by Claudia Gray
THE PERSEPHONE PLOPS INTO A GIANT SNOWDRIFT. Displaced air and snow whirl out and around the silvery ship, a nine-meter-high cyclone that would normally draw unwelcome attention from the nearby Winter Castle.
At the moment, Noemi doubts the castle dwellers have even noticed her one little ship in the middle of this.
Ships land all around her—cruisers, corsairs, freighters, every kind of vessel imaginable. Briefly Noemi’s surprised so many of them have chosen to land on this particular area of Haven, when they have an entire world to settle on. Their scans found signs of human life and habitation, she realizes. But that leads her to wonder, So did they want to come after the original settlers, steal their resources, get back at them for trying to hide this world from the rest of humanity?
She remembers the elated cheers of the Vagabond crew when they recognized her voice. They would’ve sent messages about her to other ships in their group, too. (Vagabond fleets run on two things, Harriet Dixon explained once, months ago. Fuel and gossip.) Noemi’s message before the Battle of Genesis made its way across the entire galaxy, which was what she’d hoped; humanity needed to know about Haven. She hadn’t reckoned on the fact that they would also know her.
“Just my voice,” she murmurs to herself as she clumsily seals her excursion boots. “And my name, I guess. But only a handful of people have seen my face.” It’s small comfort. Noemi was taught since childhood not to trust anyone from Earth or the other colony worlds of the Loop. She’s learned better… but that doesn’t mean she’s comfortable being so exposed to all of them.
A topological map of Haven unfolds in her mind, precise to the centimeter. She knows the outline of each continent, the depth of every ocean. Mountain ridges, mineral deposits, seismic surveys, meteorological reports—
“Stop it!” Noemi shouts. Her voice echoes in the emptiness of the docking bay. The brain implant goes quiet, probably by chance. She doesn’t think it responds to verbal commands. She knows only one fact about the thing in her head: It’s beyond her control.
Maybe Abel can teach her how to shut this thing up.
Abel. She has to get back to Abel. Nothing else matters.
Awkwardly she finishes putting on a hyperwarm parka, then hurries from the Persephone into the snow. Her steps remain unsteady, but she’s getting the hang of walking again. Before, it was like trying to walk after a bad concussion; now it’s more like someone spun her around on the swings for too long.
Still awful. But better.
Dozens of ships nearby are releasing their passengers. More cyclones of snow, more silvery shapes in the sky. A small family vessel is near enough for the mother to wave cheerily at Noemi and cry out, in a heavy Russian accent, “Your ship—they told us which it was. They say you are Vidal of Genesis! Here to lead us against the thieves of this world!”
“I’m not here to lead anybody,” Noemi protests.
“Once we’re all prepared, we’re going to attack,” calls the father, a burly man with a bushy red beard. He points toward the gleaming opalescent spires of the Winter Castle. “They’ve got food in there, eh? Supplies? More than all of these ships managed to put together, I’ll bet. They should share that along with their planet!”
“No, don’t!” Noemi agrees with the sentiment, but she also knows the risks. “They’ll have guards. You should wait until—” Until what? Until the Winter Castle welcomes them with open arms? That’s going to be a while.
The father laughs. “Wait, wait, wait! Earth tells us to wait for permission. Remedy tells us to wait because we’ll get sick. They just want to keep this world from us! No thanks.”
With a jolt, she realizes the ramifications of what he’s saying. Remedy tells us we’ll get sick. In other words, Remedy spoke out about the dangers of Haven. This family heard the warnings that no human could survive here without having first survived the Cobweb virus. And they didn’t believe it. They came anyway. Other people landing on this planet have probably done the same thing. How many? Dozens, hundreds, thousands? This, she thinks, is what happens when a population has been lied to for too long. They lose the ability to trust.
If people who haven’t survived Cobweb don’t leave Haven, they’ll die within 5.16 days.
“No. Not decimals,” she growls at the thing in her head. “Please not decimals.”
