Tundra 37 Read online

  “You don’t need to take any tests. You’re in.” He handed them a loc­ator. “Call your mom if you want and let her know be­fore we take off.”

  “I don’t un­der­stand.” Abysme fi­nally spoke out loud, and Mestasis jumped at the ran­cor in her sis­ter’s voice.

  “The hov­er­craft had a bad vent­il­ator. Rat drop­pings clogged the fil­ters.”

  He shook his head in as­ton­ish­ment. “I’ve seen a lot of tele­paths in my ca­reer, but never have I seen two bound to­gether in syn­chron­iz­a­tion. You girls saved our lives. You don’t have to worry about a single thing again. TINE will take care of you from now on. Be back by the hov­er­craft in five minutes, girls.” Doc­tor Fields gave them a stern glance be­fore turn­ing around.

  Abysme kicked the side of the glass with her boot. Mestasis cringed, but the wall didn’t shat­ter. The tip of her sis­ter’s boot thunked and bounced back. Even though Mestasis had se­cured their fu­ture, she couldn’t help the dirty feel­ing she’d also given away their deep­est secret and sold their souls for a bet­ter place to live.

  Abysme crossed her arms. Don’t have to worry about a single thing again, huh?

  Mestasis’s skin burned with em­bar­rass­ment on her cheeks. The situ­ation over­whelmed her. She’d lost con­trol, hand­ing their fu­ture to a man her sis­ter didn’t trust.

  If only what he said was true.

  §

  En­gine fail­ure sev­enty-eight per­cent.

  Her sis­ter’s voice brought Mestasis back to the present. She twitched her neck, cal­cu­lat­ing al­tern­at­ive en­ergy means. They had to fly the ship out of the para­met­ers of the hurt­ling comets.

  Mestasis ana­lyzed the sys­tems still on­line and pri­or­it­ized the ones less likely to cause phys­ical harm to the col­on­ists. Shut­ting off grav­it­a­tional rings, rerout­ing en­ergy from bays 4, 13, and 20.

  No mat­ter what she did, it wasn’t enough. The en­ergy gap tore at Mestasis’s soul un­til she could barely stand the pres­sure. She turned to her sis­ter, plead­ing.

  Bysme, I need your help.

  Her white eyes turned down, as if she could sud­denly see her. Her cheek twitched, the wrinkles scrunch­ing. We’ll make it, sis. Keep try­ing.

  Abysme spoke in com­mon speech pat­terns! A real per­son still rolled around in­side her fra­gile skull. Her sis­ter’s true voice urged Mestasis to fo­cus. In a frac­tion of a second, she’d figured out enough en­ergy to keep them sail­ing well away from the hurt­ling rocks.

  Clear space shone on the main sight panel, a sea of dark­ness sprinkled with twink­ling stars. The ship soared free of the danger zone.

  Mestasis breathed, feel­ing cold, reg­u­lated air sear her old lungs. She shouldn’t have taken so many breaths without her breath­ing ap­par­atus, but in that mo­ment she needed to feel alive.

  Abysme’s voiced jerked her out of her re­lief. Mis­sion to Para­dise 18 aban­doned. Seek­ing al­tern­at­ive col­on­iz­a­tion hab­itat.

  Panic rushed right back through the bolts in Mestasis’s spine. What? Change the en­tire course of the mis­sion? She shot a finicky glance at Abysme. Had her sis­ter truly lost her mind? Re­view­ing the ship’s per­form­ance and the re­main­ing func­tion­ing sys­tems, Mestasis’s hopes plummeted. They’d never make it an­other two hun­dred days in deep space, never mind two hun­dred years.

  Abysme’s cal­cu­la­tions were cor­rect. Their mis­sion to Para­dise 18 had failed.

  Dis­ap­point­ment in her­self and hope­less­ness choked her. Next came empti­ness, a black abyss of dire ob­li­vion threat­en­ing to ob­lit­er­ate her last pulses of de­term­in­a­tion. Mestasis hung limp, al­low­ing the wires to stretch dan­ger­ously far as her body weight pulled her down. She’d have given up and died in that mo­ment if it wasn’t for the shin­ing star shim­mer­ing on the edge of her sight.

  Com­pat­ible hab­itat found. Abysme drew up a star chart and Mestasis took in an­other breath.

  Tun­dra 37 lay in the star sys­tem they passed. The ini­tial read­ings re­por­ted com­pat­ible oxy­gen and car­bon di­ox­ide levels, light grav­ity, and solar ex­pos­ure, mostly on the north­ern side. A cat­egory six planet ex­per­i­en­cing an ice age; it was not op­timal for sur­vival, but cer­tainly ad­equate, bet­ter than drift­ing in deep space.

