THIRTY-FIVE
XX121
Seen from afar, Odysseus’s orbital ring looks almost smooth, the complexity of its weaving of ceramic panels and air locks invisible from a distance. It’s a giant wheel in space, and dire as my circumstances might be, I can’t help staring in silent awe. When we get close enough, I can make out the arms connecting the ring to a long docking platform in its center, bigger than the ship.
“Starting automated docking sequence,” Claire announces.
I know what relative speed means, but I never imagined that I’d ever experience it in space: the entire docking feels like a slow dance between the ship and its cradle. We’re cruising at seventeen thousand miles an hour over the Pacific, and I just don’t feel any of it: I’m free from gravity, a little dizzy, held secure by my seat belt as we turn around to align with the docking platform. My head is upside down, but I have no physical sensation of it.
The cockpit shakes as the ship imbricates itself in the center of the orbital ring with a muted clank that echoes in my helmet. Earth is far and close, incredibly blue and peppered with clouds that stretch for miles and look like little more than cotton candy from here.
Hunched on his laptop, Bahjin hammers at the keyboard with a satisfied huff. “I got this; the ring is connected to our reactor.”
Holy fricking Raptor Jesus and all his saints . . . I still can’t fully process the magnitude of what I’m experiencing, but they did it: they actually stole that ship and completed its assembly. I tremble in my seat when more clanking ricochets around the cockpit, coming from the ship’s underside, where the launching ramp is now imbedded into Odysseus’s central docking platform.
“The payload is secure,” Claire announces, as electronic arms work on transferring the ship’s deadly cargo. The missiles. They’re being stowed in that platform, ready to be fired.
Anies’s hands move to undo his seat belt. “Excellent, let’s board.”
He and Claire go first. They unbuckle, and my jaw goes slack as I watch them float away from their seats. This is real. Once they undo my seat belt, the same thing will happen to me. Oh my fricking God, this is real . . .
My eyes screw shut in anticipation while Anies’s goons free me from my seat. I float up and their arms immediately clasp around mine to guide me toward the now-open air lock. We float down a narrow arm lined with thermal foil that connects the ship to the ring’s command center.
“Once artificial gravity kicks in, it will take you a while to get used to it,” Claire warns us. “You’re going to feel seasick.”
I brace myself when I see her flip a series of switches next to the final air lock. Bahjin’s excited whistle rips through my eardrums as the orbital ring starts spinning slowly around Odysseus and the connecting arm along with it. Once again, I’m disoriented; my brain struggles to reconcile the factual knowledge that we’re spinning with the lack of actual sensation. As gravity sets in and pulls me down toward the air lock, I do feel queasy but also anchored. At least now I can find my bearings.
The final air lock whirs open, and they push me through. Or rather I tumble into the ring, betrayed by the very gravity I wished for. For a second, I see myself smashing into the wall ahead of me and destroying equipment that’s worth more than my life, but arms catch me just in time. I register the door hissing shut behind me and look up. The dark-skinned guy gripping my arms . . . he’s wearing a white space suit with a US flag, and he wasn’t in the ship with us. There’s a second guy, with graying hair and angry blue eyes.
The rotation team. It took NASA fifteen years, mission after mission, to assemble the ring and there’re always at least a few astronauts watching over the US government’s baby. Did Anies corrupt them too? All of them? There must be what, at least five or six people up here and—
“We’re ready, sir,” the blue-eyed astronaut barks while, around me, everyone starts to remove their helmets. I fumble with mine, and it’s Anies who unclasps it, with a benevolent smile that makes my skin crawl. I hate having to, but I accept the arm he holds out to me because that spinning ring messes up my senses. My internal ear and I try to come to terms with the fact that we’re standing . . . horizontally, in a wheel that completes roughly 5.5 rotations per minute.
Claire leads us down a white hallway lined with pipes, valves, and electronic equipment. Through rectangular windows, I see the darkness of space, studded with stars, unreal. We pass two air locks whose iris-scan systems get defeated by Bahjin’s laptop. As Bahjin is getting ready to open the massive security door barring the way to the command center, I notice a reddish smear on a series of switches on the wall to my right. Blood.
I glance at the two men who awaited us inside the station. There’s another stain on the sleeve of the black guy’s space suit. We’re ready, sir . . . I inhale slowly to keep my fear under control. I don’t think Anies managed to convince the rest of the rotation crew to destroy the world for him . . . and that’s why they’re nowhere in sight.
When the final air lock slides open, Bahjin raps on the scan lens with his forefinger and says in an exaggeratedly deep voice, “Nothing can catch up with a Steed!”
I wince and glance at Anies’s impassible features. Shortsighted tycoon Reginald Steed probably never expected that his regular meetings with “Aidan Keasler” would result in his space program being used against him—and with his favorite slogan, no less.
