Into the Black Hole

Chapter 6: Unwanted Attention

Time almost stops as milliseconds stretch to hours, yet I'm still too slow to react. My elec is only halfway pointed in the Martian's direction when I'm staring down the barrel of his superior-looking weapon.

"Drop it, now!" he orders, his expression menacing.

I imagine myself as a hostage, being tortured, starting a war between two planets.

Maybe I should let him pull the trigger. But that would jeopardize the mission.

In defeat, I let my elec clatter to the floor. The sound echoes loudly, bouncing off the rounded walls. I raise my hands, palms facing him.

I hear my father spit out a profanity.

"Idiots!" Duarte's audio is muffled. He's struggling against his bonds. "I knew this would happen. No one ever listens to me! We need to go to her." He continues to shout "Let me go!" as I dumbly stare wide-eyed at the tall man in front of me. He's much more muscular and big than I would've thought possible for a Martian raised with Mars' gravity, sixty-two percent less than Earth's.

He stalks closer, dark eyes first meeting mine then zeroing in on my chest. He stops. Rage flickers across his face and two strides later, the muzzle of his gun jams against my forehead. His other gloved hand squeezes my throat above the gold flower. My feet leave the ground, and I automatically reach up to clutch his forearm, trying to break his hold.

It's futile. All I touch is armor underneath his red uniform.

"Who are you?" he questions, enraged. "How did you get in? Why are you stealing the Eye?!"

If he wants me to reply, he really shouldn't have me in a choke hold. His gun shifts, the barrel no longer pointing directly at me, and I take my chance. He pulls me toward him, and when my face is just inches from his, I strike with my dominant hand, plugging two fingers into his eye sockets.

He screams and drops me, his hand retracting to cover his now bleeding eyes. I collapse onto the ground, but it doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would. Kind of like falling in slow motion.

The Martian's other hand—the one holding his gun—swings back around. He fires his weapon and misses, his eyes clearly not seeing straight. I tuck and roll, hoping the bullet won't hit me when it ricochets.

But it doesn't ricochet, which makes no sense. Why would he fire a bullet that can penetrate the metal encapsulating us? The risk of inhaling Mars' toxic fumes almost paralyzes me, yet I allow the momentum to keep rolling me until I reach my elec. Clutching it with one hand, I point it at my opponent, turn off the safety, and pull the trigger.

His red eyes and bloody face jerk to the ceiling, then he tilts back, hitting the ground behind him, hard. I drag my fingers through my ponytail, again and again, the repetitive motion soothing.

I shot him in the face. Even if my elec is on stun mode, it's quite possible he's dead. It was self defense, I tell myself. He attacked me first. However, I know that line of reasoning is invalid, for we are the ones who infiltrated Mars' territory and broke into their Holding Safe.

And stole their seemingly prized possession. The Eye. An anguished cry sounds in my ears—Duarte.

A quiet, more gentle voice hesitantly asks, "Ailee?"

Seconds pass, and I hear sobbing. I realize the crew are waiting for me to speak. Waiting to know if I'm unscathed or if the elec they heard go off had incapacitated me.

I clear my throat and reply, "Yes, Commander Orlov?"

The tension on the other side breaks. The sobbing transitions to a gasp.