Maybe today would end okay.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“YOU’RE TELLING ME,” said Kohl, leaning forward, hands on the table, “that Hope wants me to go into a nest of fucking roaches?” The table creaked under him, perhaps complaining at the combined weight of Kohl and his power armor.
“It’s what she said,” said Nate, leaning back in his chair.
“Fucken awesome,” said Kohl. They were in a small room, the air hazy with smoke because some anarchist asshole thought it was cool to have a lit cinder hanging from his mouth. On a space station. Even Kohl wasn’t that stupid. Actual fire could mean actual explosions, and there were far better, faster, and more effective ways of getting drugs into a man’s system. As well as the asshole with the cigarette, there was Meenaz, who seemed happy enough they hadn’t greased her last time they visited this shithole, and another woman who wore patchwork armor, like she’d borrowed it from six different dead people. She was the head of the station’s guard, whatever that meant. Kohl had been introduced to them by Meenaz, and then deleted their names from his memory, because by his reckoning they’d be dead in two hours and it wasn’t worth the mental effort. Kohl labeled them Cinder Boy and Target Practice in his mind, because that seemed a fun game and far easier to remember. Then there was the cap and Gracie, who both looked tired, and Kohl could get behind that, because sitting around in a room talking wasn’t going to solve any problems. It was burning oxygen and patience, and while Kohl had no clue how much O2 was left on the station, his own personal reserves of patience were down to the last dregs.
Cinder Boy stepped forward into the small pool of light offered by the ceiling lamp. “I can’t tell if you’re serious or joking,” he said.
Gracie sighed. She was leaning against the wall, looking tense and bored, a weird combination for sure, but she made it work. “He’s serious,” she said. “October Kohl loves killing.”
“He loves killing Ezeroc, you mean,” said Cinder Boy.
“No,” said Gracie.
“Uh,” said Cinder Boy.
“Once I’ve killed all the bugs,” said Kohl, rubbing his nose with a dirty glove, “what is it she wants?”
“Plug the Endless Drives back in,” said Nate. “A milk run.”
“Aw, Cap. You know the only thing worse than a milk run is a job saying it’s easy money.” Kohl shifted, his power armor whining.
“It’s not easy money because there’s no coin on the table. I figured selling it that way would lack the weight of real truth,” said Nate.
“And you figure me going into a nest of roaches is a milk run?”
“You?” said Nate. “Sure. Easy.”
Kohl sighed. Easy. Milk run. No way, but whatever. “I got a question.”
Target Practice stepped forward, looking for a little time in the sun, no doubt. “The Endless Field generators are easy to spot. They’re about so high,” and here, she raised a hand to her shoulders, “and labeled.”
“I know,” said Kohl. “I’m not a moron.”
“Oh,” she said. “It’s just—”
“If you say I look like a moron, I’m gonna space you,” said Kohl. “Been a long day. I’m sure you work hard and all, but we’ve just come from Earth. Above the planet, everyone was dying. On the planet, everyone was dying. Then we come here, and you guessed it, everyone’s fucking dying. The only people not dying are me, the cap, and Gracie. You get me?”
Target Practice swallowed but stood her ground. “We’ve not had it the easiest out here either.”
“No kidding,” said Kohl. “Still. No need to get nasty about it.”
“I wasn’t going to say you looked like a moron,” she said. “I thought—”
“Nah,” said Kohl. “See, you’re looking at this whole thing like it’s just one problem.”
Five sets of eyes swiveled to take in Kohl. Gracie, who for the first time he could remember hadn’t called him asshole. Nate, eyes hooded. Meenaz, who looked like she was trying to referee at a sport she didn’t know the rules for. Target Practice brought a heightened focus to her glare, and Cinder Boy took his cigarette out of his mouth for a second. It was Meenaz who spoke. “The Ezeroc are a material threat.”
“Sure,” said Kohl. “Killing roaches ain’t my job, though.” He tugged his black shirt where it peeked out from his armor’s collar. “I wear the Black. Y’all don’t know what that means out here where you all marry your cousins, but back home it means I stand between him,” and he pointed at Nate, “and her,” his finger jabbed at Gracie, “and any danger. Moving into the ass of this ship and killing roaches is more of a stretch goal, near as I see it.”
