Chapter Seven
“Welcome back, Detroit, and congratulations on another successful mission.” Lansing’s emotionless tone welcomed Detroit back the moment her pod lid slid open in a cloud of steam from the simulated reentry. “Your vitals show you in perfect health and without injury. However, due to you removing your oxygen mask, regulation states that you must proceed to the decontamination showers.”
Her mind caught in the gray area between fact and fiction, Detroit could manage no response. Unfastening her safety harness, she kicked her legs out of her pod and stumbled through the decontamination process. Not once did she notice Lansing’s probing stare following her every move, questioning her notable silence.
Thirty minutes later, when the door to the A-5 loft hissed open, the team leader was no closer to a suitable explanation for what she had seen. Shuffling in, her hair still wet from her shower, Detroit found the nearest chair and slumped down with one leg slung over the armrest. While they each had their private sleeping quarters, the team shared the two-story rec area. The sprawling downstairs had a dark walnut dining table surrounded by white leather upholstered chairs, a small kitchenette fully stocked with snacks and drinks, and a cozy sitting area furnished with cloud-soft couches and chairs. Upstairs, in the glass-railed loft, was their entertainment area. A wall-sized screen had been uploaded with the full archive of every movie, television show, and video game ever made. In what little off time they were allowed, they could sink into reclining seats and delve into the treasures that poured out of Hollywood before a deteriorating world ran that well dry.
Seated at the table, Houston glanced up from his meal of a steak, baked potato, and garnished spinach salad and talked around a mouthful. “How was your solo mission punishment?”
Detroit glanced his way to answer, only to find her attention diverted by the meal splayed out before him. The spinach and potatoes were grown in a greenhouse aboard the AT-1-NS—a greenhouse she had never seen. It was understood amongst those living on the space station that steak, or meat of any kind, was actually a protein-rich, plant-based substitute. Never before had she thought to question such details as the bit of blood pooling on his plate from the hunk of what was supposedly simulation tenderloin. If the meat was real, what possible reason would justify lying about it? Unless … it had been ransacked from someone else’s supply, while they were left to starve.
“Dee?” Houston’s hitched one eyebrow, following her intense stare to his plate. “Mission leave you starved? I can type in your order to the Waiter-bot.”
“No.” Pulling her knees to her chest, Detroit wrapped her arms around them and hugged them to her. In the sitting area, Reno strummed a soothing melody on his guitar. “I’m not hungry.”
“Ah.” Houston nodded in recognition of a plight he had suffered many times himself. “It was one of those.”
“One of what?” Auggie’s voice added to the conversation. The door to his private, earth-tone oasis sliding shut behind him, he swaggered in clad in steel blue silk pajamas. It had been their strict suggestion that he not mix the antibiotics, meant to fight off infection from his internal burns, with alcohol of any kind. The slight slur of his words hinted he had chosen to ignore the advice of the doctors in med-bay.
“The kind of mission that kills your appetite for days to come,” Houston said, slapping Auggie’s hand away as he tried to steal a bite off his plate.
“As if a strapping lad like you has ever missed a meal,” Auggie snorted, flopping down in the chair at the head of the table.
Shifting in her seat, Detroit straightened her spine, battling against the sudden irrational need to have her entire team surrounding her. “Where’s Juneau?”
Reno stopped playing and stilled the guitar’s strings with his palm. With a jerk of his chin, he gestured toward the loft. “She got another old movie from the archives.”
“What’s this one?” Auggie plucked a flask from the breast pocket of his pajama shirt, and tossed back a swig.
“Something about a sinking ship and a couple getting sweaty in the back of a car instead of getting to a lifeboat.” Reno resumed strumming, signaling he had reached his conversational quota.
