Long chapter, yay! It's the moment we've all been waiting for - the satellite.
"Hey."
Someone was roughly shaking his shoulders. Scott was just the wrong side of hungover for his reflexes to kick in, but instinct alone had him struggling back to consciousness, no matter how groggy and thick his thoughts were.
"Wake up."
The voice took on a new urgency. He dragged a hand down his face to trick his mind into awareness. Kayo was crouched by his bedside. The lack of light streaming from the corridor proved that it was still an early hour as EOS had not yet activated the artificial dawn. In the opposite bed, Gordon was asleep, passed out on his back with faint snores, one hand trailing across the ground. Kayo kept her voice hushed so as not to wake him.
"You need to see this. Come with me."
Scott considered falling back asleep for exactly half a second before dragging himself out of bed and following her, grabbing a spare shirt on his way past.
"What's going on?"
Kayo waited until the door to the sleeping compartments had sealed behind them, muting their voices to anyone else who may have been up with the larks.
"Remember how Brains, John and EOS have been trying to break through the security of that satellite?"
It was pretty hard to forget a detail like that. Scott repressed another yawn. "What about it?"
Kayo's eyes gleamed. "They got through. We have an exact location and, not only that, but get this – we have an invitation to board."
Scott halted. "Come again?"
Kayo gave him a light shove to start walking again.
"It's essentially a refuge for the super-rich. And I'm talking mega rich with crazy connections. Only the real elite are allowed on board. It's mostly aristocracy or ex-politicians and their billionaire buddies." She glimpsed Scott's expression. "Yeah, that was my reaction too. They're basically content to watch the world burn because they're safe and from the sounds of things, they're pretty comfortable too. They literally have staff. This wasn't an overnight getaway – somehow these guys knew to plan for this. So, either this satellite has been the equivalent of their doomsday bunker for years, or someone knew this was coming and tipped them off. If it's the latter, that suggests that none of this has been an accident and that EOS may have been right when she said it was a possible bio-weapon gone wrong."
That was a lot of information to take in when you'd only been awake for ten minutes. Scott took a moment to process it. Kayo swiped a hand over the scanner to let them into Brains' lab.
"Here's the thing," she continued, side-eyeing him as they stepped into the room. "They only invite specific people onto their satellite. There are very few who fit the criteria. However, they are having a party-"
"A party?"
"I know."
"You're fucking with me."
"I wish." Kayo shook her head, hair lashing with irritation like a cat's tail. "But no, they're actually having a party. It's in a few days, a New Year's Eve event. And guess which lucky people have been invited? Well, invited now that they know you're alive, anyway…"
Scott didn't need to think too much about it. "I'm guessing the name Creighton-Ward turned a few heads?"
"Penelope is most certainly on the guest list." Kayo took a deep breath. "And so are you."
"Me? Since when do I make the cut?"
"Scott, you're a multi-billionaire. You're literally in the top ten most eligible bachelors in the world. Obviously you make the cut. There's at least half a dozen women on that ship waiting to throw themselves at you. They've probably been sobbing over your picture ever since we sent word that you're very much still alive."
"That's…" Scott trailed off.
"Disgusting?" Kayo finished for him. She swatted his arm teasingly. "Relax. This is a simple mission, you're just there to gather intel. If anything, being single and ready to mingle might work in your favour – people will be more ready to offer information if you flirt with them."
Scott glared at her. "No."
Kayo narrowed her eyes. "Scott. Don't be difficult about this. It's not as if it's exactly a hardship for you – I've known you to flirt with someone whilst dangling off a cliff." She waved a hand over her shoulder as he trailed after her. "Just… I don't know, flash them that famous smile of yours or something."
"I have a famous smile?"
"I don't read gossip magazines, ask Gordon."
Penelope glanced up. She was reclined in a chair, ankles neatly crossed, the very picture of sophisticated grace despite the early hour, eternally immaculate. "What are we asking Gordon?"
Scott slumped onto the edge of the desk next to her. "Kayo says I have a famous smile."
"Oh." Penelope's expression cleared with comprehension. She nudged his knee with one foot, eyes alight with mirth. "Yes, of course you do. Honestly, darling. There's been entire articles written about your dimples. How do you not know this?"
Kayo took one look at Scott's expression and nearly lost her balance, practically tearing up with laughter. It was a mercy when Brains and John finally returned from the central communications room, deep in discussion. Scott inspected his brother for any hints of a headache but so far John seemed perfectly at ease, bouncing back theories at Brains, eyes glowing green with new information. He held up a finger as everyone began to talk at once.
"One moment." He tilted his head slightly. "Right, carry on. Just had to reply to the satellite. They're… an acquired taste, but we only have to keep in their good books long enough to gather the intel and get out."
