Chasing the Shadows (Sentinels of the Galaxy Book 2)

by Maria V. Snyder

  Trying to have a normal life, Little Worm? Dream Jarren asks in my mind. Don’t you know I’m always watching?

  But the satellite—

  Is mine along with the camera feeds. Do you really think your security measures are better than mine? I’ve been doing this for years. And you’ve been…dead. He holds his hands out to me. Come see what I’ve done, Little Worm.

  A part of my mind knows I’m having another nightmare and should slap myself awake. Yet my dream self is too curious for her own damn good. I take Dream Jarren’s hands and we soar up to the satellite, flying through the Q-net on invisible wings.

  With my new…sight, I spot his fingerprints all over the programming. Just like he boasted, he’s in deep. My measures are not enough to keep him out since I missed most of his tricky little convoluted worm tracks. Pah!

  I shoo him away. Dream Jarren smirks, takes a bow, and disappears. I study the complex programming. It’s like a map. If I can find a way to reroute it so he’d go in circles, seeing only the empty desert that I recorded before, that would be super cool. I’ll also need to include a shortcut just for me to see the real feed. I trace Jarren’s intricate codes and the solution forms in my mind.

  It’ll be a tedious process and I’d rather be dreaming of Niall in the shower. But I see this as a trial run. If it works, I’ll use my extra time in the port to implement this bypass. I chug through it. After…I’ve no idea how long, the Q-net kicks in and helps despite the fact I’m not in my cluster. Must be because this is a dream and strange things happen in dreams all the time—I accept the aid and it finishes in seconds. Show-off.

  I’m considering my next move when the screech of my alarm pierces my dream. I fall to Yulin. But I know I’ll get a nightmare migraine if I slam back to my body. With effort, I slow and go through the steps to disentangle with my dream. Yes, I know it sounds crazy. Dream, remember? Humor me.

  When I wake, I open my eyes slowly. No pain throbs in my head. But my ears are being assaulted. “Alarm off,” I say. The instant quiet is blissful. However, I’m now running late.

  I dash to the washroom. Radcliff is already dressed and drinking a cup of coffee. He makes a show of glancing at the time. Rushing around, I dress, apply sunscreen, and shrug on the backpack. Its weight almost knocks me off my feet. Good thing we’re not hiking.

  When I’m ready to go, Radcliff’s already waiting for me by the door. Since I’m on time, he keeps the snarky comment that I’m sure he was mentally composing to himself. We head to the port through the deserted hallways.

  Glad that he seems content to walk in silence, I review my…er…nightmare. My subconscious must have noticed something wrong when I was worming the satellite feeds. And my worry about this mission brought it to the surface.

  Despite the early hour, my parents and the techs are in the port. They’re loading equipment into three sand vehicles. The trucks have big oversized tires with lots of nubs that help them gain traction in the sand. Six people can fit in the two rows of seats. No roof, but there’s a thick metal roll bar arching over the passenger compartment. Two big spotlights sit on the bar like a pair of mouse ears—it’s kind of cute. Behind the seats is a long flatbed that will be filled with the boxes.

  Radcliff goes over to talk to my parents, but I find the terminal in the port. I’m not going to be happy until I check the satellite feeds. Not bothering to sit down, I insert my tangs and worm into the satellite. Sure enough, Jarren’s little paws are all over. I curse. But then—

  The modifications I did in my dream have been implemented. There’s a shortcut to the feeds and Jarren is watching the uninhabited sand dunes I recorded earlier. The strength in my body drains and I sink to the floor. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I rest my forehead on them as the room spins.

  I entangled with the Q-net while dreaming, without tangs or a terminal nearby. Oh my stars.

  Ten

  2522:214

  Not good, not good, not good. The port continues to spin around me. I gulp in air, trying hard not to pass out. This is bad, really bad. Terrifying. I’m a freak. Dying has fried my brains and I’m—

  “Ara, why are you on the floor?” Mom asks. “What’s wrong?”

  I curse under my breath and raise my head. The port tilts under me. Concern flares in Mom’s eyes and she crouches next to me. “You’re white as a ghost. Lean forward, head between your knees, deep breaths.”

