Chaos Station 01 - Chaos Station by Kelly Jensen & Jenn Burke

Author:Kelly Jensen & Jenn Burke [Jensen, Kelly & Burke, Jenn]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2015-03-02T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

The fact that the gangway didn’t extend without Elias triggering it himself told him that he was the first to return to the Chaos. The corridors echoed with emptiness and the ship felt lifeless—not abandoned, like it had when he and Fixer had bought it, but lacking. The atmosphere would change entirely once the crew returned, but until then, it was like the Chaos was sleeping.

Elias made his way to the bridge and checked comms and systems. Everything was as it should be. He contacted Qek and Nessa for an update. They reported nothing unusual or all that helpful. His finger hovered over Fixer’s contact, but he didn’t press it. Contacting him might put his friend in a bad spot since, of all his crew, Fix was the most likely to find trouble. Particularly with Zander, Zed, Loop, whatever-the-hell his name was at his side.

Leaning back in his chair, Elias called up the files he’d saved on his wallet, all the info he could find on Zander Anatolius. He’d found plenty of tidbits dated from before the war had started, mostly information on the other, more public members of the Anatolius family with some brief mentions of the youngest son serving in the AEF. He’d found a reference to a few commendations in the early years of the war, a couple of promotions, and then nothing. For the past five years, it was like Zander Anatolius had ceased to exist. Until that holo had surfaced a few months back.

With a flick of a button, Elias called up the recording he’d scrounged up from somewhere on the net. The cacophony of a battlefield filled the bridge, the sound of explosions and gunfire interspersed with sobbing and prayers. The person behind the camera swept her device across the interior of the transport, noting in a low, shaky voice that the vehicle had been disabled by enemy fire and at last check, the stin were advancing. It was clear that she expected this to be a recording found after her death as she explained the circumstances behind their late evacuation and gave the names of the people aboard the transport, reporting that three evacuees had already been killed by the same fire that had disabled the vehicle. Ten civilians huddled behind the seats.

Then the camera spun in a vertigo-inducing blur to the front of the transport where a large man dressed in dark combat gear stood. Black streaks of paint broke up the lines of his face and his hair was shorter, but it was unmistakably Zander Anatolius. He barked out questions that the woman with the camera answered, her voice wavering, then he seemed to listen to his earpiece for a moment. He glared out the window, his jaw hard and square, and after a moment tugged the comm off his ear.

“Everyone out!” Anatolius shouted. “Move! To the skipper. Move, move!”

The civilians staggered to their feet and raced across the road to the soldiers’ short-range troop transport vehicle. Without the melody

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