Kayo propped herself against the wall. "It feels strange not to be the one going on this mission. This is usually my job."
"However," Penelope reminded her gently, "it's also one of my specialities."
Scott picked up a paperweight from the desk. "What am I going for then?" he asked, trying to figure out what the design was supposed to be. He caught Kayo's eye. "I'm not a recon agent, but I have my uses."
"Your job," Penelope announced, "is to charm the room."
John chuckled and tried to cover it up with a cough.
Scott lowered the paperweight. "Excuse me?"
"She means you're the distraction, Scooter," Kayo translated. She looked entirely too gleeful about this fact. "Penny's doing the real work here."
Penelope winced. "You're going to be the pretty face, I'm afraid. It's nothing against your skills, I assure you, it's just…"
"You're not exactly the most subtle guy out there," John cut in. He shrugged. "Hey, if it makes you feel any better, you can now tell Gordon that Pen thinks you're pretty."
"Very pretty," Penelope confirmed with an emphatic nod. She rose to her feet, pausing by Scott's side just long enough to rest a hand on his shoulder. "Joking aside, I really will value your company. You will come, won't you?"
Scott caught her hand, offering her the most charming smile he could muster at this time of day. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
"Oh, Christ." Kayo mimed gagging. "When I said your job was to flirt, I didn't mean right now. Get outta here."
"Not so fast." John caught the back of Scott's shirt before he could flee. "I want to talk you through the details." He clapped his hands together with an evil smile. "That's right, Scott, it's homework time."
Thunderbird Three was not a getaway vehicle, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Unfortunately, as Parker was neither an astronaut nor trained on Three, this pushed Alan into the role of getaway driver, a title that the kid was entirely too gleeful about. Of course, if everything went according to plan, there would be no need for an escapade at all, but Lady Luck had never been on their side for longer than five minutes at any given time, so Scott didn't hold out much hope that things would go smoothly.
"Try not to punch any socialites in the face," John prompted from where he was lounging on the bed, scrolling through the most recent data packet Kayo had put together on the satellite's inhabitants. "No matter how tempting it may be."
"No promises," Scott muttered, tugging at his jacket to straighten it. "I can't believe Brains sent MAX down to Tracy Island just to collect this suit."
"It's not an ordinary suit," John pointed out, cutting himself off with a muted yelp. "Virgil."
Virgil withdrew the med-scanner. "What?"
"You know that thing messes with my contacts. I need these overlays right now."
"You need to take a break."
"I'll take a break once you find out what's wrong with me. Until then," John sent a hologram spinning across Virgil's vision, "I need to work."
Virgil deposited the med-scanner on the table with a groan. "I can't believe we've hit a point where you cause me more stress than Scott does."
John glanced up from the data-packet with an amused expression. "Don't worry, he's still got tonight to get through."
"Penelope's there to keep him on the straight and narrow."
John didn't bother hiding his laugh. "Virg, that means nothing. Penny's a magnet for trouble too, possibly even more so."
"Oh my god." Virgil flopped backwards on the mattress, quietly face-palming. He spread his fingers to peer at Scott suspiciously through the gaps. "Don't do anything I wouldn't."
Scott, halfway through attempting to comprehend Brains' extensive notes on the suit's various functions, proceeded to give up and opted for learning through practise. He accidentally activated the magnets in his shoes and immediately found an old spoon Gordon had dropped under the bed and forgotten about as the object hurtled into the light and glued itself to his foot with an audible clang. Silence settled across the room. He casually switched off the magnetism and nudged the spoon back out of view.
Virgil was staring at him.
Scott leant against the wall and aimed for nonchalance. "Sorry, what were you saying?"
"John," Virgil whispered, prodding his brother's wrist. "He's going to get himself killed."
John didn't even glance up. "He'll be fine, won't you, Scott?"
"Exactly." Scott discovered the stabilising foam function on his suit and narrowly avoided disabling the locking mechanism on the door. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'll be fine. Nothing to worry about."
Virgil eyed the suit, a faint frown creasing his brow. "What happened to the cufflinks? I distinctly remember John's version of that suit coming with cufflinks."
"Scott's is the original prototype," John reported. He flipped over a projected page and hissed between gritted teeth. "Of all the cowardly, selfish ways to… I take it back. If you want to punch any of them, go right ahead, just make sure you film it so I can watch it back in full definition later."
"FAB," Scott agreed cheerfully.
"No," Virgil sighed. He lifted a hand. "Just… no. Don't do that."
Scott patted Virgil's shoulder as he reached past him, raking through the rack of clothes he'd been able to bring with him until he found his flight jacket.
