Against the Red Sky: Mission X PRE-ORDER (SIGNED)

Maddie’s cuff flashed: emergency. She squinted past the alert to the outline of the water exchange warehouse ahead, adjusting the weight of her hydration pack as sweat poured down her back. Today’s rations wouldn’t distribute themselves, and she’d promised Stephie she’d cover the afternoon shift—no time for emergencies.

She pedaled more slowly, watching if the few other people out in the baking sun seemed bothered by an alert. Her cuff might be malfunctioning. A man leaned against the wall up ahead, arguing with another man sitting on a milk crate. A woman pushed a shopping cart filled with tires across the street. None of them seemed bothered by much of anything, but none of them wore cuffs either.

It flashed again. “Code Red. Seek shelter immediately at the compound.”

She never stopped in this neighborhood until she reached the warehouse, but now she rested both feet on the ground, her heart pounding.

“Is that gadget saying you’re lost?” The man leaning against the wall flashed a cold smile.

She ignored him and tapped her cuff. The alert didn’t go away. Code red. A credible threat. This didn’t feel like a drill. Was it a threat on her life? She spun her bike around. She’d text Stephie to explain as soon as she made it back to the penthouse, but now she listened for screeching tires or other signs that someone was closing in on her as she pumped her pedals harder.

A news helicopter thundered overhead, chopping the air as it carved a path back toward Center City. Her path. Her cuff flashed again; the device’s incessant plea sent her pedaling so fast her chest burned. As she passed Rittenhouse Square, a new fear set in; she’d made it back from Kensington with no interruptions. If this wasn’t a threat to her life—Maddie gripped her handlebars, needing to feel something solid. Where was Uncle Gus? They’d talked days ago. A business trip, somewhere in the Pacific, checking on some assets. Routine. Nothing to worry about.

Maddie’s stomach dropped as she skidded onto the sidewalk in front of her building. Mr. Henry burst outside. His cuff also blaring red. “Inside!” he shoved her bike at an attendant as he pulled her through the door.

Breathless, Maddie choked out. “What happened, Mr. Henry? Is he ok?”

The doorman shook his head vigorously. “Of course, he has to be fine.”

Maddie nodded. He had to be fine; couldn’t be dead on an island in the middle of nowhere. Too many people depended on him.

Mr. Henry shuffled Maddie into the service elevator. “Might already be cameras in the lobby.”

Sound seemed muffled as the doors closed, and the air in the elevator felt too thin, like when the atmospheric stabilizers in the domes malfunctioned. But Maddie only guessed what that felt like by gauging the depth of the dark shadows under her mother’s eyes and the exhaustion in her voice as she explained there was nothing to worry about, just recalibrating the machines. Routine processes and all that. Her mother would put on that exhausted smile, a constant reminder that up there, the most basic elements of survival required constant vigilance.

Vigilance and uninterrupted supply missions.

But there must be a plan to keep the colony going if something happened to him. A detailed plan, in binders with color-coded tabs. Copies in triplicate. Certainly, there was a plan. Maddie just wished she could see it now. The next shipment of life-giving supplies would go out on schedule. No disruptions. That would be spelled out in the plan. But many times, she’d heard rushed conversations in hushed tones behind his office door, negotiating for this and that to ensure the colony had what it needed. He’d tried to keep those conversations private, but Maddie knew. She kept tabs. Supplies were running low.

Maddie’s chest burned, each breath seeming to bring less oxygen than the last. Without Uncle Gus orchestrating the supply chain, how long until those careful calibrations failed completely? Her mother had never seemed farther out of reach than she did right now.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Maddie pulled off her bicycle helmet, which suddenly seemed too tight for her head.

“Should I send up someone to sit with you?”

Mr. Henry’s face seemed distorted in size.

“I’m fine,” Maddie answered.

She didn’t remember walking to the door and opening it but found herself standing in the foyer of the penthouse apartment, the whirl of the chopper blades vibrating through her body like an uninvited guest.

Massive dragonflies. No, that didn’t make it better. A tornado roaring in from somewhere hot and dry. Drier. Also not better. Maddie covered her ears, fighting to block each whomp, whomp, whomp. How close were those blades to the house? Damn company better have great insurance. She made her way to the window and peeked behind the curtain. A telephoto lens longer than her arm stared back. Snap. She yanked the curtain closed. How fast would they circulate that picture? What headline would they use?

Billionaire Missing, Niece Distraught.

That would get the clicks.

