by CJ Birch
To Troer’s credit, he hasn’t reacted in the slightest. In fact, when I turn to look at him, he has his head down, engrossed in whatever he’s reading on his tablet. For a split second I wonder if Sarka’s right, and he is reading some novel instead of coming up with ideas for how we can sabotage the illya’s ship.
I drop into the seat Sarka vacated to calm myself before getting back to work. I’m exhausted. I’ve expended more emotion in the last minute than I have in my entire life. At least it feels that way. Silence fills the room.
Then Troer lifts his head and says, “Do you think your crew could build a small bomb?” He points to something on his tablet, and when I stand I see it’s a schematic of the illya’s ship. “If they can place it here in this section, they’ll be able to disrupt life support. If they take out the emergency life-support systems at the same time, the ship will descend into chaos.”
“Yes. I have no doubt they can build a bomb.” I’m sure Hartley could build a bomb out of air if you gave him enough time.
Chapter Nineteen
Ash
I’ve almost reached engineering when I run straight into Yakovich. Our helmets clash, and the force knocks me down. Yakovich is all muscle. She pulls me up by my arm.
“Sorry, Lieutenant.”
“What’s wrong with the ship?”
“Foer and Gadzir were able to bypass the encryption, except something went wrong.” I motion for her to continue as I steer us toward engineering. “Foer thinks it’s a fail-safe Hartley installed in case Sarka was able to get into the system when you and the captain were on the planet.”
“What exactly are the alarms signaling, and can they shut them down?”
“I didn’t stick around long enough to find out. You’ll have to ask Foer.”
When we reach the doors to engineering, I stop her. “I need you to take charge of evacuating the ship. There aren’t many people aboard. The doctor, Chloe, and Hartley are still in the med center, but beyond that I’m not sure. But double-check there aren’t any others.”
“What should I do about Wells?” she asks.
For a moment, I’d forgotten about her. “Where’d you leave her?”
“She’s in engineering with Foer and Gadzir.”
“Okay. Leave her with me. Go take care of the evacuation.”
She nods and heads in the opposite direction. If this is a booby trap set up by Hartley, we’re in serious trouble. Jordan was very adamant about not letting Sarka grab control of the Persephone. She gave Hartley a sweeping mandate, and knowing Hartley, he would’ve taken that to the next level. He’s most likely got this thing rigged to blow, which is overkill. I’d rather let Sarka take over the ship and stay alive than kill us all.
Foer and Gadzir have their heads bent together over a screen of code. Foer towers a few feet over the diminutive illya. Wells is on the other side of Gadzir, peering at a screen blinking red. She looks up when she sees me.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Lieutenant, thank God.” Foer seems relieved to see me. I don’t know why. I’m one of the more useless people who could show up. “We tripped something, and I’m not sure what.”
“How much time do we have, and what’s going to happen when that time runs out?” I round the station to take a look at their screen. It’s all in code that I can’t read.
Foer shrugs. His hair is plastered to his head, even though his enviro-suit keeps the temperature in there a perfect twenty-one degrees. “He’s rigged the computer to shut down, at the very least. But this is Hartley, so there’s more to it than that. I doubt we’re about to explode. But it’s a very good thing we’re all in enviro-suits just in case.”
Wells takes a step back from the console like she’s about to bolt.
I wrap my hand around her arm just in case. “Do we have a time frame?”
Again Foer shrugs. “No clue, Lieutenant.”
“These alarms are from your own personnel? What kind of ship are you running here?”
I pull Wells to the side. “Captain, we don’t have much time. Explaining will take longer than we have. I need you to either shut up or be helpful.”
I’m not sure if she’s about to protest or storm out or smack me. Her face goes through several shades of red before she nods and takes a step back, folding her hands in front of her.
I turn back to Foer. “Didn’t Hartley share any of this with you?” Foer looks confused, like we’re talking about someone else. I hold up a hand. “You’re right. This is Hartley. What can we do? Can we at least shut off the alarms?”