  I do as instructed.

  She rubs my back. “In and out, nice and easy.”

  Concentrating on the basic task of breathing, I ignore my chaotic thoughts. Eventually the black and white spots in my vision fade and color returns to the world.

  “Better?” Mom asks.

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  She helps me straighten. I brace for another wave of dizziness, but the floor remains steady.

  “What were you doing?”

  Freaking out, having a panic attack, take your pick. “I was checking something in the Q-net. And I…think I moved too fast.”

  “What was so important it couldn’t wait?”

  “The safety of the mission.”

  “Oh.”

  I explain about the satellite feeds and my solution.

  “That’s my girl. It’s a good thing you checked, then.” Mom relaxes and returns to ordering techs to load the trucks faster.

  If you must know, no, I didn’t share with my mother that I fixed it while dreaming. That still sounds crazy. And now that I’m thinking about it, I could have been…sleep walking last night and accessed a terminal. That’s probably it. Since I’m not showing up in the camera feeds, it’d be impossible to verify. Yes, I know all about denial, why do you ask?

  After I disentangle, I join Beau and the others. He explains our roles while driving to the camp. I’ll be in vehicle three, which Elese is driving. She gives me a wide, slightly manic grin. This ought to be fun.

  We insert our communicators in our ears just in case there’s an emergency.

  Stowing my ruck in the bed, I hop into the back seat. Elese takes her position. Besides us there are three techs and the medic—two in the front and two with me. The large doors of the port roll up. The metal rattles and the wheels squeal as they run up the track. Beau gets into the first truck, which my father is driving. Mom is behind the wheel of the second one with Niall. He also sits in the back.

  The engines start up with a roar and we drive out into the cool darkness. Once we clear the port, the door clanks, shutting behind us. The strong peppery scent of Yulin’s air fills my lungs. This is the first time I’ve been outside the base since we arrived. I marvel at the gorgeous night sky before I remember my duty. Standing up, I hold onto the roll bar and use my binoculars to scan the area for any signs of intruders—basically lights. Just ahead, both Niall and Beau are doing the same thing.

  The vehicles trundle over the dunes. They’re not moving very fast, but they still kick up clouds of sand, which coats the binoculars’ lenses, gets into my eyes, nose, and mouth. Ugh. Now I know why Beau picked the first vehicle. We arrive just as the sun is rising.

  Securing the camp actually means walking around a large empty area and confirming that yes, it is indeed empty. We also scan for footprints. None, although Niall finds small tracks from what looks like a lizard. Dad takes a picture of them for the biologists.

  Then we stand guard as the techs unpack the supplies. I notice Niall has his cap and sunglasses on. Good idea. I dig for mine. Enjoying the fresh air and sunlight, I’m content to just soak it all in. A slight early morning breeze fans my face. Underneath the peppery scent is the dry aroma of anise. While I’m supposed to be focused on the surrounding desert, I sneak glances at the activity in the camp. Techs assemble tents, unload the equipment, and sweat. Between shouting orders and directing the techs, my mom preps the Ground Penetrating Radar. My dad arranges everything, breaking the camp into three specific areas—sleeping, working, and eating. The portable washroom is constructed near the tents.

  As
the sun creeps toward its zenith, the breeze dies and the air thickens with heat. I scan the horizon with my binoculars and confirm the nothingness out there. Not even another team from the base is nearby.

  What I don’t do, is think about the Q-net. I can rest easy out here well away from the base and all its terminals. The scientists carry portables that just run the standard plug and chug programming. You can’t entangle with a portable because the device is not connected to the Q-net the same way as a terminal. Information can still be exchanged between the Q-net and a portable so all the data collected in Pit 21 will be uploaded to the Q-net when we return to the base. And messages can still be sent from one portable to another.

  When Jarren had attacked, I created a worm hole between a portable and the Q-net so I could keep track of the looters through the base’s camera feeds. I can’t do that out here, which is beneficial. My brain can take a break and I’ll be good as new when I return.

