“That’s what I think too,” said Grace. “The last time I was at an edge world, the local population was at a quarter million.”
“Seems reasonable,” said Nate. “I mean, after a few years.”
“We saw a hundred or so at the … before,” she said. “Even lowballing this, where’s the other forty-nine thousand people?”
Nate looked around at the destruction of the floor. No bodies. Still nothing resembling a corpse. Just some shambling people with bugs in their skulls back at the hall.
They didn’t have to worry about opening doors. There was a trail of torn ceramic, concrete, and metal at each location there should have been a door. Nothing barred their way. A quick four hundred meters and they were outside the medbay. Penn was inside, lights still on. No one else was in the medbay with him, just some functional consoles, a few beds. What looked like discarded meal packets. A bucket for waste. The man had been slumming it for a mighty-mighty in the Republic.
Nate walked up to the ceramic glass, looking at Penn through it. “Hey,” he said.
“Captain Chevell,” said Penn. “It’s a pleasure.”
His stance said command, shoulders straight, hands behind his back. His uniform was dirty but still worn with pride. Like a badge, or a shield, or both. The ceramic window between them was hardened, protected, a bastion against outbreak. The surface between Nate and Penn was scratched, some of the clarity melted to an opaque sheen in places by heat. So, someone had tried to break in, or blast in, but hadn’t had the right firepower. They hadn’t had Republic arms, those still locked behind ID controls.
The area was big, but only Penn was inside. “Likewise,” said Nate. “You’re alone?”
“I’m alone,” said Penn. “Everyone else is … taken.”
“Can you walk?” said Nate. “We’ve got a bit of a jaunt to get back to the dropship.”
“I can not only walk,” said Penn, “but I can run. Are you ready?”
“For what?” said Nate.
“When I open this medbay, they will come,” said Penn. “They will come, and try and bring us to their … what do they call it? To their ’together.’”
“The bugs speak English?” said Nate.
“The bugs speak whatever their hosts speak,” said Penn. “Have any of you been injured? By them?”
“No,” said Nate.
“Nope,” said Kohl. He slapped his chest. “Take a lot more than a few scrawny colonists to break this shell.”
“Oh,” said Penn. “So you’ve … not actually seen the Ezeroc.”
“We’ve seen them,” said Grace. She pressed a hand against the ceramic separating them. “The bugs inside their heads? Instead of their brains? What do they do, eat them?”
“Something like that,” said Penn. “I’ve got files on my person.” He held up a data sliver. “This must make it back to the Republic. Whatever happens, Captain. Whatever happens.”
“Got it,” said Nate. “You can die, the sliver’s important.”
“If it’s all the same,” said Penn with a wry smile, “I’d prefer to not die.” He turned to Grace, his face turning puzzled. “I see,” he said.
She stiffened, turning to Nate. “Nate—”
“Well, enough of that,” said Penn. “Let’s get to cheerier subjects. Door opens, we run. No wasting time, no sightseeing. Anyone who’s not us, you shoot. Are you good with that, Captain?”
“The people?” said Nate. “You want us to shoot people?”
“For what it’s worth, I’m good with it,” said Kohl.
“They’re not people,” said Penn. “They haven’t been for some time. And in a few days, they’ll be quite a bit worse than people. It’s a mercy.”
Nate thought about that. “I won’t fire,” he said, “unless they come for us.”
“Then you’ll be firing quite a lot,” said Penn. “This facility is infested. When this door seal breaks, expect a rush.”
“This facility is deserted,” said Nate.
“Let’s see, shall we?” said Penn. With a hiss of escaping air, he opened the door.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
El sat in the Helm’s chair on the Tyche. The flight deck was tidy, clean, some parts made new as the day she first flew. She had no clue how Nate would pay for the repair bill on this, but for now it felt good. Her ship would fly again, and she would fly truer than she ever had while El was at the console. The Tyche was holding an atmosphere, automated sounds more subtle than structural as the Gladiator’s repair systems fitted the last components into place.
Her comm clicked. “Well, there’s good news and bad news,” said Hope.
“Hit me with the bad news,” said El. “I’m in a glass half full mood at the moment. Nothing can bring me down.”
“The ship might not fly again,” said Hope.
El jerked in the acceleration couch, spraying coffee all over the console. She hurried to wipe it off with a sleeve of her flight suit, then winced. It felt like she might have pulled something in her back doing that. She scrabbled at the comm. “Say what?”
“The good news,” said Hope, “is that I’m just messing … I mean, fucking with you. She’ll be ready to fly on time. This Republic hangar…” Hope’s voice took on a wistful note. “I guess it’d be nice to work on one of these ships. It takes a lot of the drudgery out of the work.”
“Hope,” said El, “I’m going to throw you out an airlock.”
“Good to know,” said Hope. “Let me know how you get on keeping the ship in the sky.”
“Anyway,” said El. “You are working on one of these. You’re literally working on one of these right now.”
“Not really,” said Hope. “Not for real. Kisses, though.” The comm clicked off.
Not for real. That was true enough, in its own way. Hope couldn’t be on a Republic ship, not unless she was in the brig. Her fingerprints would be all over the Gladiator, but they’d just be another box on her criminal record. A black mark on a sooty profile.
They’d have to do something about Hope’s situation. Nate would want to, no matter how bad an idea it would seem. El had already talked him back from the edge of madness — he’d been keen on busting into a Republic facility, pointing guns at people until they did something about it. As if activity like that would lead to anything positive for any of them. It wasn’t the touch of fear that had guided El’s words, it had been the real threat of a life on the run, never being able to buy a coffee or a beer or a fucking sandwich without someone putting the collar on her. All because of that bitch Reiko.
No thanks.
Hope might be the sister she never had, but some problems shouldn’t be shared.
Or couldn’t be shared. Whatever.
The holo clicked, whirred, light filling the air. The Tyche was watching the crew, a good shepherd even with her wings clipped. Active biorhythms for Nate, Kohl, and Grace filled the space. Warning indicators peppered the display, markets against heart rate and adrenaline spikes. El watched it for a minute, thinking, well, it’s a glitch — got to be. Ship’s not been tested yet. But nothing changed, until the display blanked, and SIGNAL LOST blinked in the air.
El clicked the comm. “Tyche to ground crew, yo. How you doing down there?”
Nothing. Not even static. There was no handshake to the signal. Nothing.
“Tyche to ground crew. Hit me back.” El clicked the comm, tried another channel. Still nothing. She leaned forward, wincing again at her back, amped the signal up. “Nate? This is El.” A slight hiss of static, but nothing else. Okay, go specific. “Kohl.” Silence. “Kohl, you asshole. Come in.”