Foer is beginning to look very uncomfortable with the amount of noes he’s given me in the last few minutes. He looks behind him and back at me with an expression that, if possible, is even more apologetic. “Well, there is one thing we can try, but it’s dangerous.”
If it gets the ship up and running and shuts off these fucking alarms, I’ll try anything. “What is it?”
“We can bypass the main system and run everything through the emergency circuits. It would only be temporary until we figured out what the real access codes are, and then we could reroute it back.”
“That sounds like a good plan. Do that.”
“There’s no way you can do that with the system on lockdown. It won’t take any of your commands,” Gadzir says.
Foer gives me a look I know well. Tekada uses it every time he needs me to fix the filter lid in the storcell. “He’s right. It can’t be done from here. It has to be bypassed manually from in there.” He points to the system core. “You have to reroute the circuits from the main board to the emergency system, and that should circumvent the lockdown.”
The system core is a solid wall from floor to ceiling, making it fifteen meters high. I have no idea what’s behind it and can only guess it’s not easy to access or Foer wouldn’t be this nervous. “And I assume you need me to do it.”
“The access tunnel is meant for engine bots. It’ll barely fit you, and that’s without your suit.”
I look at Gadzir, the smallest of all three. While he’s definitely shorter than both me and Foer, his shoulders are much wider than mine. And to be honest, I don’t trust anyone but my crew crawling around in one of the most important parts of the Persephone. “Wait. Without my suit? How am I going to breathe?”
“Life support is back up and running. That’s not actually the problem. The temperature in there is going to get hot. We have vents, but they’re probably shut, and I won’t be able to cool the tunnel without access to the system.”
“How hot?”
“But if we move quickly it might not be so bad.”
“Foer?”
“We should have the doctor on standby, though.”
I put my hands on my hips and give him my best hard-ass stare.
“Fifty? Fifty-five?” he says. “And it’ll get hotter the longer you’re in there.” He turns away as he says the last bit.
I unhook my helmet and remove it. “Tell me what I have to do.” When I take that first breath the air is stale but breathable. I strip the rest of my suit off as Foer explains my assignment. I only half listen, the rest of my mind focusing on getting my suit off as fast as I can. Speed is going to be my savior. The longer I sit around and debate whether this is a good idea, the hotter that tunnel is growing.
“I think you should wait for the doctor, Lieutenant.”
“We don’t have time. He’s still busy with Hartley. Inform him, but I’m going in now.”
We don’t have any comms working, so we’re just going to have to do it the old-fashioned way, yelling back and forth. Foer unhooks the hatch and sets it aside. He sticks his arm in, testing the air. The opening is tiny, leaving a few centimeters on either side of my shoulders if I’m lucky. I’m not claustrophobic, but I have no idea how the heat will affect me. It’s not like we have a choice. We need the computer back online before whatever Hartley has planned happens.
“Wish me luck,” I say.
Wells steps for
ward. “You’re not going in there, are you? What happens when you don’t come out? Who will be left in command?”
When I don’t come out? Nice confidence booster. “If I don’t go in there right now, it won’t matter who’s in command because we’ll all be dead.” I grab the sides of the tunnel. It’s awkward getting in because I don’t have much room to squeeze my upper body into the opening. For a few scary moments my arms get pinned at my sides and I’m worried I’m already stuck. I wiggle my shoulders from side to side until my arms come free. By the time I make it all the way into the tunnel, the heat is clogging my throat, making it hard to breathe. I’m blasted by the hot breath of the core. It’s worse than being on the planet under the hot sun. There’s no breeze or humidity, only the constant heat.
It’s a slog to get through. I haven’t made it very far, maybe a meter, and sweat is pouring down my face, pooling under my arms and between my breasts. Foer shouts something at me. It’s muffled, but I don’t need to hear him to know he’s telling me to move my ass. It takes a few more moments to perfect my technique. Using my arms to pull and my feet to push gets me going a little faster.
