Ah. I forgot. “I’m surprised you didn’t tell my mother.”
“Training is hard. You’re not the first nor the last recruit to pass out. I’ve seen big men topple just at the sight of blood. As long as you don’t make a habit of it.”
So why bother with this entire conversation? To imply I can’t get away with anything? What does he expect me to do? Perhaps I need to practice some of my poise on him.
“Officer Radcliff, thanks for the…advice.” Warning is more like it. “I appreciate your concern. However, I’m under the impression that your security officers are able to use their free time as they wish. I assume that as long as I stay in security that applies to me as well?”
A reluctant nod along with a pained expression as if he wanted to say more.
I don’t give him a chance. “I won’t be long.”
As I walk to the rec room, I pass a few other officers and nod a hello. Most have dark circles under their eyes. They move as if a heavy wet blanket is wrapped around their shoulders and dragging behind them.
The double doors to the training room are closed. Odd. I assumed that since the officers worked around the clock, the room would be available as well. Clanks of metal and muffled voices seep from the gap under the door. Perhaps there’s a special training session going on. That makes more sense.
But I slow. The hallway is bright. Too bright. Every colony planet and Warrior planet keeps Earth time. We have twenty-four hour days and three hundred and sixty-five days in a year with that lucky leap day every fourth one. It’s archaic and can be quite comical when you’re living on a planet with over twenty-four hours of daylight and one season lasting an entire Earth year, but it unifies us Earthlings who are spread across the Milky Way Galaxy. Plus the light/dark cycle matches our natural circadian rhythm.
Normally, at this time of night, the hall lights would be dim. All public areas of the base have muted “night time” lights for about twelve hours a day. The overly bright hallway ends and, by the time I reach the recreation room, the illumination is normal.
No one is in the rec room. Not a surprise as everyone’s been so busy. I’m lucky to actually have free time. Although I suspect that will soon change. I tug a small couch over to the spot the cameras can’t see—not because I plan to jump Niall as soon as he arrives…hmmm…no, it’s way too public of an area. But because I’m tired of being under the microscope all the time.
Niall enters, lugging that same exhaustion. Although his eyes spark with humor when he notices that I’ve rearranged the furniture.
Plopping down next to me, he says, “Nice.”
“Not near as nice as what you did for me.”
“You liked it?”
“Of course. The paintings are fantastic. Thank you.”
Niall tucks me close. “They certainly brightened your room. Except now that pencil drawing I drew for you looks—”
“Just as fabulous. Don’t diss King Toad and Queen Mouse or I’ll have to hurt you.” I framed Niall’s gift and it’s the last thing I see before I turn off the light. Its very presence helps reduce my nightmares.
He lifts his hands as if surrendering. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good.” I snuggle closer.
“So what’s with meeting here?” His tone is casual. Too casual.
This is gonna be fun. “I’m thinking of doing some worming and—”
“Are you insane?” His grip tightens.
I laugh. “Do you really have to ask that question?”
A sigh. “No.”
“Don’t worry, Officer Radcliff. I needed some one-on-one time with my mom. I think I’ve convinced her to lift the restrictions.”
“Restrictions?”
Pulling away, I study his face. “Wow you must be really tired. You’re usually a better actor.”
He runs a hand through his black hair, leaving spikes. “I’m the lowest ranked officer, I’m not privy to everything.”
“You had to guess my parents must have given your father conditions about me.”
“Yeah. And before you get mad, I knew you’d figure it out.”
“Took me long enough,” I grump.
Drawing me against him, he says, “I wish it took you longer. You’d have been safer.”
“It’s a temporary illusion. No one’s safe until Jarren’s stopped.”
A shrug. “It helps me sleep at night.”
That’s actually very sweet. I squeeze him. But he mentioned the S-word. Sleep, people!
“Come on.” I break away and stand, hauling him to his feet. “It’s twenty-two thirty. You’re only going to get three hours of sleep. Time for bed.”