“Stretch goal?” said Nate.
“Karkoski gave me some officer manual about how to get Navy sailors to do extra shit for free,” said Kohl. “You call it a stretch goal and everyone’s happy about it.” He scratched behind an ear where a trickle of sweat was working its way down from his scalp to his neck. The climate control in this room wasn’t for shit. At least the dreads were gone, providing a little extra ventilation. “I dunno. My crew don’t really care. Doesn’t matter what you call it, the Black don’t leave the bosses to die in a sewer of a station. Which leaves us with at least,” and he thought for a second, “two problems. First problem is how we keep the Empire safe. That’s fucking number fucking one. Second problem is your roach infestation.”
Gracie looked surprised. “You read a book?”
“The Ezeroc will kill us all,” said Target Practice.
“Might do,” allowed Kohl. “Safest path would be to put everyone who’s still human in the belly of a ship, fly out a ways, and blow the station.”
“Be difficult to repair the Tyche,” said Nate.
Kohl nodded. “I know, Cap. That’s why this is a two-problem day. I’m not saying we ignore the roaches. Hell, I’m up for some barbecue. Problem is, how to stop you getting yourself killed while I’m away.”
“You say that like I’ll trip and kill myself,” said Nate.
“Thought had crossed my mind,” said Kohl. “No offense, Cap, but you attract more random blaster fire than any person I’ve ever met, ‘cepting maybe Gracie, but she’s better at dodging it.”
“What if I ordered you to go?” said Nate.
“Why don’t you try it,” suggested Kohl. “Let’s see what happens.”
The moment held in the room, Nate looking thoughtful, Gracie looking like she wanted to get on with the business of stabbing someone but understanding the nature of the questions they faced, and the three Cantor asshats still not sure what the actual fuck was going on. Nate looked like he was building up to say something, maybe that order he was thinking over, when the lighting flickered.
Gracie tensed like someone had just tased her. “They’re here.”
“I hear ‘em too,” said Nate.
“What?” said Meenaz.
“Roaches,” said Kohl. “You think you’ve got ‘em bottled up but they always escape.” Kohl’s comm chimed. El. Probably good news, like the bar had run out of liquor. He held it up. “Yo.”
“Zzzzcht… Get them and run,” said El’s voice through a bunch of static. “Shhhhcrrrk. Decks breached…” and then another burst of static, and she was gone.
“Hmm,” said Kohl.
“What’s going on?” said Cinder Boy.
“Is your job to ask stupid questions?” said Kohl. Cinder Boy didn’t answer, looking surprised and pissed off. “My best guess is you anarchist fuckers have put a comm jamming device around here somewhere, just in case Empire scum like us come knocking. And that’s just doing business. I get it. Nothing personal about it. But here we are, with someone using your comm jammer against you. And while I can’t read minds like Gracie—”
“Asshole.”
“—or see the future like the cap, I reckon what’s happening here is that comm jammer is on, loud and proud, and now we can’t talk to our own team. Roaches on the command deck, right?” Nods all around. “Fuck. Okay. El was a
t the bar. Roaches there. Which means roaches everywhere.”
“We’ve got to do something,” said Meenaz.
“Yeah, getting to that,” said Kohl. “Okay. I’ll allow our two problems are now one. I figure there’s nowhere on this station that doesn’t have roaches. So, what we need is a group of people to go to the command deck, and just one person to go to the base of the ship and flip a switch.”
“I’ll go to the Endless Drives,” said Target Practice.
“Don’t be stupid,” said Kohl. “You’ll die before you make six paces.”
“Can’t let you do it alone,” she said.
“I think you could, but whatever,” said Kohl. “Come with me, don’t, I don’t give a shit. Just don’t get in the way.”
“You want to take Ebony with you?” said Gracie. “Weird.”
“Who the fuck is Ebony?” said Kohl.
“That’s, uh, me,” said Target Practice.
“Sure, whatever,” said Kohl. “Cap?”
“Yo.”
“You and Gracie, storm the command center. Turn that fucking jammer off.”
