Beau and I freeze and press against the wall—not that it makes us any less visible, but trying to squish my body flat is better than standing there in the middle of the corridor like an idiot. The looters cross the intersection without glancing our way. I just about sink into a puddle. We wait a few more minutes before moving on.
The route to detention is out of the way and a bit roundabout, but it avoids the populated center of security. The second to last hallway we need to traverse is through the officers’ housing unit wing. A brief wish to stop in Radcliff’s and don that jumpsuit flits through me. Probably wouldn’t save me from being stunned, but I’d feel safer.
Halfway down the hall, I check the cameras. My heart does a somersault and has a bad landing. “Beau,” I whisper. “Incoming. Four looters around the corner!” I draw the pulse gun with my free hand. We’ll be caught for sure.
Beau grabs my arm and yanks me to the next door. He slams his hand on the lock screen. The door opens, he pushes me inside hard enough that I sprawl onto the ground, dropping the portable while the pulse gun skitters from my fingers and out of reach. What the—
“Stay out of sight,” he hisses.
By the time I scramble to my feet, other voices are shouting outside and the door closes.
Beau’s still in the hallway! The muted crackle of a pulse gun on the other side stops me from opening the door. Plus his order. Instead, I toggle on the screen in time to witness Beau jerk and tumble to the ground as he’s hit.
Twenty-One
2522:171
Horrified, I watch through the view screen as three men stand around Beau’s prone form. I bite my knuckle to keep from crying out as I search for signs of life. Is his chest moving? Did his eyelids just flutter?
Then I debate if I should throw open the door and shoot them with my pulse gun. I have the element of surprise. But I’ve no experience. Beau only managed to incapacitate one of them—at least I think the bottom of those boots on the far side of the screen is the fourth man—so what are my chances of getting all three before they get me? Zero.
“Where did he come from?” one man asks, toeing Beau with his foot. His voice sounds buzzy and is dampened by the mask, but still clear. Because he’s standing right on the other side of the door.
I wrap my arms around my chest. Did they see Beau push me inside? I duck down even though I know they can’t see me through the view screen.
“Must be the officer in the infirmary,” another male answers. “Guess he wasn’t as injured as they let on.”
“What do we do with him?” the third asks.
“Dump him in detention with the others. I’ll go tell the boss.”
“What about Stan?”
“Leave him. He’ll wake up eventually.”
There’s a rustling noise and I straighten. Two of the men haul Beau to his feet and wrap Beau’s arms around their necks. They half-carry, half-drag him down the hall and out of sight.
A part of me is relieved that they didn’t see me. Another part is cursing me out that I didn’t do something to help Beau—I’ve a duffle bag full of weapons at my feet for stars’ sake! A third part is terrified. Another part recognizes that Beau protected me, otherwise I’d have been caught, too. After a few shaky breaths, I’m… better. Still freaked, but not curled up into a ball, sucking my thumb. Not yet.
What do I do now? Should I stick to the plan and try to rescue the team? Could I incapacitate those two guards? Probably not. I’m not suddenly going to have perfect aim when I’ve never shot a pulse gun before. Plus I can’t even get my heart to stop acting like an unruly toddler jacked up on sugar.
So what can I do? I can worm. All right. That’s a start.
I glance around at Beau’s unit—it has to be his, he couldn’t open anyone else’s. It’s number three-oh-five and the same size as Niall’s. A knot twists in my throat. Best not to think about Niall right now. The living room is neat with minimal decorations. Blue and navy are the main colors.
Gavin’s portable is lying on the floor cracked and broken. If I survive this, I’ll probably get into trouble and have to pay for a replacement. Funny how I’m looking forward to that time.
I’m sure Beau has a super nice terminal somewhere and I find it in his bedroom along with lots of hair care products. It doesn’t take me long to worm deep into the Q-net. That master override might not be written down or in a file, but there’s a part of the system that has to know what it is in order to respond to it. And I’m going to find it.
