The remaining countdown flies by. We have been sitting still underground, but it's as if we're already in hyperdrive or whatever will accelerate us into the cosmos. Maybe the buzz of excitement from the people of Earth and the frenzy of the rumbling engines have us fooled. Maybe we already took off hours ago, and this underground waiting-room is in my imagination.
For the time being, I can't do anything else except hope we launch without a single disaster.
It hits me—the disturbance on Quad1. Norbit never confirmed resolution.
"Norbit, interrogative, what's the sit-rep on Quad-One?" I say into the comms.
"Solid copy, all clear," he responds.
I clench my jaw in frustration. An update would have been swell. "Be advised. Immediate status changes are to be relayed forthwith. Pull your shit together, Norbit. Over."
"Roger that."
I hear a chorus of alerts coming from the PAHLMs of the people in the holding room.
My pre-recorded voice rings out from within."All civilians must report to Main Holding Room. Safety briefing in fifteen minutes."
The civs bustle around, obeying my disembodied orders.
I check my PAHLM. An hour to launch.
One hour left to send last-minute messages to Simon and Dean before our URE network breaks—before we fade to black for five long years.
Coodi's soft voice cracks through my ear. "We've got civ activity in Quad-One. Ten, one-zero civilians zombied. Over."
A low growl escapes as thoughts of Norbit's earlier reassurances resurface. I thought this was resolved. "Coodi, say again?"
"It's like they're drunk on Junk Juice but more frenzied and—" the static crackles as she pauses—"mentally absent."
I could send other VIPERs to check on this. But Coodi is there. My second-in-command. I could trust my team to figure this out, or I could check on the shitshow myself.
"Roger that. I'm oscar mike. Out."
I hear the shouts within five minutes of lightly jogging in the direction of Quad1.
"You're the only armed one here! If anything, we should be shooting you down so we can invite the Invaders to rule the world." A young, blond man no older than twenty has a young woman in a headlock. He's squeezing her neck tight between his bicep and forearm. Her frantic eyes bulge as I enter.
"What's going on here?" I attempt to exude calm authority.
"You brought another one? Another gun? Another violent force against us? Say it ain't so." He squeezes a little more, a gleeful grin cracking across his face when he meets my eyes. "Look, she's armed, too. Get it?" His eyes flash to the girl stuck in his embrace.
She cries out.
"What's your name?"
"My name is written on the underbelly of a U-bend."
He's lost it.
I glare at McCroy and order him to find this kid's information yesterday. His face disappears behind his PAHLM as the search commences. "That's fine. You need to let her go. You're hurting her."
"No more damage than you've already done. When we blast outta here, our guts will sprinkle the walls."
"I'm going to ask you one more time to release her." I straighten farther. A thin, yellow crust flakes off the girl's blue lips.
McCroy flashes his PAHLM in front of me.
MARTIN CLEMMENS
AGE: 18
INDUSTRY: STEEL
OCCUPATION: WELDER *APPRENTICESHIP*
HHP STATUS: UNMATCHED
CRIMINAL CHARGES: 0
RESIDENCE: LEVEL 6—POD 6113
PODMATES: FRANK CLEMMENS (FATHER)
The kid snapped. We knew this would happen. "Martin," I try again. "Let her go."
"It opened my eyes." His voice is deep, heavy with malice. "It opened my eyes, and now I see what's happening here."
"What did?"
His hold on the girl tightens. His lips have the same tint as hers.
"Martin, I need you to be careful. I'm concerned about your safety and the safety of your friend."
Out of the corner of my eye, Umpire approaches the two. Martin must not note the massive man in his shadow.
I nod the go-ahead. Subtle. Imperceptible except to Umpire who is waiting for the signal.
He approaches Martin, grabs the boy quickly, pushing the young man's elbow forward and his wrist back. The girl drops to the floor as Umpire swings Martin to the ground, face first.
"Nice work," I say, kneeling next to the couple.
Umpire pulls the struggling kid to his feet, shoving him forward. "Did you notice he couldn't see me? His peripherals are completely shot, probably affected by whatever it is he's on. I never seen nothing like it."
The girl lies immobile on the floor, facedown. She begins to spasm.
Shit.
"Ma'am?" I call out to her. "Ma'am, can you hear me? I'm going to roll you over to check for injuries." I pull her shoulder back. Her blonde hair covers her face, contorting as she gasps for breath from laughter. Pure, manic laughter.
"What the hell?" McCroy hovers behind me, peering over my shoulder.
"Take her to the bay first, then to the brig. Handcuff her if you have to. I don't understand this thing yet, whatever it is they've taken." My neck tenses from this new strain—rubbing the base between my skull and spine does little to relieve the tension. This mess is a brand-new issue that never crossed my docs in the months of rigorous planning.
ARC10 has a drug problem.
And we haven't even left the fucking URE yet.