Oh my God, this is like Star Trek. We’re standing in Odysseus’s vast command center, facing a giant screen on which Earth can be seen rotating peacefully, unaware that a bunch of dangerous douchebags threaten it. More screens line the brand-new helm and launch consoles behind which the captain’s seat stands empty on a central platform, like a white throne in the middle of this orgy of cutting-edge technology.
Claire walks to the helm console and trails a reverent hand over the black glass top and its integrated tactile dashboard whose keys glow a soft, snowy white. She presses her palm to a fingerprint lock on the glass, and the dashboard flashes green before a multitude of keys and buttons starts lighting up. She turns to look at Anies as he settles in the captain’s seat, flanked by his faithful Lions. For the first time, a radiant, poignant smile illuminates her face. His lips curve in response, and she’s staring directly into the sun, burning before my eyes. What did he tell her? What did he promise that makes her beam with pride and gratitude like that? It must have been exactly what she wanted to hear, what she needed. Because that’s what he does, how he controls people . . .
Next to her, Bahjin sits behind the launch console and is now busy removing the plastic film from his new screens with a delighted sigh.
“Come here, Island,” Anies orders.
My eyes dart to the brawny guy standing at my side and the ones guarding Anies. A third one guards the air lock, but the rest of them left the command center along with the two traitors from the rotation team to go check the first missile, which now awaits inside the launching ramp. I decide to play along until I can come up with a plan that would allow me to defeat nine overtrained killing machines, one Indian nerd, and one dying supervillain who could still force-choke me in his sleep.
Anies’s goon hovers behind me as I cover the distance to the captain’s seat and climb onto the platform to stand at his side. I don’t look at him; I stare straight ahead at the control screen, on which data is now flashing. They’re targeting something in Alaska . . .
“What do you think will happen once you strike?” I ask, reining in the tremors in my voice.
His gloved fingers rap on the armrest slowly. “For the rest of mankind? Nothing they’ll notice.”
I spin on my heels, anger burning in my cheeks. “Are you fucking serious? You really think you can murder millions of people—”
“Seven hundred at most,” he corrects.
“What’s there?”
“Only Fort Greely,” Bahjin answers with a sigh of annoyance, like he’s watching a kid relentlessly try to shove the cube in the circle hole. “It’s the US’s main interception base. That’s where they test their antiballistic missiles. They have like thirty interceptors ready for launch, crazy stuff . . .”
“Soon they’ll have none,” Claire says quietly.
Anies’s gaze sets on the red dot blinking in the middle of Alaska. “We’re not declaring war, Island, and there will be no unnecessary violence. All we’re doing here is establishing a new balance in the equation of nuclear dissuasion, one that will ensure our voice is heard and our word followed.”
I shake my head, a fear I can’t contain washing over me and paralyzing my body. “Please stop . . . You’re never going to rule the world.”
A laugh rises from his throat, which he coughs out, along with blood that stains his lips. “Is that what you imagined? That I’m here to proclaim some sort of global takeover?” I stay silent and let him continue, because, well . . . yeah. “I don’t care what kind of idiot or dictator holds the leash, as long as he makes the right choices. Choices that drive mankind forward and preserve our resources and civilizations. Choices that aren’t being made as we speak.” His jaw sets in determination. “Someone needs to tip the balance of the world in the right direction or else we might not even survive as a species.”
“Blackmail,” I grind out. “You’re hanging a sword of Damocles over their heads to get them to do whatever you want.”
His lips quirk. “I do intend to provide some amount of counseling . . .”
On the screen, the single red dot still blinks steadily at the center of a series of orange circles, delimiting the potential impact radius. Thirty-five miles. A blast that will not only obliterate the base but the nearest town as well. Outside, Odysseus is locking down on its target. Estimated time to cover the 218 miles of space and atmosphere separating us from Fort Greely: 43.9 seconds. Not even long enough for them to detect the missile and launch one of their interceptors.
“Fort Greely will be a simple warning,” Anies says, ice enveloping each word. “An invitation to discuss our options.”
Blood roars in my ears, and I consider begging, screaming, but I’m petrified as outside, the end of the launching ramp slides open. With small, controlled releases, Odysseus’s lateral boosters rotate us into position to face the target, like the eye of a Cyclops staring down at Earth.
Quivering with excitement, Bahjin announces that all systems are clear to launch. Claire’s fingers tremble over the keyboard. She turns to look at Anies, her gaze seeking not just his authorization, but more: reassurance . . . love, maybe. “We’re ready, sir,” she says, steadying her voice.
I’m looking at her, unaware that it’s Anies I should be looking at: when I turn around, I see his hand hovering above a touch screen integrated into the captain’s seat’s armrest. A red circle pulses steadily on the dark glass. My heart hammers against my rib cage in tune with it, each beat a deafening bang in my ears. I need to do something. I need . . . Like Odysseus’s formidable thruster, adrenaline explodes in my veins and propels my legs. It’s like the whole ship is shaking around me as I leap, so fast, so high I never thought it possible.