Sometime…later—I’ve no idea what the code is. I groan with frustration. The code slips out of my reach every time I get close. Doesn’t the Q-net understand this is important? I may have to give up. While I’m this deep, I send a few hidden messages to Drs. Gage and Jeffries that I’m pretty sure won’t be spotted by that super worm. I explain what’s going on and hope for the best. I’m tempted to reach out to Jarren, but I don’t want the looters to go after him. And much to my surprise, I can’t reach DES through the normal routes. That super worm has blocked communications from the entire base. We are totally cut off from DES! I’d be more impressed by their skill, but fear is dominating my emotions at the moment.
Instead, I descend to the star roads, getting as close as the terminal will allow me, then search for a navigator. I connect with an interstellar navigator and am told to get the hell out before he/she reports me to DES. Go ahead. Please do. And please help me. The connection is terminated. I try really hard not to let that affect me, but curling up under Beau’s bed is looking more enticing by the minute.
Come on, Lyra. Think! I need a navigator so I try again and again and again. Each time, I take a different path until I reach Chief Ritsa. At first she thinks I’m a glitch and I have seconds to convince her otherwise.
2522:171: Chief Ritsa, please look through DES’s records, I interned with Chief Hoshi, she taught me how to reach this deep. I’m only seventeen A-years old and am desperate!
Finally, I receive this message:
2522:171: You’re right only a person trained by an interstellar navigator could reach me in this particular fashion. What can I do to help?
Those last six words are pure magic. I ask for the master override code. While I’m explaining why I need it and what’s been going on to Chief Ritsa, another message pops up.
2522:171: Hello, little worm. You’ve been busy. Your attempts to reach Jefferies, Gage, and DES have failed. And, no offense, but that’s a really stupid move as none of them can help you. No one on Yulin can. But you can help your parents stay alive. They’re sitting here with me in Officer Radcliff’s office. If you don’t come here within the hour, unarmed, I’ll kill your father. Then you have one minute before I kill your mother. Don’t be late.
The room tilts and spins around me. I dig my nails into the fabric of the chair as nausea burns up my throat. Stumbling to a trash can, I dry heave into it. One benefit from not eating in hours—no chunks. When the painful contractions cease, I lie on my side, curled around the can just in case.
After…who knows how long, my thoughts creep out from where they’ve fled in terror—I can’t blame them. And frankly, I’m surprised they returned. I would have been okay with becoming a mindless zombie, I could have just—
Oh. My. Stars!
I hop up and re-read the message. It doesn’t say anything about Chief Ritsa.
Fifty minutes left.
Re-connecting, I get the override code from Ritsa. And then cover my tracks. Or I pray to the universe that I did. When that’s done, I ransack Beau’s unit, searching for supplies.
Come on. Come on. Come on.
He has to have a portable somewhere!
It’s in his sock drawer. Seriously?
I use a precious minute to transfer the camera feeds. Then I shoulder the duffle bag of weapons, peer into the hallway, and dash across and down to unit three-oh-eight. I hold my breath as I punch in the master override code.
The unit’s door opens. I don’t waste time th
anking the stars.
Forty minutes left.
Moving furniture, I stack a chair on top of a table. It is just high enough for me to reach the vent. I use Beau’s all-purpose tool to remove the cover.
Did you know a duffle bag full of weapons is heavy? Like sweat popping, muscles straining, back hurting heavy? Well it is. I struggle to get it into the vent and out of the way. Pulling myself up is no easy task either. My legs flail and kick as I try to get my hips into the duct—it’s tighter than I hoped. Note to self: work on upper arm and body strength as soon as you live through this.
Drenched and out of breath, I lie on the cool metal.
Thirty-five minutes left.
I grab the portable from the pocket of the bag and activate step two. The shrill sandstorm alarm once again echos throughout the base. Such a loud, obnoxious, dominating noise. It’s music to my ears. I slide the bag forward as I wiggle behind it as fast as I can in the small space. All the sounds of my passage are masked by that lovely siren.
When I reach the vent in the hall, I encounter my first unexpected surprise—the guards are not standing in the hallway, but are inside the detention center.