At the mention of her name, Juneau’s tear-streaked face appeared over the balcony. “She couldn’t make room for him on the door? What kind of crap is that? If that’s the mentality of people of Earth, I’m not sure I want to save them.” Stomping down the spiral staircase, Juneau wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. “I need a distraction from that sob-fest. Dee, let’s hear every butt-kickin’ detail of your mission. And, please, make it gory and bloody, because I’m feeling all of the feelings right now.”
Combing her fingers through her damp hair, Detroit hunted for the right words. “It was … unlike anything I have ever seen before.”
“Oh?” Auggie perked. “Like that cannibal simulation? We thought they wanted to worship us like gods. But, after about a mile sprint, we figured out they wanted to eat us.”
“You were the only one that thought they wanted to worship us, dumbass.” Finished with his meal, Houston pushed his plate aside. “The rest of us were trying to drag you to safety and were moments from giving up on you.”
A moment of clarity sharpened Auggie’s features. “Really? Huh.”
Even their banter couldn’t shake Detroit from her funk. “No, this was so … real. I mean, I know they all are. Still, something was different this time. My communications system went out after launch. When I landed there was no feedback buzz from the simulators. It was just silent.”
Had Detroit looked Houston’s way, she would have seen him bristle. Pupils dilating to black pools of fear, his jaw clenched tight.
Oblivious to his reaction, the team leader pressed on. “And there were people there. Not mutations or blips on the mockup, but real people.”
Juneau’s crystal blue eyes bugged and she sucked in a shocked gasp.
Detroit dropped her feet to the floor and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. “We’re supposed to be training to stop any apocalyptic situations. What I saw? It looked like it had already happened. People were starving and living in makeshift shanties in the trees.”
Hugging his guitar to his chest, Reno flicked ginger curls from his eyes. “What was the objective of the mission?”
“I have no idea.” Detroit’s shoulders rose and fell. “At the end, I hauled ass without looking back. Yet, somehow that still registered as a successful mission. It makes no sense.”
“Why did you run?” her team chorused, Houston’s inquiry rumbling with a protective growl.
Her hands were trembling, so Detroit laced her fingers together to steady them. “The people living there were forced to give up everything, including their newborn babies, to a group known as the Fortress, who claimed to represent us. Weirdest part? They were headed up by former A-5er, Boston. Remember him? According to the archives he died during a simulation. So, why would they implant him into this mission? Doesn’t that kill the realism?”
Leaning her hip against the edge of the table, Juneau’s chewed on her lower lip. “Chancellor Washington just adopted a baby. He couldn’t have … he didn’t steal it, did he? That’s just not possible. Everyone on AT-1-NS looks up to him.”
“We have to go talk to the chancellor. Now.” Chest-puffed, Houston pushed his chair back and rose to full, towering height.
Detroit let her hands fall behind her knees and peered up at him from under her brow. “That’s insane. It was a mission that got to me. That’s all! He’ll laugh us out of his office, or worse.”
“What if it’s not?” Houston wet his lips, wrestling with a vicious secret he had kept hidden for years. Baring its fangs, it clawed for the surface, refusing to be hidden a moment longer. “The night when I lost my first crew, the simulator buzz faltered for a minute.”
Silence.
“The humanoids were swarming my pod as I tried to launch,” he continued, rapidly blinking at the memory. “A beat before
the lid clicked shut, I heard that same haunting stillness. In that same moment, the humanoids morphed before my eyes. By the time my engines fired, they were … human. I could do nothing but sit in that impregnable egg and watch as their flesh blistered and bubbled. Anguished screams tore from their throats. If what you saw was real, that could mean those were real people subjected to a torturous death, because of me.”
The only sound to be heard in the room was the soft hum of the air ventilation system.
Filling her lungs, Detroit pushed off her knees. With a determined stride, she stalked to the door. The moment it shushed open, she glanced back at her team. “We rally to a cause every day because a computer tells us to. Now, we have real questions. I can’t think of a better reason to take a stand, can you?”
Leaving that question floating in the space between them, Detroit turned on her heel and stalked toward the truth. The door didn’t have time to shudder on its track before the rest of her squad fell into step behind her. Whatever laid ahead, they would face … together.
