Legacy Code (16 page)

“Answer me, Raines. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Yes, sir.”

“You do not speak of this mission. Not to anyone.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Recyc those things,” he said, pointing to Era’s belongings, “then meet me at command level lounge. The president wants to brief you. Don’t get caught.”

He turned and strode down the corridor, silver metal case in his grasp, and didn’t look back.

Tadeo wiped the sweat from his brow and started running. A rush of adrenaline surged through his veins as he headed down a side corridor. He sprinted past dented metal walls and turned left at the first cross-corridor, toward stairwell C. The main stairwell met this sector, and if he didn’t get through it fast enough, the emergency crew might see him.

Most of the fleet’s recent traitors had been subs, working down here. Miles of dark corridors, hidden spaces to do things you didn’t want to be caught doing. The sublevels were the seedy underbelly of every ship—the place where you could get away with breaking the rules. Kit resurfaced in his mind, along with the thrill he’d felt every time he’d broken the rules with her. This felt like that. Exciting. 
Forbidden.

The corridor widened, and high ceilings replaced the cramped feel of the earlier sectors. The hum of the power core was even louder here, and the acrid scent of hot metal reached his nostrils. He slowed to a walk to get his bearings.

Tangles of thick metal pipes extended deep into the sector on either side of him, and a low barrier comprised of metal slats separated the walkway from the pipes. Was this sector heating—or life support? He was certain this was the way to stairwell C, but he didn’t know the sublevel sectors well on this ship.

Loud voices echoed down the corridor and seemed to bounce off the ceiling and meld with the vibrations of the core. Another shot of adrenaline spiked through Tadeo, and his heart beat a wild rhythm against his rib cage. He could 
not
 be seen down here.

He glanced around, but there was nowhere to hide unless he leapt over the barrier. The space between the metal slats and the pipes left barely enough room to stand, and he didn’t have protective gear on. 
Let’s hope they aren’t heating.

He leaned over the barrier closest to him and spit. His saliva hit the nearest pipe and oozed down the rusted metal. Not heating, then.

The voices grew louder. Tadeo dropped Era’s belongings over the divide and took one more look down the empty corridor. Then he leapt over the barrier sideways, wedging his body in the tight space.

Every muscle tensed as he peered out between the slats, and sweat burned his eyes. Would they come this way? Would they see him? His navy blue guard uniform might blend in with the dirty gray color of the pipes behind him. Maybe.

He should be afraid, worried, but all he felt was a thrill at the thought of getting caught. Then he saw it.

Kak.

His shift card lay on the floor, bright white against the grease-stained tiles. His throat constricted, and the thrill faded. His card must have been knocked off his suit when he dove over the barrier. If the subs saw it and picked it up, they’d know he was down here when Era died.

“The maintenance airlock,” one of them called.

They were close. Too close for him to get to the card in time.

“Sector seven,” yelled another.

Tadeo held his breath and counted the sets of boots as they pounded past. Four sets. The sublevel emergency crew.

Not a single boot touched his card.

When their voices receded, he let out a breath, waited several more seconds, then hauled himself over the divide. He grabbed Era’s gear, shoved his card in his pocket, and took off down the corridor.

His chest lightened, and a giddy feeling overtook him, the old feeling of doing something wrong and getting away with it.

He sprinted faster, pushing himself, and his muscles responded, remembering what it was like when he had free run of the 
Meso
. How he’d run the open levels of the deka he grew up on for miles and miles.

He didn’t slow down until he reached stairwell C.

Tadeo bounded up the stairs, the only sound his own boots echoing through the shaft. No one should be moving through here at this hour, not during night shift—since the president had instituted a mandatory curfew.

As he rounded each landing, his gaze hit the numbers engraved in the metal doors. When he reached level seven, command level, his legs ached from his rapid ascent. He rested his hands on his knees and took deep breaths. There would normally be guards standing here, but not tonight. Chief had made sure of that. He almost smiled at his success.

I just airlocked a girl.

A sick feeling raced through him, killing his buzz. He wiped his brow and unzipped his pocket to draw out his shift card.

When he passed it over the scanner, a red light came on. The scanner beeped a warning.

Bloody piece of kak.
 He ran the card again. Another beep, and the red light blinked, insistent he didn’t have the clearance to access this level.

Tadeo stiffened and slowly looked down at the card in his hand. It was scuffed, dirt and grease embedded in the scratched surface. It was far too filthy for the brief moment it had been on the sublevel floor. Tadeo turned it over, and his heart rate sped up again as he saw the name stamped on the card.

DRITAN CORINTH.

Era’s 
husband’s
 shift card. He fought the urge to drop the thing. Dritan had died on mining duty on Soren, but before that, he’d worked in the sublevels. They’d used his card to access the airlock, so it would look like Era had taken advantage of her husband’s access to kill herself.

Now it would be logged into the system 
after
 Era had supposedly used it to commit suicide out a maintenance airlock. He’d fucked up. Majorly.

Tadeo shoved the card back in his pocket and clutched Era’s boots and suit closer, hands trembling as he patted his other pockets for his own card. He briefly considered going back down a level and taking a different route.

If anyone checked the records…

But they wouldn’t. No one would check. They had no reason to. Chief gave the orders, and he knew what really happened. There’d be no real investigation. And if there was, Chief would take care of it. Everyone would believe Era went out the airlock with that card.

He found his own and took a deep breath as he passed it over the scanner. This time the light turned green.

Selene Hayes is a genetic experiment gone wrong.

Damaged.

Broken.

Defective.

World hunger has been vanquished, but drug-resistant diseases kill millions. The corporation that gave Selene superimmunity called her Protected… until they discovered the truth. Now they hunt her and those like her, and Selene’s been hiding off-grid for eight years to avoid capture.

But she can’t hide forever. Rumors of a new threat—and a mysterious quarantine—have reached her sanctuary. And if Selene has to fight, she’ll fight until she dies. The Corporate Coalition will never take her alive.

Read 
Defect
 on Amazon now.

A straight line from first breath to last.

This recycled air remembers all the lies told in its past.

Sins of the father, that’s what they say.

That’s how life goes, what we’re living today.

There’s more than this; I feel it.

Drifting through this useless existence,

Held down

Held down

Held down

By artificial gravity.

Blinded by tradition, I slept, like those before.

But now I see the truth, I’m awake, and I want more.

There’s more than this; I feel it.

Drifting through this useless existence,

Held down

Held down

Held down

By artificial gravity.

Hope’s a dying star.

We need a supernova.

To wipe space clean,

And just start over.

There’s more than this; I feel it.

Drifting through this useless existence,

Held down

Held down

Held down

By artificial gravity.

So many people helped make this story what it is. I’d like to thank all my friends and family who jumped in and brainstormed with me or offered opinions about this book when I asked. Your support means a lot to me, and this book is better because of you.

Thanks to my beta readers, who gave me amazing feedback every step of the way: Jennifer Nelson, Marcos Romero, David Heringer, Kristen Ervin, MJ Colucci, and Scott Pritchard.

Erynn Newman, thank you for being an awesome editor and a joy to work with.

To Freya Wolfe, thank you for all those hours spent analyzing my plot, managing “the talent”, and for believing in my vision and seeing it too.

A special thanks to Sita Payne Romero, Jamie Blair, and my husband, Juan, for the many hours you spent in my world with me. You’re my brainstorming team, my alphas and betas, and you help me shape my stories in ways I could never do on my own.

And to my dad, Gregory Nelson, thank you for always believing in me and supporting me, no matter what.