Chop, chop, chop. The blades ripped apart what should have been a quiet Tuesday. Uneventful, home alone, but not worried, not chewing on nauseating fear. Maddie wiped her sweaty hands on her pants and tapped his picture again. How many times had she tried to call him since she’d walked through the door? More than ten? Less than ten? She wasn’t sure.

Three, now four lonely beeps. A signal pinging off a cold satellite. A satellite with only one job. A job it was currently incapable of performing. She turned off her cuff in disgust, then hurriedly switched it on again. What if he called?

Dammit. “Where are you, Uncle Gus?” She tapped his image again. More beeps. If she were honest with herself, she hadn’t expected to feel this way. Affectionate was not a word anyone would use to describe her uncle. Calculating, paranoid, distracted. Those words all applied. But more than being worried about the colony, she was worried about him. Maddie ran her hand through her hair and turned on the news; a wall of controlled and concerned panic reflected at her. The news cycle refreshed, with a photo of her peeking out. They’d brightened it. She looked scared. Four minutes- that’s how long it took them.

The ticker racing along the bottom of the screen sent her slowly sinking to the couch as the news anchor took the stage. Her smooth, blond hair and perfect, nude lips completed the package of polished, professional concern. “It’s been five hours since an assassination attempt on Transcendia founder Augustus Sardeth. His condition and whereabouts remain unknown.

Assassination attempt. Maddie’s chest tightened. Code red. As bad as it could be.

The news anchor’s eyes flashed. Maddie studied every airbrushed detail of the woman’s sculpted face on the giant screen. This was her moment. As long as he stayed missing, or even better, turned up dead, she’d stay on screen, dispassionately reporting the facts.

The facts.

Maddie fought back tears. Augustus Sardeth. Richest man in the world. Billionaire founder.

More facts.

Uncle Gus. Only living relative on planet Earth.

Maddie stabbed his picture again. He must have a small army with him. These people may have tried to kill him, but surely they failed. The signal bounced around the dark vacuum of space, again unanswered, unheard.

Maddie picked up the chiseled yellow diamond from its pedestal on the console table. No matter the temperature in the apartment, the diamond always felt cold, as if it carried the depths of space. The weight felt right in her hand. She squeezed it tight, a gift from the leader of an island she’d never heard of. Her uncle had a way with people.

The blond news anchor ceded control of the world’s attention for a few minutes to turn to an expert in a sharp blue suit, his hair freshly trimmed—enough time to spruce up for the biggest story of his career. With distractingly white teeth, he launched into what he didn’t know. “We know the attack destroyed the Transcendia research facility where Mr. Sardeth was staying, but not much is known about the group who carried out the attack. We believe they are eco-terrorists working in the north Pacific region. The words ‘Terra Primera’ were spray painted on the side of a building on the property.” The footage panned to a building with hastily spray-painted words. Maddie wondered if they cared their words were so sloppy. “The Sentinel recently reported that Terra Primera was also spray-painted on an oil tanker that sank in the same region three months ago under suspicious circumstances.”

Maddie’s cuff lit up with an incoming call. Her heart leaped to her throat and sank again as she saw it was only Olive. Maddie tapped decline. She would want answers. They all wanted answers.

He has to be ok. Why? Because you’re too precious to be left alone? Too precious to be abandoned?

She turned up the TV to push the nasty thoughts out of her head. He’s just getting somewhere safe.

The news anchor leaned in with another question. “How many people make up this group?”

The expert, with his expensive suit and bleached teeth, didn’t know.

“Are the police any closer to catching them?”

Again, no answers.

Maddie tasted metal and realized she’d bitten her cheek until it bled. Whoever did this should bleed, too. They must suffer. The television looped back to the photo of her peeking through the curtain.

The news anchor put on her most sympathetic voice, dripping with condescension. “Mr. Sardeth’s niece must be so worried.”

Maddie dug her nails into her palms.

“We wish she’d sit down for an interview, but so far, she’s declined our requests.” Her wide eyes seemed to plead directly to Maddie. Look, we’re not bad. We just want you to tell the whole world how horrible this is for you, over and over. Was sending this incessant chopper their way of asking nicely?

Maddie muted the anchor and watched the screen pan to two other supposed experts with no information and then flashed a prepared statement by Transcendia assuring the world, and by world, they meant the stock market, that the Mars Colony was more than just one man. The colony was two hundred people who relied on regular shipments from one man, but the statement didn’t say that.