Noemi wonders how to convince these people of the danger—but already, at least three dozen ships have landed in the near vicinity, and the sky is speckled with more to come. People are racing out of their vessels, laughing in delight, hugging both friends and strangers, starting snowball fights. They’re in no mood to listen to anyone, even the person who told them about Haven in the first place.
Reluctantly, she decides to warn them later. They’ll be easier to convince in a couple of days, once they’ve started feeling strange. Right now all that matters is getting to Abel.
He could already be dead.
He could. But she refuses to believe it. She has what the people of Earth don’t—the power of faith.
Noemi pushes on through the snow, ignoring the ships landing around her. When she sees a few snowmobiles streak from the Winter Castle, she mentally prepares herself for attack. Surely these belong to warrior mechs on patrol. She also focuses on the small bays the snowmobiles exited from. Would those be as tightly guarded as regular doors? Could they be hacked? Might she have time to get in while one of the snowmobiles returns?
Her vision suddenly magnifies the doors, which is helpful but also makes her so dizzy she stumbles to one side. Can she not even trust her own eyes?
A flume of snow sprays up around Noemi, disorienting her again. Staggering to one side, she sees the swirling white disperse to reveal a Queen mech. Already the mech has leaped from her snowmobile to aim a blaster at Noemi.
Does she recognize me? Is she a mech who guarded Abel? One of the frustrations of going up against fighter mechs is never being able to tell the damned things apart.
“No humans not previously approved are authorized to be here,” the Queen says flatly. “Depart immediately.”
Okay. She doesn’t know who I am, and she won’t tell Shearer I’m here. It’s not much of a relief, but Noemi will take what she can get. “I’ve already had Cobweb,” she tries. “Haven’s safe for me.” Maybe the Queen’s deep programming will require her to prioritize humans in more danger.
No such luck. “You are not authorized,” the Queen repeats. She levels her blaster. “This is your last warning before execut—”
Noemi reaches out to knock the blaster aside. At least, that’s the plan. But she moves at unthinkable speed—like her arm has decided on its own what to do—and slams into the Queen’s arm with so much force that it snaps at the elbow. It dangles strangely, blood oozing where Noemi’s blow impacted with the metal skeleton to cut the flesh open.
“Oh my God,” she whispers, staring at her hand. It hurts, but it’s not broken. Shouldn’t it be broken, after hitting metal like that?
The Queen, programmed to ignore input that humans would call pain, simply leans down to take the blaster in her other hand. Noemi moves faster, shoving the Queen with all her new strength. When the Queen goes flying several meters into the snow, Noemi stares. The scene ought to be ordinary—she’s killed hundreds of mechs in battle. But it’s how the mech died that’s shocking. Noemi practically punched through metal without even trying. Her body is a stranger to her, capable of doing incredible harm, even accidentally.
I could kill someone without meaning to. I could kill a friend. Anyone. Would I even care?
What the hell am I?
By this time mechs are confronting Vagabond landing parties all around her. The guard forces seem to be stretched thin—no doubt Shearer wasn’t anticipating an invasion like this—and the Vagabonds are fighting back. Blaster bolts sear the air, melt the snow.
Noemi has no idea what to do to help the Vagabonds. For now, they’re on their own. She has to get to Abel.
Within 2.2 seconds, she’s on the Queen
’s snowmobile, gunning the motor. She takes off at top speed through the snow, circling back toward the Winter Castle. Either the doors will be programmed to automatically open for one of their own vehicles, or she’ll have to try swerving at the last minute. Given the state of her coordination, there’s a decent chance she’ll wind up as a red splat on the white walls.
When she’s within four meters, the door opens. Noemi zooms through the dark tunnel and into the heart of the Winter Castle.
All the fighter mechs must be out in the snow or guarding more sensitive areas inside, because Noemi faces no resistance on her way through the vehicle bay other than a hapless George model, easily dispatched with one blaster bolt. When she reaches the bay door, however, it doesn’t automatically slide open. No manual controls are visible. She considers firing her blaster at it, but that’s more likely to set off an alert than open the door.