  Mestasis straightened and the wires pulled her back up.

  Change of course ap­proved.

  Chapter Three

  Messenger

  Lieu­ten­ant Brent­wood hustled down the cor­ridor clutch­ing a beep­ing loc­ator. Already thrown off by the emer­gency, he ques­tioned his sud­den urge to lean in and kiss that wo­man’s cheek. It seemed so com­mon­place, like he’d done it a thou­sand times be­fore. But he’d never met her. Was he los­ing his mind? As a lieu­ten­ant, duty al­ways came first.

  Smoke filled the ad­ja­cent cor­ridor, and he searched for an al­tern­ate route. The loc­ator showed three dots on the far side of the run­ning track above the biod­ome, and the Seers had ordered him to evac­u­ate decks eighty through ninety. He’d only made it up to eighty-four.

  He spun around and banged open an­other vent­il­ator shaft. Did the smoke in­hal­a­tion dis­tort his senses? He loved people and in­ter­ac­tions. So­cial prowess and charm came as easy to him as simple math. His mother used to call him her little sweet talker. His class had elec­ted him as senior pres­id­ent, and upon gradu­ation, the Seers had chosen him as their per­sonal mes­sen­ger, de­liv­er­ing their de­cisions to the con­greg­a­tion in his smooth-toned speeches. But that wo­man had thrown him off his mark.

  Even now the in­tens­ity of her pres­ence af­fected him. His tongue still stuck to the bot­tom of his mouth. She wasn’t a blonde bomb­shell, or an ag­gress­ively sly up­per of­ficer. She was the Match­maker, a shy com­puter ana­lyst, with freckles speck­ling her cheeks, sleek nut­meg hair, and smoky gray eyes. Noth­ing about her screamed in­tim­id­a­tion, yet she pos­sessed a subtle draw, pulling him in. Maybe his re­ac­tion to her had some­thing to do with her job. She held his des­tiny in an im­port­ant way. As the sole match­maker of her gen­er­a­tion, she’d de­cide his lifemate, his match.

  The alarm wailed in his ear. He real­ized he stood frozen be­fore the shaft, breath­ing in smoke-clogged air. He shook his head and climbed. She in­terfered with his job, and this was no time for such thoughts. He had more people to save. The dots on the loc­ator beeped anxiously as far cries for help.

  Crawl­ing through the air­shaft, he re­viewed his op­tions. The Seers had locked off decks eighty-six through ninety, and the loc­ator traced the vi­tal signs to eighty-seven, smack in the middle of the de­pres­sur­iz­ing zone. Maybe they they’d found an air bubble. Brent­wood ground his teeth to­gether in de­term­in­a­tion. He’d find a way to reach it.

  He found a vent to an al­tern­ate cor­ridor. He kicked in the metal grat­ing and jumped down. Bring­ing up a blue­print of the ship on his min­is­creen, he stud­ied how to reach them. The main cor­ridor lead­ing to the up­per decks had been com­prom­ised and the Seers had sanc­tioned it off, with­draw­ing air pres­sure to con­serve en­ergy and reroute it else­where.

  An air­tight ser­vice shaft filled with cables ran ad­ja­cent to the cor­ridor. He could crawl through and emerge in the hy­draul­ics room, which con­trolled the aer­obics pool and the spin cycle bikes. The track lay just bey­ond that.

  Brent­wood pulled out his laser gun and fired three shots at the chrome wall. He’d dam­age the cables, but no one would be us­ing the ex­er­cise room any time soon. A hole big enough to squeeze into sizzled in the laser fire. He waited for the metal to cool enough to touch it and climbed in.

  The ser­rated cables, thick as his fist, made for ex­cel­lent ropes. He brought him­self up, si­lently thank­ing all the pull-ups his fit­ness coach had shouted out in his class years. His muscles tightened as he
grasped a hand­hold and heaved. Thank­fully, if the three Lifers weren’t hurt, it would be easier to bring them down.

  The shaft bent at a right angle, and he hauled him­self over the edge, catch­ing his breath. The blue­print on his min­is­creen shone fluor­es­cent green into the dark­ness. He’d reached halfway. The cold wire rubbed against his stom­ach as he crawled over the cables. He used the screen to light the shaft ahead, cast­ing a ghostly glow on old spider webs and rat nests, the off­spring of the test sub­jects taken on the Ex­ped­i­tion in the first gen­er­a­tion. The sides of the shaft pressed in on him. He groped with his arm to judge the dis­tance. Had it been this nar­row be­fore?