“You’re giving the orders now, Kohl?” But Nate was smiling.
“Fucken A,” said Kohl. “Let’s get to work.”
• • •
The walk from the briefing room to the elevator wasn’t too long, but even in that short distance Target Practice got about a million words in. “Thanks for bringing me along,” she said.
“Sure,” said Kohl, clanking along in his armor. “Remember, don’t get in the way.”
“Oh, I won’t,” said Target Practice. “I guess, you know. I wanted to head the guard up before, but there were politics. So, I never got in. And when Captain Broughton died, well.”
“Who the fuck is Broughton?” said Kohl.
Target Practice blinked at him. “You’re not good with names, are you?”
“I’m great with names,” said Kohl. “Right now, my well of fucks is dry. I’ll be honest, uh, what did you call yourself again?”
“Ebony. Ebony Drake—”
“Great,” said Kohl, waving a hand in the air with a whine of armor servos. “Ebony, here’s the thing. Down the bottom of the station, which used to be a starship, is a whole bunch of dark holes. There will be heat from reactors, and water, and places to put bodies and eggs and other shit like that. What I’m saying is, it’s roach central. Built for roaches. They’ll love it. There will be thousands of ‘em.”
They walked along the corridor for a few more meters, blessedly lacking in conversation, before Ebony spoke again. “Um,” she said. “So?”
“Pretty sure you’re gonna die,” said Kohl. “It’s nothing personal. It’s a numbers problem. You’re wearing armor from like six different dudes. The breastplate isn’t even big enough to come all the way to your neckline, and the gorget looks like a piece of conduit you cut in half.”
“The neck guard?” said Ebony. “I wondered what it was called. Yeah, I had to borrow a few pieces, but we’re not the high and mighty Empire here. We don’t have a lot of resources, and what resources we had are sealed up top.”
“Right,” said Kohl. “With the roaches.” Clank, clank. “Look, I’m not blaming you. This isn’t a game of let’s-kick-Ebony. This is a game of these-are-the-facts. You’ve got shit armor, and your weapon isn’t even loaded. I have no idea who put you in charge.”
“Meenaz—”
“Yeah, her,” said Kohl. “A week ago, she was a flunky in a hierarchy that wanted to yank down the Empire and she didn’t even know. I mean, you go to brawl with the gang you’ve got. I get it. But the gang we’ve got is gonna die. That’s how it is.”
“Oh,” said Ebony, head down as they walked. “That’s not a great pep talk.”
“I’m not a support group,” said Kohl.
“You need more than one person for a group,” said Ebony.
“You also need someone who gives a shit,” said Kohl. “Didn’t you hear me about your weapon not being loaded?”
“I heard you,” said Ebony. “I don’t have any ammo.” She said ammo like it was an unfamiliar word she was trying on for size. Like she was a kid learning to swear and was slotting words into a sentence to see how they fit.
“Sweet Christ,” said Kohl. He stopped walking, then let out a sigh. He bent to his boot, pulling out his backup blaster. “Here.”
Ebony blinked at him. “You’re … giving me your gun?”
“Blaster,” said Kohl. “It’s a blaster. Got a full charge. Should keep you spraying hot death at the roaches for a good couple minutes continuous fire before you need another cell.”
Ebony reached a tentative hand out, taking the blaster from Kohl’s armored hand. She felt the weight of it, almost dropped it, then caught it. “I meant to do that,” she said. “I mean, you know.” She held the blaster between them.
“Right,” said Kohl. He pushed the muzzle of the blaster away from his chest. “I’ve got a new rule. First rule is still don’t get in the way. Second rule? Don’t point my own weapon at me.”
“Got it,” said Ebony.
In the corridor ahead of them, someone screamed, the sound cut short. Kohl turned towards the noise, armor whining as he shifted his weight. Ahead of them, the unmistakable shadow of an Ezeroc drone stretched along the floor from a doorway to the left.