“You’re being sensible.” He squints at me in suspicion.
“I can be sensible.”
“No. You’re up to something and trying to hide it by being sensible.”
“So being sensible is a bad thing?”
“No. Yes. No.”
“Which one is it?” I wait, suppressing a grin.
“In your case, it’s a bad thing.”
“All right. Then I won’t be sensible anymore.”
“That’s not…” He sighs.
We hold hands on the way back to the officers’ housing. When we reach the corridor that runs along the training room, I ask Niall about the brightness. “Is there a reason?”
His gaze grows wary and the silence lengthens. Confused, I’m about to prod when the doors of the training room open. The entrance is about a few meters ahead of us. Niall stops, releasing my hand, as Elese and Officer Zaim back out into the hallway. They point pulse guns at a group of people wearing neon green jumpsuits—and I thought the light was intense. The group are paired up in a line and each pair is shackled together at their wrist and ankle, causing them to walk in step. Their expressions range from defeated, bored, hostile and neutral. Officers Ho and Bendix follow the slow parade. They’re also aiming pulse guns at the vivid group.
It clicks. They’re the looters. Security captured sixteen of them during the attack—four women and twelve men. I peer at them. It’s easy to see their faces in the brightness—oh, that’s the reason for the daytime conditions. Do I recognize any of them? No. They wore jumpsuits and masks to hide their identities. Niall puts his arm out, stopping me from getting closer.
“Wait,” he says. Niall rests his hand on my shoulder. Is he worried I’m going to do something? Jarren killed Menz, not these thugs.
“What were they doing in the training room?” I ask.
“Exercising, stretching, moving around. Those detention cells are small for one person, but six of the units have two people.” He frowns. Probably remembering the few hours he spent in one with Officer Morgan. “It would be inhumane to keep them in there all day.”
Oh. I didn’t think of that. In fact, I’ve been avoiding the topic altogether. Denial in all its glory.
At the sound of our voices, a few of the prisoners glance at us.
“Hey. It’s her,” one of the women cries. “That little worm The Boss was so keen to capture.”
Uh oh. I step back as the prisoners all stop and stare at me. Maybe I should have cut my hair short. Grins and delight now shine on their faces even though Bendix is yelling at them to get moving. Niall blocks me from their view, but the damage is done.
“She’s alive,” a man says. “Which means—”
“The Boss is coming back!”
Cheers erupt.
Three
2522:191
Not good. Not good at all. Remembering the purple fire that danced on my skin and stopped my heart, I wrap my arms around my chest.
“We should tell The Boss she’s here,” one burly looter says.
“Back to your cells, now,” Zaim orders, aiming his pulse gun at the big man.
Instead of obeying, the man surges toward Zaim, dragging his partner with him. Ho shoots, but the pulse goes wide and Burly slams Zaim into the wall hard enough to knock him unconscious.
The rest of the pri
soners cheer and rush toward the three remaining security officers. Shocked by the speed and intensity of the attack, I’m rooted to the floor. Niall curses and grabs for his gun. But he’s not in uniform.
All my training dissolves into a jumble in my mind, but I step forward anyway. I have to help.
Niall grabs my arm, holding me back. “Reinforcements are coming.”
“How do—”
He tilts his head at the cameras. “Rance is on duty and he’ll sound the alarm, alerting the rest of the team.”
“But—”
“Stay here.” Niall rushes in to help the officers.
Sizzles from the pulse guns add to the cries and bellows. A few looters go down, taking their partners with them, but four of the pairs are now fighting hand to hand with the officers—two to one. Or in Bendix’s case, four to one. The weapons have fallen to the floor. At least the guns can’t be used by the looters. But they can’t be used by us either as they’re each set to only one person’s electromagnetic signature.
