The Beginning

By Logan

As the State moves to solidify its control over the solar system, it suddenly finds itself at war with a new enemy. The new colony on Mars prepares for a struggle for survival against a harsh world and the advances of the State. The City has changed and now it must deal with a new, unseen threat. As the turmoil grows, heroes rise up and move humanity into the beginning of a new era.

In his second novel, Logan – the foremost expert in State-era history – uses his expertise to breathe life back into the names and dates of the era between the fall of the State and the rise of the Union.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098346416

Book preview

© 2020 William Logan.

Logan

The Beginning

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmited in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permision of the author.

Text Design by: Logan

Cover Design by: Logan

ISBN-13: 978-1-098346-41-6

Table of Contents

Friday, January 1st 2100

Monday, March 29 2410

Deep Black 24

Thursday, July 29th 2100

Tula 16 425

Deep Black 26

Thursday, September 2nd 2100

Saturday, April 3 2410

Deep Black 27

Deep Black 45

Friday, November 5th 2100

Deep Black 50

Scorpius 13 425

Deep Black 53

Saturday, May 1, 2410

Friday, December 10th 2100

Kark 21 425

Deep Black 73

Deep Black 75

Friday, May 22 2410

Vrishika 11 425

Monday, May 25 2410

Vrishika 13 425

Vrishika 15 425

Thursday, May 29 2410

Wednesday, November 5th 2380

Deep Black 84

Saturday, May 31 2410

Deep Black 88

Thursday, June 5 2410

Deep Black 94

Sagittarius 02 425

Sagittarius 03 425

Friday, June 13 2410

Saturday, June 14 2410

Thursday, June 16 2410

Thursday, June 19 2410

Sagittarius 11 425

Deep Black 106

Saturday, June 22 2410

Sagittarius 13 425

Monday, June 25 2410

Friday, June 29 2410

Deep Black 114

Saggitarius 20 425

Epilogue

Friday, January 1st 2100

— 0.8be —

310 years, 6 months, 3 days to Beginning

Karen Bruce kept her eyes shut tight. Letting the light in would be a mistake. Her head already hurt enough. She sat on the edge of her bed, holding herself as still as possible, trying to stop the room from spinning. Buzz, buzz, buzz went the constant throb of her swollen brain, beating against her thick skull. She silently thanked God for a three day weekend. Then she realized it wasn’t her head that was buzzing. It was her alarm. She vaguely remembered smacking it the night before to turn it off and realized she must have missed, somehow hitting the quiet alarm mode instead. She thanked God again for that one, small blessing.

Karen dared to open her eyes, just a squint. She hadn’t intended to get up at seven. Still a little drunk, more than a little queasy, she considered the options. She could ignore her body, lay back down and try to go back to sleep, or get up and go to the bathroom. Reluctantly, she succumbed to reality; her body had decided for her. She was awake, that was that.

Mustering the strength, Karen slapped the top of the alarm. She stood slowly, then clutched her stomach, suddenly struck by competing urges. For once Karen was glad that she had such a small apartment. The bathroom was only three steps away. She flipped on the light, just long enough to target the stool, then quickly turned it off again with a groan. Standing in the dark, leaning over the porcelain bowl, she stared through the slightly glassy surface of the water at the dark hole at the bottom. She let herself become hypnotized by the smooth round shape as she gave her body time to figure out what it wanted.

Karen broke free and moved to the sink, bracing herself against it with both hands, staring into the mirror before her. Dim light leaked in from her bedroom windows, just enough to illuminate the face that stared back at her. It didn’t seem like her own. It was older and a bit more wrinkled around the eyes. The hair wasn’t brown anymore, but salt and pepper, thankfully more pepper. The eyes gazing back at her weren’t nearly as much brown as red. It wasn’t a pleasant sight. Note to self, she said to other Karen, no more of that."

She rocked back and forth a bit, then decided to concentrate on something else. Nothing came to mind but the previous night. It had been a celebration, or rather, it was the celebration. The day before, Karen’s team had finished the last preparations for launch. It was the culmination of a decade of planning, years of fundraising, and a few more of construction. Back then there were no wrinkles, and certainly no grey. She once again thanked the heavens that today the responsibility now rested in the hands of the ground crew.