The penthouse’s virtual assistant chimed in a cheerful tone. “Sunset in twelve minutes.” Maddie sucked in a breath to stop her bottom lip from quivering. The first night after her mother had left, Uncle Gus invited Maddie to watch the sunset from the crow’s nest on the second floor. He had folded himself into the small space, sitting beside her on pillows while they watched the sun paint the spaces between the buildings in reds and pinks. He’d never done it again, but the pillows were still up there. She checked occasionally.

Only a half hour until her regularly scheduled call with her mother. Her stomach knotted. Fifteen hours. That’s how long it took to get a news feed to Mars, so unless someone had already made a special call, Maddie would be delivering the news. But what news? Vivien would ask who did this. Maddie grabbed her laptop and searched for the name of the group spray-painted across the destroyed Transcendia buildings. Nothing. No manifesto, no concrete links to previous crimes. It was as if they hadn’t existed until yesterday. She rubbed her arms against a sudden chill.

Maddie had to have more answers than he’s missing. Someone tried to kill your brother. No, I don’t know anything else. She couldn’t handle seeing the pain, the worry, and Vivien’s unspoken question: Will the colony be safe? Maddie had to talk to him, and soon. The ticker ran across the bottom of the screen. “Massive explosion at Transcendia research facility on a small island in the north Pacific, Augustus Sardeth’s last known location. Mr. Sardeth’s condition is unknown. Terrorism suspected.”

So few words. A tear slipped out. The reflection of two spiral staircases in the window framed her face. Scared. Alone. How much would they give for that photo? How much would they take? She shuddered and wiped her cheek, rolling her shoulders back. He’s fine. He had a small army to protect him, just out of satellite range. It happens out there. And the colony will be fine. She bit the inside of her cheek again. So why hasn’t he called back?

The helicopter hovered, beating the air and driving an insufferable thudding in her head. Its relentless pursuit of The Story. The almost empty penthouse apartment with the nearly orphaned niece. Tragic.

Maddie punched a pillow, and her cuff lit up. A black square danced across her arm—unknown contact. Hot fear shot up the back of her neck. What if it was some Transcendia employee calling to confirm the worst? Or what if it was one of the terrorists calling to tell her she was next? Her finger hovered over the square. If she didn’t answer, she’d never know. The square danced again, more urgently now. She stabbed at it.

“Hello?” She held her breath. The video feed on the other side stayed off. A static voice came through.

“Maddie. I’m sorry I couldn’t call before.”

“Uncle Gus!” Relief flooded her, but her heart pounded. “Are you hurt?”

“We just got service, but my cuff was compromised.” The loud whir and hum of his chopper filled the feed. “Don’t leave the house. I’m sending protection for you.”

“For me? Are you hurt?” Static. Thump, thump, thump of chopper blades. A different rhythm than the news chopper outside. The thuds clashed chaotically in her brain.

“Not too bad. Just a few cuts and bruises. But I can’t come home for a little while.”

“You should go to a hospital!” Tears flowed freely down her cheeks now.

“I’m ok.”

“Why would anyone do this to you?” The question was silly and naïve. Augustus Sardeth had not become a billionaire by saying please and thank you, but the little girl inside her had risen up and shouted out the question.

A high-pitched whine broke up their transmission, drowning out his response. She didn’t ask again. “Have you talked to your mother?”

“Not yet. We have a call scheduled soon.”

“Tell her I will call her as soon as I can. I need to find out how big this thing is.”

A rock formed in Maddie’s stomach. She wanted to ask if the next shipment was on time, but it seemed in bad taste. “When are you coming back?” She asked instead.

“I don’t know yet. Don’t worry, though. We’ll find out who they are. Stay inside until the protection comes.”

“You think they’re after me?”

The connection dropped, and Maddie’s knees buckled. She slumped to the rug, feeling the whir of the helicopter blades vibrating her cells. She would assure Vivien her brother was alive, which must ensure shipments would stay on course—but staying inside, waiting on protection? It made the plush surroundings of the penthouse feel like a prison. She reached for her cleats and helmet but stopped. For years, she’d tried to distance herself from her uncle’s empire, working at the water exchange, avoiding public appearances. Now, that separation meant nothing. The media had plastered her picture for the world to see, branding her as Sardeth’s heir whether she claimed the role or not.

But who was this group that dared attack her uncle? If she wasn’t a target before today, it made sense she would be now, unless they were only after him. She shuddered. Her uncle would turn the tables on them- he always did. Anyone who attacked Augustus Sardeth would need to run very far, very fast. She settled on the couch and wrapped herself in a blanket, watching the door, waiting for whoever her uncle would send.