Colony One Page 23

  I nod.

  Ping’s face falls, and he turns his attention to his Optix. I see him highlight Maggie’s photo, and he mutters a command I can’t quite hear.

  His eyes flicker back and forth across the screen as he runs a search, and several windows pop up in front of him. Ping scans the images quickly, and then his face goes slack.

  “Oh . . . Wow.”

  “What?”

  He shakes his head. “You aren’t gonna believe this, sarge.”

  “What did you find?”

  Ping’s feed disappears, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he actually looks upset.

  “Are you sure you want to know?”

  “Yes!”

  “Because this isn’t information you can ever un-know. Ya know?”

  I roll my eyes. “What is it, Ping?”

  “Maggie —” He breaks off, looking caught between his guilt over ratting her out and his sense of duty to me.

  “Spill!” I say. “Whatever it is, she doesn’t deserve your protection.”

  “It’s just that Maggie . . .” He makes a face that tells me he’s conflicted. “She isn’t who she says she is.”

  My chest constricts, and it’s hard to breathe. He just confirmed my worst fears. If my theory is correct, I just handed over all of my best moves to hackers bent on destruction. “Who is she?”

  Ping touches his Optix and beams me a copy of his feed. I get a notification, and my Optix instantly populates with everything Ping found.

  “Her real name is Maggie,” he says. “But she’s not an intelligence worker. She’s a reporter for the New York Daily Journal.”

  Maggie’s smiling face jumps out at me from a photograph. In the picture, she’s wearing glasses, and her hair is down in a low ponytail.

  “Magnolia Barnes?”

  “Here she goes by the name Layla Jones.”

  He scrolls down to another picture, and it pops up in the center of my screen. In this one, her hair is down. Wild blond curls fill the frame. She’s beautiful, friendly — definitely the girl who came to my room.

  “Listen to this,” says Ping excitedly. “Layla Jones has been reporting on life on Elderon, but . . .”

  “But what?” I groan. I’m desperate for information — greedy for it. And yet part of me doesn’t want to know.

  “There’s no Layla Jones on the flight plan,” says Ping, scanning a long list of names on Maverick Enterprises’ letterhead. “There is a Magnolia Barnes. She’s registered to the press corps.” He looks at me. “Sarge . . . She’s here in the colony.”

  28

  Maggie

  It’s so late by the time I leave the newsroom that I wander back to my old suite by mistake.

  I almost cry when I realize where I am. The corridor is illuminated only by the dim glow of emergency lighting, and it’s too dark to see more than a few yards in front of me.

  I’m too exhausted to walk all the way back to the barracks. I could almost fall asleep right here, but I know it’s risky staying out all night. Adra will wonder where I am, and I don’t think I’ll be able to sell some other lame excuse.

  Leaning against the wall, I close my eyes and tell myself that I only need to lie down for a few minutes. But I know that as soon as I sink into my comfy space bed and turn out the light, there’s no way in hell I’m getting up for hours.

  I let out a groan and force myself into an upright position. I just need to put on my fatigues and get back to the barracks. Then I can sleep as long as I want. Well, at least until I’m summoned for a briefing to find out what’s going on.

  But just before I reach my door, a low male voice echoes down the hallway behind me. “What are you doing here?”

  Suddenly I’m wide awake. I know that voice. It’s Jonah’s, but there is absolutely no reason for Jonah to be here.

  I turn slowly on the spot, my tired brain fumbling for a good excuse. Jonah is glaring at me with such animosity that I know he’s discovered something he shouldn’t have.

  “Are you . . .” My voice comes out like a parched death choke. “Are you spying on me?”

  It’s too dark to see Jonah’s expression. His shadow moves as he takes a step toward me, and suddenly I feel threatened and exposed.

  “Interesting choice of words.”

  My heart is hammering against my chest. I can’t quite manage a full breath, and I have the immediate impulse to run.

  If Jonah is outside my suite, this can’t be good news.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, fighting to keep my voice steady.

  “Checking up on a lead.”

  I swallow, but I can’t seem to wet my parched throat. All of my saliva is gone.

  “I heard training was cancelled. I couldn’t sleep . . . so I came down here to visit with a friend.”

  “Save it, Maggie. I know everything.”

  I freeze. Jonah is bluffing. There’s no way in hell he knows. He couldn’t — not unless he’s drastically expanded his social circle.

  When I don’t respond, Jonah takes another half step toward me, and I start to wonder if there’s another reason he’d be following me down a darkened hallway.

  I didn’t get a creepy stalker vibe from him during our training session, but my gut has been wrong before.

  “Good night, sir,” I say pointedly. “I’ll see you tomorrow for the briefing.”

  I am done entertaining his creepiness. I turn to go and get a surge of horror when I feel his hand close around my wrist. I yank it back, but he holds on tight, pulling me around to face him.

  He scans my face with his Optix, and I see the reverse image of my photo pop up. It’s the weird mugshot from my fake ID, and I let out a slow breath of relief.

  “Hmm,” he says, his jaw tightening into a scowl. “That’s funny . . .” He pulls up another two files on his Optix — the photo from my press credentials and my Topfold profile pic. “This person looks awfully similar to Maggie Barnes and Layla Jones.”

