Malfunction, page 3
In his opinion, most of those who had succeeded were bland and boring and had the character of a pile of horse shit.
When the news had come out that Earth was failing, all the countries of the world had joined together to form the Federation of Nations, under the presidency of Max Beauchamp. Though Logan was convinced that if old Max had had to undergo the vetting process then his feet would never have left the ground. The man was a fuckwit. But that was politicians for you.
The lights blinked off, leaving the room in near darkness, the only illumination the stars on the screens all around them. It lasted only seconds before they came back on.
Pryce hadn’t been lying—the ship was falling apart around them. What was the chance of finding a planet capable of sustaining life before it disintegrated totally, spilling its precious cargo—and him—into space? Not a happy thought.
“At ease, sergeant.” The captain waved him to a table where Pryce sat reading something on a laptop in front of him. He glanced up as they approached and rose to his feet before sinking down again and sliding the laptop across to Logan, along with a weapons belt and a comm unit. Logan fastened the belt at his waist and slid the comm unit onto his wrist, clicking it shut. Then he took the chair opposite and scanned the report on the laptop.
Ten lots of Chosen Ones had died in their cryotubes over a period of five years. And the frequency was escalating. He got to the end and looked up. “So the shuttle bringing Caldwell back exploded? Any sign of any foul play?”
“None we can find,” Pryce replied. “But then the shuttle disintegrated, so there was no evidence to examine.”
“Did we get his report from the Trakis Two before he blew up?”
“No. He was planning to debrief us when he got back.”
It looked like a trip to the Trakis Two was first on his to-do list. See what Caldwell had discovered.
The captain nudged him with her stick. “Are you up to this, son?” She was still standing—probably scared if she sat down she would never get up again.
And Christ, he hated it when officers called him son. He wasn’t anyone’s son. “I’ll do my best, ma’am.”
“Good. I have no doubt that you’ll find there’s nothing untoward occurring. That the deaths are due to a malfunction and nothing more.” Was there a not-so-subtle hint there? Was Logan expected to bring a result in of malfunction and not rock the boat? “It’s inconceivable that we would have a traitor in the fleet,” the captain continued. “It would be drastic for morale.”
Yeah, so that meant it couldn’t be true. There was definitely a warning in there—the captain was telling him she didn’t want a traitor found in the fleet, whether there was one or not.
He felt a brief stab of disappointment. He’d hoped the old crap had been left behind. But what choice did he have? If he didn’t give them what they wanted, likely he’d be straight back in cryo. And he suspected, considering the state of the ship, this time there would be no waking up. And on balance—he’d rather not die in a cryotube.
On the other hand, maybe it was a malfunction. Logan didn’t know enough yet to make any sort of guess as to the cause of the deaths. And he had to admit a traitor was unlikely. The vetting process had been intense. He gave her his most sincere smile. “I’ll get to the bottom of it, ma’am.”
“I’m sure you will. Are you a member of the Church, Sergeant?”
“No, ma’am.” By Church, he presumed she meant the Church of Everlasting Life. He knew from her file that Stevens was a designated member. All the crew rotations had one—to look after their spiritual well-being.
In the years leading up to the exodus, the old religions had all but disappeared, overtaken in popularity by a new faith, the Church of Everlasting Life, which also happened to be the chosen religion of their great leader, President Max Beauchamp—the fuckwit. Their members were zealots, who believed that a divine hand was guiding the faithful to a new and better world.
“Even so, you must let God guide you in your investigation.”
“I’ll do that, ma’am.” Not. The captain’s comm unit buzzed, and she raised it to face level, peered at it, a line forming between her brows. “I have to take a call,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She walked to the other side of the bridge and turned away.
Logan finished reading the report. “Do you have any thoughts on the matter, sir?” he asked Pryce. “Any ideas you want to share?”
“None.”
Pryce sounded almost happy about it. Maybe he didn’t want Logan to succeed—he’d probably already settled his mind on the captain’s malfunction scenario. Ass kisser. “I’ll need files on the active crew members.”
“Keep the laptop,” Pryce said. “I’ll send the files over to you.”
“Thank you.”
Stevens came back, the frown still between her eyes. “That was the captain of the Trakis Two. Apparently, he’s sending someone over to help with the investigation. A Detective Mendoza—some hotshot homicide detective back on Earth. I said they weren’t needed, we had our own man on the job, but he’d already woken them up and they’re on a shuttle heading here.”
“So we tell him to turn back,” Pryce said. “We don’t need some bloody civilian poking his nose where it’s not wanted.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late. They’re approaching the docking bay now. Besides, a second set of eyes might give the investigation more credibility. People need to see us working together on this, setting an example. And I’m sure Sergeant Farrell will steer them in the right direction.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“Good. We’ll head over there now.”
As they stepped off the bridge, a shudder ran through the ship, and a grating of metal on metal came from somewhere above them. Logan stumbled against the wall then found his footing. What the—
A soothing voice spoke over the ship’s comm system.