"Virg," he said, somewhat distractedly as he hunted down that particular pocket which he knew contained cufflinks left over from his New York adventure. "Charming a room of rich elitists isn't exactly new to me. Penelope's a diplomat, alright, so she's been trained for this since birth, but I took over Tracy Industries in my twenties. Do you have any idea just how many businessmen were out for my blood?" He finally identified the pocket and retrieved the cufflinks, turning back to meet Virgil's concerned gaze. "In other words, stop worrying. I've got this."
Alan was lounging in Thunderbird Three, draped over his usual seat like a Roman Emperor after a feast. There was a gaming console in his hand, held disconcertingly close to his face so that the colourful graphics played across his skin, but he tossed this aside in favour of greeting Scott.
Scott slowed to a halt. Either someone had decided to turn down the temperature controls or there was simply ice trickling through his veins, for he suddenly felt as though he'd plunged into winter in Antarctica. He caught the sleeve of his suit, rubbing a thumb over the cufflink there to give himself a grounding point, and attempted to find his voice.
"What are you wearing?"
Alan frowned, confusion flitting across his features to be replaced by immediate understanding as he glanced down and examined his jet-black uniform. "Oh, right." He offered a grin. "I'm your getaway driver – I've got to look the part. Also, Brains figured we don't know for sure what we're walking into, and the zombie-rated gear is safer than my original IR suit." He grimaced. "I mean, not that I'm planning on getting shot at or anything. That would kinda suck. But just in case." He flopped over the back of the chair to examine Scott upside-down. "I'm being responsible, you should be proud."
"You're not even leaving Three," Scott pointed out. "Your only job is to fly us there and hang around until we're ready to come back. As far as anyone on that satellite knows, you don't exist. They think Parker is flying us. Or maybe me."
"Dude," Alan announced, voice laced with just a touch of whinging. "Anyone who knows you is gonna realise that if you're still around, the rest of us are too."
"Except they don't know me," Scott corrected. He leant against the hatch with a trace more exhaustion in his stance than he'd intended to let on and Alan picked up on it in an instant, eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Just… don't leave Three."
"What's your deal with the new suits?"
"I don't have a deal."
"Uh, yeah you do." Alan reached out to prod him and Scott batted his hand away. "C'mon. What is it? Is it because they remind you of zombies?"
"How about you leave this subject alone and I won't tell Virgil that you've been gaming until the early hours every night this week."
"But why?"
Because they remind me of what happened with John, was not an answer Scott was about to part with. He'd never been so grateful for Parker's presence as the man stepped through the hatch and cut off Alan's line of inquiry in a swift second. His hair was slicked in position, suit immaculate, earpiece at the ready, a far cry from the friend Scott had shared coffee with earlier that day. He peered over the schematics of the satellite projected above the dash with a grunt.
"Not a fan?" Alan tipped his head back to glimpse Parker as he took a seat towards the far-side of the cabin. "I thought you and Lady P used to visit fancy satellites all the time?"
"We did," Parker acknowledged. He fastened his safety harness and settled his hands in his lap with a reflective frown. "Doesn't mean I ever liked 'em." He repressed a shudder. "Not a fan of Space, myself."
That made two of them, Scott considered, still hovering in the entrance as he waited for Penelope to board. He didn't exactly mind Space, he just didn't care for it either. Space held too many unknown quantities. Anything could kill you and it would try its darndest to do just that. The slightest wrong move could send not only yourself hurtling off the deep end, but everyone around you too.
Time ticked on. Alan retrieved his gaming console with a full-body sigh, never one for waiting around. Neither was Scott for that matter, but he contented himself with running over the details of the mission, pacing back and forth across the cabin until Parker cleared his throat meaningfully and sent him sinking into a seat before he could be kicked out.
Penelope appeared ten minutes after their arranged time.
"You're late," Scott pointed out, nerves running havoc and elevating his heartrate to a thunder in his ears.
Penelope fixed him with a souring stare. "A lady is never late," she informed him. "You are simply early."
"Pretty sure that's not how it works."
Penelope aimed a pointed look at her stilettos, which no one had any doubts were hiding an array of weaponry from simple to bold. Scott met her arched brow with a smile.
"Point taken and I'm sorry, you're obviously right."
"Obviously," Penelope agreed, patting his cheek. "I'm never wrong."
Parker cleared his throat meaningfully. Penelope filed into her seat, harness locking into place with a gentle click. Scott reached for his own. Lights across the dash sequenced green to accompany that faint hiss of the docking clamp releasing. Pressure stabilised across the ship as Alan guided them away from Thunderbird Five for the first time in over a month.