In four days, a rocket packed with fifty of Earth’s brightest and best would finally leave the pad at Galveston, one last flight. It was the fifth launch she had commanded, but it was her first-ever crewed spaceship. She’d been forced to divide her attention on this last mission between actual work and pandering to reporters, a seeming constant flow of interviews and mission updates. There had been dozens of other rockets from other projects all over the globe. There was even another mission to Mars scheduled for the following week, mounted by the Chinese. For some reason the press had singled her plan out as the lead story. They called it a new beginning for all humanity. She cast a smirk at other Karen. That was the press for you, always blowing things up for a headline. For Karen it had been nerve wracking. Maybe it was the pressure, or the long hours or perhaps the seemingly never-ending string of obstacles — whatever the reason it all came pouring out last night, New Year’s Eve.

It seemed as though the whole city of Houston was celebrating one big, raucous, drunken festival. There were fireworks everywhere, bands playing in the streets, food trucks everywhere selling everything from simple street tacos to exotic Eastern-fusion haute cuisine. It was more than just a new year. Everyone must have understood, must have known. This was probably going to be the last New Year’s Eve celebration, ever.

Her body decided. Karen pulled up her oversized t-shirt, dropped her panties and sat down. She propped her face with her hands, elbows on knees, glad that it hadn’t come out the other way. When she was done, her body relaxed a bit, and her head began to clear. She looked at the tub beside her, the shower curtain beckoned. That was what she needed — a nice, long, hot shower.

A few minutes later, she stood at her kitchen counter, waiting for the toast to pop out. She adjusted her robe, tightening it around her waist. It wasn’t cold in her apartment, exactly, but then it wasn’t warm either. It didn’t matter how high she turned on the thermostat. The cold seemed to seep in anyway. It was January, after all. Winter in Houston wasn’t nearly as brutal as her native Iowa, but a body got used to the heat. Fifty degrees was enough to give chills when you’re wet and weak from a hangover. She made a mental note to check the thermostat but then thought again. She was tougher than that.

From somewhere she heard a buzzing noise. It took her a moment to realize that it was not the snooze on her alarm, but her cell phone. She remembered dumping it on the coffee table just before bed. Amplified by the glass tabletop, it made a louder than normal vibration noise. She took another glance at the toaster, then went hunting for the offending device.

The screen on the phone showed a familiar name. Karen hit the talk icon.

Hey Todd.

Karen, hey. I thought I was going to leave a voicemail.

No. No, I’m awake.

Really.

His tone confirmed her thoughts. She shouldn’t be awake. The toaster beeped at her as the slices jumped from the slots. She went to the kitchen, found the butter dish right where it should be, then dug a knife out of the drawer beneath the counter there. Yeah. Really. What’s up?

I just called to tell you. They’ve stepped up the launch.

Wait… what? She stopped mid-stroke on the bread’s surface, dropped the butter knife, and clutched the phone closer to her ear.

Yeah, uhm, they moved it up, two days.

They can’t do that. We haven’t done the load balance tests yet. Hell, the ground crew hasn’t even checked the platform integrity. She was aghast.

Uhm, we have some new data from Yellowstone. All of the flights have shifted. The Argosy, Constitution, all of them stepped up their launch dates.

John rolled over, didn’t he. She said. John Masterson, the government’s project owner, was a politician. It was his job to maintain the bureaucratic order established by the International Flight Treaty. Although her mission was privately funded, they still had to contend with the government. There were just too many ships planned for launch. Someone had to play traffic cop, and the world had decided that NASA and Roscomos would both be in charge. She understood the need for cooperation and order amongst the nations, but she chafed at having John as the person in charge. The man had no technical knowledge whatsoever. He was just a stuffed shirt with the singular purpose of maintaining his political optics. It was idiotic. The world was about to end, and all that man cared about was getting elected again.

Yeah, he did, Todd said, then paused for a bit. It’s not good, but it’s what we got.

Son of a bitch. So, what now? She replied. Too many thoughts were rushing through her mind. Technical specs, personnel rosters, supply lists, the myriad things they had been working on for the last forever years all came rushing up to swallow her.

The investors called a meeting for this afternoon. They want you to give them an assessment and projections for the new timeline.

This afternoon?

Yeah. Two, here at the flight center. He hesitated, waiting for a response. When it didn’t come, he pushed on. We got a hold of most of the flight command staff. They’re all coming in. We’re gonna start working on getting everything ready for when you get here. I called you last, I figured, you know, after last night and all…

Okay. Thanks, Todd. She said. I’ll be there in a bit.