  When the camp is complete, the techs carry the GPR over to where the pit is supposed to be. The initial scans of the desert marked the long narrow strip of the sixty-four underground pits—think of the planet as a ball and the pits are like a rubber band around its middle—but the accuracy is not always…er…accurate.

  Mom uses the GPR to find the edges of the pit. It’s square and each side is exactly sixty-four meters wide. Our camp is located to the left of the pit. A smart move. Otherwise, if the roof of the pit collapses, then the entire camp will fall in. Dad marks the edges with flags, and then my parents gather with the techs. Probably discussing the location of the hatch.

  Normally, after the research base is built, the robotic diggers go from the underground archeology lab straight into the pits so no sunlight or weather can impact the Warriors. Accessing a pit from above is new. And tricky. They can’t make the hole too big or that would risk collapsing the roof and they won’t open one right above the Warriors’ heads. My guess is they’ll dig in a corner.

  I do another sweep of the desert’s unending expanse and confirm there’s still nothing out there. It’s a really good thing. Trust me, I don’t want Jarren and his looters emerging from the sands. But it’s still really boring.

  The shovels are unpacked and handed to the eight techs. Dad places more flags in a circle and then shovels the first scoop of sand out before the techs take over. I was right, they picked a corner to dig the hole.

  Standing guard is not physically challenging by any means, yet sweat collects under my arms, between my breasts, and dampens my collar. But the tech’s shirts are soaked and plastered to their bodies as they work in the hot sun.

  When they hit sandstone about a meter down, Dad orders them out of the hole, which is about two meters wide and roughly circular. Now comes the tricky part. My dad and two techs carry a robotic digger over to the cavity. The thing resembles a round hedgehog about a meter in diameter. I glance at Beau. Does he feel a kinship? His spikes are tucked under his cap. But it’s nice to see he’s also switching between watching the action and the boring desert.

  They insert the digger, turn it on, and step back. The robot puffs up to twice its size. Its spikes grow and dig into the surrounding sand, anchoring it in place. Then it hums and crunches. After a few noisy minutes crushed sandstone is ejected out its…er…rear end. Can’t risk having the pieces fall on the Warriors below.

  Everyone retreats past the flags to stand on “solid” ground. If something goes wrong with the digger, they won’t plummet to their deaths. Mom paces as we wait and wait and wait some more before the digger breaks through. It makes a strange hiccup sound, then climbs from the hole, and sits nearby, retracting its spikes. The desire to pet it and say “good boy” pushes up my throat.

  My father gestures me over. Time for my special powers of observation. I don’t have the blow-horn but everyone is close enough that they’ll hear my shout if I spot shadow-blobs. I stare at the gap. No shadow-blobs appear. No surprise with the sun blazing down on all our heads.

  “Do you see anything, Officer Lawrence?” Dad asks.

  “No,” I manage to choke out because I’m just about to lose it over my dad calling me Officer Lawrence. Surreal.

  We wait some more. When the pit fails to collapse, my dad nods to a young man wearing a safety harness. The tech “swims” out to the hole. Okay, he’s doing a low crawl which spreads his weight out. It still looks like swimming to me. Once he reaches the edge he lowers an air testing instrument into the pit. Checking the gauge for any signs of toxins, he releases more and more rope until it hits the bottom.

  “It’s stale. We’ll need to pump some fresh air in there,” he declares and swims back.

  Another tech lowers a black hose then switches on an air pump. It hums. A breeze flows from the hole. Its cool musty smell reminds me of damp clay. When the air matches the surface conditions the pump is turned off.

  Now it’s my turn to swim. I don a safety harness—yet another layer. The sand is super hot. The searing heat on my face is like standing in front of an oven with the door open. I’m glad I’m wearing my jumpsuit because I suspect the sand would burn my skin through the fabric of my uniform. I’m not graceful and I suspect everyone is watching my butt wiggle as I swim to the hole.

  Reaching the edge, I peer down into the pit. Sand particles float in the beam of sunlight arrowing to the floor. A row of Warriors is visible. It makes my heart happy to see them whole. It’s as if the doctor just declared them healthy. Strange. I check the shadows—they circle the pool of light. I wait. No movement.

