CHAPTER 19
While l work on Vel, they jury-rig
wires between the terminal and the door. His blood stings
my skin, and I spare a moment to hope it won’t kill me, if slower
than it does the Morgut. Even if it might, I wouldn’t stop.
“If this works,”
March says, “it’s going to take out half this room.”
Doesn’t it figure?
Our security guy is laid out while the two mercs, who tend to solve
problems with a hammer, take charge of getting us out of here. Vel
could probably hit two buttons and get the door to open.
I resist the urge to
stare at Jael, knowing he probably expects it. Everything we know
about the Bred comes from rumors from the gutter press, sensational
gossip seasoned liberally with speculation. Like an Ithtorian
bounty hunter, who ever expects to meet one?
His wounds appear to
be coagulating nicely, but then, I don’t know what to expect, given
his physiology. I lack all but basic emergency training. Then
again, I can’t blow a security door either.
“Keep your head down,
Jax.” To my surprise, this terse order comes from Jael.
“March, line up some
crates in front of Vel, if you can. Give us some cover.”
He nods to indicate
that’s a good idea. “Don’t set it off until we’re settled,” he
tells Jael.
How morbid—the slimy
floor provides a ready lubricant, so our makeshift barricade slides
easily into place. March crouches beside me.
“Ready,” he
calls.
Instinctively, I bow
my body over Vel. Any debris that rains down will catch me in the
back. Jael hits the switch to short out the terminal, and the
current crackles along the wires, shorting out the electrical lock
that holds the door in place. It blows wide with a boom, slamming
backward into the corridor.
The sound shocks Vel
awake. I sense the moment he rejoins us, side-set eyes glittering
up at me. His mandible moves, and his vocalizer kicks in a few
seconds later. “Are you taking advantage of me, Sirantha?”
“Was that a joke?”
Sheepishly I ease off him.
“And we’re out of
here,” Jael says. “Is he conscious?”
“I am.” Vel answers
for himself. “Can you help me up?”
Since I was just
about to ask if he could walk, I certainly can. Between March and
me, we haul him to his feet. As Vel drops a foreleg around my
shoulder, not out of affection but from a need for support, I flash
back to our hike out on the Teresengi Basin.
Vel seems to follow
the thought because he sounds almost wry. “This is becoming a
rather unfortunate tradition.”
“I’m sorry,” I
murmur, once March and Jael move off to scout ahead. “You sure got
the short straw when they partnered you with me.”
“I’m alive,” he says.
“There are those who would’ve left me for dead, dismissing my
injuries as too grievous to make me worth the risk of hampered
travel.”
Damned twice over, I
don’t know what to say. He receivedthose wounds trying to protect
me, and once before, in another life it seems, I considered leaving
March after a fight went bad. A wave of nausea washes over me, not
because I’m covered in gore, or embracing an Ithtorian, but because
I hate that Jax.
Does changing for the
better absolve you of all the wicked shit you did before?
No. March fills my head like a warm glow. Instead you receive the twin delights of guilt and
regret.
So he knows then.
I’ve always wondered.
It’s what you do that counts, not what you consider
doing.
He always knows
exactly what to say. I swear to Mary, I could be dying, and he’d
ease my final jump into the dark.
I thought we agreed you aren’t going to think like
that? But he sounds resigned, as if he knows I’ll never stop
thinking about two things: grimspace and my own death. Loving a
navigator pretty much guarantees the dual obsession.
So far the hallway
looks clear. March and Jael round the corner and disappear from
sight. Of necessity, Vel and I move slower, but March will warn me
if there’s trouble. I’m surprised nobody has asked how I know
certain things before now.
“If we can find the
control room, I can purge the vents,” Vel says.
“And that’s a good
thing?”
“It might save our
lives.”
Well, I’m all for
that. “Clue me in?”
“They prefer a secure
enclosure for their nests, and on a station like this, only the
ventilation shafts make sense. The Morgut cocoon a corpse along
with their eggs, and their larvae eat their way out. The young
develop rapidly and could pose a significant threat before help
arrives.”
He’s right. We can’t
just drop off Kora, Surge, and baby here, as intended. Anyone with
a glimmer of conscience would wait for the cleanup crew to arrive
to secure the station, and I’m no exception.
“So what happens in
this purge?”
“A burst of
superheated air surges through the ducts and is vented into space.
It works on a system of locks, so the station doesn’t decompress.
They use it to clean debris out that bots can’t manage . . .” Vel
hesitates. “And on more populous stations, it . . . discourages
nomads from taking up residence there.”
“Or they wind up
cooked and then spaced for vagrancy? Harsh.”
“The universe often
is. Had you not noticed?” Yes, there it is again, the hint of
humor. Since he’s so formal all the time, it’s difficult to
discern, subtle and droll.
“I catch on slow, but
I’m starting to get it.”
We come around the
corner to find the hallway empty. Where the hell did the other two
get to? I notice that their blood-smeared tracks simply end, which
means they must’ve gone . . . up. Surely March would’ve touched
base if trouble hit, though. If he could.
If he’s dead or unconscious—
No. Not thinking that way.
Though my head is
full of images, mainly the Morgut webbing them and hauling them up,
I can only deal with one problem at a time. The bounty hunter leans
on me harder, and we’ve only walked fifty meters. He needs the med
center. In my considered opinion, purging the station can wait
until I have him stabilized.
Plus, a purge might
fry March and Jael, wherever the hell they are. Weak and dizzy from
blood loss, Vel’s not thinking as fast as usual, or he would’ve
noticed by now. Maybe I can keep him from worrying about
it.
Time is ticking. My
skin stings, my hip aches, and I can’t use my left hand. Why does
shit always come down to me? But maybe I’m getting ahead of myself.
Maybe March and Jael are fine.
“I know,” I say
aloud. “Let me ask 245 for a sample layout of an emergency station.
It won’t be exact, but it might give us an idea where to
turn.”
My PA wouldn’t have
helped earlier, because even preciseblueprints don’t include dangerous Morgut
nests, more’s the pity. In any case, I didn’t think of her until
now. I pull the unit from my pocket, input my codes, and ask for
the information I need.
She actually seems a
bit miffed that I don’t have time to chat. Maybe I’ve talked to her
too much during our ongoing experiment.
Maybe she’s learned a uniquely human trait: loneliness.
“Yes,” she says,
after a few seconds searching. “As part of my helpful information
database, I have plans for emergency stations. They are designed to
aid interstellar travelers in distress. Are you currently in
distress, Sirantha Jax?”
“Yes, I most
certainly am. Can you tell me where medical would be, assuming they
didn’t deviate from the standard design?”
“Please wait.” Her
new voice rings completely feminine. A few weeks back, while we
were confined to quarters, I decided if I talk to her as if she’s
my best girlfriend, then she should sound the part.
Then she flashes the
location on-screen. On the plus side, it should be located on this
level. On the minus side, it’s on the other side from where we are.
That means we have two hallways to cover . . . without getting
caught by whatever took March and Jael. I hate thinking like that,
but it’s the only thing that makes sense.
I have to cordon off
the terror and pain. Vel’s my responsibility right now. March made
him my partner in case we got separated, and I’m not going to let
Vel bleed to death while I go tearing around after the other
two.
At this point, I tell
myself, it’s better if the remaining Morgut snag March and Jael
instead of us. I know that sounds callous, but they’re former
mercs. They have a better shot at surviving than we do right
now.
“Let us move,” Vel
says. “I do not know how much longer I can stay vertical.”
One crisis at a time, Jax.