Instead, she tries accessing verbal controls. “Open door.”
“State your name,” it intones.
Pretty basic security, but effective enough in a structure designed to be inhabited by only the elite few on an otherwise deserted planet. Noemi knows better than to try Gillian Shearer’s name; the Winter Castle’s AI is probably programmed to track Shearer’s location every second.
There was one passenger on the Osiris who had been kind to Noemi, though—someone without any particular rank. So she ventures, “Delphine Ondimba?”
The doors slide open.
Thank you, Delphine! Noemi limps into the heart of the Winter Castle. Now I just have to find the lab, though there’s no telling where that is—
The thing in her brain starts up again, displaying a schematic superimposed over her entire field of vision. Her dizziness worsens, and again she thinks she might vomit. The nausea is worth it when she recognizes this as a full blueprint of the Winter Castle. It must be part of a basic data fill, something ready to be programmed into all mechs created on Haven. She doesn’t even have to concentrate to highlight Shearer’s lab near the very heart of the complex.
Or the lifts that go not only up and down but also sideways, to carry passengers around in the blink of an eye.
Noemi makes it to the nearest lift door and manages to stand upright until it opens and she sees she’ll be riding alone. So she slumps against the wall as it whirs toward the lab, trying to gather herself. Maybe she’ll have to fight more mechs. Maybe Shearer will pick up a blaster herself. Power through it, Noemi tells herself. Get Abel free, and then he can help you.
Though she’s not sure what to make of the last help he gave her.
It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but getting to Abel while he’s still alive.
The lab has no separate security. In fact, it seems to contain no one. Noemi stands just shy of the doors’ sensors, readies her blaster, and calls on what little she knows of Gillian Shearer to formulate a plan of attack.
She’s not a trained soldier. She’s a civilian, an amateur. That’s not as reassuring as it should be. Shearer’s a zealot, someone who doesn’t care about her own safety compared to serving her father’s cause. That means she won’t hold back the way an average civilian would. In desperate circumstances, the untrained can be even more dangerous, because there’s no knowing what to expect.
Noemi braces herself, then rushes through the doors that slide open for her, ready for anything—
—except the sight of Abel, pinned to the ceiling by energy beams.
“Abel!” she cries out. “Oh, thank God.”
He stares as if in disbelief. “But—my fail-safes—it should have been impossible for you to return to Haven.”
A smile stretches across her face. “You’re not actually perfect, Abel. You just think you are.” Relief floods through her, a physical sensation that’s almost dizzying. I made it in time. I made it. We’ll make it. Noemi lowers her weapon as she realizes Abel’s alone in the room. “Where’s Shearer?”
“Supervising the counterattack against the Vagabonds currently landing on Haven,” he says, with as much dignity as he can manage in his current predicament. “There are of course too many ships landing for her to control, but it seems Gillian never surrenders control without a fight.”
Noemi stumbles into the lab. “Why did Shearer pin you to the ceiling?”
“She didn’t.” He looks sheepish. “I was held in a more ordinary energy cage on the floor below. When Gillian went to repel the next wave of settlers, I tried to escape by changing the polarity of the beams. This did not proceed as smoothly as I’d hoped.”
“You pinned yourself to the ceiling,” Noemi says, shaking her head. The motion makes her head whirl all over again, and she braces herself against the nearest wall. “Tell me how to shut this thing off.”
“Noemi? Are you all right?” How like Abel, to worry about her while he’s effectively stuck three meters above the ground.
“I don’t feel very good.” The understatement is so absurd she wants to laugh, or cry. “So help me get you down. That way you can get us both out of here.”
“We should begin with you turning to the controls directly to your left.”
She goes to the correct panel, inputs the coding as he dictates, and sends Abel plummeting down from the ceiling. He manages to twist around in time to land on his feet as silently as a cat.
When he embraces her, she hugs him back—gently, because of her foreign, dangerous strength. Besides, she couldn’t hug him tightly enough. It’s impossible. Nothing could express how she feels, holding him after she thought he was lost forever.