  He checked his loc­ator. One meter sep­ar­ated him and the place where the floor hovered close enough to blast through. The cables dug into his torso as he squeezed him­self for­ward and the cold sank into his bones like a dis­ease. His toes numbed and his fin­gers throbbed. Only three meters of metal sep­ar­ated him from deep space, and the Seers had cut off all heat to the outer decks. The tem­per­at­ure dropped every second he spent in the shaft.

  The Seers’ voices came on his in­ter­com, start­ling him.

  “Lieu­ten­ant, turn around.”

  He brought his arm up and squeezed the but­ton on his lapel. “I’m fol­low­ing or­ders, evac­u­at­ing the up­per levels.”

  The mono­tone voices buzzed back. “Deck eighty seven will col­lapse any minute. Re­turn to the emer­gency cham­ber im­me­di­ately. I re­peat: turn around.”

  An­ger formed a boulder in his chest. He growled, “I can save them.”

  The cold ma­chine-wo­men had no right to shut off hu­man life, no mat­ter what the con­sequences. Fury turned to de­term­in­a­tion, burn­ing within him, keep­ing him warm. He slid on his el­bows un­til he reached the end of the shaft. His read­ings re­por­ted the at­mo­sphere hold­ing stable. He dragged out his laser and fired up into the floor.

  A warmer gush of air flowed in. Flash­ing red lights il­lu­min­ated the ceil­ing of the fit­ness bay. Brent­wood pulled him­self up. If he read the min­is­creen cor­rectly, the up­per deck had lost its pres­sure and the hull buckled above his head.

  He moved to run, but his feet rose from the floor.

  “Damn.” The Seers had shut down the grav­ity rings. What next? Lower the oxy­gen levels as well?

  Bubbles of wa­ter from the pool jiggled in the air like gi­ant amoe­bas. Brent­wood flailed his arms as he floated out of con­trol. He struggled to pull him­self to­gether, but the dizzi­ness swim­ming in his head made it dif­fi­cult.

  Beeps cried out between each pulse of alarm, bring­ing him back to at­ten­tion.

  The three col­on­ists. He had to reach them and get them to safety.

  A pool net floated by and he lurched out his arm and grabbed onto it. He spun un­der the new weight, but re­gained bal­ance. Swinging the pole, he caught a wall light. Pulling him­self to the wall, hand over hand on the pole, he gripped the bulb. Us­ing hand­holds along the wall, he worked his way to the dis­tance track.

  “Hello? Any­one in there?”

  The alarm drowned out his words. He felt like the last sur­vivor of a ship­wreck, left to wander alone as it broke apart around him with no an­chors to hold onto. The thought of be­ing the only man still alive made his stom­ach wretch more than the light grav­ity. He didn’t even like work­ing in an of­fice by him­self.

  He checked the loc­ator, and the green dots were lar­ger.

  “Hello?” His voice echoed down the bay.

  He ducked as a hov­er­chair floated by in a me­an­der­ing arc, sput­ter­ing as the thrusters flared out of con­trol. The seat was up­side down and va­cant, straps dangling.

  A screech echoed so loud he thought his ears would bleed. The ceil­ing warped un­der the de­creas­ing pres­sure. Res­ist­ing the urge to panic, Brent­wood kicked his legs against the wall and floated over the bright or­ange track.

  Three people wear­ing white ci­vil­ian jump­suits floated in the corner next to the sealed portal. Two girls clutched each other, shiv­er­ing, while a young man tampered with the portal panel.

  One of the girls spot­ted him and waved him over. “Over here. We’re try­ing to get through.”

  Brent­wood yelled back. “You won’t make it.”

  They didn’t hear him, or chose to ig­nore his com­ment.

  Damn it. He kicked his legs like a swim­mer in molasses, wish­ing he could run again. “You have to come back this way with me.”

  As he drif­ted closer, one of the girls re­cog­nized his navy lieu­ten­ant’s uni­form and pulled the boy back.

  “Dam­mit, Daryl! We’re in trouble now.”

  The boy swat­ted her away and pulled a clump of wires out of the wall. “I’ve al­most got it.”

  Brent­wood ordered, “Don’t open it.”

  The boy whirled around and glared with de­fi­ance. “I’m try­ing to get us out of here.”

  Brent­wood pulled him­self within arm’s reach. “There’s no at­mo­sphere on the other side. The Seers sealed the cor­ridor.”

