The Paradox Initiative (8 page)

Kestrel glanced up. A broad, dark hallway stood open in front of them, and above it in golden letters gleamed the words:

THE EXCEPTION—NOW BOARDING

A gate stood between them and the hallway—a gate and a security android. Wolfe skidded to a halt, and Kestrel huffed up next to him.

“
Identification, please
,” the droid held out a square hand with a slot in it.

“Oh
,
—”
Wolfe bit out another expletive Kestrel didn’t recognize, dumped his bag on the floor and threw it open. He yanked out his clear case and dug out his ID.

“
Insert the card here, please
,” the droid said. Wolfe rammed the card into the android’s scanner and pulled it out.

“Welcome, Jack Johnson,” the android said.
“Travel Permission card, please.”

Wolfe bared his teeth, but stuffed that card in as well.

The android processed. Kestrel, panting, glanced at the clock.

12:12.

“Welcome aboard The Exception, Jack Johnson. You may proceed.”

The gate clicked open. Jack grabbed
his things and shoved through—and kept walking. Kestrel’s heart jolted.

“Here,” she gasped, shoving her ID into the android’s reader.

“Welcome, April Johnson—”

“Here, here!” she cri
ed impatiently, shoving in her Travel Permission.

“Welcome to The Exception,
April Johnson. You may proceed—”

She didn’
t wait for it to finish. With her bag in one hand and her ID case in the other, she raced into the wide, dark hall—

And almost ran into Wolfe
.

“Wh—Why did you leave me there?”
she demanded, catching herself.

“I didn’t leave you there,” he countered,
sounding out of breath. “Why would I do that? You’re job’s not done yet.”

Startled, she threw him a look—but despite his labored breathing, he charged ahead, up a slight incline toward another wide door in a red wall.

A young blonde woman in a red ship’s uniform stood beside it. She beamed at them.

“Welcome aboard
The Exception
,” she greeted them warmly. “You’ve just made it.”

“Thank you,” Wolfe answered,
and walked right in, Kestrel at his heels.

The narrow, metal passage almost instantly opened up into the widest hallway yet. Shimmering silver ceiling, flawless white flooring, and dazzling walls covered in moving, colorful, speaking advertisements. Adventurous, mechanized music swelled against Kestrel’s hearing. A few passengers strode away from Kestrel and Wolfe and further into the ship.

Kestrel and Wolfe’s hurried feet
thudded against the white tiles. Huge, elegant red letters leaped to life across the floor, unfurling before them like a carpet.

The Exception—A Luxury Liner Unlike Any Other

Wolfe instantly hopped off of the letters, glaring at them like they were snakes. They faded back to white. He marched onward, Kestrel struggling to keep up. They passed over a black line in the floor—

A holographic wall leaped up in front of them.

Wolfe threw his arm out in front of Kestrel. A giant, red-headed woman’s face blipped into view—she winked at them and held up a green bottle of liquor.

“Don’t forget O’Donnel’s Pub once you’ve crossed the Liquor Line,” she quipped. “All the best spirits served twenty-four hours a day!”

“What is this?” Wolfe demanded—and Kestrel noticed he was still breathing hard.

“Just a
n ad,” Kestrel told him, slipping past his arm and stepping right through the hologram. It buzzed and faded. Wolfe caught up with her, glowering over his shoulder, then faced front again and measured his strides.

“They pop up about every fifty meters
,” Kestrel explained. “They sense your body heat. They’ll have bracelets in the lobby we can rent that’ll keep them from popping up as often.”

He only mad
e a snorting noise in reply, frowning blackly. They paced further down the hall, overtaking several more passengers who strolled along, chatting with each other. Kestrel caught sight of a sign reading LOBBY, with an arrow, so they followed it—

Into yet another mind-boggling room.

A circular chamber the size of a stadium, ringed by levels of silver balconies leading to all the decks. The ceiling was a brilliant orange-and-red replica-stained-glass of a bursting sun. The main level, where Kestrel and Wolfe walked, rang with the laughter of children, for right in the middle stood an enormous, shimmering turquoise swimming pool. In the center of the pool towered a platform, and from it branched a dozen intertwining waterslides. Despite the late hour, several kids zipped and whizzed down the slides, screeching with excitement before splashing spectacularly into the water. All around the pool, vendors in classy, brightly-colored carts camped, beckoning passengers closer to show their wares—jewelry, toys, hand-games and food. Faux palm trees leaned over these carts, and mechanical birds chirped and flapped in their branches. The moving, talking advertisements persisted here, too—running along the balcony railings, speeding beneath people’s feet, spinning through the pool water and crawling up the sides of the water slides.

“Over here,” Kestrel said, and they approached a desk off to the side labeled RECEPTION. Forty other people stood in line ahead of them. Kestrel rubbed her neck, feeling
hints of a headache. Wolfe let out a low breath. Kestrel regarded him.

“You look pale,” she realized
. “Are you all right?”

“I’m f
ine,” he answered, and turned to watch the kids going down the slides.

It took half an hour for the line to
wane, but finally they stepped up to the man in a black coat with brass buttons.

“
April and Jack Johnson,” Wolfe sighed, slapping his ID card down on top of the metal desk. “I think we booked a suite.”

“Just a moment, sir.”
The man inserted Wolfe’s card and glanced at a screen. He smiled, and looked up at Wolfe. “Yes, sir, level three, room 301. Just go down that hallway, take a left, then take the lift to your level. It should be the first room to your right. Your ID card opens the door. Welcome aboard
The Exception.
” He handed it back to Wolfe.

