They’d just scrolled through another week’s report when the com-link in their suits activated, and Renny’s voice crackled from inside their collars.
“Report back,” he said. “You two okay?”
“We’re fine,” Doran answered. “We found the Infinium lab, and we’re getting caught up on the data files. How about you?”
“There’s a private residence down here,” Renny said. “Stocked with—”
“More like a mansion,” Kane cut in. “This place is swank. Theater screens in every bedroom, a full gym, showers so big you could drown. There’s even a heated pool with sun lamps and a beach simulator.”
“It’s true,” Renny said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Is the house abandoned?” Solara asked.
“It don’t think so,” Renny said. “There are dishes in the sink and food in the cooler, but we haven’t seen a soul.”
“Neither have we,” Doran added, feeling the urge to check behind him. No one was there, but that didn’t put his anxiety to rest.
“The hangar is empty, so whoever lives here may have flown off world,” Renny said. “Keep your eyes peeled, and we’ll check in again soon.”
Doran exchanged a heavy glance with Solara. The posh living quarters, the hidden lab. Clearly his father had rewarded someone lavishly to stay here and experiment with Infinium, far from the reach of the Solar League. But nothing about the data led Doran to believe there was a weapon of mass destruction here.
He leaned in and skimmed the screen until he found the next entry describing the scientist’s progress. It took several months, but G.S. finally created a sample of Infinium that was interchangeable with Spaulding fuel.
G.S. ENTRY #360: To test compatibility, I rewired our compound’s power source to the ignition tank in the lab, fueled by a twelve-ounce sample of Infinium. The outcome was successful with no interruptions in energy supply. I will document the time lapse until the sample is depleted.
Doran scrolled through the next two months’ entries but couldn’t find any indication that the original sample had run out. He turned and stared across the room at the hunk of rock burning inside the laboratory tank, then had to force himself to blink.
“You mean to tell me,” he said, “that a tiny rock has been powering this whole complex? For months?”
Solara touched his arm. “If it’s true, think about what this means.”
He didn’t need prompting. His mind was already reeling with the implications of Infinium on the open market. A lump of this super-fuel would burn a lifetime in the farming machines that now lay dormant on fields across the outer realm. Homes would stay heated for generations. Travel expenses would plummet, opening new trade routes and freeing settlers to come and go as they pleased. Commerce would flourish, and lives would be saved.
Infinium had the power to change everything.
But what none of this told him was why his father had sent him here or how his DNA had ended up on the supply crate. All Doran knew was that he’d never touched these samples. He glanced around the lab until he noticed a strand of long jet-black hair on the floor, and an idea came to mind. Using a pair of tweezers, he picked up the hair and carried it to the lab’s genetic scanner.
“Let’s find out who G.S. is,” Doran said.
After he inserted the sample, the machine buzzed for several minutes, and the words MATCH FOUND scrolled across the screen. He tapped the DISPLAY option and leaned closer, pulse ticking in anticipation. But when the result flashed on the panel, his own face stared back at him, along with the text DORAN MICHAEL SPAULDING, HOUSTON, TEXAS: EARTH.
“That can’t be right,” he said. “You saw that hair—it’s not mine.”
“Has your hair ever been that long?” Solara asked. “Maybe someone planted it here.”
“No, never.”
“Then we have to assume it’s your genetic code.”
“But it’s not.”
“Are you sure?” Solara dipped her head and peered at him intently. “Doran,” she said with a gentle touch of her hand. “Think about it. A long time ago, there was someone who shared your DNA. I think he’s the one who invented Infinium, or at least that he handled the crate your father supposedly stole from the Solar League transport.”
Doran’s twin? The implication was so absurd that he nearly laughed. “My brother’s gone. We found his body.”
“Did you see the remains?”
“Of course not. I was nine years old.”
“What was his name?” she asked. “You never told me.”
“Gage,” he said. As soon as the word left his lips, the hair along his forearms stood on end. “Gage Spaulding.”
“The initials fit. It all fits.”