I have to think about that.
“Kind of? It was a long time ago.”
“Yeah,” he says. “It was right before all this bullshit with the creepers got started. You came in because you were going on some kind of reconnaissance thing with Gomez and you wanted to be current if you didn’t make it back.”
“I didn’t, by the way.”
He scowls. “Whatever. Point is, I tried to chat with you while I was setting up the rig—you know, like a friend would. Remember what you said to me?”
Okay, this is coming back to me now. “Look, Quinn—”
“You told me to shut the hell up and just do my goddamned job. Not really what a friend would say, is it?”
I sigh. “That was a long time ago, and it wasn’t even me. That was Six. He’s been dead for over two years now.”
“Looked like you. Sounded like you. Acted like you. I’m gonna say it was you.”
“Did I ever tell you about the Ship of Theseus?”
That stops him for a moment. “The what? No. No, and I don’t want to hear about it. I also don’t want to hear about whatever you’re trying to weasel out of me now. Let me guess, though. You’re bored, because unlike everyone else on this planet you’ve got no job, and you want me to swipe some drugs from the pharmacy to help you pass the time. Am I right?”
I open my mouth to reply, hesitate, then close it again.
“Right,” he says. “Thought so. Piss off, Barnes.”
“I am not looking for drugs.”
He rolls his eyes. “Then what? Want a look at someone’s medical records? Trying to figure out if some ghost chaser you banged has an STI?”
“No, and no. Look, Quinn, I think we got off on the wrong foot here—”
“You’re not hearing me, Barnes. Whatever it is you want, I do not care. Let me repeat that. I. Do. Not. Care. You’re so deep into Marshall’s doghouse that you can’t see the exit, and from where I sit it doesn’t look like that’s changing anytime soon. He can’t shove you down the corpse hole because of whatever it is you’ve got hanging over his head. Fine. Good for you—but I’ve got no such protection. I’m just like everybody else but you on this rock. If I do something shady and it comes out, I’m screwed. More than that, if it comes out that whatever shady thing I did was for your benefit, Marshall is liable to take out all of that frustration about not being able to kill you by double-killing me. So, in short, my answer is no. Forget it. Screw off. Go to hell. Whatever it is you’re looking for, you’re going to have to look for it somewhere else. Are we clear on this, or do I need to call those Security guys over here to physically drag you away from my table? Not sure what their issue with you is, but when they came in I got the distinct impression that they wouldn’t mind taking a chunk out of you.”
“Um…”
He raises one eyebrow, and I find myself wondering if he really would try to get those guys to lay hands on me.
Probably best not to find out.
“Yeah, Quinn. We’re clear. Have a nice day, huh?”
“WAIT,” NASHA SAYS. “So you just asked him? Like, Hey, there, Mr. Brock. Mind hooking me up with an illegal download of whatever stored memories you’ve got from the Expendables you’ve been illegally pulling out of the tank? I know Marshall probably told you he’d kill you if you told anybody that those memories even exist, but still. Can I get a peek?”
“No,” I say. “That’s not what I said. I mean, that’s kind of the gist of what I was planning to say, but I would have been a lot more eloquent.”
We’re back in our room now, huddled together on the bed. Nasha’s sitting up, leaning into a pillow propped against the wall. I’m curled on my side with my head in her lap. We’re in that weird time of day where unless you’re on third shift it’s too late for eating but too early to go to sleep. Back on Midgard this would be the time when you’d go for a walk, or see a show, or go to a club, or maybe just stream a vid. Here, though?
“Anyway, I didn’t even get to the ask. He shut me down before I could work my way around to the question.”
Nasha snickers, which I do not like, but at the same time she absently runs her fingers through my hair, which I do. “Didn’t even let you get two words out, huh? How does that work? Much time as the two of you spent together, I thought you’d be friends.”
I turn my head to look up at her. She’s smirking.
“Apparently we are not friends. I’m not sure I’ve ever really told you how weird the whole upload process is, even setting aside the fact that it seemed like half the time I was uploading because I was dying. I never liked it, I got anxious bordering on panicky every time I had to do it—even the times that I wasn’t bleeding out or choking on blood or dying of radiation poisoning—and I’m sure I probably took some of that out on Quinn over the years. Apparently I was particularly obnoxious the last time I came in, when I was Six. I had completely forgotten about that, but I guess Quinn hasn’t.”
“This should teach you, Mickey. It never hurts to be nice.”
I bite her leg. She smacks the back of my head hard enough to briefly fuzz my vision, but she’s laughing.
“Anyway,” I say, “apparently Quinn has noticed that I’m an asshole when I upload, and he doesn’t like it.”
“Fine. But this isn’t an upload you want, right? It’s a download.”
I snug my head back into her lap. “Yeah, and that’s worse. I’ve never been conscious for a download before. Ordinarily you only download when you’re trying to fill an empty head. I know it’s possible to download into an active mind. They did forced learning that way back on Midgard. Not often, though, because it’s super-unpleasant and also sometimes results in permanent psychosis.”
Nasha’s hand drops away from my head. “Permanent psychosis?”
“Only sometimes. Laying a whole new set of memories over top of the ones you already have isn’t for the faint of heart, I guess.”
“And you still want to do this?”
I roll over onto my back. “No, I don’t want to.” I sit up, and then scoot back until we’re sitting shoulder to shoulder. “We’ve been through this, right? If I’ve got to put my head on Marshall’s chopping block to keep the colony from going down, then I guess that’s what I’ll do. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass for most of the people in this dome, but you know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, or to Cat, or to Berto, even. I’ve got to know, though. I’ve got to know for sure. If I bring that bomb back here and it turns out that this was all some bullshit play to get me back under Marshall’s thumb, I’m gonna be really, really pissed.”
Nasha takes my hand and leans her head on my shoulder.
“I know, babe,” she says. “Believe me, so am I.”
004
THAT NIGHT, I dream about Eight.
More accurately, I dream about being Eight.
Most of my dreams are weird, fleeting things. This one is not. This one is photorealistic, more like a memory than a dream. I’m down in the creepers’ labyrinth, wandering lost with an apocalypse bomb on my back.
The tunnels are just as I remember them—pitted bedrock, cut through with cross-trails, coal black in the visible spectrum, but glowing faintly in the infrared. I wind my way deeper, one hand on the bomb’s trigger, wondering what I’m looking for, wondering whether I should just pull the rip cord and be done with it. Every few minutes, Seven checks in with me, tries to talk me out of what we’re doing—but I believe what Marshall told me, and I want Nine to come out of the tank when this is done.
Did I actually try to talk him out of it? At this point, I can’t remember.
Finally, I stumble through an arched opening and out onto a ledge overlooking the crèche. It’s a nightmare pit, a space half the size of the dome, illuminated by a dull orange glow that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere, swarming with creepers. There are thousands of them, tens of thousands, crawling over and under one another, up the walls and across the ceiling. I snap a still frame and shoot it to Seven. This is the time, right? This has to be the time. My hand tightens on the trigger. I …