“Thanks,” Wolfe muttered, and took it, then strode past him toward the hall indicated. Kestrel, her head
really pounding now, dragged after him.

They had barely stepped into the hallway before a wall-ad jumped up. A teenage boy in a jumpsuit holding a glowing gun.

“Get to the Galactic Arcade and test your fighting skills!” He fired a green laser right at them.

Wolfe ducked, then cursed and swatted at the hologram, banishing it.

Two more ads hopped up as they walked—both for restaurants. Kestrel tried to listen to them, but Wolfe barged through them before they could finish their pitches.

“This the lift?” he motioned.

“Yeah,” Kestrel nodded, coming up to stand beside him in front of a closed door. It opened right away into a dark blue room entirely covered with slowly dancing stars. They got in, the doors shut. Nothing happened.

“Level three,” Kestrel sighed.

“Level three
,” the lift computer repeated—

A
nd the lift shot upward. Three seconds later, the doors opened and they stepped out.

“There shouldn’t be
any more ads up here,” Kestrel said. “They’re too noisy.”

Wolfe didn’t say anything.
He strode across the black carpet to the room marked 301 and held his ID card in front of the lock. It beeped, and the door slipped open. Wolfe went in. Kestrel trailed after.

The
hidden lights came on, though not to their full brightness. Black carpet, blue walls. A sitting area took up most of the space right in front of her: four soft-but-blocky black chairs circled around a shiny multi-entertainment console. Another chair sat against the wall straight across from her, near the space window, which was shut. Off to her left, tucked in the far corner, sat a plain single bed with a standing lamp keeping it company. Directly to her left, a kitchenette occupied that corner, as did a floor-to-ceiling dry-washing machine. Between the foot of the bed and the dry-washing machine stood a doorway, probably to a bathroom. Kestrel turned to the right. Up a single step, another door—a wide one— opened to another bedroom. She could see a queen-sized bed in there, and guessed that this bedroom had its own bathroom.

The front door
snapped shut. She jumped. Wolfe didn’t break stride. He headed straight for the single bed and tossed his bag down on it.

“
Go ahead and get some rest,” he half-heartedly gestured to the other bedroom as he tugged his leather jacket off. “Nothing more we can do tonight.”

Kestrel only nodded, then started toward the bedroom. He
looked at her over his shoulder.

“
The front door stays locked when it shuts, right?”

“
I think so,” Kestrel said.

“Good,” he said, and sat
heavily down on the bed and pulled off one boot. Kestrel hesitated, her stomach tightening to a painful degree. Then, she labored up that single step, went in the bedroom, paused, then waved her hand in front of the sensor. The door closed.

The great big bed
right in front of her, its head against the other wall, had soft gold sheets and pillows and a fluffy comforter. The rest of the room…

Thin carpet, a lamp, a temperature regulator—and yes, a bathroom to her right.

And deep, penetrating silence.

Silence she could feel in her bones. Silence that almost caused a soft static in her hearing.

Then…

A low, sub-sonic, almost undetectable
thrum
, far down in the bowels of the ship.

The launch
prep.

They were leaving.

Slowly, Kestrel set her bag down on the floor. She straightened, closed her eyes, and put a hand over her mouth to stifle her tears.

Kestrel stared at the black ceiling. Off to her left somewhere, toward the bathroom, a night-light glowed. But it didn’t do any more than outline the short posts at the foot of the bed, and the edges of the door beyond them.

It was so quiet. She’d never been anywhere so quiet, ever. After the low reverberation of the launch, everything had fallen still. Now she could hear every breath she took. She turned over. The sheets rustled with an inordinate amount of noise. She winced. Could he hear her thrashing around in here?

She punched at
her crisp pillow, then squeezed it against her. There had to be sound-deadening technology in the walls. There was no way everyone else on this ship was tucked in his bed, asleep. She bit her lip.

She’d never gone to bed without some type of music playing. As
far back as she could remember, her mother had set some soothing lullaby going in the same movement as turning out the lights…

A sharp pang shot through Kestrel’s
chest. She clenched her pillow and choked. Desperately, she turned her face into the pillow, holding her breath and squeezing her eyes shut, battling back the feeling of jagged glass tearing at the inside of her ribs.

She gasped, threw off her covers and sat up. She raked her hands through her hair, then took fistfuls of it, her whole body breaking out in a
n icy sweat.

These weren’t her pajamas. This wasn’t her bed. This wasn’t her room. The soap in the shower hadn’t
smelled anything
like
her soap, and her mom and dad and brothers weren’t…

“Where is your daughter?”

“I don’t know—What do you want? You can’t come in here and—”

“We are authorized to take whatever measures are necessary. Where is she?”

“You come here and attack my house and expect me to tell you where my daughter is? Under no circumstances will I—”

“Then, sir, you’re all coming with us.”

“Stop, stop,” Kestrel ordered herself, shakily swiping away the tears that spilled down her cheeks. “Stop it, calm down.
Calm
down.” She clasped her hands in front of her and sucked in deep, purposeful breaths through her mouth. Her heart fluttered and banged against her sternum like a caged bird.

“Stop it,” she said again. “Calm down.”

She wiped her face off with her long sleeve, took three more breaths, then grabbed the edge of her blankets and shook them out. She folded them back away from her, turned and pushed her pillow into the right position, plumping it as she did. Then, she lay down, tugged her covers over herself and made herself shut her eyes.