Do not panic. Do not leave your stations. This is a minor malfunction of the primary stabilizers and will be resolved shortly.
The vibration stopped just as the captain’s comm unit buzzed. She glanced at it then tapped something in and frowned.
“I’m afraid we’re needed in the engine room,” she said. “But I’ve asked our Scientific Officer to take over. She’ll be along shortly to show you to the docking bay and then answer any questions you have.”
Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away, Pryce behind her. Logan stood staring after them, waiting for something else to go wrong, and wondering how long he had left to live.
At the sound of footsteps, he turned. A woman strode toward him, wearing the crew uniform of black pants, boots, and a red shirt. The uniform suited her a hell of a lot better than it did the captain or Pryce. Somewhere in her mid-thirties, she was tall, with blond hair that reached her shoulders, and dark blue eyes.
She came to a halt in front of him and smiled—the first genuine smile he’d seen on anyone since he’d woken. “Sergeant Farrell?” He nodded, and she held out her hand. “I’m Scientific Officer Langdon. Layla. I understand you’re taking over the investigation into the cryotube malfunctions.”
That was interesting. Did everyone think it was a malfunction—or was this more wishful thinking? “So you don’t think it’s murder?” he asked.
She actually chuckled. “Good heavens, no. Why would anyone kill the Chosen Ones?”
Excellent question. He was damned if he could come up with a motive.
“And to be honest,” she continued, “I’m surprised we haven’t had more incidents.”
He could feel his enthusiasm draining away fast. He’d thought he’d been woken to do something useful, to find a killer. Instead, it was just going through the motions and coming up with an answer he’d already been handed.
They walked side by side down another identical corridor. The lights flashed off and on again. It didn’t fill him with a lot of confidence. If something as simple as the lighting system was failing, it didn’t bode well for the rest of the ship.
“Is this usual?” he asked, waving a hand toward the lights above them.
“For the last year or so,” Layla replied. “The engineers do a wonderful job, but we’ve almost run out of spare parts.”
That didn’t sound good. “What about the other ships? Are they in the same situation?”
“Out of the ships left, yes, we’re pretty much all in the same state. The Trakis Two is the only one that never seems to request assistance. No malfunctions as yet.”
“Except for the cryotubes.” If he remembered rightly. “Wasn’t that where the audit picked up the first dead people?”
“Of course. You’re right. But otherwise we never seem to hear from them, so everything must be going well. The others call us every now and then and ask for backup, spares, engineering help, supplies. Not that we’re in much of a position to help. We’re out of nearly everything ourselves.”
That sounded grim. Though she appeared optimistic. Maybe she hadn’t been around long enough for her enthusiasm to be tested. “How long have you been out of cryo?” he asked.
“Ten years. I was the last crew member to be woken up. Before that, it was Caldwell.”
“The exploding security officer?”
She gave him a look of reproach but nodded. “And before that, Travis—Major Pryce.”
That sucked for her. She must be considerably younger than the rest of the crew.
“What’s the story with the captain?” he asked. “She looks like a walking corpse. How come she’s so old?” They’d estimated an average fifty-year stint for each crew member. Though that wasn’t set in stone. Stevens had been thirty-five at the time the ships had set off. She looked way past eighty-five now.
“There was an unexpected death. An accident involving the ninth captain—one of the power cells exploded. He’d only been awake a few years. It messed things up a little. Stevens has been captain for over eighty years.”
That was cutting things close. The average lifespan was around a hundred and twenty—it had increased in the last decades before they left Earth, due to advances in medicine. But maybe the captain didn’t want to go back into cryo, even if she could find a replacement. After all, she knew how bad the situation was and must be aware she’d likely never wake up. Climbing into that cryotube would be like climbing into a coffin while you were still alive.
Layla gave a weak smile. “She’s still an excellent captain, though a little…forgetful at times. All the same, we’re going to be in trouble if she dies without training a replacement.”
“Though likely not for very long,” Logan said as the lights flickered again.
“Do you have family in the fleet?” she asked.
“No. But I’m part of the military selection, so we didn’t get the option to bring family.” Even if he’d had any to bring. Which he didn’t. “How about you?”
“No. I’m alone in the world as well.” She touched his arm briefly. “I’m glad they woke you up. It will be good to have someone younger to talk to, to bounce ideas off. The others…they’re good people, but they’re so set in their ways.”
Yeah, he could imagine that would happen, stuck in an enclosed place with the same people for years on end. He’d probably go off his head.
Finally, they halted in front of a set of wide double doors. Layla pressed her hand to the panel, and nothing happened. She cast him an apologetic smile then gritted her teeth and thumped the panel with her fist. The doors creaked open to reveal a huge, cavernous room, crammed from floor to ceiling with stuff. Boxes and crates, piles of things they would need to set up home on a new planet.
They wound their way between the heaps of machinery, metalwork, cases of…weapons. Even a couple of goddamn tanks. He liked tanks.
At the far side of the room was a big empty space where Layla came to a halt. Logan looked around, trying to work out how the shuttle would enter. He was about to ask when the wall in front of him slowly lifted, and there it was. Small, sleek, and shiny silver, a spaceship in miniature.
