming before we can safely go back home.”

  Sheila retained enough mental alertness during the conversation to first confirm that she’d made her exoskeleton soundproofed; even then, she restrained the sound she made, sucking in her breath sharply at the words she heard.

  What mutating virus were they talking about? And what were the Cleansers?

  All thoughts of those mysteries vanished as she followed them through the open access doors and stared, invisible mouth agape, at the sight before her.

  The space called “Noah’s Ark” looked as if it had come to life from a child’s picture book, one describing the world before all manner of chaos left it—and humanity—on the precipice of disaster and extinction, into an era when humans feared to walk alone during the day or night for fear of becoming some creature's dinner.

  They’d eliminated the barrier walls between the three corridor streets here, leaving only the interior channel that carried the space station’s lifeline of support systems, and the tripling of space alone took her breath away. The interior floor surrounding the central channel glowed like sunlight. The exterior walls protecting the entire chamber from the pressureless void of space were lined with plants, and trees of every size, shape, and type grew “up” toward the sunlike interior channel. The scents from the flowers and leaves and bark and the soil supporting all of it overpowered her after the relatively sterile scents of the outer corridor, reminding her more of Eden than anything else she’d ever experienced. She sneezed, loudly, grateful that she'd remembered to suppress sounds generated inside her floating, invisible cocoon.

  She watched as animals—beasts she recognized from the stories about the old days but had never seen and thought to be myths—wandered through the bizarre jungle. Giant cats with spots or stripes and giant teeth, tails swishing as they stalked through the thick brush like the predators they were; massive gray beasts with impossibly long noses and wrinkly skin; and others with necks that provided much of their vast height. She counted at least thirty different types of creatures trotting, jogging, hopping, and slithering through the area, and that was just in the parts she could see.

  As she acclimatized to the scene, she noticed the finer details of the setup. The obvious predators were walled off from the others by some invisible restraint, but still stalked after their potential prey, making clear that it was the wall and not instinct that kept them from pursuing and devouring fresh meat. The other creatures feasted upon the leaves and berries and fruits growing from the trees and bushes, and a few nibbled the blades of grass in the more open spaces free from the taller trees. Birds—she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen one, even before the Ravagers came—flew around the open spaces, singing their songs, occasionally diving down toward the ground in pursuit of whatever prey triggered their particular hunting instincts.

  She finally wondered if she was safe from all the terrestrial and airborne predators inside this space-based cage.

  When she looked down to where her feet would be if she’d walked inside like a normal person, she could see the path worn thin by constant foot traffic. There were nearly invisible walls formed of what looked to be clear Diasteel, protecting the human entrants from the ravages of the beasts parading around. Curious as to where the path led and what the trio she’d followed might be doing in here, she floated silently down the clear tunnel. While the path humans walked remained level, the outside terrain rose up sharply, forming a plateau. She followed the path beneath the plateau, hoping they’d not allowed any powerful digging creatures in the space just above, and emerged into a large open room. Display screens flashed numbers, drawers of all sizes lined the walls, and freestanding cabinets formed a grid of walkways on the interior. She watched the people there—including the trio she’d followed in—as they continually scurried about like some of the smaller critters outside, opening drawers to check or retrieve the contents before closing them. Many watched the numbers flashing on the screen, reacting to messages embedded in the data that Sheila couldn’t understand.

  She watched for a moment, her mind scrambling and unscrambling the words she’d heard, the sights she’d seen, and what she knew Phoenix had done to the planet’s surface and future plans for the same, until she finally understood what she was seeing.

  They’d brought to life here the plants and animals needed to repopulate the surface after its destruction, allowing some of the creatures to walk around while others remained in frozen embryonic form in the drawers populating this storeroom. They retained supplies of seeds and nuts required to re-create the trees and brush and grasses in the areas destroyed; she’d no doubt that in some of those drawers she’d find insects and bacteria needed to enrich the soil and add to the overall ecosystem.

  This was where they housed the resources they’d need to perform what they called “terraforming,” the word they used to describe the process of re-creating the plant and animal life destroyed by the Ravagers.

  She wondered if the name Noah's Ark had been chosen for that reason. There was no obvious reference to anyone named Noah inside this humans-only space, so whatever the meaning, it still wasn’t obvious to her.

  She shook her head silently. The plans to Ravager the surface had obviously been going on for a long time, because this entire complex inside the space station had clearly taken decades to build and populate. She rather suspected that it was getting this part built out and fully populated with everything that had delayed the activation, far more than any specific human genetic marker or population triggers being reached.

  Her mind moved back to the conversation she’d overheard as she followed someone out through the doors and back into the corridor, leaving behind the sights and scents of nature for those of the artificial city. What she’d heard made her reconsider her plans, and she mentally worked through the adjustments.

  She’d originally intended to bring about massive destruction aboard the station, not rendering it in inhospitable—she was still there, after all—but to bring about the same level of terror and chaos here that they’d unleashed on the rest of humanity below.