Chapter Eight
Outside of the chancellor’s quarters, a uniformed soldier stood guard. Chest puffed with purpose, he acknowledged the team with a dip of his chin. “It’s a pleasure to see the infamous A-5. Unfortunately, Chancellor Washington is occupied at the moment. Is this a matter that can wait?”
Elbowing her way to the front of the pack, Juneau stabbed her hands on her hips and glared up at him. “In the eighteen months we’ve been a team, have we ever visited the chancellor before?”
The guard dragged a hand over his beard, rolling his shoulders to shake off Juneau’s tone. “I was only assigned to this position three months ago. It’s not my place to know what happened before that.”
Head tilted to the side, Juneau’s mane of curls framed her precocious face. “Let me spoil the ending of this mystery for you. We’ve never been here before. Which can only mean things are dire. Now, would you like to continue to discuss this, or save millions of lives across the galaxy by letting us in?”
Clearing his throat, the guard typed his security code into the keypad and stepped back as the door hissed open. When Detroit strode past him into the room, his hand darted out to catch her arm. “Is the galaxy really at stake?”
“Every damned day,” the team leader mumbled, clapping a hand on the guard’s shoulder.
Decorated in a lush, neutral palette, the chancellor’s suite was the epitome of elegance. Its grandeur made the A-5 wing seem drab by comparison.
Auggie whistled through his teeth. “Is that an infinity pool on the second floor?”
“It is indeed.” Chancellor Washington’s commanding boom snapped their attentions to the mahogany desk at the far end of the room. Seated in a wingback chair, Washington sat perfectly still while a Handler android shaved his face and neck with a straight blade. “To what do I owe the honor of an A-5 visit, and in your pajamas no less?”
The others peered Detroit’s way, granting her the floor.
Wetting her arid lips, she hunted for where to begin. “I … uh … had an issue on a simulation today.”
One eyebrow twitched with a flicker of interest. Gently, the chancellor pushed the Handler’s blade aside. “Let’s stop there today. I was thinking of trying out a mustache anyway.”
After collecting her supplies and tucking them away in the storage of her hollowed chest cavity, the android left the room in a mechanical purr of hydrolytic joints.
Washington wiped the thick foam of shaving cream off his chin, waiting for the door to hiss shut before resuming the conversation. “It must be of great importance to require the lot of you to march here in such a show of solidarity. What seems to be the issue?”
Sinking into the chair opposite him, Detroit poured out every detail. From her failed communication system, to the mysterious resurrection of Boston, she left out no detail. As she spoke, Chancellor Washington rose from his seat. Crossing to his wall of windows, he clasped his hands behind his back and stared out at the rising moon breaking the horizon.
Each member of the team endured their second telling of the ordeal in different ways. Augusta’s fingers thumped against the flask hidden in his pocket. Reno lingered by the door. Houston stood behind Detroit’s chair, one hand protectively resting on the back of it. Juneau studied Houston’s chivalrous display, wishing her emotionally stunted team leader would take a chance on love.
When Detroit’s story dwindled to its confusing conclusion, a blanket of silence fell over the room. After a beat, Washington filled his lungs and turned to face them. “Have you spoken to anyone else about this?”
Chewing on her lower lip, Detroit shook her head. “No, we talked about it and came straight here.”
Washington’s chair squeaked as he sat back down and folded his hands on his desk. “Very good. By chance, do you remember which designer created the simulation?”
“Uh …” Leaning forward, elbows on her knees, Detroit cast her gaze to the slate floor and mentally ticked through the codes that ran down the screen before launch. “Designer DB3245. I always remember that one because it’s inverted numerically.”
Washington pressed a button on his desk, and a hologram of his assistant’s pinched face appeared. “Gail, send Designer DB3245 to my quarters immediately.” Washington ended the transmission before she could respond. “As to the how or why this happened, I can only say that mistakes were clearly made. They are unfortunate and bothersome, but alas, unavoidable in life. The best we can hope for is to learn from this, make changes, and adapt.”