After a few meters the tunnel is completely dark. My body blocks any light from behind, and there’s no light up ahead. Shit. How am I going to see what I’m doing without any light? Panic grips me, and I have to stop and take a few deep breaths and refocus. I can’t do anything about the lack of light in the middle of the tunnel, and the sooner I make it through, the easier it will be to think. It’s so dark in here it doesn’t make any difference if I close my eyes or not.
It’s getting harder to breathe too. The heat seeps from the tunnel, through my uniform, cocooning my body. The walls of the tunnel are made to withstand this heat, but I’m not. It’s not burning my skin. Yet.
I feel like I’ve been crawling for an hour and start to freak out. What if there’s no end to this tunnel and I keep crawling until I boil to death? Instead of letting the panic in, I concentrate on pulling myself forward inch by agonizing inch. How do I get myself into these situations? By agreeing to do crazy things.
As I’m having this profound realization, my hand hits open air. I’ve made it. I still can’t see anything because the entire space is dark. You would think there would be indicator lights, even if they were faint. It’s like I’ve crawled into the belly of a giant beast, like Jonah and the whale. It’s a silly story when you stop to think about it. But as a child I believed you could live inside a whale for months. In all my dreams I never pictured it this dark or humid. My uniform is molded to me with my own sweat, my hair is plastered to my head, and I feel a hundred pounds heavier.
I search for a handhold to hoist myself out of the tunnel. In the dark it’s impossible. We didn’t think this through. This space is meant for engine bots equipped with their own lights. I manage to scramble down into the hold. As soon as my feet touch the floor, the whole place lights up in an ambient blue.
“Yes.” I pump my fist. “I’m through,” I call down the tunnel. My voice echoes in the chamber.
From this end I can barely make out a far-off light. I hope they can hear me because I don’t remember Foer’s instructions. I’m supposed to replace the main system cables with the emergency system’s cables. I see literally thousands of cables, and none of them are labeled.
“Which cables do I switch?” I yell as loud as I can.
After a moment or two I hear, “Two panels to the right of where you entered is the main-system configuration.” A few seconds pass and then, “Switch those with the cables to the right of them. They’re color coordinated. Make sure you switch color with color. And hurry.”
He doesn’t need to tell me that. I’ve already been in long enough that my head is starting to spin. Ten more minutes of this and I’ll faint.
I turn to the panel with the main system cables and begin swapping. A new wave of heat smacks into me, and my vision blurs. I drop one of the cables, and it takes me a moment to grab hold and trace it back. My coordination isn’t what it should be. I give myself one more minute before I have to leave whether I’m done or not.
That thought derails me. I look over at what I’ve done and forget which one is the main system and which is the backup. My brain won’t focus. I lean into the tunnel and yell, “Which one’s the main system panel?”
A few seconds later I hear, “Two panels to the right.”
Two panels to the right. I repeat the words to myself as I slog back to where I was working and count two panels. That would mean three panels over is the backup system. Right?
Breathing is an effort. Every breath feels like I’m sucking in a furnace. I rest my head against the panel and take a moment to regroup, pushing the rising panic down deep. I need to do this. The Persephone needs this if we’re going to get out of here and rescue Jordan.
My eyes snap open and I pick up where I left off. The last three cables are the hardest. I keep missing the opening for the cable. But I get it done. As soon as the last cable goes in, the alarms stop. They’d become background noise. Now, without them, the silence is ominous.
It’s been a little over a minute, and I don’t waste any time climbing into the tunnel again. “I’m on my way back,” I shout. My voice isn’t very loud. I don’t have the energy for loud.
It’s worse going back. My stamina is zapped, and it has to be hotter than fifty degrees. I feel like I’m trapped in hell. My world becomes the actions I need to perform to get out of this place. Pull forward with my arms, push with my feet.