It was an uncomfortable feeling, rotating back around to face Earth. Parker set his gaze dead ahead. Scott couldn't help his own sickening curiosity and took a good look at the planet below as they glided closer to Earth's atmosphere. Cloud cover had grown sparse over this part of the world and the ground was littered with dark scorch marks and a distinct lack of anything human.
Penelope made a much better sight. Not in a creepy way. It was just difficult not to notice her. She was undeniably beautiful. It was difficult to still picture someone as the human manifestation of the word elegant when you'd witnessed them with messy hair and crumpled pyjamas before their first cup of tea in the morning, and yet somehow, despite the fact he'd seen her cry, seen her on the verge of fully-fledged panic and running on so little sleep that not even the best makeup artist in the world would have been able to combat those dark circles, Scott doubted anything would change his opinion on Penelope. Tenacious in the best way possible with a bright mind to match, she was quite possibly – almost definitely – deadlier than him, able to kill a man with a mere teaspoon. She was incredible. And, right now, in that crimson dress, beaded with glittering gems and the sharp glint of crystals caressing her neck, she not only looked the part, she became it.
"Approaching coordinates now," Alan reported, and Scott tried not to jump, tearing his gaze away from Penelope before it could become too obvious that he was – sort of – staring. From the amused glance she shot his way, Penelope had already noticed. She reached over and patted his wrist before returning her hands to her lap, carefully folded across her knees so that her nail varnish glistened in the faint glow cast by the Earth's atmosphere. Across the cabin, Parker shook his head, expression stamped with exasperation that didn't run too deeply because it wasn't a well-kept secret that Scott was his favourite of the Tracy boys.
The satellite that rose into view was sleek, pure curves and smooth lines, uninterrupted glossy paint with the tell-tale flash of rich colour along the viewing ports. It practically sang money. It was, in Scott's personal opinion, utterly repulsive.
"You could fit several dozen extra families on that thing," Alan breathed. He tightened his grip on the controls, voice alive with righteous anger. "Maybe even more. And they're just… what, using the space for parties and fancy dinners?"
"Where'd they get the food?" Parker mused.
"They have an artificial farming unit on board," Alan hissed through gritted teeth. He slowed Three to a near standstill, eyes narrowing slightly with concentration as he matched the satellite's vector. "I hate them."
"Join the club," Scott said.
Alan released the controls. "How can they look at Earth, knowing that they left those people to die when they could have saved some of them? I mean yeah, a few families is nothing in comparison to eight billion, but they're still lives, they're people who could have been saved."
Scott flexed one hand, suddenly wishing he had access to the metal knuckles of his upgraded suit. "Don't worry," he muttered darkly, curling his fingers into a fist. "I'll pass your thoughts along."
"Under no circumstances are you allowed to punch anyone," Penelope was saying, as if she wasn't considering the possibility of maiming any pretentious douchebags with her stilettos. She had her arm looped through Scott's, chin held high with that angle of elegant pride which managed to convey a sense of danger, an edge which threatened that she was not someone to trifle with. "At least not until we've already obtained sufficient information."
Scott glanced over his shoulder to catch Parker's eye. Parker stood silently, arms crossed, earpiece blinking red as he listened to a transmission from Three that went unheard by anyone else.
"Just look at this," Scott whispered to Penelope as her grip tightened on his arm in warning. "This is insane. And this is just a welcome."
The buffet table ahead of them looked set to buckle under the weight of several platters, piled precariously high with tiny bite-sized canapés as if mimicking the Leaning Tower of Pisa in food form. Most of it remained unnoticed by the milling crowd, a collection of sharp black-and-white suits interspersed by snatches of vibrant colour as dresses caught the light.
Penelope lifted her chin a fraction higher. The pendant at her throat glittered under the glow of the chandelier. "I think," she replied smoothly, "that we should start socialising."
"I think," Scott shot back, taking a half-step closer to her, "that you have some unwanted attention."
Parker had also noticed the gleaming eyes staring where they were not welcome. His steps appeared casual, but his path happened to take him closer to the culprit, voice low with threat. Penelope turned away, satisfied that Parker would handle it, and lifted a flute of champagne off a nearby tray.
"Socialise," she repeated firmly, vaguely amused. "You're good at that." She took a sip from her drink. "I'll find you later."
"You'll find me?" Scott stared at her. "Penny, no, c'mon don't leave me alone. I have no impulse control. Virgil's not here to stop me from making any dumb decisions."
Penelope beamed. "Oh, I'm sure you'll manage." She patted his chest, sliding her champagne flute into his hand. "Enjoy, darling."
"Evil," Scott hissed after her. "Traitor."
