“… No. I suppose not.”
Falconi shook his head. “Damn fool of a ship mind. He was so scared of losing us, he went and jumped off a cliff, and now look where he’s at … where we’re at.”
“I guess it goes to show that you can still make mistakes, even with a brain as big as his.”
“Mmh. That’s assuming Gregorovich is wrong. He could be right, you know.”
Kira cocked her head. “If you really believe that, why are we going to warn the Knot of Minds?”
“Because I think it’s worth the risk.”
She thought it best to change the subject then. Motioning toward the olive tree, she said, “What happened?”
Falconi’s lip curled with a snarl. “Again, the UMC, that’s what. They ripped it out of its stasis box looking for—for whatever. Took me this long to clean the place up.”
“Will the tree recover?” It wasn’t a variety of plant Kira had experience with.
“Doubt it.” Falconi stroked a branch, but only for a moment, as if afraid to cause further damage. “The poor thing was out of the dirt for most of a day, temperature was down, no water, stripped leaves…” He held out the pouch. “Want a drink?”
She took the pouch and put her lips to the straw. The harsh burn of some sort of rotgut hit her mouth, and she nearly coughed.
“Good stuff, eh?” Falconi said, seeing her reaction.
“Yeah,” said Kira, and coughed. She took another slug and then handed the pouch back.
He tapped the silvered plastic. “Probably not the best idea before cryo, but what the hell, eh?”
“What the hell indeed.”
Falconi took a sip of his own and then let out a long sigh and let his head drift back so he was looking at what would be the ceiling when under thrust. “Crazy times, Kira. Crazy times. Shit, of all the ships we had to pick up, we had to pick up yours.”
“Sorry. It’s not what I wanted either.”
He pushed the pouch across to her. She watched it drift through the air and then snared it. Another mouthful of rotgut and another burning streak pouring down her throat. “It’s not your fault,” he said.
“Actually, I kinda think it is,” she said, quiet.
“No.” He caught the pouch as she lobbed it over. “We still would have ended up having to deal with this war, even if we didn’t rescue you.”
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing. You think the Jellies were going to leave us alone forever? You finding the suit on Adrasteia was just an excuse for them to invade.”
Kira considered that for a moment. “Maybe. What about the nightmares, though?”
“Yeah, well…” Falconi shook his head. He already seemed to be feeling the drink. “That’s just the sort of bullshit that always happens. You can prepare and prepare, but it’s the stuff you don’t anticipate that always throws you for a loop. And it always happens. You’re going about your day, and bam! An asteroid comes out of the blue, ruins your life. How are you supposed to live in a universe like that?”
It was a rhetorical question, but Kira answered anyway: “By taking reasonable precautions and not letting the possibility drive you crazy.”
“Like Gregorovich.”
“Like Gregorovich,” she agreed. “We all have to play the odds, Salvo. It’s the nature of life. The only alternative is to cash out early, and that’s just giving up.”
“Mmm.” He peered at her from under his brows, as he so often did, his ice-blue eyes hooded and ghostly pale in the dim light of ship-night. “It looked like the Soft Blade was getting away from you back on Orsted.”
Kira shifted, uncomfortable. “Maybe a bit.”
“Anything I should be worried about?”
For an uncomfortably long time, she didn’t answer. Then: “Maybe.” Contracting her hamstrings, she pulled herself down to the deck and secured herself in a sitting position. “The more I let go of the xeno, the more it wants to eat and eat and eat.”
Falconi’s gaze sharpened. “To what end?”
“I don’t know. None of its memories have shown it reproducing, but—”
“But maybe it’s keeping that hidden from you.”
She tipped a finger in his direction. He offered her the pouch again, and she accepted. “Letting me drink this is kind of a waste of good alcohol. No way for me to get drunk, not with the Soft Blade interfering.”
“Don’t worry about it.… You think the xeno is some sort of doomsday nanoweapon?”
“It has the capability, but I don’t think that’s necessarily what it was made for either.” Kira struggled to find the right words. “The suit doesn’t feel malevolent. Does that make sense? It doesn’t feel angry or sadistic.”
Falconi raised an eyebrow. “A machine wouldn’t.”
“No, but it does feel some things. It’s hard to explain, but I don’t think it’s entirely a machine either.” She tried to think of another way to explain. “When I was holding the shield around the maglev, there were all these tiny little tendrils going out into the walls. I could feel them, and it didn’t seem like the Soft Blade wanted to destroy. It felt like it wanted to build.”
“But build what?” Falconi said in a soft voice.
“… Anything or everything. Your guess is as good as mine.” A somber silence stilled the conversation. “Ah, I forgot to tell you, Hwa-jung said she was going into cryo as soon as she put Gregorovich under.”
“Just you and me, then,” Falconi said, and raised the pouch as if in a toast.
Kira smiled slightly. “Yes. And Morven.”
“Pshaw. She doesn’t count.”
As if to punctuate his words, the FTL alert interrupted, and then—with a distant whine—the Wallfish activated its Markov Drive and departed from normal space.
“And there we go,” said Falconi. He shook his head as if he were having trouble accepting it.
Kira found herself looking at the ruined bonsai again. “How old is the tree?” she asked.
“Would you believe, almost three hundred years?”
“No!”
“For real. It’s from Earth, back before the turn of the millennium. Got it off a guy as part of payment for a transport job. He didn’t realize how valuable it was.”
“Three hundred years…” The number was hard to comprehend. The tree was older than the entire history of humans living in space. It predated the Mars and Venus colonies, predated every hab-ring and manned research station outside low-Earth orbit.
“Yeah.” A brooding expression settled on Falconi’s face. “Those jackbooted thugs had to tear it up. Couldn’t just scan the place.”
“Mmm.” Kira was still thinking about how the Soft Blade had felt on Orsted—that and whatever purpose it had been built or born for. She couldn’t forget the sensation of the countless threadlike tendrils insinuating themselves through the fascia of the station, touching, tearing, building, understanding.
The Soft Blade was more than just a weapon. Of that she was sure. And from that certainty came an idea that gave Kira pause. She didn’t know if it would work, but she wanted it to so she could feel less bad about herself and the xeno. So she would have a solid reason for viewing the Soft Blade as something other than an instrument of destruction.
“Do you mind if I try something?” she asked, extending a hand toward the ruined tree.
“What?” Falconi asked, wary.
“I’m not sure, but … let me try. Please.”
He fiddled with the edge of the packet as he considered. “Alright. Fine. But nothing too crazy. The Wallfish has enough holes in her hull already.”