She hid the end icon and put down the phone. Two days were gone. It was already the absolute worst time to be preparing to launch a flight to Mars. Now that Mars’s orbit was approaching the farthest distance from Earth’s orbit, each day was the equivalent to millions more miles and hours of calculations. They should have launched May the previous year when Mars’s orbit brought it closest to Earth, but the ship wasn’t ready. The next best window wouldn’t come until next summer, but that would be too late. Mother Nature had set the clock for them.

She started flipping through the launch requirements in her mind; all of the things the ground crew was supposed to have four days to accomplish. Two days was a short time on Earth. Across the gap between worlds, it was everything. Two days was both not enough time and too much time.

–––––––––––––––

It took Karen almost an hour to get to launch command. Everyone had assembled and, by the looks of them, were all suffering the same symptoms — all that is, except for Roger. He was a teetotaler, a goody-two-shoes religious man. He looked just fine, fresh even. For a brief moment, she regretted last night’s decisions. It was only a moment, because Todd approached, tablet in hand.

Hey Karen. How are you? He asked.

Todd was a young man, thin and athletic. If she were ten years younger, he would have been just the kind of man she would want; tall, dark-haired, acceptably handsome. Though he had the advantage of youth, he still had a little darkness under his slightly bloodshot eyes. He was smiling. At first she thought it was the exuberance of youth, but then she noticed it seemed more like a smirk. She took into account that he had been there last night too and decided it was more of a knowing, commiserating smirk than a mischievous, condescending one.

What have you got? She asked, knowing the tablet he carried was not for show.

I thought you might want to see the new figures published by GIS. It took us a while to reconfigure the calculations. He turned the tablet around so she could see the graph that occupied the entire screen. It showed a horizontal hockey stick curve, left side flat, right side spiking up radically. There was a green line intersecting the graph vertically, just where the curve started to turn upwards. A quick glance told her the green line was today. The tip of the hockey stick reached the top of the chart ten months from today.

You checked this data against the raw USGS data? She knew he had, but she had to ask anyway.

Yup. Twice. He said with grim confidence.

She turned to the room. It was large, lined nearly from wall to wall with banks of desks, work stations. They were remote monitoring stations, one for each of the rocket’s systems, two for the weather, a set of four to monitor both ground and space flight patterns, and one station watching for news reports. There was one person per workstation, twenty-five in all, but at the moment, everyone was aimlessly milling around the room. Karen sighed. It was messy. She hated mess, but she understood it— so many things to keep track of and so little time.

All right, everybody. She announced, loud enough to be heard by everyone. Let’s get to work.

Monday, March 29 2410

— 309ae —

3 months, 5 days to Beginning

There was no other way to describe it. It was a disaster, a complete and total failure.

We’re leaving. Any attempt to follow will be met with extreme prejudice. Colonel Marcus Worth, out.

Admiral Shelley listened to the words again, the fourth time. It was a terse message, explicitly designed so that there could be no equivocation. He had believed the East was behind this betrayal. Now he felt different. The last time Captain Garcia, his trusted second, had given a report, he’d said one of the crew of the Mark II had turned on the rest. The captain hadn’t had time to make his final report before getting three bullets in his chest. Darius Grenpack freed Marcus Worth and his crew from the prison camp. He and a group of mercenaries managed to move quickly, strike the airfield and steal the Mark II, right out from under his nose.

It took the investigators a full day to sift through the mess at the camp, and the wreckage of the hangar. At the prison, they’d found Captain Garcia’s interview notes. In them were mentions of something, or someplace called the city. It was a cryptic reference, lacking any further description. It could mean a city on Earth, Mars, or anywhere else for that matter. The notes also named Major Crisoff Stanza, the Mark II’s second in command, as the turncoat. The major’s charred remains lay in the hangar, leaving little in the way of evidence. His dog tags had not been completely melted, but any information he might have given up was lost. Mars and Grenpack were enough trouble, but Shelley couldn’t help but feel that there was another party involved, another force at play.

Shelley considered hitting the play button again, then decided against it. He popped the recording chip out of the data slot and tossed it onto the desk. What was the point? The Mark II was gone, and, more importantly, the BHV. Nearly a decade of planning had crumbled to nothing in a few short hours.

He shoved the thought out of his mind. The power of the BHV was gone, but that wasn’t the only power he had at his disposal. His plan for a new State had already begun to move quickly. The old structures were gone. The gallows and firing squads had assured that. Hand-picked officers of the military now stood in the place of former chancellors and mayors. With, or without the BHV, he was in control now.