Penelope didn't turn around, melding with the crowd and slipping into a nearby conversation as if she had always been a part of it. Scott watched her go with no small pang of envy at the way she was able to disguise all shows of anger and distrust beneath the aristocratic display. He drained the champagne – the one bonus of this trip: the free alcohol and food – and set the empty flute down on a passing tray. Parker shot him a knowing look, complete with a touch of pointed exasperation, which, well, fair enough, because they were here on a mission, not for pleasantries and mini pastries. He stole a tiny quiche, casually slipped a croissant into his pocket for later – because baked goods were a luxury that he had sorely missed – and sidled into the crowd.
It was as if he'd stepped back in time. It was almost uncanny how similar it was to a typical party amid the elite before the apocalypse. No one seemed uneasy or on edge. Topics of conversations remained pleasantly uncontroversial, steering well clear of any obvious subjects and leaving the elephant in the room unaddressed. Scott fixed the paparazzi smile on his face and replaced the agitation under his skin with liquor, although he was sure to keep within the parameters of sobriety.
It struck him after about an hour that perhaps these people weren't simply overconfident that their wealth would secure their safety, but that they were genuinely delusional. He took a deliberate sip from his drink to buy himself a few seconds in which to comprehend what the ex-businessman in front of him had just said.
"Really now," the guy was saying, flushed with pompous confidence. "I know times are tough, but just think, a deal between us could have fantastic corporate implications. Tracy Industries could really benefit."
"Tracy Industries could…" Scott waited for a punchline that never came. "Oh," he realised aloud with a faintly hysterical sense of incredulity. "You're serious."
A hand planted on his shoulder with a hearty pat. Scott resisted the urge to shove it away, but instead raised his glass in a feeble toast.
"Right, uh, I'll consider your proposal. You're right – it sounds like we could both benefit a great deal."
"That's the spirit!"
Scott shot a longing look towards the bar. "Yeah. That's the spirit all right."
Parker caught up with him as he was attempting to sneak into a dark corner.
Scott tossed up his hands. "I'm taking a breather before I punch someone. Is that illegal?"
Parker snorted. "I'm very proud of your discretion, Mister Scott."
"Oh, Christ." Scott flopped back against the wall with a barely concealed groan. "I hate this. I've always hated this. Parties, yeah, that's fine, but they're treating this as if it's a networking session." He frowned. "I'm not exaggerating. I've had five people ask me for possible deals with Tracy Industries. It's as if they don't know that the world's ended."
"Or they're in denial," Parker noted. His eyes narrowed as he glimpsed something within the crowd, vanishing without a word. Scott remained in the shadows until he was no longer at risk of losing his cool before following.
So far, he'd found out exactly nothing. It was time to switch tactics. CEO of Tracy Industries was not working for him tonight other than weeding out denialistic asshats, so it was time to try his hand at flirting. Sure enough, the information started flowing a lot more smoothly. A few compliments and teasing pickup lines bought him a wealth of new leads. It was going well until a certain blonde bombshell glued herself to his side, wrapping an arm around his waist and tugging him aside to be greeted with a weaselly little man in a gold-trim waistcoat.
"I'm sure you've heard of Scott Tracy," Penelope announced cheerfully, not even skipping a beat as she added, "my fiancé."
"Your what now?" Scott asked, scarcely manging to repress a wince as Penelope stomped on his foot out of view. "I mean, uh, sorry honey, I didn't realise we were telling people."
Faint laughter sounded in his earpiece. "I have no idea what I just walked in on," EOS giggled, "but I am so glad that I did."
"I didn't realise you were…" Elitist dirtbag wrinkled his nose. "…romantically involved." His gaze tracked lower and he didn't even try to hide it. "You're not wearing a ring."
Penelope shifted, clearly uncomfortable, and it didn't exactly take a genius to work out what was going on here. Scott pulled her closer and reached for her hand.
"Yes, well that's the trouble these days, isn't it? It's so difficult to find a good jeweller and I only want the best for my fiancée. Rest assured, the ring is coming. Hey honey, why don't we save your new friend a seat at the wedding?"
Penelope had a visible struggle not to laugh. "That's a wonderful idea, darling." She rested her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh. "Isn't he just so clever?" She kissed his cheek. "This is why I love you."
"For my genius?"
"Your good looks also sweetened the deal." Penelope turned back to the man – affectionately coined rat-bastard according to EOS in Scott's ear – and blinked, the very picture of innocence as she smiled. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"
Rat-bastard – Scott tried not to laugh and nearly failed – gave a haughty sniff, glancing Scott up and down as if assessing the competition. "Nothing."
"Nothing?" Scott queried, with an evil grin because he just couldn't help himself. "Are you sure?"
"Anything you want to say, you can say in front of Scott too," Penelope added, and oh, was that how it was? Trying to make each other laugh? Scott glared at her. Penelope squeezed his hand.
