“I’m very well,” Nib said. He did not return the hug with as much gusto as Bear, but the smile on his face showed a degree of fondness equal to what his brother had displayed. “You’ve been away too long.”
“Seriously.”
“What, no hello for me?” Jenks grumbled.
Nib peered all around the upper edges of the walls in an exaggerated manner, then looked down to Jenks. “Oh, hey, Jenks! Didn’t see you down there!”
“I hear that a lot from dipshits who shoot their own eyes out,” Jenks said with a grin. Both men laughed. Ashby blinked. He’d never seen Jenks react to jokes about his height with anything but silent, unnerving disapproval. Nib had clearly earned a few points with Jenks in the past. But Ashby also noticed that the exchange had left Bear unamused. It seemed the scruffy man wasn’t fond of making fun of friends.
Introductions were made and hands were shook. They followed Nib out of the front hall and into a common room. Ashby smiled the minute he walked in. He had been in homes like this before—sturdy, ramshackle dwellings made from whatever a few hard-working pairs of colonist hands could scrounge up. Cheap faded tapestries covered the walls, barely hiding the industrial sheet. Mismatched chairs and sofas were stuffed into the room, all angled around a pixel projector (that, at least, looked new). Pixel plants sat in the windowsill and hung from the ceiling, their digital leaves curling hypnotically, as if they were breathing. Ashby’s grandmother had owned pixel plants like that, cheerful and homey. The air flowing through the ceiling vents was clean and cool, but there was a lingering scent of stale smash smoke—soot-like, woody. Behind one sofa was a workbench, covered with hand-labeled jars and boxes. Some room had been cleared on the bench for a pitcher of mek, a bottle of berry fizz, and several glasses. Alongside the refreshments lay a partially constructed mech arm.
“That’s the project that will never end,” Bear said, noticing Ashby’s gaze. He raised his own mech arm. “This one’s fast, but it can’t lift as much as I’d like. That one there’s a prototype. I’m trying to create the perfect blend of physical strength and fast reflexes.”
“Good luck,” laughed Kizzy. “You only get one or the other.”
Jenks leaned toward Rosemary to explain. “If biotech signals go too fast for your nerves to process, the rest of your body doesn’t know to brace itself for the weight. You’ll tear your muscles to shit that way.”
Bear frowned at the prototype. “But there’s got to be a way around it.”
“You pull it off, you’ll be the richest tech in the GC,” said Jenks.
“I don’t even care about that,” said Bear. “I just want to be able to throw a ketling bare-handed.”
Kizzy, Jenks, and Nib laughed. Ashby started to ask what a ketling was, but Nib spoke first. “May I offer anyone something to drink? Haven’t got much, I’m afraid, but friends of Kizzy’s deserve as much hospitality as we can give.”
“That’s very kind. I’ll take some fizz, thanks,” Ashby said. His nose was already warming to the aroma rising from the mek pitcher, but he didn’t want to get too relaxed. He was here to buy equipment, after all. Laziness and credits rarely mixed well.
The front door thunked open as Nib distributed drinks. “Hey!” a female voice called from the hallway. She sounded young. “Are they here yet?”
“We are here!” called Kizzy. “Hello, sweet face!”
“Hi!” said the voice.
“Hi!” said Jenks.
“Wait until you see what I just bagged. Hol-ee shit—”
“Ember,” said Nib in a voice that could only belong to an older sibling. “Whatever you’ve got, do not—”
“I’m not bringing it inside, dumb ass. I hit its goo sac. Leaking green shit all over the place. Come on out, you’ve got to see this.”
Bear and Nib looked at each other. “Dammit, we talked about this,” Bear said, already on his way out the door.
Nib sighed and handed out drinks. “Our sister has a penchant for seeking out trouble. Especially if it involves ketlings.”
Rosemary beat Ashby to the question. “What’s a ketling?”
“Come on,” Nib said. “Bring your drinks, I’ll show you. And, ah, I hope you’ve got strong stomachs.”
They went outside, safe behind the shield’s breathable boundaries. The body of a creature lay in the dirt, motionless within puddles of its own fluids. Over it stood a rifle-wielding young woman—or was she a girl? Ashby couldn’t say. She couldn’t be any older than twenty. Unlike her brothers, she had no visible ports or implants. Her long curly hair was wild as Bear’s, and her face was pretty in a hard sort of way. Her arms were toned and muscular, her skin dark with sun. Ashby wasn’t sure that he’d ever been that fit.
The creature, on the other hand, was silent and terrifying. It reminded Ashby of a grasshopper, if grasshoppers had needle-like maws and angry ridges across their backs. Layers upon layers of sharp-edged wings lay in a broken heap. Its legs were contorted and broken, some of them curling inward at rigored angles. There were thin hairs around its mouth and beneath its belly, which somehow made Ashby shiver more than any of the rest of it. The pillow-like sac beneath its jaw wasn’t exactly leaking, as Ember had said. More like gushing in slow motion. Sticky, oily, sour-smelling green gunk pooled around the thing’s nightmarish head.
“Would you look at this fucker?” Ember beamed. “It’s as big as me!” She looked around. “Also, hello, new people. I would shake hands, but, um…” She held up a gloved palm. It was smeared with green.
“Wow,” said Sissix. She crouched in for a closer look, sipping her fizz. She did not seem to notice (or, at least, care) that Ember was studying her just as intently. “I take it this is a ketling?”
Ember gave a surprised chuckle. “You’ve never seen a ketling before?”
“Why would she have?” Bear said. “She’s never been to Cricket.” He turned to the group of onlookers. “That’s how this moon got its name, incidentally. From these bastards.”
Nib inspected Ember’s handiwork. “Where’d you find it?” he said, his voice far too calm.
Ember’s smile wavered for split second before making a practiced recovery. “Um, y’know, sometimes there are loners hanging around the wells—”
“Bullshit,” Bear said, crossing his arms. “Where?”
Ember swallowed. “Drymouth Gorge,” she said. “But it was fine, I didn’t get that close.”
Bear took a bracing breath and looked skyward. Nib frowned. “Ember, you know better.”
Ember’s cheeks went red. She gave a sulky shrug. “It’s dead, right?”
“That’s not the—” Bear started.
“We’ll talk about this later,” Nib said, his eyes flicking briefly toward their guests.
Jenks examined the ketling’s head, tipping it up to face him. It crunched as it moved. “Holy shit,” said Jenks. “You got it in the head. Kizzy, look.” He pointed to two holes, one on the side of its jaw, one near its lidless eyes.
Ember shrugged again, but the corners of her mouth betrayed satisfaction. “Yeah. It was rushing the skiff, so I had to be quick about it.”
“Dammit,” Bear said. He continued to shake his head, but said nothing further.
“I don’t think I could’ve done anything if this beastie was coming at me,” Kizzy said, poking at the split carapace. She looked at Ember. “Stars, I want to hug you so bad right now, but I’m afraid that green shit will poison me or something.”
“It’s not poisonous,” Ember said. “Just sticky.”
“Yeah, I don’t want to be sticky, either.”
Ashby glanced over at Rosemary. Her arms were folded across her chest. “You okay?” he asked.