The sizzles of multiple pulse guns crack through the air. Stunned, looters drop to the floor until no one is left standing except the officers and Niall. Lined up on the other side of the fallen prisoners are Radcliff, Morgan, Beau, and Rance. All are pointing their weapons at the prisoners. When no one moves, they lower them. Morgan and Rance are in uniform, but Beau is wearing a tight T-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. He must have been on call.
The other officers recover from the fight. Ho presses a hand to his nose, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Examining her torn and bloody shirt, Elese curses. Bendix leans against the wall. And poor Zaim is still out cold.
Radcliff quickly takes charge, ordering Morgan to call a medic, sending Rance back to monitor the cameras, having Beau check on Zaim, asking us to explain what happened. Niall tells him what sparked the fight. Radcliff focuses on me and the desire to melt into the floor flushes through me. I brace for his anger.
Instead, Radcliff says to us, “Return to your units, I’ll talk to you both later.”
“Yes, sir,” we say in unison and bolt.
But once we’re out of sight, Niall takes my hand. I slow as the realization that it was all my fault catches up to me. The prisoners thought I’d be a way to gain their freedom. They cheered at the prospect of Jarren returning to kill me.
Niall stops and turns to me. “You’re shaking.”
“I am?” Sure enough my muscles are trembling.
“Don’t listen to them,” he says, pulling me into a hug. “There’s no way they can contact Jarren. He won’t find out you’re alive.” Niall leans back and meets my gaze. “The Protector Class ship will be here in six hundred and forty days. And you’re surrounded by security.”
Who were almost overwhelmed. And who Jarren got the drop on. Twice. But I wisely keep those thoughts to myself. Plus I’ve already figured out that Jarren will at some future point figure out I’m alive. It’s inevitable. The key will be to find him first. That thought steadies me. Weird, right?
Cupping his cheek, I run my thumb over his stubble. “I’m better, thanks.”
We continue to Niall’s unit. I follow him in for a private good-night kiss, but something about what he said bugs me.
“How do you know the exact number of days until the Protector ship arrives?” I ask him. Has he changed his mind and plans to enlist? A pulse of unease ripples through me.
His shoulders droop as he reveals the depth of his exhaustion. “It’s what gets us through the days of double shifts, little to no free time, the constant vigilance. To know there’s an end point helps.”
The knot in my throat loosens. And now I understand. The officers need more help and the techs haven’t been that keen to fill in. Granted, they didn’t sign up to— “I know a way you can motivate my mom’s archeology techs.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Ha ha. Seriously, all they want to do is return to normal, like you do. If they know what they’re doing is actually helping security, that we’re figuring out a way to open the pits and there’s an end point, they’ll be more inclined to assist us.”
“My dad—”
“Probably keeping a tight lid on everything. Doesn’t want the details about the looters and HoLFs scaring the scientists. Right?” The answer is in Niall’s stiff posture. “Well, if you want them to be part of the team, they need to feel like part of the team, working on a common goal. You have to trust them with the truth.”
Niall shakes his head, giving me a tired smile. “And here I thought the prisoners’ revolt would spook you. Instead, you’re giving advice.”
“Good advice,” I clarify.
“And you’re modest too, no wonder I like you so much,” he teases. Then he sobers. “What changed, Mouse?”
“I’m motivated.”
I’m still awake when Radcliff returns. He glances at me sitting on the couch then at the clock. It’s oh-two-hundred hours.
“I couldn’t sleep.” The truth. Every time I closed my eyes, the riot replayed in my mind.
He relaxes. “I’m sorry about tonight.”
Surprised, I blurt, “That’s what I’m supposed to say. It’s because of me. I’m—”
“Not your fault. I assigned four officers to watch sixteen prisoners.” Radcliff straightens. “It won’t happen again. Only eight prisoners will be allowed to exercise at one time.”
A good idea, except that means more work for the officers.
“Get some sleep, Ara,” he says, heading toward his room.
Not so fast. I surge off the couch and block his way.
He raises an eyebrow. “Do you need something?”
“Yes. I want a shift.”
“A shift?”