Thirty minutes left.
Committed to my plan, I keep moving. When I reach the second vent, their shouted voices can just be heard above the din.
“…still locked…return...post.”
“…can’t we…here? Quieter…”
“…can’t see…boss…go.”
Two dark heads pass under my vent and I flinch, but they keep going and the outer door shuts. Able to breathe again, I slither/slide to the next vent and remove the cover. I tie a sheet to a handle of the bag and ease it down until it reaches the floor. Too bad there’s no one else in the vent to hold onto a sheet to help me. I go out feet first and then hips. The idea was to hang from my hands and drop gracefully down, but once the bulk of my body is unsupported, it drags the rest of me with it. Ducts are slippery.
I land on my feet, but my right ankle twists painfully and my butt hits the floor. A small shock wave slams up my spine. Woah. That’s intense.
Twenty-five minutes left.
Checking the portable, I confirm that the guards have returned to their posts. I scan the doors surrounding me and find cell number three. Standing sends darts of fire up my leg, but I limp over. I key in the override, unlocking the door and—
It bursts open. I’m tackled to the ground. Knees press on my chest and hands wrap around my throat as my head bounces off the floor. Through vision blurred with tears, I gaze up at Niall.
He’s staring at me in pure astonishment, but his iron grip on my neck eases. Too bad his weight is still suffocating me. I punch his thigh. Hard. He gets the hint. As fast as he knocked me down, he picks me up and hugs me.
The room spins so it’s a good thing he’s holding me. The pain in my head matches my ankle. Morgan is standing behind him. She’s grinning and shaking her head in disbelief.
“What— How did you—” Niall says. His lips brush my neck.
“No time to tell you everything.” I break from his hold. I’ve eight minutes before the siren stops. Waving Morgan over, I point to the duffle bag. They lean close so I can speak right into their ears as I explain my plan to them and give them the override code.
Niall shakes his head no. “We have weapons. The code. We can—”
“No. I’m going to be in your dad’s office in…” I glance at the portable. “In less than twenty minutes. That’s non-negotiable.”
“You will not endanger yourself anymore,” Morgan says. “I’m in charge now and you’re going to stay safe inside detention while—”
“Mutant Zombies from Planet Nine,” I say to Niall.
He meets my gaze. Within those blue-green depths are a riot of emotions—fear, pain, amazement, and the desire to protect.
I caress his cheek, careful not to touch the cut. “Trust me, Toad.”
He nods and kisses me. Then he laces his fingers together. I step into them with my left foot and put my hands on his shoulders.
“Promise you’ll stay safe and come back to me, Mouse.”
“I promise to do everything I can to get through this.”
He boosts me up into the duct. I scramble into the narrow opening.
Fifteen minutes left.
Sliding and wiggling is much harder to do with an injured ankle. And the beat of pain with every push slows my movements. The siren stops mid-way. While I try to advance without making noise, I can’t avoid the hiss of my clothes rubbing on metal. Each one sounds louder than the last.
I peer through the open vent. A sweat slicked tendril of hair hangs down. The pile of furniture I left in unit three-oh-eight doesn’t look as stable from this direction. But I have no time to worry about it. Once again, I lower my legs. This time, my feet touch the chair and I ease my weight onto it. Nothing collapses under me. A small victory. The rest of the climb is awkward— graceful, I’m not.
Discarding my pulse gun and the multi-purpose tool onto the couch, I check the hallway—it’s empty—before adding the portable to the heap.
Five minutes left.
With fear skittering up and down my limbs, I leave the unit and limp toward Officer Radcliff’s office. I don’t get far before a couple masked looters round the corner and rush me. They press me up against the wall. Hands pat me down, searching for weapons. It’s hard to breathe around the tight lump in my throat.
They each grab one of my arms and “escort” me. Locked between them, I’m suddenly convinced I’ve just made the biggest mistake in my very, very short life. Infinitesimal actually. Why did I ever think I might get through this? The looters are adults, with years of experience. They got the drop on the base’s highly trained security team. Twice. And I’m… A little worm.