  I watch his face, which seems to have turned to stone. He releases my arm roughly, his eyes cold and unforgiving.

  I take a deep breath, trying to summon some explanation that makes sense. I’m not sure which is worse — some made-up scenario or the truth — but either way, I don’t think he’ll believe me.

  Jonah opens his mouth to speak. His voice is low and hoarse. “What you did . . . What you’re doing . . . put thousands of people at risk.”

  I tear my eyes away. My breaths are coming sharp and fast, and my throat is burning with tears.

  I don’t know how that could possibly be true, but it still fills me with shame.

  “The exercise we did the other day . . . those combinations that I shared with you . . .” Jonah drags in a ragged breath. “You are the only person I shared those with.” A muscle in his jaw pops. His fists are clenched down at his sides. “The next thing I know . . . I see those same combinations being played out by hacked bots in Times Square.”

  A surge of horror rips through me, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. My brain is spinning. I don’t know how that could possibly have happened, but if what Jonah is saying is true . . .

  “That spinning elbow that you used on me?” He grits his teeth and sucks in an angry burst of air through his nose. “A bot knocked a cop out cold with that one. I don’t know if he’s even still alive.”

  That heat in my chest is expanding rapidly, choking me from the inside out. I keep breathing, but I can’t seem to fill my lungs. A cop might be dead because of me, but I don’t even know how it happened.

  Jonah squeezes his eyes shut, waves of frustration pouring off him. “I had a bad feeling about you . . . My gut kept telling me that something was off, and I should have listened.”

  I stare down at my feet, willing myself not to cry.

  “That one’s on me, but this . . .” Jonah shudders. “That’s on you.”

  “Jonah.” I shake my head. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t share that data with anyone.”

&nbs
p; “Why should I believe you?” he yells.

  I feel my shoulders folding in — trying to make me as small as possible — but I force myself to look him in the eye. “I wouldn’t even know how.”

  He lets out a cold breath of laughter. I can only see his eyes. He’s staring at a spot on the ceiling, as though he’s so disgusted he can’t even look at me. “Now that I’ve got you, you might as well come clean. Tell me, Maggie . . . Are you a spy or just a liar?”

  That question knocks the wind out of me. Deep, boiling shame is seeping into my gut — poisoning me from the inside out.

  I don’t know why this is hitting me so hard. Somehow Jonah’s anger makes the role I’ve been playing feel like a betrayal, but I know I only feel this way because I got caught.

  “I’m a journalist,” I murmur. “I was just doing my job.”

  “Doing your job?”

  “I had a hunch,” I say quickly.

  “What hunch?” he growls.

  “About the Space Force.”

  As soon as I start talking, it all pours out in a rush. “Maverick Enterprises couldn’t stop bragging about the fact that they had built the first civilian space colony. But almost twenty percent of the personnel on board work for a private military group. Don’t you think that’s strange?”

  Jonah doesn’t say a word, so I keep on rolling.

  “A third of the nonstructural budget for Elderon is dedicated to Space Force spending. Why would Maverick shell out that kind of money unless they knew they needed the manpower?”

  “Where are you getting this information?”

  I take a deep breath. Once I tell him, I can’t take it back. Who knows what the consequences will be — for me or for Tripp. “Tripp Van de Graaf.”

  “He told you that?”

  I shrug. “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Jesus,” he hisses, turning away and kneading his temples. “Is there anyone you won’t manipulate to get a story?”

  That hurts more than I’d like to admit.

  “You do realize that posing as a soldier and stealing all this information puts the entire colony at risk?”

  “Oh, come on!” I cry. “The colony was built by Maverick Enterprises. The security is state of the art!”

  “And you haven’t sent this information to anyone on Earth?” he growls. “Not even your editor at that disgusting rag you write for?”

  “No!” I say, feeling strangely insulted on behalf of my inferior alter ego. “Have you watched any of my stories at Topfold? Because a story like this would never fly. I was brought here to create fluffy little videos to make space seem fun — not unravel a conspiracy that we’re building a civilian army!”

  “So you never transmitted any of your findings to Earth?”

  “No.”

  He shakes his head. “I wish I could believe you, but right now I don’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth!”

  “Look,” I say, horrified and furious that he’s trying to pin this on me. “Nobody else knew about this. I mean, I did tell my editor, Alex Brennan, but she didn’t even want me to do the story. All she cares about is getting to the bottom of these attacks.”

  Jonah takes a deep breath. I can tell from his expression that I’m dead to him, but he seems just as eager as I am to find out what the hell is going on. “What do you know?”

  “Not much. I know Maverick received some threats.”

  “Threats from whom?”

  “All the usual suspects. I talked to my friend at The Tribune after the first attack in Chicago. He says it looks like Russia or the Bureau for Chaos but that they wouldn’t have the capabilities to reprogram the bots.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “The technology is so refined that only someone with a working knowledge of BlumBot’s technology would have been able to pull that off.”

  Jonah rolls his eyes. “I’m guessing you have a theory . . .”

  “I have a couple.”

  “Care to share?”