The second I make out the light from engineering up ahead, the alarms begin again, and this time the ship lists, rolling to the right. I don’t even bother trying to hold on because there’s nothing to hold on to. But my stomach roils and I almost vomit on myself. And now I really start to panic. I do not want to end up dying in my own sick stuck in this tiny tunnel. I pull and push with everything I have.
In the end, I’m not sure how I get out of the tunnel. It’s all a blur. But by the time I’m pulled out by Foer, the alarms have stopped and the ship has righted itself. When my vision clears I’m staring into the deep-brown eyes of Dr. Prashad. He wrinkles his brow in concern. And then Hartley’s head pops into view.
“Ash, you look like shit. It’s like the ship crapped you out of its asshole.”
Foer groans and grimaces. “That’s a mental picture I never wanted.”
“Hartley, you’re okay.” My voice is raspy.
“And it’s a good thing too. I don’t know what you guys were trying to do, but you almost messed the ship up beyond repair.”
“Nothing’s beyond repair.”
Hartley smacks Foer in the arm. “You didn’t think I’d booby-trap the backup system as well?”
“We had to try something. Next time, share.”
“He’s right.” I try to sit up, but Dr. Prashad pushes me down, still examining me. I let him. I feel like ass.
Later, after I’m checked out by the doctor and have given Hartley instructions to get only the essentials back up and running, I collapse on my bed. I’m drenched, but I don’t want to move to take off my clothes. I doubt the showers are working yet. It’s going to take engineering a while to test all the systems with the new computer. I have faith that it’ll get done, but showers are low on the priority list.
My cabin is a mess. When the ship listed it scattered everything off my desk and shelves. From the comfort of my bed, I pick up a few tablets and place them on the desk. One I don’t recognize is jammed in the back. I pick it up and turn it on. It’s the last communique from my father. I haven’t watched it yet. I didn’t want to hear another lecture about how my choices reflect badly on the family, et cetera. As soon as the tablet turns on, the video autoplays. My father’s head replaces the black screen. He looks angry and agitated. I’m about to turn it off when his first sentence stops me dead.
“Alison, you have to turn the Persephone around. You can’t let the Posterus leave for its mission.” I drop onto my bed. “The m
ission isn’t what you think. The Posterus was never meant to be a generational ship but instead a payment. A species known as the illya have been poaching us for centuries. It’s only since we’ve been on the Belt that the disappearances started to get noticed. Twenty years ago, the Commons took a vote and decided we would offer the illya a small selection of our species. They could take them and set up a colony somewhere. In return, they would leave and never return.” He sighs and scratches his head. When he looks back at the camera, I see tears in his eyes. “I never meant for you to volunteer. If you don’t turn the ship around, you’ll die.”
Chapter Twenty
Jordan
I have to get off this ship. It’s the first thought that enters my head as I wake in the morning. My head hits the ceiling of my coffin bunk, and I forget where I am for a second. The purple glow gets brighter every few moments until it’s blinding. You have no choice but to escape and start your day.
We sleep in our uniforms, which at first I thought was disgusting, but the material is designed to clean you in your sleep. It’s why I don’t smell like armpit most days, even though I haven’t showered since I arrived. I shrug my boots on and open my cubby hole. Everyone is streaming out of their bunks. There are a lot less people now. Some died in the revolt, although way less than you’d think. They don’t want to waste bodies because that’s not good for the war effort. Not that there is much of a war effort. This is the first time most of the soldiers—at least in my unit—have ever seen an illya ship.
“And what are we doing?” one of them asked at the mid-morning meal yesterday. “We’re sitting around talking about it. Isn’t this what we’ve been training for since we came on board?” I see a lot of nods but am glad we’re not rushing into anything, and not because Ash and my crew are over there, but because rushing into conflict without strategizing first is asinine. I keep my mouth shut during mealtimes. By the sound of it, my opinions would not be welcome. Most of my unit is breen, and their only interests include fighting and arguing about fighting. It doesn’t matter who they’re fighting or arguing with.