Ebony flashed him a grin, then ran towards it. What the sweet merciful fuck is she doing? Kohl unracked the plasma cannon from the back of his armor, the weapon comfortable and heavy in his hands. Power armor was good for fighting big things, and it was great for carrying massive things like cannons that should be on vehicles, but it was lousy for speed. Ebony was already at the doorway before he’d made half the distance, and she pointed the blaster inside. “DIEMOTHERFUCKER!” she screamed, bolts of blue-white plasma slamming into the room. Kohl heard the screech of Ezeroc dying, and by the time he rounded the corner, there was nothing left but barbecued space insect.
Ebony turned, grinning like she was deranged. “I got one. I got one of those fuckers!”
Kohl nodded. “You sure did. Ebony, was it?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“Ebony, you might just survive another five minutes.” She beamed at him, so he held a hand up. “Look, don’t get carried away. We’ve got aways to go. Dark corridors. Death insects. Real nasty pieces of work. But you did okay.”
Still beaming, Ebony ran down the corridor in a clatter of disjointed armor. If Kohl was running odds, he figured her for only fifty-fifty of gruesome death in the next hour, a significant upgrade. He allowed that increase based on her attitude. Ebony Drake looked almost as happy to be killing roaches as Kohl, and he could get behind that kind of work ethic.
• • •
The elevator went down three decks before crunching to a halt. The lights in the car flickered. Ebony looked at him. “What’s going on?”
“Best guess? I figure the roaches are stacking humans out there,” said Kohl. “They use us like batteries. Don’t rightly know how it works. But I figure they put people in the elevator shaft. Means there’s a Queen nearby.”
“The bottom of the shaft is near the second reactor cluster,” said Ebony.
“Be warm,” agreed Kohl. He grabbed the car’s doors, prying them open with the sound of grinding metal. They’d stopped near a deck, the car only slightly below the line of the door, so Kohl hauled that open too. Outside the car, some kind of habitation deck, just doors stretching as far as the eye could see. Which wasn’t far, on account of it being dark out there. He nodded to Ebony, who clambered through the opening. Kohl followed, his armor screeching through, metal against metal. He winced. “Sorry. Not designed for a subtle entrance.”
“Where’d you get it?” said Ebony, looking at his armor.
“Card game,” said Kohl. “Didn’t have to cheat or nothing.” He flicked on his armor’s lamps, beams of light piercing the gloom.
Ebony switched the under-barrel light of her blaster on, another s
haft to penetrate the darkness. “What now?”
“Stairs.”
She nodded, leading the way. A scream came from behind a door, so Kohl kicked it open on general principle. Inside, two people, one dead, one dying, an Ezeroc drone coated in gore. Ceiling torn open. They’re in the roof. That’s an ugly truth to consider. Kohl raised his plasma cannon, firing, the Ezeroc turning into burning chitinous rain. The humans inside were immolated, a mercy considering what might have happened to the one still alive. Kohl turned to Ebony. “Figure they know we’re here now.”
She swallowed. “Will they come for us?”
“I sure hope so,” said Kohl. “Be a waste of my abilities if we had to walk down a couple decks and flick a switch.”
An Ezeroc lunged in through the hole in the ceiling, and Ebony screamed, her blaster going off. The plasma zipped past Kohl, missing his arm by only a hand’s breadth, turning the Ezeroc into crab salad.
“Nice shot,” said Kohl.
“I mean, I don’t know what happened,” said Ebony. “Gun … sorry, the blaster just went off.”
“Pro tip,” said Kohl. “This one’s free. If someone says you did good, look like you meant it. Doesn’t matter if it’s shooting roaches or corner pockets in pool, you get me?” She nodded. “Let’s get on, then.”
• • •
Dark, and wet. Great. The enviro controls were shot, the roof leaking like it was rain on a crust. Water cascaded down around Kohl, glinting in the beams of his armor’s lamps, and generally pissing him off. With all of that came the insidious warmth of the bowels of a ship, or station, or whatever the hell they were calling the Cantor now. The water was half-way up his shins as they sloshed forward.
When they found the first bodies, it was a blessing and a curse. Curse, because they were people wrapped up by the Ezeroc, feeding pipes extending from their mouths, disappearing under the water’s surface. Blessing, because Ebony stopped talking for about three seconds, which left Kohl with some space inside his head for a stray thought.
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