Damn, she was pretty.
It was love at first sight.
Oh, hell yeah. In that moment, he decided he would give them their malfunction result, if that’s what they wanted, but only after he’d flown in that shuttle.
She glided into the room and landed gently on the docking bay floor as the wall slid closed behind her. For a minute, nothing happened. Then the shuttle doors slid open, and a figure emerged at the top of the ramp.
Detective Mendoza?
He grinned.
Not what he’d been expecting. And clearly, from her appearance, someone who didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought of her. He liked that.
The detective was small and scruffy and cute as hell. She was dressed in a ripped flannel shirt and jeans, with a cloud of black hair around a heart-shaped face and dark glasses propped on a small, straight nose. Her fists were clenched at her sides and her lips clamped in a tight line. She looked like a tiny, angry kitten.
Maybe the investigation might turn out interesting after all.
Chapter Four
Nothing to worry my pretty little head over?
Katia ground her teeth as Rico’s words echoed in her mind. She was going to kill the vampire. Rip his heart out and bite off his goddamn head.
He’d told her the side effect was minor, just a little control issue, that it would pass in a matter of minutes…
Instead, she’d spent the whole trip here pacing the small space, wrestling the change that clawed at her insides. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had control problems. Not since the early years.
Now her cat wanted out, and she was scrabbling and yowling for freedom. Not happening. What if she shifted and then couldn’t shift back? What if she arrived at the Trakis One and they opened the shuttle and found a goddamn cat instead of a detective?
That would make an excellent first impression.
And she was ravenous. Hunger was tying knots in her empty stomach. But then she had a fast metabolism and she hadn’t eaten in five hundred years.
Even so, she’d managed to retain a modicum of control, had succeeded in not shifting completely, but body parts kept getting away from her. Right now, claws poked into the palms of her clenched fists and her fingers were furry. And she knew, behind the stupid dark glasses, her eyes would be feral. Which meant she didn’t dare take them off, and she must look a complete ass—who wore freaking shades on a spaceship? Rico, obviously. But who else?
She stood at the top of the ramp, bag slung over her shoulder, and squinted down at the welcoming committee below her. Between the glasses and the dim lighting, she could hardly see a thing. Two people. A man and a woman. The woman wore black pants tucked into black boots and a red fitted shirt. The man wore an army uniform, sergeant’s stripes on his arm. They both looked cool and immaculate, and she glanced down at her own outfit. A growl trickled from her throat; at some point, she’d shredded the right side of her shirt, so it hung in tatters.
Maybe she should back up into the shuttle and lock the doors. If she’d had any clue how to fly the freaking thing, she might have done just that, flown straight back to the Trakis Two, and told Rico where he could stuff his investigation. But she didn’t know how to fly—the shuttle had been programmed to come here, and she’d been ordered not to touch anything. Right now, she hadn’t a clue how to even switch the thing on, so she wasn’t going anywhere.
Which meant she would have to suck it up and hope nobody noticed the furry finger thing—no shaking hands. Why couldn’t Rico have given her some goddamn gloves? She ran her tongue over her teeth and felt the sharp prick of a fang. No smiling, either. Somehow, she didn’t think that was going to be a problem.
She rolled her shoulders and blew out her breath. She could do this.
But as she stepped down the ramp, claws raked down her insides, and she stumbled. Then the lights flickered and died, leaving her in complete darkness. The ship shuddered and the ramp shook beneath her feet, and she was falling, hitting the ramp hard and then sliding. She eventually skidded to a halt at the bottom and lay there, winded.
How to make an impressive entrance.
If the lights stayed off, maybe she could crawl away and hide…wait until Rico’s “minor” side effect wore off. She could say she got lost in the dark. Except at that moment, the lights flickered back on.
She was lying on her back at the bottom of the ramp, a hand reaching out to her. She glared then realized the expression was wasted behind the dark glasses. Ignoring the helping hand, she scrambled to her feet, fumbled the glasses back into place, and shoved her claws into her pockets. Then she raised her gaze and stared into the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen. A gray shading to mauve, almost purple. Unusual enough to make her pause and hold her attention. They held a mixture of interest, concern, and amusement.
Yeah, she was so funny.
Someone cleared their throat, and Katia tore her gaze away and blinked.
The woman in the red shirt stepped forward, a somewhat forced smile on her face. “Detective Mendoza?” Her tone was dubious.
Katia guessed she wasn’t what they’d been expecting, but then she was used to totally underwhelming the people she met. Even at the best of times, she didn’t look like a typical homicide detective. As Rico had pointed out, she was too petite, too young-looking. And sometimes just too damn furry. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m Scientific Officer Langdon. Layla. Welcome to the Trakis One.”
The woman was tall. Blonde and beautiful. And she smelled so good. Like warm flesh and fresh blood. Yum. Saliva flooded her mouth, and she leaned in…sniffing in the scent, licking her lips.
