CHAPTER 17
The blood has dried, leaving dark,
tacky patches on the metal floor.
If left untended, it
will rust. Don’t ask me why I’ve focused on that, but I want to
scrub all this away, as if that would mean it didn’t happen. Lives
weren’t lost here.
I should know better
than anyone how impossible that is. Cleaning up a mess doesn’t
negate it. And some things can’t be swept under the proverbial
rug.
The Conglomerate will
have no choice but to deal with the Morgut now. In its day, the
Corp dealt with them in terms of property damage. They didn’t care
about loss of life, only the bottom line. But these monsters are
growing bolder now. They’ve acquired a taste for human flesh, and
they don’t believe the human authorities have the power to stop
them.
And maybe they’re
right.
Vel sweeps his light
in a slow circle. This room holds half-repaired bots and cleaning
droids, spare parts, and bins full of wires. Against the far wall,
there’s a terminal meant for diagnostics, but maybe it connects to
the rest of the station.
We can hope. By the
low hiss of the unit, we still have power, even if the lights
aren’t working. Vel sets up at the terminal while March and Jael
take up guard positions in front of the door. Since we’re doing two
things at once now, not moving as a unit, another light might come
in handy. Plus I want them to be able to see anything that tries to
get at us.
I hand a tube to
March, who snaps it immediately. Now we have two anemic pools of
yellow-green light. Because Vel is supposed to be watching my
back—and vice versa— I head over to his side. He keys with
unbelievable speed, but before I can try to assimilate what he’s
doing, he’s inside their system.
I’ve never seen
anyone crack code like he does. Most hackers rely on gadgets,
portable AIs that run all the possible combinations. With Vel, it
almost seems intuitive, like he can hear machines on a level that
we can’t.
Another few clicks,
and a grainy image comes up on the screen. Routine bot
surveillance, these units perform basic cleaning, maintenance, and
repairs as well. We see what the little machine sees, a corridor
that could be anywhere on the station.
“Anything yet?” March
asks without glancing our way.
“Yeah, we’re watching
a bot—” I break off because even the low-quality images can’t
conceal what’s sliding past.
I recognize the
jerky, multijointed movements. Here’s visual confirmation, and a
chill rolls over me. When this recording ends in static, Vel
switches to another. And another, until we’ve seen every last droid
destroyed.
There’s no record of
the people who died here, screaming unheard. No bloody images the
talking heads can use on the vids to rouse people to a vocal
outcry. And the truth is, nobody dirtside gives a shit what happens
to the folks up here. Maybe they even privately think we deserve
such things for taking the risk.
We may find their
names later on the outpost manifest or on duty rosters. If we
survive. And it will be up to us to remember.
“It’s a full clutch,”
he says at last. “At least ten.”
“There may be more if
they’ve had time to nest,” Jael adds. “They breed fast. And they’ll
be utterly savage if they’re protecting young.”
“They are always
savage.” After checking to be sure he can’t get primary systems
online from here, Vel powers down the terminal. “But I concur, that
would make it worse.”
“Would they lay eggs
on a station without a renewable food source?” That’s such a
disgusting question.
March shrugs. “We’re
here, aren’t we? Maybe they counted on a ship arriving now and
then.”
“Pointless
speculation,” Vel says.
Jael adds, “We need
to find and exterminate them. The time for talking is
over.”
I actually agree with
Jael. Now that we have a rough idea how many we’re facing, the
hunted need to become the hunters. Vel had an advantage against
them on the Silverfish ; they couldn’t
lair up there, or spin webs and traps. In close quarters, he has
the edge since they use their fangs on prey—and if they bite him,
they’ll die.
But here on Emry,
they’ve had time to get comfortable. They have the upper hand.
We’ll need to be tough, smart, and careful to make it out
alive.
The instant I
conceive that thought, the door slams shut. March and Jael spin as
one, weapons drawn and ready. But there’s nothing to fight. How do
you combat what you can’t see?
A hiss from the
ventilation system gives the first warning.
“They’re going to gas
us,” Jael says grimly. “Fragging cowards.”