No, wait . . . Oh God . . . Oh shit!
I take off and fly right above Anies as the ring stalls and stops spinning, sending us all floating around like goldfish in a zero-gravity bowl. All lights go out in the command center, and the red glow of the emergency lighting bathes our weightless bodies. Anies secures his seat belt just in time, even as his legs lift effortlessly. Taken by surprise, his men float away but manage to latch onto the handles running along the walls. The Lion closest to me grabs my leg when I fly past him, his fingers crushing my ankle. I gasp in pain while, under me, Bahjin and Claire struggle to buckle up too. I vaguely register Bahjin’s voice, yelling that something went wrong with the power cells in section five of the ring and that we’re switching to auxiliary.
Within seconds, an electric hum revs up, and the lights come back. The ring resumes spinning with a low, lazy moan, and my heart plops straight into my stomach when gravity claims me again. I fall on top of one of Anies’s Lions and immediately roll away from him when the guy groans under me. He doesn’t look okay. He’s pale, and his eyebrows pinch and quiver as he struggles up. I blink at the spectacle of his agony and realize with a dash of hope that I literally busted his balls. One down, ten more to go!
“What happened? Can you fire?” Anies asks Bahjin when everyone is more or less back in place.
He doesn’t answer immediately, his fingers flying fast on his tactile keyboard as he tries to evaluate the situation. “I don’t know. It looks like a power failure in section five. Power has been restored in sections one to four and seven to twelve, but we’re disconnected from sections five to six . . . No, seven . . . seven is out too!”
“Can we fire?”
“We . . . Not yet, sir!”
Next to him, Claire orders Anies’s men to head to the damaged sections. A snarl twists her lips, and the warm brown of her skin seems to be turning gray under the artificial lights.
“What’s going on?” Anies barks. “Give me a visual.”
On the main screen, several windows pop up. External cameras: something happened to the ring in the three sections connecting to the launching ramp. The lights are out in there, and there’s a little smoke escaping section five. Holy shit, the hull is compromised!
It takes Bahjin a little while to reconnect some of the cameras. He can’t access any of those in sections five and six, but after some effort, we get a live feed from the cargo units in section seven.
Bahjin goes silent, his mouth working in vain as he takes in the scene filmed by the cameras. Anies’s fingers curl around his armrests until they turn white, and I’m thinking his bones might snap. Hope and terror lace in my chest and constrict my lungs. Three of the Lions who had been overseeing the launch in section five lie on the ground and blood is everywhere, pooling on the floor, splattered on the missile containers, staining the walls in long carmine trails.
“W-what the fuck?” Bahjin asks, typing—punching, really—on the keyboard to collect data. That’s when section eight goes dark.
Claire yells in her headset, “Omega Six, Omega Nine? Answer me!”
But those men aren’t answering either, and whoever—or whatever—killed them and just took another section of the ring offline is now progressing toward us. The command center is section twelve; we don’t have much time left.
Sweat runs in cool beads down my nape. None of this makes sense, but honestly, considering the day I’ve been having so far, I half expect to see the glistening black exoskeleton of a Xenomorph dash across section nine. But it goes dark, and I see nothing. Outside, the windows turn pitch black, as does our camera feed. I swallow hard. Maybe one of Anies’s men turned on him. Maybe he realized decent people don’t start nuclear wars with the first world power, and he said, “That ain’t right. I’m gonna eat everyone in here to stop this.” Oh God, I’m making no sense, and I don’t want to die up here, in the dark, without March.
When section ten goes dark, and Bahjin has nothing to offer but furious typing and a sweaty brow, Claire undoes her seat belt and pulls out a black gun from the holster around her thigh that looks like some prop straight from Blade Runner, with a strangely bulky barrel. “We need power in section five to fire. I’m going there,” she says, her delicate features set in a grim mask.
Anies nods for her to go, and she’s halfway to the door when the lights go out. In front of his screens, Bahjin switches from one camera to another feverishly. Section nine, section ten, nothing, nothing. Section eleven . . . on the other side of the air lock isolating the command center. His hands freeze over the keyboard as the main screen displays the silhouette of a ghost in the darkened hallway, ten feet away from the door. A shadow among shadows, revealed more clearly only when he switches to night mode. Blurred lines become a man in a pressure suit, holding two guns and standing perfectly still.
Anies’s men and Claire get in position on each side of the door while Bahjin intensifies the image to identify the newcomer. It’s weird because my heart is still thumping so hard I can hear it in my ears, but I’m no longer scared. I know before the computer is even done filtering the camera’s feed. No one else could be obstinate enough to destroy a fricking spaceship. There’s another beast onboard Odysseus, one much more dangerous than any Lion, and Anies, who gazes at the screen in fascination, a muscle twitching at the corner of his mouth, knows it.
“Who’s that?” Bahjin gasps, when the camera reveals a square, blood-soaked jaw and icy eyes staring at us.
“March,” I tell him.