A sound from the monitor on the far wall caught his attention — a message about the new State he had written himself. He paused for a moment to look at it. The background music was soft but inspiring. A calm, motherly voice narrated the message over images of pastoral farms and hard-working citizens. It was a simple plea for unity in the quest to eliminate crime and vagrancy, and the need for all citizens to comply in these challenging times. He was pleased with the final product.

There were challenges, of course. EastPac had managed a mass migration of its workforce to Mars. With the disappearance of so many people, all production from the East had nearly halted. Fortunately, he had a replacement workforce at his disposal. That morning, he stopped his orders for dismissing the populations of the British and Irish islands and ordered their mass relocation to the Asian continent. They had always been troublesome, the lowest and most rebellious sort. In a few days, military transports would be ferrying them to the East. Those who didn’t comply would be dismissed. Those who did would find new opportunities to serve the State. Production would soon resume. Factory output would be halting and stuttered initially, but over time the flow of food and goods would pick up once they were trained.

He touched a control on his desk, turning off the monitor. What he needed now was a new plan. Mars was still out there, and somewhere else, there was an unknown enemy. The former he knew and understood. The latter he knew nothing about, and that made them dangerous. Worse was the fact that — whoever they were, wherever they were — they probably had possession of the only thing in the universe that posed a real threat. Finding them had to become a priority.

He punched the control on his console that would alert his new second. After a moment, the door opened, and Captain Zardari stepped in. She was a tall woman, trim and sharp. Unlike Garcia, who always wore full-dress reds, Zardari preferred a more work-like appearance. She kept her dusty-brown hair very short and very neat. Her casual grey uniform was fitted and sharply pressed, but not stiffly starched. Her combat boots were polished, but not shiny. Shelley knew her file cover to cover, but he had also taken a little time to get to know her personality. She was intelligent, dedicated, and objective. More than that, Zardari was stone cold. She wasn’t Garcia, but she was undoubtedly the best possible replacement.

Captain, we need to make contact with Mars.

Mars, sir?

Yes. It needs to be an official statement broadcast worldwide. He pondered for a moment. He was starting to piece together parts of a plan. It was barely a sketch, but he knew the most important thing right now was time, time to figure out the details. We need to let them understand we want to start negotiations for a treaty between our two nations.

Yes sir, I will alert the State Ministry of Communications.

Good. Have the staff put together some appropriate speech. I’ll review it, of course.

Of course, sir. She hesitated a moment. Appropriate? Sir?

Shelley smiled at her. She wasn’t Garcia, but she was just as mentally acute. We have to sound like we want to cooperate, don’t we?

She didn’t smile. She didn’t even flinch. Of course, sir. I’ll see to it.

Zardari turned and left, closing the door behind herself. Shelley leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk. He needed to know Mars’s capabilities. What defenses did they have, and what weapons could they wield? He needed to know and that would take time. He had a fleet of ships, but his fleet had been designed when atmospheric flight was more important than space flight. The new Mark II design was better at extra-atmospheric maneuvers, but it was still a dual-duty craft. He needed to have a way to reach Mars quickly. That would take even more time. He would have to sift through the information that he knew lay hidden somewhere in the East. They had kept their plans hidden, but they couldn’t have destroyed everything. They would have covered their tracks as much as possible, but there was always something, some small scrap, some hidden clue. That, too, would take time.

Diplomacy wasted time, lots and lots of time, and that’s just what he needed — time to study the enemy’s mind and seek out their weakness. For now, however, Shelley needed to appear complicit, ready to talk. Then, when ready, he would attack with accuracy and ferocity. With Mars out of the way, he would concentrate on finding the other threat. That mystery had to be solved, but solving it would be a different kind of challenge. He dropped his feet from the desk, sat up, and punched the intercom button on his console. After a moment, the light went green.

Yes sir? Zardari’s voice came through the speaker.

Get the department heads from the Ministry of Education here. I need to know everything there is to know about Mars.

All of them sir? She replied.

Yes, all of them. Set up a meeting here at command.

Yes sir. Right away. She said. The com indicator light went red.

He had the resources of the entire planet at his disposal. He had the flight recorder data from the Mark II. It was time to multiply his efforts and put those resources to work.

