It’s not great that it’s gonna happen to me, either—but other than Three, and maybe the original Mickey Barnes, I’ve had the best life of any of us. I guess it’s my turn.
Anyway, I’m out of time here. Take care of Nasha, huh?
“Okay,” Quinn says. “You’re all hooked up. Ready?”
I’ve had a good run. Hell, for an Expendable, I’ve had a great run. I’ve been alive for over two years. I’ve explored a new world. I’ve had adventures. I’ve communed with an alien intelligence.
I’ve spent nearly every night of my life with Nasha wrapped around me.
Honestly, who could ask for more?
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m ready.”
023
IT TAKES ME a while to come out of the upload fugue state. When the world finally comes back to me, I’m slouched in the chair, helmet off but wrists and ankles still bound. Quinn is dozing in an office chair across the room, eyes half-closed and head resting on one hand.
“Hey,” he says, and sits up a bit straighter. “You’re back.”
I blink to my chronometer. “Five hours?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I told you this would be a rough one.”
He gets to his feet, stretches, and then comes over to unbuckle me. “How was it? Do you remember anything?”
I have to think about that for a minute. Two-plus years of memories just got sucked out of my head.
The only thing I remember is Nasha’s face.
Quinn opens the last buckle. I stand, then wobble and catch myself on the back of the chair as my vision grays.
“Careful,” Quinn says. “Backed up or not, postural hypotension is a stupid way to die.”
I shake my head clear. “Thanks. Good advice.”
“So,” he says. “You want to tell me why you picked tonight to upload for the first time in over two years?”
I look at him.
He looks at me.
“No,” I say finally. “I don’t think I do.”
ONE OF THE first things Jemma Abera drilled into my head all those years ago on Himmel Station was the story of the Ship of Theseus. Theseus sails around the world in a wooden ship, replacing parts as he goes. When he gets home years later, he’s replaced every single board and line. Is it still the same ship?
As I’m walking out of Medical, it occurs to me that I never thought about the pieces that Theseus left behind. That’s what I am now, isn’t it? When my next iteration comes out of the tank, the person I am at this moment won’t be a part of his narrative. Mickey Barnes will still be alive, but me?
I’m already a ghost.
It’s a short walk from Medical to Maggie Ling’s quarters. It’s just past 04:00, so she’s definitely not up right now, but at this point I want this to be over and I don’t much care about her sleep cycle.
As head of Systems Engineering, Maggie is the second-highest-ranking person in leadership behind Marshall. Her rack actually rates a metal door. I stand facing it for what feels like a long while.
Last chance to back out, right?
I close my eyes and breathe in, breathe out.
I raise my hand to knock.
Much to my surprise, the door opens before I’ve touched it. Maggie almost walks into me, then jumps back with a start.
“Barnes? What are you doing here?”
“Hey,” I say. “Sorry, I didn’t … I mean, I just … um … I just finished uploading, so I guess … I’m ready. I know it’s practically the middle of the night, but I’m tired and I want to get this over with. Let’s do it.”
She stares at me, eyebrows knitted. “Do what, exactly?”
“Um … do the bomb, Dr. Ling. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be doing now? Shove the fuel elements back into the reactor? Save the colony?”
She shakes her head. “Go back to bed, Mickey. It’s already done.”
“It’s … what? How can it … did you use a drone?”
“No,” she says. “Unfortunately, we did not. That was my suggestion, but I was overruled. My argument was that the failure of our last attempt was a fluke, and that the odds of success with a slightly more heavily armored unit would be good, but Commander Marshall was adamant that the risk was too great.”
I can feel my face harden. “So you pulled another iteration of me out of the tank?”
“Look,” she says, “I’m actually feeling a bit overwhelmed this morning, and I don’t have time to be your psychotherapist. Check your messages. If you still have questions after that, we can set up a meeting.”
With that, she closes the door behind her, brushes past me, and walks away.
Check your messages.
I blink to a chat window, and there it is: a string of unread texts. They must have come through while I was under for the upload.
They’re from Marshall.
I open the thread.
<Command1>: Barnes.
<Command1>: Acknowledge, please.
<Command1>: Very well. I had hoped to engage with you directly on this, but I have neither the time nor the inclination to wait for you to finish your beauty sleep, so:
<Command1>: First, an apology. I have not treated you well over the past eleven years. I have done what I thought was necessary for the success of this mission and for the survival of our colony, but in the process I have used you badly, in ways that are now increasingly clear to me. Understand, please: I would not do anything differently if I had it to do over. I do, however, regret the necessity.
<Command1>: Second, an explanation. I would guess that you went to sleep this evening expecting at any moment to be ordered into the reactor core. You may in fact have wondered why it hadn’t happened yet. I told you when I sent you to retrieve the bomb that I would release you from any such obligation if you succeeded, but given our history together, I wouldn’t blame you if you assumed that this was a lie.
<Command1>: It was not.
<Command1>: You said to me once that despite all evidence, you didn’t believe that I was a villain from a vid drama. It may surprise you to learn that I do not believe myself to be a villain either. In fact, I consider myself to be a person of honor and integrity, one who has at every turn done what was necessary to protect the people placed in my charge.
<Command1>: That is what I am doing tonight.
<Command1>: As I said, I promised you that I would not order you into the reactor. However, for the survival of the colony, those fuel elements must be replaced. Dr. Ling suggests that we use another drone. She states that she believes the probability of failure this time to be less than five percent.
<Command1>: I will not risk the lives of every person on this planet on a one-in-twenty chance.
<Command1>: Her second suggestion was to ask for volunteers.
<Command1>: Here is a fact that you may not have been aware of, Barnes: the median age of colonists on this planet is thirty-six standard years. Our youngest is thirty-two. You are actually among our oldest—or would be, in any case, if you hadn’t been reset so often. There are four of us other than you who are in our forties: Drs. Ling, Burke, Berrigan, and Rausch.