“Not likely,” Nasha says. “If we knew we were conducting a raid, we’d drop tracers on our way in. We’d have no trouble figuring out how to get back out.”
“Really? We didn’t do anything like that yesterday.”
She smiles. “When we left the dome yesterday, I thought you actually knew where the hell we were going. If I’d known how clueless you were, I’d have made sure to bring some along.”
I sigh. “Fine. We could find our way out. That doesn’t solve the original problem, which is that we’d be finding our way back out through a mass of ten thousand seriously pissed-off creepers.”
“Those tunnels are narrow. They wouldn’t be able to come at us all at once. With any luck, we could manage a fighting withdrawal.”
“Until we got out into the open, where they could totally surround us.”
She shrugs. “Hopefully by then we’ve killed enough of them that they decide to let us go.”
“Look, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, huh? Best case, maybe we can trade them something for the bomb. They don’t know what it is. They don’t know what to do with it. They know what metal is, though, and if they’re anything like Speaker’s creepers, they value it.”
“So do we,” Nasha says. “I didn’t hear Marshall offering to give us a pile of titanium to barter with.”
I lean across the table, take her hands, and give her a grin. “He didn’t. He gave us a rover, though.”
Nasha stares me down for a long five seconds. “A rover.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Four thousand kilos of rolling trade goods.”
Nasha pulls her hands away and shakes her head. “You are not trading our rover away, Mickey.”
I push back from the table, get to my feet, and pick up my tray. “It’s not the first option—but if it comes to it, yeah, I am.”
“And if it’s too far to walk? How do you expect to get back to the dome?”
I give her the grin again as I pick up her tray, but there’s a little less humor in it this time. “Come on, Nasha. Anywhere is walking distance if you’ve got the time.”
WE DON’T SLEEP much once we get back to our room. It’s not spoken, but I think we both have a strong feeling that this might be the last time we share a bed. Even when we’re done, she doesn’t roll away from me. Her legs twine around mine and her weight settles onto my chest, and as I start to drift I can almost imagine that she’s slipping through me, that I can feel her fingers brush past skin and muscle and ribs to curl lightly around my heart. I close my eyes, breathe her in, and wait for morning.
“JAMIE?” I SAY. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Jamie looks up from adjusting the straps on his rebreather. He doesn’t look any happier to see me than I am to see him. “You tell me,” he says. “This is your show, right?”
I glance around the ready room. Cat is across the way pulling boxes of accelerator slugs out of a locker, and Lucas Morrow is filling the front pockets of a pack with protein bars. If we’re only getting two goons, they’re the ones I’d want, so that’s good news, I guess.
“Did I miss something?” Nasha asks. “Are we bringing the rabbits with us?”
Jamie’s face twists into a scowl. “Screw off, Adjaya. That’s not all I do around here.”
“Okay,” Nasha says. “Enlighten me, because that is for sure the only thing I have seen you do since we made landfall. What is it that you do that qualifies you for this trip?”
“Well,” he says, “for starters, I’m the only person who survived transit who’s rated to pilot the rover. If you’d rather walk, though, I’m totally happy to go back to bed. Just say the word.”
“No,” I say, and shoot Nasha a quick glare. “Definitely not. We’re happy to have you, Jamie. Thanks for volunteering.”
Jamie barks out a humorless laugh. “Volunteering? Right.”
“I volunteered,” Cat says from across the room.
“I didn’t,” Lucas says. “I lost a coin toss.”
The door slides open behind me, and Berto walks in. He’s already carrying a full pack.
“Morning,” Nasha says. “What’ve you got there?”
Berto grins. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“It’s an ultralight,” I say. “Kinda like a hang glider, but he’s got some kind of motors attached to the frame. It’s his new favorite toy.”
He shrugs out of the pack and drops onto a bench. “You suck, Mickey.”
“You’re not bringing that,” Nasha says.
Berto looks up at her, his face set halfway between confusion and annoyance. “What?”
“You’re not bringing a portable ultralight on this trip,” Nasha says. “The only reason you’d want to is so that you can bail on us if things go sideways, and I’m not having that.”
“First,” Berto says, “bite me, Nasha. Second, there are a million useful things I can do with this thing other than bailing on you.”
“Okay,” Nasha says, and folds her arms across her chest. “Name them.”
Berto holds up one finger. “For one thing, aerial reconnaissance.”
“Don’t see why we’d need that, but okay. What’s two?”
Berto holds up a second finger, opens his mouth, hesitates, and then closes it again. “Well,” he says finally, “I guess that’s it, really. Doesn’t matter, though. I’m bringing it.”
I can see Nasha wants to press the issue, so I step between them and say, “Look, there’s room in the rover, and it might be useful. He can bring it, okay?”
Nasha gives me a quick look that says, You’re gonna regret that, but then shakes her head and says, “Fine. But if he does try to cut and run on us, I’m using him for target practice. It’ll be fun to see what a burner does to an ultralight.” Berto glares up at her, but doesn’t respond.
“Well,” Jamie says, “this trip’s off to a solid start. I can see why Marshall put you in charge, Mickey.”
I’m trying to come up with a better response than Shut up when the door at the far end of the room opens and Hieronymus Marshall enters. Marshall never looks particularly happy, but the expression on his face this morning is grimmer than usual.
“Well,” he says. “It seems we’re all here.”
“What?” Nasha says. “This is the team?”
“This is the team,” Marshall says. “Is there a problem?”
“Of course this is the team,” Jamie says. “We’re the expendables.”
Marshall turns to look at him. “This colony no longer has an Expendable, Mr. Harrison. You can thank Mr. Barnes for that.”
“No,” Jamie says. “I don’t mean like Mickey. I mean, we’re the people you don’t think you’ll miss if this shit show falls apart and we all wind up dead. I’m the rabbit guy, right? Who cares what happens to me? Mickey’s not even that. He’s the assistant rabbit guy. Adjaya and Gomez are grounded indefinitely, so they don’t have any kind of jobs at all.”
“I’ve got a job,” Lucas says. “So does Cat.”
“Look, Jamie—” Berto begins, but Marshall cuts him off before he can get going.
“Enough! Let me be clear about this, Mr. Harrison: There are no expendables in this colony. Between those lost to the collision in transit and those lost two years ago, our population is alarmingly close to the limits of viability. We do not have a single body to spare. Moreover, the success of this mission is absolutely vital to our continued survival. The six of you were selected because, in both my and Mr. Amundsen’s judgment, you give us optimal odds of success. Is that understood?”
Jamie looks like he wants to say something, but in the end he thinks better of it and nods.