“A security shift. Everyone’s exhausted. I can take a turn monitoring cameras or guarding the entrance to the pits. In fact, I should be there since I can actually see the shadow…er…HoLFs.”
“You’re still in training.”
“Does everyone train eight hours a day every day when they start?” I already know the answer is no.
“Your case is different,” he says, but it’s weak.
I wait.
“Your parents—”
“Are not in charge of security.”
Radcliff studies me. He’s pissed I interrupted him, yet there’s approval there as well. I’m getting better at reading him.
“Am I part of this team or not?”
“You are.”
“Then please put me on the schedule.”
The next day I’m a few minutes early for training. A nasty bruise is purpling on Elese’s swollen right cheek. It’s hard for me to believe that last night was not my fault.
“I’m sor—”
“None of that,” she says, holding up her hand. “They’ve been spoiling for a fight.” Elese shrugs. “It’s all part of the job. You gotta be ready for anything.” To prove her point she jabs a punch at my ribs.
Without thinking, I block it.
“Ah, progress.” She launches into a series of attacks.
And I spend most of the morning practicing blocks, punches and kicks with Elese before we move on to self-defense—a typical day. Frustration builds—did no one listen to me? But after lunch something is finally different.
Elese hands me a pulse gun. “This one is yours.”
Interesting that Radcliff kept the gun set to my electromagnetic signature. The weapon is nonlethal and built so I can’t accidentally shoot myself because it recognizes me. Plus no one can use the gun on me or the other officers. But, as I witnessed last night, it will send an electromagnetic pulse at the enemy, rendering them unconscious.
She leads me to the shooting range. It adjoins the training area and is long and narrow. There’s a wide red stripe crossing the short width of the floor.
“Ever shoot one of these?” Elese brandishes her own weapon.
“No.”
“There’s no kickback and you’re not going to see anything. But
you’ll hear—”
“A sizzle. I’ve plenty of experience with that.”
We share a rueful grin.
She tilts the gun to the side. “See this yellow bar? It means the gun is fully charged. As you use it, the bar will shrink. Once it’s gone, you need to recharge your weapon.”
“How?”
“Ask Radcliff for a pulse kit—it has a charger.”
“What if the gun runs out of power when you’re in the middle of a fight?”
“There are power packs.” Opening the bottom of the gun’s handle, she pulls out a round cylinder and replaces it with another one from her pocket. “Tactical pants are the best. You wouldn’t believe what I have stored in all these pockets.” Her brown eyes gleam. “Wanna see?”
“Er…no thanks. A little mystery between friends is a good thing,” I say.
Her laugh is spicy and rich like hot chocolate mixed with coffee. Elese then shows me how to properly hold the gun, set my stance, square my shoulders to a target and press the trigger with my thumb.
Then she steps on the red strip and says, “Beginner target.”
About ten meters down the room a circle drops from the ceiling. The center of it glows orange. Elese aims and fires. A burst of sizzle, then the orange light flashes and winks out.
“Your turn.” She moves out of my way.
I step onto the strip. The orange light returns. Concentrating on my body’s position, I lift the gun, aim, and press the trigger. Warmth fills my palm as a sizzle flies and keeps right on going, missing the target.
“Freeze,” Elese orders. She adjusts my stance, turns my shoulders slightly, and lifts my arm. “Try again.”
Another miss. Another adjustment. And...repeat…about ten…twelve times before the stubborn orange light finally dies. Yes! I killed a light, my parents will be so proud.
“Again,” she says.
A sizzle and a miss. Sigh.
“Again.”
Miss.
“Again.”
Hit!
“Again.”
Miss.
When my hits outnumber my misses, Elese is satisfied. She slaps me on the back and says, “The shooting range is yours until seventeen hundred. When you can hit the target twenty times in a row, you can move on. Just say ‘intermediate target’ while standing on the sensor.”
Chasing the Shadows (Sentinels of the Galaxy Book 2) Page 4