  That was before she’d seen the magnificent creatures inside Noah’s Ark. And before she’d heard what the non-Elites here believed: that they were among the few immune to a slowly activating, mutating, flesh-eating virus that could only be cured by a full, cellular level destruction of the virus and the host on which it fed. They believed they were acting to save humanity and other forms of life on the planet, not purging the surface of those the Elites of their organization considered undesirable to create their own perfect world from scratch.

  She’d still wreak havoc and destruction. But she’d increase the level of havoc and minimize the destruction on behalf of the human and non-human innocents here.

  After all, the world would need all of them after all of this was done.

  And they’d need the people that were on her side as well. People locked up here in the brig for the unthinkable crime of learning the truth of Phoenix and working to stop the development and unleashing of the Ravagers.

  She visualized the map showing the rough layout of the entire space station, focusing on two specific sections that would help her achieve her new goals. The first was one Micah had labeled as an armory. She'd not needed true weapons and ammunition for her initial plan; the raw supplies for her explosives would be found elsewhere, in places that, unlike an armory, should be unguarded. She could still collect those supplies and utilize her training to wreak havoc upon the less-than-innocent living here, like Oswald Silver.

  The second was the Brig. That’s where the truly inno
cent lived here. She’d free them all and give them a chance to fight and to live. She'd bring them the weapons they'd need to take control of this space station.

  And before she left the space station, she'd find Oswald Silver and blow him up, or jettison him into space.

  Or maybe she'd bring him back to the Ark and toss him in with the predators housed here.

  A cruel smile curled her lip.

  She might stay and watch that, even if it meant she’d miss her flight back home.

  This time, she felt no guilt over her sentiment.

  —13—

  DEIRDRE SILVER

  SHE SWITCHED BETWEEN the wrapped knees position and lying down, stubbornly refusing both the offered food and the temptation of sleep to relieve the general sensation of boredom mixed with a side of fearful anxiety.

  As it happened, she was lying on her side, unfocused eyes making note of her reflection in the streaked mirror, when the realization hit.

  She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, staring at her reflection, as the first waves of hope spread through her body like the warmth from her first hot shower in a week. Far from being a helpless captive, she had far more power over her future than her captors—Jeffrey and his wife—had led her to believe.

  She'd relived her experiences from the journey here in detail. When she'd arrived, she'd been inside the Diasteel suit, a necessary precaution against certain death. A small contingent of guards had forced her to remove the suit and had then sent her into the decontamination showers. She'd worn little more than drab clothing after, her hair a sopping mess and her makeup gone with the top layers of her skin. That same set of guards took her, looking a mess, to the meeting with Jeffrey and his wife, and her head, makeup free with unkempt hair, had remained bowed the whole time. She’d paid little attention at the time, but in retrospect it had been circuitous, and though it felt like thousands of eyes were upon her in judgmental condemnation, there had been only a few. The same group of guards had led her here, to this cell, after the meeting in which she’d learned Jeffrey’s real identity, that her mother was alive, and that her captors intended to use their new hostage as bait in the ongoing power struggle over the new world.

  But the meeting didn’t matter, not right now. It didn’t matter that her mother was alive, or that Jeffrey wanted her dead. What mattered was that, in her entire time here, no more than ten people had seen her, and none of those had seen her looking like the Deirdre Silver the world knew.

  Almost no one here knew there was a new prisoner, and a scant number of those knew that prisoner’s identity.

  She smiled.

  The biggest clue driving this new realization had come, ironically, from a taunting comment made to weaken her resolve. They’d told her she’d be used as a negotiating pawn with her parents over control of the world to be reborn, held prisoner here until the negotiations were completed to her captors’ satisfaction.

  That was the mistake.

  Deirdre had set out for this place, knowing of its existence, because her father had told her about the secret Phoenix fortress to the east of the Lakeplex. That fortress existed in terrestrial territory where Oswald Silver held sway, post-Ravager power allocations notwithstanding. If Oswald knew about it, it meant he had no reason to believe there were unfriendly types prowling about inside the safety of the water-lined walls, no reason to think anyone here would dare treat Deirdre as a prisoner and barter for her release. If he’d had any inkling at all, this place would be reduced to ashes, long before the Ravagers waited outside the moat. And while it was possible her father didn’t command full loyalty of those here, she doubted that a complete mutiny could occur without at least one loyalist remaining, in secret if needed, letting Oswald Silver know.

  If this facility was majority-loyal to Oswald Silver—or Delilah—then there could be no successful capture and detention of their daughter.

  If the facility were majority-loyal to a faction operating against the Silvers—or independently—then there’d be no need to take such care to keep her identity secret.

  They’d clearly ensured that, for the few who saw her outside the suit, she offered no clue to her name and ancestry, nor had they paraded her around in some sort of victory parade, announcing to their loyal band of traitors their capture of a key asset in the ongoing negotiating battle.