  “Status?” Beau calls.

  “Clear for now.” I swim back.

  “Time to install the hatch,” Dad says.

  The hatch is basically a hollow pipe about two meters wide and three meters long. One end is open while the other has a cap with a wheel. Turn the wheel, pull, and the cap swings open. Spin it the other way and it locks it. Dad measures the depth of the hole and they trim the pipe to fit. Once that’s done, they insert it into the hole and secure it. It’s a super tight fit, which I suspect is the point.

  After that, they lower two floodlights and I take another peek inside. Still no movement, but lots more Warriors are revealed. Again, I get that extra pump in my heart.

  Beau and Niall pull a ladder apart until it’s about six meters long. Elese helps them insert it into the hole and hold on as they slide it down. Once it’s secure, Beau signals us to pull our flashlights. I tuck the blow-horn in my weapon belt.

  “Officer Keir, keep an eye out for unfriendlies.” Beau moves to climb down.

  “I should go first,” I say. “In case I…feel anything. Then we can quickly retreat.”

  “Feel?”

  “Pressure, coldness. Warning signs.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  I grab the ladder with my left hand while holding my flashlight in the other. Taking my time, I climb down. The air cools as I descend. The strong dry desert scent is replaced by a damp mustiness. The ladder vibrates when Beau and then Niall step on. Sand from the bottom of their boots rains on me. Now I’m really glad for my cap. However, I keep my focus and my flashlight on the shadows.

  Pausing at the bottom, I try to sense if shadow-blobs are lurking. The air lacks that heaviness and bitter cold.

  “Clear.” I move so Beau and Niall can join me. Their boots crunch on the layer of sand on the floor.

  Behind us is one of the corners of the pit carved out of an unremarkable sandstone. It is smooth and undisturbed, but in front of us is a diagonal row of thirteen Warriors—one of the eight sides of the octagon. The aliens arranged the Warriors into forty-two precise rows in the shape of an octagon. The shortest rows are eighteen Warriors long, and the longest ones contain forty-two Warriors. For a total of one thousand, four hundred, and fifty-two Warriors in one pit. Don’t be too impressed with my math skills; these numbers are well known because every pit on every exoplanet discovered so far has the exact same number of Warriors standing in the same configuration.

  “Look out belo
w,” Dad calls.

  Another floodlight is on the way down. Beau and Niall move the two already here. Part of our job will be to set the lights all around the pit, illuminating as much as possible. They’re on tripods and can be raised so they’re above the Warriors’ heads. The statues range in height from one-hundred and eighty-three centimeters to one-hundred and ninety-five centimeters tall. The ceiling of the pit is another two meters higher.

  “All right, we’ll spread out and check every centimeter of the pit,” Beau orders. “Lawrence, signal if you see or feel anything.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Beau’s on my left and Niall’s on the right, so I head straight into the rows of Terracotta Warriors. They’re all Chinese and I’ve always viewed them as part of my extended family. Plus I practically grew up in Warrior pits so there’s a comfort in seeing over a thousand familiar faces.

  Their hair is pulled up into knots or hidden under caps. They all wear long coats that reach their knees and have high collars—or they might be scarves as some of them have the ends tied and hanging down like a ribbon. Some wear armor over the coats. The General and the officers all have ribbons on their armor—two in the front and three on the back. The archeologists have identified eight—there’s that number again—basic head shapes, but their facial features were sculpted by hand, making millions of individuals. No two are alike.

  Most have some type of facial hair—mustaches, beards, and little tear-drop shaped clumps of hair right under their bottom lip. They have wide noses, thin eyebrows, and slanted almond-shaped eyes. Each one stands on his own pedestal—yes, they’re all male. And their expressions are all mostly neutral. Except the guys who have peaked eyebrows; they look surprised.

  I weave through them, checking shadows and setting floodlights. The pit grows brighter and brighter. It seems warmer as well—a good sign. Sand has drifted around the Warriors’ feet. I crunch through the piles, excited to be the first person to see these Warriors in over two thousand years. It almost makes me want to be an archeologist. Almost!