Though of course they’re still on a hostile alien world, surrounded by mechs who would kill her on sight and capture him—but no. If Noemi thinks of all the complications now, she’ll scare herself beyond the ability to think straight. They both have to think straight if they’re going to survive this.
She closes her eyes and tells herself, Abel can make everything right. He always does. And she wills herself to believe it.
10
NOEMI’S COORDINATION HASN’T IMPROVED ENOUGH FOR her to move quickly. Abel lifts her onto his back and runs for the perimeter of the Winter Castle complex. Although they startle a handful of humans on the way—former Osiris passengers, no doubt shocked to be discovered here on their “secret” planet—nobody attempts to stop them.
Gillian Shearer doesn’t know we’ve escaped yet. The Charlies and Queens are busy with their futile attempt to turn back the tide of ships headed for Haven. Only a handful of the Castle residents would recognize us. We have an 81.87 percent chance of making it to the vehicle bay without being stopped.
Once they’re out in the snow, however, they’ll be exposed and the dangers will increase… but perhaps it would be better to turn to that challenge when they face it.
The fighter mechs must be using nearly every snowmobile the Winter Castle possesses, but three remain. Abel settles Noemi on the fastest model and takes the piloting position. Her arms wrap around his waist as he powers up the machine, then zooms toward the bright rectangle of sunlight that marks their way out.
Abel had calculated that the landing force would be many hundreds of ships. At the moment, he seems to have slightly overestimated the number—and yet, he hadn’t factored in the sheer chaos of their arrival.
He steers them across the snow, Noemi’s arms still clasped around his waist. In a dozen directions around them, scenes of violence and fear play out. Nearby, a Vagabond family whose ship is painted with the old Russian flag is apparently beating a Charlie mech to circuits. Farther away, blaster bolts sizzle through snow, and human shapes fall. The carnage is useless; the wave of settlers will be beyond any control. And yet the mechs fight on.
Gillian Shearer never knows when to quit.
The grayish sky overhead reveals still more ships coming, casting dark specks over the light of Haven’s many moons. If they’re lucky, Gillian won’t realize Abel’s escaped the lab until he and Noemi are already halfway to the Gate.
She doesn’t. Th
eir luck holds. They make it to their ship unharmed.
Never before has the Persephone’s teardrop shape looked so welcome. Abel ditches the snowmobile, helps Noemi aboard, and takes off as fast as cybernetically possible. The course has already been laid in; he only needs to reactivate the autopilot he’d set up for Noemi’s use alone, with a few modifications for different phases of lunar orbit. Within 4.71 minutes, they’re rocketing up from the surface, headed for deep space.
He watches in satisfaction as Haven shrinks on the bridge viewscreen. When the doors slide open, he turns to see Noemi shakily making her way toward the ops station.
“We’re free,” he says. It is truer for them both than it has ever been before.
Noemi doesn’t appear to feel the same way. Her eyes don’t meet his as she flops into her seat. “Is this what freedom feels like?”
This statement is difficult to interpret. “What troubles you?”
She gives him a look as though he’d begun speaking in a language she doesn’t know. “Abel… do you even realize what happened to me? What Shearer did to me?”
“You mean your hybridization? That’s what we’re calling the process, for now; it is an unprecedented medical procedure, one we invented, and admittedly all the ramifications are not yet known. But I supervised Gillian’s work, so I’m as familiar with the procedure as anyone.” Perhaps Noemi was too dazed to make much sense of the explanation they gave her earlier. “You were too seriously wounded for medical intervention. Your only chance at survival was through the implantation and integration of organic mech parts. Gillian Shearer—”
“No. I understand that.” She pauses, then adds, “I do understand,” as though she were convincing herself. Her gaze remains fixed on the floor. “But you don’t realize how it feels. I don’t know how to walk. How strong I am, or how fast I move, or how I feel, or—or anything. I’m not even at home in my own body.”
“You’re in a new state,” he says. “A period of transition is inevitable.”