Vel lifts his face,
breathes in. “It’s nontoxic, designed to make you dizzy and
noncombative.”
“But it’s not
bothering you,” Jael says, his words
already slurred.
He’s finally figuring
out that Vel isn’t as average as he looks. What I wouldn’t give for
a rebreather. My stomach lurches, and my head starts to spin. The
room seems smoky, and I can’t make my eyes focus.
I see two Vels
standing before me, and his voice seems to come from very far away.
“Don’t go to sleep, Sirantha. Do you understand me? Stay
awake.”
But I’m so tired. If
I could just lie down for a minute, I could figure everything out.
I’m positive of it. I’ve lost track of March and Jael.
My knees feel like
they’re melting. Vel jerks me upright and gives me a shake that
rattles my teeth in my head. When that doesn’t help a whole lot, he
slaps me full across the face. That stings enough that I try to
fight back.
And that’s when the
things drop down from the ceiling.
My head spins too
much to count them. When Vel knocks me flat, I have the sense to
stay down, though the blow feels like it may have cracked a few
ribs. Ironically, the pain clears my head to some degree.
I try to breathe
through my shirt, and that helps a little, too. On my belly, I
crawl along the floor, taking refuge behind a crate of machine
parts. The fighting seems blurred and distant, too far away for
where I’m hiding.
My vision can’t be
relied upon. I hear March swearing steadily as he fires. He’s taken
cover somewhere nearby. I hear the wet, splattering sound of the
disruptor rearranging meat. The Morgut don’t scream when they die;
they keen.
Jael screams. My whole body tenses in response to
the anguish of the sound. Backlit by a fallen torch-tube, I see the
Morgut hold his body aloft, skewered on one of the creature’s
forelegs.
Vel almost seems to
fly as he crosses the room, severing the limb with a sonicblade I
didn’t even know he had. But he’s got a pack of them following hard
on his heels, so he can’t do more for Jael, who hits the ground in
an agonizing arc. The wounded thing shudders; blood spatters, hot
drops raining down on my face.
The bounty hunter
wheels on the ones sinking their teeth into him from behind. His
weapon hums as he carves a gory map into their flesh. And the one
that’s missing a leg turns on March, who’s waiting for the
disruptor to power up again. The weapon cycles up, the lights on
its grip indicating when it will be ready.
I give myself another
good slap, fighting the effects of the gas. I can’t say whether
it’s will or something else, but I manage to clear my head a little
more. My own cry strangles in my throat. I taste the copper of
Jael’s blood, the flavor of terror and despair. Vel goes down
beneath a wave of them. They’ll die in agony, but if they hurt him
bad enough, he’ll perish, too. Grim comfort.
The disruptor won’t
do March any good this time; he’s used it too much, and it’s taking
forever to charge. The Morgut advances, trembling with lust. Its
fangs drip with the salivary fluid that paralyzes us. One scrape,
and he will be done. The Morgut hesitates, and then, with a
careless swipe, it knocks the useless weapon from March’s
hands.
It clatters to the
floor a few meters from me, skidding into Vel’s sonicblade. I can’t
cower here. I have to do something. I’m
not the only jumper for once, so my life isn’t more valuable than
anyone else’s.
Knowing any movement
could draw their lethal hunger, knowing I might feel a spear
through my intestines at any second, I crawl along the floor toward
the sonicblade. I could die.
Well, I’m
willing.
I pinch the soft skin
of my inner wrist. I need pain, need it to focus and stay in the
here and now. I can’t give in to the fuzziness building inside my
head.
The swarm atop Velith
finally processes that they aren’t sucking down sweet, delicious
blood. Some fall into convulsions, a putrid froth boiling from
their fanged maws. Some stagger away, weak and dying. Only two look
as though they could fight. That’s three too many, and they’re all
stalking March.
At this point, they
don’t register anyone else as a threat. We’re beaten. Food.
He backs toward the
terminal, trying to lead them away from me.
Oh, no you don’t. We have too much to do yet. You’re
not dying for me.
“Who better?” he says
aloud.
No.
As it lunges to
dismember him, I hurl the knife.
