Legacy Code by Autumn Kalquist Page A

crowd in the stairwell. The handrail felt insubstantial beneath Era’s hand, and the bodies around her passed in and out of the edges of her blurred vision as they made the slow climb to observation. It was all so surreal. Holo.
    If only she could gesture, make the scene disappear, return her to a reality where Dritan hadn’t been taken by the guard, and a member of his crew wasn’t about to be airlocked.
    Era had shut herself in her cubic the day they airlocked the traitors on the London . She couldn’t watch it again, not after what she saw the day of the riots.
    They’d been docked at Soren for one year when the riots happened. The captain, the crew, and all of their family members blockaded themselves on the bridge to wait it out. Dritan had been working when it started, and Zephyr had to stop Era from going to find him.
    She and Zephyr huddled in a corner, sipping quin liquor and listening as the reports came in. Three ships had gone dark, including the Kyoto , which had been docked right next to them.
    The Kyoto had been dark an hour when the rioters there airlocked the captain and his crew. One of the bloated corpses drifted so close to the bridge of the London that it slammed into the glass and stayed there, staring at them through bloodshot eyes. Sightless. Empty.
    The president ended the riots by sending guards to each of the dekas. In less than a shift, the guards took back the Kyoto and airlocked the traitors.
    That was the day Era knew she couldn’t live so many levels above Dritan anymore—knew he was the half to complete her infinity.
    They reached observation. The doors were open, and no one bothered to swipe their shift cards. Era froze at the threshold, her gaze riveted to Soren’s blood-red surface.
    Someone cursed behind her, and Zephyr dragged Era onto the deck. The incoming crowd pushed them forward until they reached the front.
    At least two dozen guards had lined up across the glass expanse, their pulse guns out and primed. Chief Petroff and Tadeo flanked the president. She stood tall, the tendons in her neck taut, as her unblinking gaze swept over the gathering colonists.
    The board members were arrayed beside the chief. Four men. One woman. They represented the ten manufacturing dekas, in theory, yet each of them had lived on the flagship for their entire lives.
    Chief Petroff lifted an amplifier, a black box smaller than a handheld, to his mouth. He cleared his throat, and the sound traveled through the room.
    Tadeo stepped closer to the president, his jaw working, and adjusted his pulse gun in his grip.
    “Silence on the deck,” the chief said.
    The murmuring died down, and the president took the amplifier and lifted it to her mouth. She scanned the row of vigilant guards beside her and lifted her chin. “At the end of first shift yesterday, level six experienced a hull breach. We have completed our investigation. What happened yesterday was no accident. It was sabotage.”
    Gasps echoed through the crowd.
    President Sorenson backed up a step and switched the amplifier to her other hand. “Three maintenance crew workers have confessed to sabotaging this ship. Several of our guards were injured. Many lives could have been lost. This was their intention.”
    Three. Sam. And who else?
    Era’s legs weakened beneath her, and she raised a hand to her chest. Zephyr looped an arm around her back, lending support.
    The president paused, waiting for the noise to die down. “If we ever want to find our better world, each of us must continue to do our duty to the fleet. There may be more traitors lurking among us. We are instituting a strict curfew. All colonists must be in their assigned cubics during night shift, unless I personally grant you an exemption for critical ship work. If you witness any suspicious behavior, you must report it immediately. If anyone is found to be hiding or withholding information about such occurrences, they will be held accountable.”
    Dritan didn’t do anything.