Deep Black 24

— 309ae —

3 months, 4 days to Beginning

The library was quiet. The room was carved out of rock, not ice, which made it very much like a cave. The sounds of the City were muffled by row upon row of paper and leather, thousands of books. The constant low hum of two large dehumidifiers on the back wall made a white noise that further isolated sounds. According to Grand Councilman Johns’s recollection, the caretaker had died of old age, some ten years ago. Before her death, the library had been mostly ignored, with only the occasional visit by maintenance, or the odd curious citizen. No one stepped up to take the librarian’s place, so it had remained untended.

Marcus Worth and Suze sat in the far, back corner of the library where the librarian had made her office. It was exceptionally peaceful there. There was a small wooden desk that looked particularly ancient. Two chairs sat by it, one Suze had scavenged from somewhere, the other looked like it had been made the same time as the desk. The only illumination was a small lamp on the desk. It had a single bulb, but removing the shade made it bright enough for the both of them to read.

Marcus sat in the older chair, legs crossed, cradling a book in his lap, intently staring at the pages. Across from him, Suze sat, leaned forward so she could follow along.

She had become his teacher, but Marcus suspected that she was also his minder. Somehow she always knew when he entered the airlock. At first, he had passed it off. After all, Suze was the supervisor of airlock maintenance in the docking bay. After a while, though, it seemed uncanny that Suze was there to meet him no matter what time he came into the City. Over the last five days since their arrival, she hardly ever left his side. He had begun to suspect that Johns had tasked her with keeping an eye on him. He couldn’t blame them, considering the events of their last visit. Marcus had to presume that the presence of the Cerberus, and its crew, made everyone uneasy.

As a precaution, he ordered Reagan sequestered on the ship. The sergeant understood the order, given his earlier misconduct. He’d even said he was grateful for the rest. Although the stripes on his back from the flogging Marcus had given him were almost healed, the beating he took at the hands of the State’s interrogators on Earth had left ribs badly bruised and his face disfigured. It was hard to look at him. Although Marcus was sure that James was physically strong, he was concerned with the sergeant’s mental state. A picture flashed across his memory, an image of Major Stanza laying on the hangar floor, blood starting to pool up beneath him, Reagan leaning over him, the weapon still in hand. Killing your best friend could do damage no medicine could heal.

What does the next line say? Suze asked him, breaking his thoughts.

He glanced up at her. Oh… ahhh… He scanned the line again. The letters were familiar; they were just all in the wrong order. The language wasn’t completely foreign, but it was just foreign enough.

Here. She said, then stood and moved behind him to look over his shoulder. She leaned in.

And which of the gods was it that set them on to quarrel? It was the son of Jove and Leto… She recited.

Marcus stared at the page. They were strange words, indeed. Gods? Jove? It was slow going. She leaned a little closer. She was relatively short, so she didn’t have to lower herself much. Suze stood close enough that she brushed his shoulder with hers. He looked at her, she at him. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a short ponytail, but one clump had sprung loose to drape down just past her jaw. He knew her eyes were an uncanny dark brown, almost black, but in the half-light, he couldn’t see her pupils. They looked like two large black spots.

You can do it. She said with an encouraging smile.

He put his eyes back on the page and traced the line with his fingers. And wha, whi, whi ch, which of the…

Gods. She said.

Gods was it that set…

That’s good. She said, then went back to her chair.

Marcus relaxed a bit. Are you sure this is the right place to start?

No, She replied, but it is someplace. This is one of the oldest ones. It’s one of the first stories ever written, I think.

That statement stumped him. How had he not known about this? What had made the founders of the State choose to eradicate so much of human history? Was it possible that none of this had survived the Event? He couldn’t imagine that there were no copies of books like this anywhere after the fall. It had to have been deliberate.

You’re tired, Suze announced. Her face wore a look of concern.

Maybe. He replied. He wasn’t really, but he couldn’t concentrate.

We can start again tomorrow. She stood up and reached out her hand. Come on. She said, the smile returning. You have a meeting with Johns anyway, but first, she said, the smile growing to a grin, there’s someone you need to see.

Marcus closed the book and set it gingerly on the desk. He didn’t take her hand, but he did stand. She put her hands on her hips, shrugged, then turned to leave the library.

As they walked the halls, there was the normal flow of people, each going to somewhere, coming from somewhere. As they passed, many gave him disapproving looks. Suze didn’t seem to mind any of that. Then again, Suze didn’t seem to mind much of anything. Of all the people in the City, she always seemed to have a smile on her face, usually the soft bright smile of peace and contentment. Marcus imagined this must be an adventure for her. It was certainly a break from ordinary life.