Rubbing her palms on the front of her thighs, Detroit stretched out her hunched back. “Absolutely. No harm was done. It was a confusing situation, but it’s not unheard of for a creative type to go off on a tangent for their own amusement. Maybe they saw something in that premise that I missed.”
“Even so,” Washington countered with a compassionate smile, “you’re the most talented and capable A-5 team Earth has ever seen. The misuse of your skills is nothing short of a travesty. We must get to the bottom of this issue and eradicate it to ensure nothing like this ever happens again.”
“Sounds so dire,” Auggie snorted, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. “Maybe just send out a memo not to confuse the people with guns trying to keep everyone safe?”
“If only it were that easy,” Washington mumbled as the door hushed open once more.
“Chancellor, Designer DB3245 as you requested,” Gail announced, then respectfully backed from the room.
The designer was a nondescript girl, mousy and frail. Folding her arms over her midsection, she ran her hands up and down her scrawny biceps, fighting off nerves more than a chill.
“You called for me, Chancellor?” she asked, blushing under the scrutiny of the gathered elite.
His posture strong and commanding, Washington’s face was whitewashed of any trace of emotion. “Yes, thank you for being prompt. Tell me, is your designer ID DB3245?”
“Yes, sir.” She nodded, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Is there a problem?”
“That depends.” Accusation stabbed from Washington’s narrowed glare. “Did you have a specific agenda in mind for today’s simulation?”
“Today’s?” The designer frowned. “I had today off, sir. I designed no mission.”
“But you are Designer DB3245?” he clarified.
“Since my hiring day,” she confirmed.
Washington’s nostrils flared, the point of his tongue flicking out to wet his lower lip. “If that’s true, then there has been a breach in security and things are far worse than I imagined.”
“What should we do?” As Detroit posed the question, Washington reached into the top drawer of his desk.
The gun appeared before any of them could comprehend what was happening. A single, deafening shot rang out as a bullet struck the designer’s forehead, crumbling her body to the carpet.
While the A-5 team jumped to their feet and assumed a tight formation, the chancell
or whistled to himself and wiped his prints from the gun. “Things are about to get hairy,” he mused, tossing the pistol in Houston’s direction. “You may need that.”
Reflex prompted Houston to catch it, a second before the consequences could catch up.
Slack-jawed and utterly flabbergasted, the team blinked in horror as Washington tapped his call button a second time. “Code red! The Apocalypse Five have gunned down a designer and are headed to the launch bay! Do not let them leave this starship! Take them down! Shoot to kill!”
Ending the transmission, he peered up at his chosen five with passive indifference. “You just became the most hunted individuals in the galaxy. I suggest you run.”
Chapter Nine
“Out the door! Go!” Houston shouted, tucking the pistol into the waistband of his pants. He hung back to glare hateful daggers at the chancellor as the others sprinted from Washington’s quarters. “I’ll be seeing you again … soon.”
Leaving that threat dangling in the air between them, Houston followed his team out.
“Halt!” The guard in the hall positioned himself in their path, electing to hold up both hands to halt them rather than draw his weapon.
Swinging into a swivel kick, Detroit’s heel caught him in the temple, folding him to the floor. Alarm sirens screamed through the corridor. Flashing red lights strobed in ominous warning. With the resonating thunder of an incoming pursuit closing in, the footfalls of the A-5 hammered down the hall in the direction of the docking bay.
“There they are!” A squadron of guards stormed after them, unleashing a flurry of laser blasts.
Dodging and weaving to prevent the shooters from getting a lock on him, Auggie shielded his head with his arms. “There are space buses in the docking bay that are used for scenic Earth tours. It won’t be fast, but we’ll all fit.”
Apocalypse Five: Archive of the Fives Book One Page 7