  I take a deep breath. “Either Russia is trying to put an end to US space development by bankrupting Maverick Enterprises, or the bot attacks came from the Bureau to remind the world that they’re still at large. Or . . .”

  “Or?”

  “Or maybe the attacks were just a distraction.”

  “A distraction from what?”

  “Something bigger. I don’t know . . . While everyone is focused on the bots . . .”

  “They’re hacking the Pentagon.”

  “Or the treasury or a bullet train.”

  For a moment, it seems as though Jonah and I are on the same team. I can see his wheels turning and know that at least one of my theories is probably sound.

  But then his expression changes, and it’s as though he just remembered that he has to turn me in.

  “You may not be a spy,” he says. “But I still don’t trust you. You put the entire colony at risk. Hell, you put the whole world at risk. And for what? A fucking story?”

  I don’t say a word. I don’t know how the data could possibly have been transmitted from the SPIDER down to Earth, and I don’t believe I had anything to do with it. But Jonah doesn’t seem convinced.

  “I didn’t do this,” I say. “I know you don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you. But please . . . Just give me a chance to get to the bottom of this.”

  “Why the hell would I do that?”

  “Because I’m on your side.”

  He shakes his head, and a look I don’t quite understand replaces his anger. “I don’t believe you.”

  His voice is no longer trembling with fury. It’s resigned, almost regretful. It’s the voice of someone who’s been betrayed, and I suddenly hate myself for lying.

  “I think we should be looking at BlumBot,” I say quickly. “The hackers have someone on the inside. It’s the only way they could have stolen that SPIDER data and tampered with the bots.”

  Jonah just stares at me. With the shadows playing across his face, I can’t tell exactly what he’s thinking. But when he speaks, his voice cuts me straight to the core.

  “There is no ‘we,’ Maggie. You need to turn yourself in to the captain, or I will.”

  29

  Maggie

  The feeling of having let Jonah down is even worse than the prospect of talking to the captain. I don’t know why, but the look on his face when he learned what I had done made me feel worse than I have in a very long time.

  And it’s not just Jonah. Coming clean to the captain means that I’ll be ousted from the Space Force. Alex will find out that my cover was blown, and I’ll be on Layla Jones duty for the rest of my life.

  That’s the best-case scenario. Worst case, I’ll be sent back to Earth and forced to forfeit my signing bonus, most of which I already sent to my parents. I’ll miss the chance to report on the story of a lifetime and return to New York with no job, no money, and no decent bylines.

  Because none of this can possibly get any worse, I head to the microgravity chamber in the middle of the colony before I’m fired, shunned, and deported.

  The chamber is an enormous orb that spans all six wings of the colony. It has windows that wrap around the entire sphere, and, because the inner chamber acts as Elderon’s immobile axis, it allows one to experience the effects of microgravity.

  I leave my bag in one of the lockers outside. No loose items are allowed in the chamber.

  I walk along the rotating catwalk in the outer tunnel, which shoots me into a side tunnel leading to the core of Elderon.

  I feel my feet leave the ground, and immediately I’m floating in the dimly lit inner chamber listening to soothing New Age music. The low lights are all swirling in different colors, and I get the feeling that whoever designed this place did it to create a serene atmosphere for relaxation and meditation.

  I could definitely use some of that in my life.

  Somehow, I managed to take the opportunity of a lifetime and fuck it all up. Not only did I screw up the press corp
s job — I might have fucked my whole career.

  I take a deep breath and try to give in to the relaxing float, but my mind is still reeling from Jonah’s accusations.

  What happened with the bots can’t really be my fault. To start with, I never asked Jonah to share his motor memory with me. I didn’t know what was happening until afterward, and I have no idea how the data from my SPIDER could possibly have fallen into the hands of hackers on Earth.

  I don’t know exactly how the technology works, but I’m sure Maverick encrypts all of its data and stores it in some super-secure server.

  It does seem strange that both the bots and the SPIDER are BlumBot creations. If anything, it seems that the person responsible for the hacks has to be imbedded in the company.

  Suddenly I see another floater coming up on my right. I twist my body just in time to avoid colliding with him, and when I turn back around to see who it was, I nearly groan aloud.

  The man has a cloud of dark curly hair, the body of a pro soccer player, and a face that’s undeniably handsome.

  It’s Tripp. He’s wearing a pair of relaxed-fit jeans and a plain white T-shirt. He pivots at the torso when he sees me, and a wicked grin spreads across his face.

  “You should watch where you’re going,” I call.

  “My apologies,” he says, still flashing that winning smile. “Well, well . . . Magnolia Barnes. What are you doing here so early?”

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  Tripp lounges back and stretches his arms over his head so that his shirt rides up. I can see two rows of perfectly cut abs. “I could have helped you with that.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “You know, a lesser man might be hurt and offended that you just stopped answering your messages . . . He might have assumed that you never wanted to hear from him again.”

  “A lesser man might take the hint,” I say, thinking back to all the messages from Tripp that I’d studiously ignored.

  It wasn’t that I was purposely avoiding Tripp. I just couldn’t risk being seen out with him and blowing my cover in the Space Force. As the CXO of Maverick Enterprises, Tripp doesn’t exactly blend in.