Over his short time in the City, Marcus had come to know the layout quite well. She was leading him towards the main room. It was the third largest, single, carved out space in the entire City. It had once been the living quarters for the earliest settlers but was now where the shops stood. It also occasionally acted as a meeting room if something important was enough to involve the entire City. Four main halls led outward like spokes in a wheel, with the main room as the hub. Each of the four halls led to distinct areas inside the comet; the working areas, the water reclamation system, the offices, and the living quarters.

Several other small tunnels branched off in different directions from the main trunks. Some were carefully crafted, some nothing more than rude excavations into rock and ice. Marcus had, unfortunately, learned the hard way that sometimes those secondary tunnels just ended. Other times the side paths unexpectedly connected to another. The one they were now in was called the Business Hall. It held most of the offices, records keeping, command centers and, of course, the library.

The Work Hall, or sometimes called the Port Tunnel, went from the main room, towards the surface of the comet. That tunnel went a short distance, then turned sharply to follow the surface of the comet. There at the surface lay the second largest space, the docking bay. Past the dock, it emptied out into the biggest carved space, where the farms and storerooms stood. A bit further past the farms, the City’s power systems had been built so that they were near the source of their fuel, and the surface. The founders had put the danger as far away from the living quarters as possible. At the same time it made a short distance between the fuel source, and the propulsion jets that lined the surface of the comet keeping it spinning.

The People Hall lay directly opposite the Business Hall. It led to the living areas, a set of crisscrossed tunnels filled with small apartments. Marcus had rarely been there. He knew that down that hall were also the dining areas and communal kitchens. But there was also the public house, the only bar in the city. That was where Randal had found his second home. Marcus occasionally went to one of his performances. It was a small place, but it was warm, and usually full of people.

The last avenue was the Ice Hall. It had been carved into the heart of the comet, which was mostly made of solid water. Down that hall was the fishery, water reclamation and production system, and cold storage.

Suze led him out of the Business Hall, through the main room, past the shops and stalls, on to the Ice Hall. As they walked, he recalled their first visit to the City, to when he’d first heard of the idea of a library. It was also the first time he’d become aware that there were secrets the State had kept hidden for nearly three hundred years. They were secrets he was still working to unravel in his mind. Shortly into the hallway, the walls abruptly turned from rock to ice. The smooth, shiny surface surrounding them made him feel like he was walking beneath the ocean. Strings of harsh blue tinged lights lining the ceiling accentuated the effect. It was beautiful, and at the same time, frightening.

Suze stopped ahead of him, next to a doorway cut out from the wall. Two peacekeepers stood on either side of it, each armed with an assault rifle. She held out her hand again, beckoning him.

Come on. She said with the same bright smile on her face.

Marcus went towards her, and she turned and forged ahead, through the doorway, into the room. Marcus followed after her.

It was dim, so he stopped to let his eyes adjust. Just inside there were two more peacekeepers, also armed. As he looked around, he could make out the shapes of a vast array of computers lining the walls. As his vision improved, he saw that the machines were not lining the walls, but were standing on racks near the walls, walls lined with a thick plastic sheeting. There were ducts everywhere blowing air into the room. It was colder here than in the hall beyond, undoubtedly chilled by air passing through the ice that made up this part of the comet. Small status lights on the computers helped light the room, as did a single yellow bulb, hung from a simple fixture in the middle of the ceiling.

Under that bulb was a workbench. On the workbench were some of the same computers that occupied the racks. These, however, were in pieces, their parts spread across the surface. In front of the bench stood a short, thin man in a jumpsuit. Even though his back was turned to him, Marcus knew him immediately. It was Doctor Luca Schneider.

Surprised, he looked at Suze, who just motioned him forward. Marcus cleared his throat.

Doctor Schneider? He said, announcing himself.

The doctor put down the tools in his hands, a soldering gun, and a pair of delicate pliers. He turned slowly, but he didn’t look up from the floor.

Colonel Worth. He said quietly. So good to see you again. He seemed truly frightened.

How are you, doctor? Marcus asked.

I’m much better now, sir. He said with a shrug. He didn’t look up.

Marcus studied him up and down. He did look better. When they had left him behind, Schneider was nearly skeletal. They had all spent a short time without food, but even before that, Schneider looked as though he hadn’t eaten a proper