"I think we're done here," Rat-bastard muttered.
"Huh," Scott said cheerfully. "That's funny – I was about to say the exact same thing." He wrapped an arm around Penelope's waist. "Let's go, honey. I want another drink."
"You are not having another drink," Penelope hissed into his ear as they looped their way around the outskirts of the dance floor.
Scott sent her a deadpan stare. "Obviously not, but have you tried those tiny quiches? I would sell my soul for a lifetime supply."
He plucked one off the top of the pile and raised a brow at Penelope.
"So…" He couldn't help but grin. "How long have we been engaged? Did we discuss this with Gordon? Because I feel like he may have some thoughts on the matter."
"Oh, shut up." Penelope caught his eye and broke down in laughter. "Our… friend… wouldn't take no for an answer. I had to find a solution that didn't involve violence."
"I don't know…" Scott observed her over the rim of her newly acquired champagne flute. "It would make a good show."
"You think," Penelope repeated slowly, "that watching me put that revolting little man in his place would make a good show? Me, probably enacting the vengeance of all the women here who have to put up with him, would make a good show?"
"Would you use the stilettos?"
"Yes, absolutely."
"Then yes, it would make a good show. I feel like you'd be hot when you're angry. Sadly I have not seen you angry."
Penelope retrieved the glass from Scott's reach before he could steal a sip. "I'm cutting you off. You've clearly had too much. Anyway, that suggests you don't think I'm attractive on a daily basis."
"Penny, you're drop-dead gorgeous on any day of the week and you know it."
"Aw." She swatted his wrist. "Flatterer."
Scott winked. "Only the best for my fiancée."
Penelope sighed. "Would you let that go already?"
"Never. I'm already planning the ceremony. What colour roses would you like? Oh, why am I even asking? It's always pink."
Parker materialised next to them and put a hand on Scott's shoulder to keep him from jumping out of his skin. "Aren't you supposed to be finding info?"
"We were," Penelope protested.
Scott nodded emphatically. "We found a lot of information, actually. Then we got engaged."
"Oh, for… Scott. Let it go."
While Penelope headed back into the fray and Parker stole the shadows to do some espionage of his own, Scott retreated. The satellite was a collection of complex corridors spiderwebbing between compartments, doors leading to yet more doors and unnecessary floors. The place was a labyrinth. It was all too easy to get lost. EOS's voice in his ear kept him on track – kept him grounded, too, as that sting of discomfort and sheer disgust at the people around him threatened to burst free like hives.
"So," EOS teased, a welcome reprieve from the endless sea of glossy white tiles and windowless hallways – as if not seeing the state of the world could possibly change reality. "How's your fiancée?"
"You'd better not have told anyone about that," Scott warned, finally discovering the bathrooms by stumbling into the sensors by the automatic door. Huh. Maybe he'd had a few more drinks than he'd intended, but goddamn, could anyone really blame him given the circumstances? He rolled up his sleeves and bent over the sink, unwilling to meet his reflection.
"I wouldn't tell a soul," EOS continued, faintly amused. "Are you hiding?"
"No," Scott answered, a trace too quickly. He tapped at his comm to silence her. EOS could easily have unmuted herself but took the social cue as it stood and left him in the stillness of the artificial air, the faint stir of oxygen tanks hissing through the vents above him.
Stark lights glared, harsh and overly bright, threatening to tease a migraine into being. The mirrors were framed in a pure glow that stained his retinas so that he saw spots when he squeezed his eyes shut and pushed the heels of his hands against them, breathing deeply. In the distance, a door swung, revealing the muted chorus of the party. Unease prickled under the cotton fibres of his shirt. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and swept a hand under the faucet, cupping water in his palms and splashing his face.
The door hissed again.
Well-polished shoes tracked into his vision. Scott followed sleek silk up to an unfamiliar face, framed by dark curls and gold-dusted eyeshadow.
"If you're looking for answers," the woman informed him quietly, "then you're asking the wrong people." Her lips pursed, twitching with the promise of a smirk. "You're also asking the wrong questions to begin with."
Scott, slowly, reached over to switch off the water. "I'm here for the celebrations."
"No, you're not."
Instincts breathed down the nape of his neck. Shut it down, this entire conversation, you're out of your depth, Scotty. He sidestepped the woman. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, come on now, don't be like that." She ran a hand along his forearm. In the bright light, her nails were blood-red. "My name is Maya. In my line of work, I've learnt to spot the mismatched puzzle pieces, those who do not quite fit with the bigger picture or the plan at large, and you, Scott Tracy, most certainly do not belong here."
Scott tugged his arm free. "Excuse me."