As we near Radcliff’s door, I’m seriously considering getting sick or passing out or hyperventilating or screaming. I doubt any of them would help, but it might relieve the immense pressure building up on the inside of my body.
The door opens. At that moment, I’d rather face the shadow-blobs. Unable to alter my fate, I’m pulled through the threshold.
“Lyra!” My mom’s anguished cry cuts right through me. “You shouldn’t have come.”
I turn. My parents and Radcliff are sitting on the floor along the left wall. Their arms are pulled behind their backs and two looters stand nearby them with weapons drawn. Mom and Dad appear unharmed, but Radcliff’s uniform shirt is torn and a large bruise is purpling on his cheek. I’m surprised his supernova glower hasn’t set the looters on fire by now.
“He was bluffing, Li-Li,” Dad says. His shoulders are hunched.
I try to step toward them, but my captors drag me over to Radcliff’s desk. Sitting behind it is another looter who’s almost indistinguishable from the rest. But when he stares at me, I recognize his eyes from the attack in the pits—he’s the leader.
As my legs threaten to collapse under me, I remember he didn’t want to hurt me back then. I cling to that small tendril of hope and gather what’s left of my courage—a pathetic amount.
“Two minutes to spare, Little Worm. Don’t you love your parents? Or did you really think you could summon help? Out here? Thirty years from nowhere?” He laughs, it’s a short bitter bark. “I gotta give you credit, reaching out to the navigators. Rather smart.”
The last bit of my bravery flees. Does he know everything? “Why are you here?” I ask instead. Yes, my voice sounds like you’d imagine a terrified girl would sound like. I’m not proud. “The diggers—”
“I came here for you, Little Worm. Too clever by far. I can’t have you figure it all out and tell DES.”
“I haven’t figured anything out!” I back into the wall of muscles that is my guards.
“Give it time,” he says in disgust. “No help for it. You’re coming with us.”
Stunned to my very core, I gape at him. “I am?”
“Yes.”
Unable to pull enough air fr
om my lungs, my words wheeze out weakly. “Are you going to—”
“No,” he snaps. “I’m not going to kill you. You’ll be well cared for.” He stands and comes around to my side of the desk. “Now say good-bye to your parents. You won’t be seeing them again.”
Talk about confused. My mind is celebrating the fact I’m not going to die…well, not yet anyway, but my heart melts with sadness, filling my stomach with dread. “I’m not?”
“No.” He grabs my right elbow and pulls me over to my parents. “Say good-bye, Little Worm. You won’t get another chance.”
“No, you can’t take her!” My father struggles to his feet.
Radcliff and my mother stand as well. Their guards move closer. Radcliff shoulders one, slamming him into the wall. The other raises his gun.
I lunge, knocking his arm aside. The pulse goes wide. My guards quickly rush to their friends’ aid and my parents and Radcliff are once again subdued.
The leader yanks me back. “Why would you help him?” he demands. “When those files were stolen, Officer Tight Pants didn’t give you the benefit of the doubt. He was so quick to accuse you.”
Officer Tight Pants? He just called Radcliff Officer Tight Pants. There’s only one person—
Oh. My. Stars.
Twenty-Two
2522:171
Jarren must have recognized my expression, because without warning, he clamps a hand over my mouth and drags me out of the office and into the camera room. I’m too flabbergasted to resist.
“Leave us,” he growls at the two looters monitoring the cameras. “Close the door behind you.”
Without question, they bolt from the room. When the door clicks shut, Jarren releases his hold on me.
I sink into one of the empty chairs. “Wow,” I whisper. “It’s you.”
His hard expression softens. With a sigh, he removes his mask. His brown hair is pulled back into a bun and sweat stains his well-groomed beard. How could I not recognize his eyes? Perhaps because, even though these are the same light brown color, the bitterness and fine lines around them are new. Well, new to me. Jarren appears to match his age of thirty-eight, but with the time dilation, you can never be certain.
Navigating the Stars Page 29