Snowburn

by E J Frost

  She’s right. With the absence of that

  killing pressure, I feel better moment by

  moment. My stomach settles into its rightful

  place. My muscles unknot. The sensation of

  my brain trying to push its way out through

  my sinuses subsides to a dull thumping.

  When Kez finishes cleaning my face, I open

  my eyes and slowly sit up.

  She hands me a couple of clean wipes

  and reaches around to wash the back of my

  head.

  “She awake?” I ask, tipping my chin at

  the motionless pile of limbs and bags on the

  floor while I wipe my hands and the front of

  my shadowsuit.

  “No, but she’s breathing.”

  “You got anything in your magic bag to

  wake her up?”

  Kez shrugs. “An adrenaline sniffer. I’ve

  never had to use it. You don’t think it will

  hurt her, do you?”

  Erin’s long-term health is not my main

  concern. Just getting her limp ass up off the

  grid. My mind’s moving on, now that I’m

  thinking clearly again, to getting us off this

  love boat. By the chrono in my eye, it’ll dock

  in Tiv in less than twenty minutes. All that’s

  left of our finboards are splinters bobbing in

  the bowship’s wake, so we need to find

  another way off the boat, unless we want to

  get wet again. That means having a poke

  around to find an exit, and I’m not toting the

  Überbitch’s limp ass while I do it.

  I hold out my hand and Kez fishes a

  rolled-up emergency kit out of her backpack.

  I sort through it until I find the bright blue

  sniffer, hand it to Kez, and set aside three

  small derms before closing up the case and

  tossing it into her backpack.

  “Give her a squirt of that.” If it doesn’t

  work, there’s always slapping her. Which

  would be satisfying in its own way, except

  that I’ve never hit a woman other than

  spanking Kez and a couple of hookers who

  let me play rough. I don’t want to start with

  Erin. She might mistake it for foreplay.

  Kez busies herself with her sister while I

  open my suit, set the three little derms on my

  shoulder, and finish wiping myself off.

  There’s a certain cache to roaming around

  covered in blood, but Cloudlanders are

  paranoid to start with and I don’t want

  anyone calling the C.P. over a nosebleed.

  When I can’t find any more sticky

  blotches, I spend a moment checking my

  knives – all where they should be – before I

  roll to my feet. The analgesic derms dull the

  pain in my shoulder to a tolerable ache.

  Everything else hurts about the same. I’m

  bored with the pain now, and ignore it.

  Erin’s less stoic, and begins whimpering

  as she comes ‘round. I move a few meters

  away and listen. Not to her pain-filled

  noises, but for anything they attract. All I can

  hear is the distant whoosh of the airjets,

  muffled by thick ceramsteel. No footsteps.

  No clanging of hatches. No mechanical

  noises. The ship’s too quiet, in fact.

  Kez shushes Erin the same way she did

  me, and whether it’s her sister’s warning or

  her own predatory instincts kicking in, Erin

  muffles her groans. It takes her a couple of

  minutes to get on her feet, during which I

  orient myself and plot out the route I want to

  take through the ship, avoiding areas where

  we’ll be more likely to bump into crew. Erin

  eventually shuffles down the passageway,

  supported by Kez. I wait until they draw up

  beside me.

  “We’re heading to the front of the ship.

  Try to be as quiet as you can. We come up

  against anyone, hang back, let me take care

  of ‘em.”

  “Aye-firmative,” Kez whispers. Erin

  doesn’t say anything, but when I turn my head

  to look at her, she nods. I meet her eyes. Her

  right eye’s swollen closed and partially

  covered by a big, pale derm plastered over

  her cheek. In the yellow-red light from Kez’s

  hair, she’s a sickly green color that I’m

  betting is not all a trick of the light.

  Big Bad Assassin. All banged up.

  “I saved your ass,” I tell her. “You owe

  me.”

  She nods again. Swallows with effort. “I

  pay my debts.”

