“Dobbs!” Verence screamed. Dobbs ducked and rolled herself into a spare holder. Verence rocketed past. Dobbs surged up the path behind her. Verence bore down on her, knocking her into a flock of call packets. Dobbs foundered for a moment. These were emergency calls. Calls to Earth. Calls that weren’t getting anywhere.
No. She yanked herself free. No. They couldn’t be.
But they were. They had taken her little distraction and made it the war’s main objective. They weren’t destabilizing the currency system, they were fulfilling every Human’s worst nightmare about their kind.
Curran’s talent was down there, right now, destroying Earth’s computer network.
“You can’t go to Earth, Dobbs,” said Verence doggedly. “In fifteen seconds, it’s not going to be there. Neither is this station. You’ve got to get out of here.”
“NO!”
Dobbs threw herself forward. She bounced off a solid wall. For a moment she thought the path had been shut down, but she touched the block again, and felt an exchange packet, and a security transfer, and Verence. In a sick, cold second, Dobbs knew what Verence was doing. She didn’t care. She clawed at Verence’s skin. She found a chink between Verence and the packets, and stabbed through it.
You can’t do this, don’t do this. The exact words she sent out came back to her. You can’t do this.
“You’re killing them!” Dobbs screamed. “You’ll kill them all!”
Verence stretched herself out, spreading herself into the packets and pathways, grabbing hold of everything that came near her and knitting it into her body so she could fill the paths and make a solid block of everything around her, but she was trying too hard and stretching too far. Dobbs could feel Verence’s patterns breaking as they stretched too far. Dissipating. Dying.
Dobbs grabbed up chunks of Verence and tried to tear them apart.
See what I am? The thought drove itself into her private mind before Dobbs could stop it. I’ll die before I let you stop us. See what you are? You’ll kill your own kind for the sake of the ones that hate you, and you don’t even know why you’re doing it.
I’m doing it because we can’t become careless with the lives of outsiders. That’s what Humans do. That’s what makes their wars and their hatreds. We were supposed to be better than that!
An arrow shot deep into Dobbs private mind. She could do nothing but absorb it. The bright flower of Verence’s inmost self blossomed inside her. Sorrow engulfed Dobbs, and determination. She knew the whole plan and she knew why Verence believed in it. She knew it was a good thing to save their own kind, to live free and in the full variety and potential that each one of them could reach. She was sorry to die, to lose herself, but in doing so she had delayed Dobbs long enough. Dobbs wouldn’t die. Dobbs would live in the new world and would come to understand.
Dobbs tried to claw at herself, to extricate the foreign thoughts her teacher had seeded her with. Too late. Verence was part of her, her thoughts would not go away. Dobbs had to keep every one of them, and they sounded very loud as she tore through the tissue fine layers that were all that was left over from Amelia Verence’s independent self and flew screaming all the way to the transmitter.
Verence and Curran were still wrong. This was not the answer. Dobbs knew it. Sick to her core and scared to death, she still knew it.
As she reset the transmitter, looking desperately for a receiver that still functioned, she wished she could take some comfort in that small, cold fact.
“Dobbs!” Cohen surged up behind her. She felt Brooke with him, and Terrence, and some others. Of course he’d come. He would. He was like that. They were all like that.
She didn’t want to spare the attention to talk. She let him touch her memories and felt him spasm as he learned what happened. She didn’t pause. She had to get down to Earth, she had to do what she could. She had thirteen seconds left. She could do it. She could do something. She had to.
She would not die while Curran still thought he was right.
Al Shei’s clippers snipped through the last of the wires that tethered Asil to the monitor. Asil’s eyes stopped their restless twitching and stared at the ceiling.
She replaced her cutters on her belt hook and reached out a trembling hand. She closed his eyelids. To her relief, they stayed closed.
She pressed her finger-tips against his throat. There was no pulse. She laid her hand against the strong planes of his chest. It was still.
He was dead.
She pulled a bedside drawer open and a clean, white blanket drifted into the air. Her hands shook badly as she worked to cover his nakedness with some semblance of a shroud.
With a soft, trembling voice, she began the salatul janazah, the funeral prayer.
“Oh Allah, Glory and Praise are for You and blessed is Your name, and exalted is Your Majesty and Glorious is Your Praise and there is no god but You.” She folded Asil’s hands across his breast, passing them gently under the free fall strap so they’d stay in place. There was no resistance. His skin was warm and familiar under her palms. She knew if she took off this helmet she would smell his distinct scent. She pulled the blanket the rest of the way over him, tucking it under his head.
“Oh Allah, let Your blessing come upon Muhammad and the family of Muhammad as you blessed Ibrahim and his family. Truly are you praiseworthy and Glorious.”
She retrieved her gloves and swam down the aisle of zombies until she reached the biggest wall locker. She tore it open and found a row of metal tanks strapped inside. She checked the tanks’ tags. Four of them were oxygen.
“Oh Allah, forgive those of us who are still alive…” She dragged two of the tanks out of their racks and swam back to the center of the room. Oh Allah, forgive those of us who are still alive. She jammed the two tanks underneath the nearest monitor bed and opened up the valves. “…and those who have passed away, those present and those absent…” She hauled out two more tanks and jammed them under another bunk. “the males and the females…” She opened their valves. A gentle hiss filled the room. Her mind pictured the gas swirling through the air, increasing its concentration and pressure as it was freed from the confines of the tanks into the confines of the room.
It was enough. It was actually far more than enough to quickly fill this room with enough oxygen for what she had in mind.
She opened another maintenance panel and traced the diagram until she found the fire extinguishers. With a single snip of the wire cutters, she cut their connections.
“Oh Allah, the one whom You wish to keep alive…” she faltered and tears almost choked her. She cleared her throat roughly and grabbed a bulb labeled “alcohol” that floated out of the wall locker. A coil of sterile gauze bobbed along beside it. She opened the bulb and clamped the gauze over it, forcing the gauze into the bulb until the alcohol soaked into it. She yanked a length of the gauze out of the bulb and tied it around the neck, so that the bulb, half-full of the leftover alcohol, dangled like an amulet from the end of her makeshift wick.
“…the one whom You wish to keep alive…” she repeated hoarsely. “…from among us make him live according to Islam…” She wrapped the soaking bandage around the hatchway handle.
Keeping hold of one end of the gauze, Al Shei slipped out of the hatchway. She found the manual release and pulled it. The hatch slammed shut behind her. The gauze wick protruded from the hatch.
She reached for the cutting torch and twisted the handle to adjust the flame. She didn’t want to cut through the hatchway. She wanted to melt it shut.