  The smal­ler of the two girls covered her face with her hands. Her mal­formed legs hung limp in the air. Even with the Match­maker’s double check on ge­netic cal­cu­la­tions, birth an­om­alies still mani­fes­ted. They could only tame so much of nature and the small ge­netic pool made it more dif­fi­cult to keep each sub­sequent gen­er­a­tion healthy. That’s why they had ana­lysts like Gemme Reiner giv­ing the cold com­puter ana­lysis a double check with a hu­man touch. Com­puters weren’t al­ways per­fect.

  Brent­wood made a point not to draw at­ten­tion to her. Thank good­ness for the zero grav­ity. He could never fit her hov­er­chair down the cable shaft.

  He put a re­as­sur­ing hand on her arm. “What’s your name, hon?”

  She peeked from un­der a fin­ger. “Vira. That’s my sis­ter, Rizzy.”

  Rizzy stared at him as if he’d flown them into the comets single­han­dedly. “How are we go­ing to get out?”

  “Us­ing an en­ergy cable shaft. It’s a tight squeeze.” He looked at their boney bod­ies. “Any­one hurt?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Come on. We don’t have much time.”

  They floated across the track like ghosts in a dead land. His emo­tions surged when he looked into their young faces. How could any­one leave them to die here? They had par­ents, broth­ers, sis­ters, and friends. They weren’t a math equa­tion, not to him. He wondered if the Seers had dis­coun­ted Vira be­cause of her han­di­cap. Maybe they thought she wouldn’t make it either way. Brent­wood’s chest tightened. He’d make sure she sur­vived, even if it meant stay­ing be­hind him­self. The Seers wouldn’t un­der­stand. They’d cal­cu­late it as an un­even trade. His an­ger surged, and he grit­ted his teeth to­gether, fo­cus­ing his en­ergy on sav­ing them.

  They reached the hole he’d blas­ted through the floor. Brent­wood handed Daryl his min­is­creen.

  “Use the screen to see ahead and watch out for a drop in four meters.”

  “Yes, sir.” Daryl took the device and dis­ap­peared into the dark­ness. Brent­wood nudged Rizzy down into the hole next, won­der­ing how he’d get Vira through. He much rather hold her, but the nar­row shaft pre­ven­ted it.

  “Hold onto my boots, and I’ll pull you through.”

  “Okay.” The de­term­in­a­tion in her voice made him proud of her cour­age.

  The metal ceil­ing screeched as Vira’s small fin­gers grabbed his ankles. He plunged into the hole, pulling Vira be­hind him. Soon the deck would cave un­der the pres­sure. He thought of call­ing on the Seers, but he knew they’d already done what they could. He would have to hustle the kids to the lower decks. Good thing the Seers seemed busy with sav­ing the ship.

  “Let’s go, guys. Be care­ful, but crawl as fast as you can.”

  Rizzy squeaked in dis­gust. “There are
rats down here.”

  Brent­wood tried to con­sole her, “They’re harm­less, just rem­nants of old ex­per­i­ments that man­aged to es­cape.”

  She hal­ted in front of him, his head stuck un­der her feet. Be­hind him, metal crumbled and a fa­mil­iar gush of air blew by him as deep space sucked their at­mo­sphere out. He didn’t want her to panic, so he tried a tech­nique he used on his little brother to make him eat his ve­get­ables. Just think of the dessert in the end, little dude.

  “Just think of be­ing down on the safer decks. Be­ing free.”

  “I’d rather think of not be­ing sucked into space,” she called back, half gig­gling, half cry­ing.

  He laughed. “That’s true too. Whatever works. Just keep go­ing.”

  The route back seemed longer than the climb in. The suc­tion of air in­creased un­til Rizzy’s long hair stood out be­hind her like a cape, and he could feel his own wavy locks blown back so hard, he’d be left bald by the time they cleared the shaft.

  “Vira, hold on tightly.”

  He felt her un­lace his boots and tie the strings around her wrists.

  Vira shouted, “What’s wrong with the air?”

  He whipped his head around, swal­lowed his mis­giv­ings and forced him­self to wink. “Just a small leak. We’re al­most there.”

  When they reached the angle, the shaft widened, and Vira wrapped her arms around his neck. He pulled him­self and Vira down be­hind Daryl and Rizzy. They emerged from the laser hole into the cor­ridor. The bright fluor­es­cent lights re­as­sured him, but his lungs worked harder to breathe the thin air. A steady gust pulled them back­ward and he clutched the portal panel, pulling them through against the suc­tion.

  “Brace yourselves against the portal frame.”

  Once Rizzy and Daryl cleared the portal, he slammed his fist on the panel be­hind them and the particles re­ma­ter­i­al­ized, seal­ing the re­main­ing at­mo­sphere in.

  His ears rang in the si­lence. He stopped and drew a long breath of re­lief.

  “What were you guys do­ing up there so early?”