***
Andre paced back and forth in engineering, constantly glancing between the various computer displays and the main entrance. The great gray doors were sealed shut and behind them a defense wall had been raised. He was safe for now. He knew that. But it didn’t in any way lessen his anxiety about this whole ordeal.
Calvin, who before today Andre would have considered a great friend, had finally asked too much. And now Andre was sweating bullets, telling thinly veiled lies to his subordinates, and tossing his career completely in the toilet. Sure Calvin said he would take the fall for everyone, and he and his puppet Shen had made it seem like Intel Wing had legitimized Calvin’s mutiny, but … given how poorly the deception had worked on the major, Andre wasn’t about to believe the fleet would be satisfied with just Calvin. They were all on the chopping block now. Easier for some than others. They were mostly single with almost nothing to lose—even the old doc had no family to speak of—but Andre had a wife and three children waiting for him on Capital World. What would their lives be like if he were imprisoned? And all because his friends had twisted his arm enough to get him to participate in what was clearly mutiny.
His thoughts of a dark future haunted him as he fidgeted, moving about, checking screens that didn’t need checking, trying in vain to distract himself.
But the damage had been done. Even if he surrendered engineering now, which was tempting, and admitted the whole message from Intel Wing was a sham, he couldn’t avoid the consequences. He’d still be punished in addition to going to bed every night thinking about how he’d betrayed his friends. No, he couldn’t do that—or so he kept telling himself.
They’d been en route to Abia for about half an hour now, traveling much faster than what he’d normally recommend, and all that was left to do was wait.
“Any word from the outside?” he asked Inaya, his second. The young woman was walking around with a clipboard, giving minor orders to the five other engineers keeping tabs on the systems. She stopped what she was doing and came over to his side.
“The bridge made a course correction that might save us an hour,” she said. “But otherwise we’ve had no contact from the outside.”
Andre turned his attention elsewhere and resumed his pacing. It bothered him that things had been this quiet. Not even a peep from Special Forces or the rest of the ship—aside from the bridge—in half an hour. He couldn’t decide which was worse: hearing nothing and waiting in silent hellish anticipation for something bad to happen, or else seeing that something happen and getting it over with.
“What is that?” one of the engineers said, and everyone’s eyes jumped to the main door. It was sealed tight, but the tiniest sparks could be seen glowing in a round pattern no larger than a hand.
“I don’t know,” said Andre, afraid to go closer. “Everyone get down,” he ordered, not sure where to take cover or how they could possibly defend engineering. They had no weapons and no hand-to-hand combat experience outside of basic training.
A round piece of dark metal, part of the door, collapsed to the floor. Not large enough for a person to move through, not even close, but it broke Andre into a panic knowing there was a chink in their armor now. “It must have been a laser drill,” said Andre.
He wondered how long it would take them to carve a hole the size of a door—probably a while. They were safe for now … he tried to tell himself. But seeing the hole in front of them forced them all to realize there was nothing they could do. If the defense wall and locked door couldn’t stop Special Forces, it was all over. Andre wished he were on the bridge which was much harder to breach.
“Now everybody just stay calm.” He waved to get their attention, but everyone’s gaze was glued to a silver canister that slid through the hole and dropped to the ground. Instantly an enormous shriek filled the air. Andre tried to cover his eyes but not in time. An incredible blinding whiteness filled his vision, and he stumbled to his knees, completely disoriented.
It wasn’t until he felt firm hands grip him and pull him to his feet that he began to regain his bearings. He couldn’t walk straight but his sense of sound started coming back. What should have been loud noises were like whispers. And his vision was blurry. Even the outline of his own feet looked strange.
“Move along,” a soldier said from his side. Andre watched the man’s lips and knew he was shouting, but Andre could barely make out the words. They were quiet to him, almost lost in the buzzing, ringing ambience.
The soldiers pulled Andre along toward where the door used to be. It lay flat on the ground in several pieces. The angle and condition of the remains, and a few unfired caps, made Andre suspect plastique explosives. As the two Special Forces officers cuffed Andre’s sluggish arms into restraints, he realized the answer to his question.
Watching something bad happen was much worse than the silent anticipation.
The Phoenix Conspiracy Page 56