"Scott Carpenter Tracy. Named after the astronaut. Ex-USAF. Tell me, did you ever manage to live up to your father's expectations?" Maya tilted her head. "Before the world ended, that is? Or perhaps you're still trying. A little pathetic, if you ask me, but each to their own I suppose."
"Your heartrate is accelerated," EOS whispered in Scott's ear.
Scott took a step closer. Maya didn't move, simply lofted her chin so that she could meet his gaze, her eyes bright with challenge.
"Who the hell are you?"
Maya patted his chest. He repressed a flinch.
"That doesn't matter. But you did just confirm my theory – you are here for answers. Jeff Tracy founded International Rescue. He wouldn't dream of attending a party for the mere celebrations and free liquor when the world has ended and people are suffering. Your emotional reaction proves that you are, in fact, trying to act as he would. Therefore you are not here for the party and if you are not here for the party, I have to conclude that you are here for answers."
Scott didn't often find himself at a loss for words. It was not a feeling he particularly liked.
"Look," Maya said, "I know who you are. I know why you're here. I want to help you."
"Why?"
"I'd like to say because I'm a decent person, but in actuality… I want off this godforsaken satellite. I want my old life back. If anyone can save the world, your family can. It's in my best interests to help you." Her voice faltered. "These people haven't ever done anything for themselves. They wouldn't last a day without us – the staff. That's how I came to be here. I received an anonymous tip that I should get off-world, so I applied."
"Anonymous tip?"
"I'm… I was… an investigative reporter." Maya gritted her teeth. "Look, the point is that you need to be talking to the staff. They're the ones who overhear everything. These rich assholes trust each other about as far as they can spit. They're not going to tell you anything. But us? The staff? We're nothing to them. They don't notice us. And that has made my life very interesting indeed."
Scott inched backwards. There was something about Maya that put him on edge, but he couldn't quite figure out what. "Alright," he agreed slowly. "Can you introduce me?"
Maya eyed him up and down. "I don't think an introduction will be necessary." She glanced at her reflection, tossing curls over her shoulders. "Come along. It's rude to keep someone waiting."
Scott hesitated an instant longer. "EOS," he murmured.
"Tracking your movements," EOS assured him. Her tones dipped into the realms of what would usually show up as the bright amber lights of her overprotective trait. "I won't take my eyes off you. I'm attempting to run a background check on her now, but until I get a hit… My advice is to be careful."
"Noted." Scott rolled his sleeves back down, combed his fingers through his hair – still damp from the water – and followed Maya into the depths of the satellite's underground.
The shift in atmosphere was palpable. Scott could almost taste it – that sense of static tension that was normally indicative of an approaching lightning strike but could now be attributed solely to the storm of human emotions plaguing the lower levels. The majority of staff simply swept past, heads low, spirits broken, dedicated to their tasks as they had nothing else left to occupy their minds. A few offered nods, curiosity clear to view in their open expressions as they recognised Scott, questioning gazes thrown to Maya only to be tossed aside like week-old leftovers.
"You're a multi-billionaire." The waiter Scott was introduced to crossed his arms with a baffled quirk to his brows. "Didn't it ever cross your mind – hey, I'm the CEO of a multinational company, why wasn't I invited to join the satellite or any of those GDF bunkers?"
Scott shuffled awkwardly. The truth was – yes. The thought had occurred to him. He just hadn't been sure how to phrase it without sounding like an asshole.
"I have a family," he said instead. "Quite a large family. It's not exactly news that I care about them a lot. I assumed that I wasn't invited because there's limited room."
"No," the waiter – Roy – replied. "You weren't invited because you wouldn't have kept your mouth shut. If they'd told you there was a secret satellite being built to keep the elite safe from a zombie plague, but the ordinary folk were gonna be sacrificed like cattle to the infected… tell me, Tracy, would you have stayed quiet? Or would you have gone straight to the press?"
Scott ran a thumb along the curve of a cufflink. The metal was smooth and soothing. He inhaled slowly and counted his heartbeat. "I'd have gone to the GDF."
Maya shook her head. "GDF wanted everything kept under wraps too." She was perched on a counter, heels tip-tapping against the cabinets. "People who talked got…" She slid a hand across her throat. Roy winced. "Let's just say that the GDF and the World Council disposed of loose ends very efficiently."
"Not too efficiently." Scott paused as a new surge of activity picked up in the kitchens. "It hit social media. My little brother showed me footage before I left for a business trip around sixteen hours before everything went dark."