  In other words, Jeffrey and his wife were holding her prisoner secretly, because to expose her identity to the larger community here was to bring the wrath of the Silvers upon this place, and they couldn’t ensure that message wouldn’t be sent if her presence was widely known.

  It meant that, with careful maneuvering, she could locate someone here loyal to one or both of her parents and secure her release, just by looking like Deirdre Silver once again.

  She hopped off the bed and moved to the sink and mirror, rummaging through the scant grooming and beauty supplies. There wasn't much here to work with. But if there was one thing Deirdre knew how to do well… it was making herself look her best, no matter what.

  When the knock at the door came, announcing the delivery of her latest meal, she stepped back and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Not her best look… but given the supplies and circumstances, probably her best work. She slid a few loose golden hairs behind her ear and turned toward the opening door.

  The woman who entered wore a simple, loose fitting uniform and pushed a cart, just as the others had done. Deirdre watched as she parked the cart just past the reach of the open door. She closed the door behind her and waited until she heard the loud click indicating that the lock had engaged. She picked up the covered dish and moved it to the single small table in the room, then put the cover atop the dish of cold, uneaten food from the previous delivery. Deirdre had paid no attention to the food delivery process before, having no desire to show any interest in engaging with anyone here.

  That changed now.

  The woman cast little more than a sideways glance at Deirdre. “Food’s here,” she murmured. The glance seemed to be for no purpose beyond ensuring Deirdre wasn’t trying to escape. Having seen nothing to suggest Deirdre was a flight risk, the woman moved the covered, cold food tray back to the cart and started backing herself and the conveyance toward the door.

  “Hi,” Deirdre said. “What's your name?”

  The woman glanced up, startled, obviously uncomfortable at being addressed by a prisoner. “Hi. Um.” She paused. “My name. Miriam.”

  She was jumpy, nervous about a possible attack by a suddenly alert prisoner, and Deirdre made two connections. If Miriam didn’t expect any activity or interaction with the prisoner, it might confirm Deirdre’s suspicion that her food was laced with a depressant. And the nervous woman made no effort to draw forth a hidden weapon, perhaps a knife or small caliber automatic weapon. Good to know. “Hi, Miriam. It's nice to meet you. My name is Deirdre.”

  Miriam nodded… and then did a double take. “Deirdre? You mean like… no, that can’t be right, can it? You look just like… no, no, she wouldn’t be here! But… she is… I mean, you are here. Wait. What are you doing here? And why are you in this… room?”

  “Shh,” Deirdre said, pointing a finger to her mouth. She motioned Miriam closer, and Miriam came. “There was a… bit of a mix-up a few days ago regarding my travel plans. Circumstances brought me to New Venice. Because I'd be okay here.”

  “Of course!” Miriam said, beaming. “Everyone here loves you! You and your whole family!”

  It almost seemed too good to be true. But Deidre couldn’t be too cautious right now. She dropped her chin and the corners of her mouth and looked up, her full lips exaggerating the pouty look. “I thought so, too. But not everyone here loves me.” She leaned in closer, and Miriam leaned in, too. “I think some people here don't like me or my father. That’s why I’m… in this room. Being hidden.” She forced a tear from her eye, a trick she’d learned years ago as a manipulative ploy. “I think… I think the people who put me here may want to kill
me.” She sucked in a choked breath, as if fighting off a stronger bout of tears.

  Miriam's hand went to her mouth. “That can’t be true! Who would want to do something like that?”

  “Shh,” Deirdre said again, quickly composing herself and turning off her faux helplessness. She suspected a guard would be posted near the door just outside the room in the event Deirdre or any prisoner breached the door during food delivery. And that person would be armed. While Roddy’s training would allow her to overpower Miriam, it would be a case of winning a battle only to lose the war. “We need to figure that out, but if I just stay here, we’ll never figure it out.” She was thinking on her feet, and the plan unfolded in more detail as she spoke. “We need to have me move around the facility without anyone else knowing, at least not at first. When they find out I’ve escaped, when those responsible and their hidden allies try to find me… you’ll know. And you can get the others here, the majority who are friends, to help bring the traitors to justice for their treason.” It felt dramatic and pompous to use words like treason, but after all, she was Oswald Silver’s daughter. She was supposed to be arrogant. She put her hand atop Miriam's hand and resumed the pouty look. “Will you help me, Miriam? Will you help me escape and bring those responsible for this to justice?”

  “Of course!” Miriam said, her eyes lighting up. “Tell me what I can do.”

  Deidre smiled. “Make sure that you're the one who brings me my next meal. And when you come back the next time, I need you to bring me things other than food.”

  She leaned in again and whispered the details to Miriam, who repeated the list back, ensuring her understanding. The sycophantic smile and tone were a multi-sensory symphony for the captured debutante.

  When Miriam left a few minutes later, Deirdre lay back down upon her bed and closed her eyes to rest.

  As she drifted off to sleep, she realized she finally had a reason to hope, a return of a sense of control over the future course of a life turned upside down by a single foolish decision.