I don’t wait. I slide away backward, never taking my eyes from him. My hand crunches against the remains of the holotracker, a casualty of the scuffle. I frown and toss it aside. Leaning against one of the file cabinets, I can feel the energy flowing back through me. I pull myself to my feet.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I say. “Aren’t you a little young to be part of the resistance?”
The kid’s still sprawled where I left him, amidst the remains of the monitor and the med tech. Eyeing me. Unblinking. Still, except for the rise and fall of his chest. That’s when I notice the case tucked under one arm.
Before he can stop me, I hunch over him and rip it free, staring at the text stenciled on its face.
GX07.
This is it. This is what Valerian sent us here for. This is what they want to make sure doesn’t get into the resistance’s hands. The others are looking for this in Med Lab 10. This kid beat them to it.
The speakers crackle to life again with the warning message: Attention all personnel. The self-destruct sequence will be initiated in T-Minus five minutes. Proceed to evacuation vehicles at once.
The boy lunges for the case, but I push him back down, straddling him until I have him pinned and he’s squirming beneath me. What if it’s all connected to the same virus that Digory and I were infected with during the Trials? What if Digory’s in this facility, in cryo, and whatever’s in this case is a cure for the virus?
Running feet approach. There’s no time to speculate.
The only thing I know is that if the Establishment wants the contents of this case, this GX07, I mustn’t let them have it, even if it means giving it up myself.
I pull the boy to his feet and thrust the container back at him. “I’m on your side. I’m the one that shut down the Emporiums. Now go on! Get out of here!”
He stares at me for a split second with a mixture of suspicion and confusion. Then he grabs the case and flees.
As fast as I can, I backtrack the way I came, through the maze of blinking emergency lights and dimly lit passages, darting into the elevator just as the others round the corner and dash inside with me.
“Spark!” Leander shouts. “We didn’t find it. Get us the hell topside now before this bitch blows!”
Behind him, Leander, Dahlia, Rodrigo, and Arrah form a grim tableaux, breathless.
I release the elevator brake and jam my fist against the button that will take us to the roof. We brace ourselves as the car begins zooming up at a breakneck speed.
Rodrigo shoves me. “Where the hell were you coming from? You were supposed to stay put!”
“I heard some shots. Thought you guys might need backup.”
Arrah stares me down. “I tracked movement coming from Medical Records. Two heat signatures.”
I shrug. “Instead of you guys, I found one of this station’s personnel. But he’d been mortally wounded and died pretty quickly before he could tell me what happened. Then I hightailed it back here.”
“This is Flame Squad,” Dahlia barks into her wrist-com, mercifully interrupting. “We’re on our way topside to the rendezvous point. Requesting confirmation. Over.”
A burst of static. “Affirmative Flame Squad,” Valerian responds. “On the way. We’re not sure we’re going to be able to recover you in time. Requesting confirmation that you retrieved the biological agent. Over.”
Leander and Rodrigo look at each other and sigh, all trace of bravado gone. Arrah’s face looks grim. Before Dahlia can answer, I grip her wrist-com and smash it against the railing.
She glares at me. “What the hell did you do that for?”
I shake my head. “Do you want out of here or not?”
The car lurches to a halt and the elevator doors burst open. Then we’re all scrambling outside and grabbing onto the transport harnesses dangling from the Vulture that’s hovering above us. As soon as we’ve all grabbed on, the aircraft zooms us away—just as the research facility disappears in a deafening roar and a blinding ball of fire that singes through our suits.
If Digory’s body was in cryo in that facility, it’s gone now. Forever.
Once we’ve been hauled back on board, we’re greeted by Valerian’s anxious face. “Where is it? Did you get the case?”
Dahlia shakes her head. “That’s a negative, Sir. By the time we got to Med Lab 10, it was already gone. We searched a few of the surrounding labs but found nothing.”
Valerian looks like she’s been physically struck. No doubt her superiors won’t be happy either.
I clear my throat. “I’m sorry we failed, Sir. At least it’s nice to know you would have come back for us no matter what.”
Valerian surveys the room, then pins me with a glare. “Quite right, Spark. The important thing is that the station and the insurrectionists who attacked it have been destroyed.” Her words drip with disdain. “How fortunate for us all.”
My gaze wanders to the others, then out the cabin windows to the destroyed facility, then back to Valerian.
“They don’t call me Lucky for nothing.”
FIVE
Along with my fellow trainees, I spend the next few days back home in the Parish under quarantine at Imposer headquarters. We’re confined to the stark medical ward of CKT, the centralized knowledge tower located in the Citadel of Truth. I lie flat on my back, tethered to a series of IVs that burrow into my skin like icy worms. Although Valerian and the medical staff assure us it’s just a precaution, since the infection that contaminated the research facility isn’t communicable except through direct contact with the bloodstream, the concern chiseled into the stone of their expressions doesn’t necessarily inspire confidence. Nor does the fact that every time I ask just what disease, exactly, was set loose in Asclepius Valley, all I get is some mumbled gibberish about viral anomalies.
If anything, everyone—ranging from Valerian and the other Imposers to the doctors to my fellow trainees—seems more concerned about what I was doing in Medical Records and what exactly I saw there.
“So when you found the body of the med tech,” Valerian asks for the umpteenth time after the incident, “you were never exposed to any viral agents, Spark? Nor did you see any evidence that any data was compromised, correct?”
No matter how many different ways she or any of the others phrase that question, my answer remains the same. “No, Sir. I picked up a stray heat signature on my tracker, heard gunfire, and when the others didn’t return, I left my post to investigate and provide backup. The sector was in disarray and the med tech died a few seconds later. Then I returned to rendezvous with the rest of Flame Squad.”
In spite of some eye-narrowing here and there, extensive jotting of notes in pads and com screens, I get a lot of nods and “I see’s,” so I figure I’m in the clear. For now.
Pellets of ice ping against the window by my bed; hail that melts into slush, frosty tears that trickle down the glass. From up in this tower I can take in the familiar sight of huge, rusty pipes coughing up plumes of obsidian smoke that stain the fresh-falling snow. By the time it reaches the cobblestone streets, the white powder will look more like flecks of grime.
Yep. I’m home.
The other trainees have barely talked to me. The general consensus seems to be that somehow my inexperience and recklessness might have caused me to be exposed to the biological agent, and I’m responsible for everyone having to spend their first couple days back home in the sick tank. This completely ignores the fact that they were all busy wandering around sub-level three, possibly exposed to the same contagion that infected all those other poor souls.