"Sixteen hours," Roy pointed out. "That's what I'm saying, man. That's my point. Sixteen bloody hours. They kept it under wraps until sixteen hours before the end. Israel built a giant wall, didn't they? GDF activity picked up across the globe. The World Council cancelled that summit in Milan and didn't make any public appearances for that final week… because they were already tucked away in bunkers. By the time the final twenty-four hours hit, it didn't matter anymore if it trended on social media or if people started talking, because those on the priority lists were safe and there was nothing anyone could do anymore."
Scott slipped a hand into his pocket so that he could curl his hand into an unseen fist. "How do you know all this?"
Roy shrugged. "I listen. We all talk, down here, us lot. Not much else to do other than put together the puzzle pieces."
Maya's eyes were shark-like. "We didn't find a pretty picture." She exhaled, whistling through overly white teeth. "The questions you were asking upstairs – you're looking for a culprit, for how this all started. Here it is, as far as we know – there was a terrorist plot discovered to use the…"
Roy made a face. "Slime."
"That isn't the technical term for…" Maya sighed. "Fine. Slime. Anyway, arrests were made and security assessments were carried out. The location was found to be subpar. The GDF divided samples between vessels and moved it to different facilities. Some of the samples broke out of containment. It was a monumental fuckup on the GDF's part because they were informed beforehand by experts that the samples were too volatile and were too dangerous to move but hey, men with guns think they're infallible. From there, the infection spread. They didn't understand it – didn't understand how it could spread so quickly, how it could incubate, disguised within the human body. Someone who looked healthy and passed tests would suddenly succumb a week later. Of course, by that point they'd already infected how many others…"
"The World Council gave the orders to keep it on the down-low," Roy continued, quiet, sickened by the words as he voiced them. "They couldn't risk a collapse of societal order. And so then, when they realised they needed to take tougher action, it was too late. So, they saved their own asses and then, when the bunkers and satellites were built, they didn't pick people based off their genes – they sold the tickets to the highest bidders."
Scott drove the blunt edge of his nail into his palm. "You're telling me that no one leaked any of this to the press?"
"Of course they tried to." Maya gestured to herself. "But there was no other information available. Do you have any idea how many mad conspiracists used to contact us with stories like that every day? If we took them seriously we'd have been a laughingstock."
"But then it came true," Roy murmured.
"Yes." Maya tucked one ankle behind the other. "It did."
"No." Scott shook his head. There was a bitter taste in his mouth. He needed another drink. He needed to step outside, or back to the bathroom, find brief clarity in the shock of cold water. He folded his hands in front of him, thumb pressed to the opposite wrist, feeling the jump of his racing heart. "No, that's… The authorities fucked up, that's how it spread, alright, but are you telling me… this was seriously all just an accident?"
"Sometimes," Maya mused, "accidents are simply that - accidents. You want there to be a conspiracy because you want someone to blame. But the origin of all this? Yes, it was simply an honest mistake."
"And… you said, the infected… to begin with, it didn't immediately turn them?" Alarm bells. Blaring. Scott wasn't quite sure why he was panicking. There was a puzzle piece missing. A crucial bit. Perhaps a corner or an edge. He swallowed. "But I thought… within an hour, most people turn."
"As more people became infected, it turned them quicker. I don't understand exactly how it works but there you have it." Roy shook Scott's hand. "I've gotta head upstairs. Duty calls and all that. It was good meeting you, Tracy, and I wish you all the best."
"You too," Scott murmured, watching Roy's pristine shirt disappear amid the crowd of servers carrying platters upstairs. He nearly jolted as Maya sidled closer. "But what about the immune?" he wondered aloud. "Can it still incubate in their system, even if it can't turn them?"
The final puzzle piece fell into place.
"Immune?" Maya's eyes widened. "What? Are you saying… are you? Immune?"
"I've got to go. I've got to- fuck, but that's… I've got to- Maya, I'm sorry, thank you, you've been a fantastic help, but I've really, really got to go…"
Maya swept into his space, suddenly occupying everywhere all at once, hands sliding under his jacket to curl into claws. There was no room to breathe. The sharp edge of the countertop dug into his lower spine. Maya's fingers left bruises on his hips, lipstick tacky and sweet, the taste of faint ash and wine, her kisses hungry and leaving no air for him. There was something else too, cloudy, fogged judgement, the room spinning as though someone had left the gravity ring on too long, too much, too fast, tilting up and over…
Get off.
His voice refused to obey.
Please.
"I genuinely am sorry," Maya whispered, words poisonous and silky as her breath ghosted his neck, defenceless, no control – concentrate, fight back dammit - please stop, stop. "But immunity? Do you know where that could get me? Up there, with them, my own ticket to true safety. I'm afraid your life is just the price I'm willing to pay. It's a shame…" A hand trailed across his collarbone. "I really did like you."
Ah, it's been too long since my last cliff-hanger.
Review?
Kat x
