This door didn’t have a knob, although somehow I knew the eye was the key to opening it. Every time I came here, I tried to get the eye to move, turn, sink into the stone, or however it actually worked, but I’d never been able to budge it.
I hesitated, wondering if I should try yet again. But what was a little more disappointment in my life? Besides, given what had happened in the Kent Corp conference room, this might be the last time I was ever here before I died—if I wasn’t already dead.
I reached for the eye. My fingertips touched the jewel, which went ice-cold against my skin, even as blue and black sparks erupted and showered into the air. I tensed at the new, unexpected sensations, which had never happened before.
After a few seconds, the chill faded away, and the sparks were merely light, so they didn’t shock, burn, or otherwise harm me. Surprised, and a little wary, I gripped the jeweled eye and moved my hand to the right, not really expecting anything to happen . . .
The eye turned.
Shock zinged through me, and I froze, wondering if I had just imagined the movement—and especially if I should keep going.
Should I open this door? It would probably just show me another painful memory I would be better off forgetting. But my curiosity got the better of me, and I tightened my grip on the jewel and kept turning, turning, turning the eye, until I heard the distinctive click of a lock opening—
A shoulder bumped into mine, and the sour stench of sweat, vomit, and piss filled my nose, shattering my connection to my magic. My mindscape vanished, and I was jolted back to the real world.
My eyes snapped open, and I saw . . . metal walls.
For a moment, I thought I was still at Kent Corp, but that shoulder bumped into mine again. A loud, obnoxious snore blasted into my ear, and a man swayed closer to me, rancid breath puffing out of his mouth. I couldn’t tell if he was asleep, drugged, or some other form of unconscious, but I shoved him away. The man swayed to the other side, and his head and torso flopped down onto the metal bench we were both sitting on.
I eyed the man, who let out another snore and mumbled something incoherent. Since he couldn’t tell me where I was or what was going on, I glanced around, searching for someone who could. I’d been right before. Those were metal walls in the distance, only I wasn’t in some Kent Corp conference room or holding cell.
I was in an enormous docking bay on board a massive space cruiser.
The docking bay was at least a mile wide, and smooth gray metal stretched out as far as I could see, from the floor under my feet to the wall behind me and then across the soaring ceiling high above to the opposite wall far in the distance.
Several ships were docked inside the bay, their ramps down so that hoverpallets loaded with weapons, armor, and other cargo could be floated on board. The ships had been built by a variety of corporations, but most were shaped like spears, massive triangular heads with multiple decks attached to long rectangular bodies. The typical shape for military cruisers, designed to move soldiers and supplies in and out of battle zones, areas affected by natural disasters, and other dangerous places. All the ships had boastful names like Valiant and Courageous, as though they were warriors about to fly into battle.
That’s because they were about to fly into battle.
All the cruisers were fitted with cannons capable of blasting holes in just about anything, including enemy ships. Domes, satellite dishes, and antennas stuck out at odd angles from the ships, each one serving a different purpose, from providing energy shields to absorb and deflect cannon fire, to scanning planets for weather and seismic activity, to calculating coordinates for pinpoint travel from one side of the galaxy to the other.
Workers in light blue coveralls clustered around the cruisers like ants running around a nest. Some were dangling in harnesses along the sides of the ships, their eyes covered with protective goggles as they used laser torches to fix broken domes, dishes, and antennas. Below, on the ground, other workers were rooting around in open hatches, yanking on wires, and causing blue, red, and green sparks to fly in all directions. Conversations, shouted orders, and the clanging of tools hitting metal droned through the air like swarms of bees.
“. . . hope the shields hold up in the heat . . .”
“. . . getting ready for the assault . . .”
“. . . better make sure the conscripts get their obligatory blasters . . .”
Every word chilled me to the bone, despite the hot, dry air filling the docking bay. My seatmate was still snoring away, so I looked in the opposite direction. More benches lined this section of the wall, and each one held two people, all varying ages, shapes, and sizes. Some folks were dressed in common work clothes like me, while others sported slick suits and fancy gowns. One man was even wearing a pink fedora, a purple feather boa, and a teal loincloth. But no matter who they were or where they might have come from, all the people had one thing in common: they all looked miserable, sullen, and terrified.
I leaned forward, trying to see just how many other people were in this same unfortunate position. A female soldier dressed in a dark red Imperium uniform was standing about fifty feet away, holding a blaster and eyeing the guy in the loincloth as if she was expecting him to cause trouble. Fifty feet past her was another soldier with a blaster and the same tense, watchful stance. No one on the benches was here of their own free will. They were all conscripts, forced into Imperium service—and I was one of them.
In the distance, footsteps sounded in a steady, thumping cadence, and a squad of Imperium soldiers marched through an opening in the back of the docking bay. They sported dark red armor that gleamed like liquid blood under the bright lights, and each one had a blaster strapped to their thigh. The polyplastic armor was another Kent Corp design, as were the blasters. Pretty to look at but pretty inferior at stopping more than a couple of bolts from a blaster, cannon, or other energy weapon.
I struggled to make sense of things. I’d been knocked out in the Kent Corp conference room and had woken up on an Imperium military cruiser. That I could understand. But why had Rowena Kent sent me here instead of just letting Hal snap my neck and drop my body into a vat of chemicals in one of the production plants?
Get rid of her. Rowena’s voice floated through my mind. The usual method is fine. Let Holloway think we are still loyal and beholden to his precious Imperium.
Rowena Kent must have had some deal with Callus Holloway. She sent him all her enemies, and he conscripted them into his army and turned them into cannon fodder, literally. I shuddered, wishing I could return to the comfort of my mindscape and escape this waking nightmare.
My gaze dropped to my hands. The plastic blue eye that had been on my right thumbnail was missing, but the one on my left thumbnail was still shellacked in place, thanks to the glue I’d used. I tried to wiggle the jewel, but it didn’t move, indicating that the microdot drive with the Velorum files was still hidden underneath it. Bitterness flooded my chest. Not that the information was going to do me any good now.
The squad of Imperium soldiers marched to the center of the docking bay and stopped. Then they split into two sections, spun away from each other, and fell back, forming two separate units. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned in that direction, and a hush dropped over the entire area. Even the workers snuffed out their laser torches and raised their goggles to peer that way.
More footsteps sounded. These thumps were much quicker and softer, but somehow that made them far more sinister. A shiver swept down my spine, and a strange tension filled my body.