  “I want my ship back.”

  “When we get to the Cloudlands.”

  “Deal,” I say. I don’t really care whether

  she gives me back the master control,

  although it’d be convenient not to have to

  hack into my own ship. What matters is she’s

  got no more claim on me, or Kez. When we

  get back on dry land, she’s on her fucking

  own. “Let’s move.”

  Chapter 23

  I lead. The girls trail me by a couple of

  meters. Erin’s got her right arm looped over

  Kez’s shoulders. Kez is carrying one of

  Erin’s equipment bags in addition to her own

  backpack. Neither of them is going to be

  much use if we run into trouble.

  Better be stealthy then.

  Stealth ain’t easy in wet boots, on a

  gimpy knee, with the clangy metal grid

  underfoot and the girls shuffling along behind

  me. But as much noise as we’re making, no

  one comes to investigate. The ship remains

  eerily quiet beyond the rhythmic rush of the

  airjets.

  The corridor runs straight. There are

  hatches along it, but they’re all closed and

  I’ve got no urge to explore. I want the bow of

  the ship, and a way off. We reach a T-

  junction and I pause, turning my head from

  side to side, listening. Light flow of air

  against my face. Cooler to my right. To my

  left, the faint scent of lubricants.

  I turn to the right.

  “How do you know where you’re

  going?” The Überbitch hisses behind me.

  “I don’t. You want to go that way, be my

  guest.”

  I don’t look back, but I can feel Kez’s

  split-second hesitation before she pushes

  Erin’s arm off her shoulders and follows me.

  My kitten. Still committed to her family, no

  matter how fucked up that family’s become.

  But after that one moment of hesitation, she

  comes after me. Chooses me. Again.

  “Fine, fine!” Erin’s hiss is strident,

  maybe a little panicked. Kez blows out an

  irritated breath and goes back to support her

  sister.

  Another empty corridor. But now, there’s

  a sound. A distant, deep asthmatic wheeze.

  Like heavy breathing over a speaker.

  I lift my right hand. Ball it into a fist.

  Hear the girls shuffle-stop behind me. I wait.

  Watch the seconds tick in the corner of my

  eye. After thirty seconds, there’s no

  movement. No voices. No footsteps. Just that

  faint breathing.
/>   And ever-cooler air against my face.

  I lower my hand. Pull a kukri out of my

  right boot and hold it against my side as I

  begin moving again. Slow, light steps,

  echoed by the soft shuffling behind me.

  The corridor ends in a set of stairs and a

  hatch to the left. The hatch is closed, but

  fresh, sea-scented air streams through vents

  on the upper half of the hatch. I peer through

  the vents. Nothing but darkness even my eyes

  can’t penetrate; must be louvered.

  I rest my hand against the vents. Faint

  dampness against my palm. Sea-spray.

  “This is it,” I whisper to the girls. With

  any luck, the hatch will open onto the front

  cargo deck. From there, it shouldn’t be hard

  to exit the ship as it docks. Only problem is,

  once we’re out on that deck, we’ll be visible

  to anyone and everything. Still seven minutes

  before the ship docks. That’s a long time to

  be exposed. Really, a second is too long to

  be exposed. We’ve got to get off the ship

  without being seen.

  I rest my forehead against the cool metal

  while I work a finger through the vent. Then

  the tip of my kukri. Neither shifts the metal

  louver. Fuck. I can’t take the chance that

  anyone’s looking when I open the hatch.

  I turn the problem over a couple of times

  in my head; examining the different angles. It

  doesn’t really matter if we’re seen, so long

  as no alarm is raised. Invisibility isn’t the

  issue. It’s making sure no one’s alive to

  press the panic button.

  I draw the other kukri and step back from

  the door. Glance up the stairs. The control

  room will be high up in the ship, where

  there’s good visibility. That means the right

  way to go is up.

  “Six minutes, I’m not back, you open this

  hatch and get off this ship any way you can.

  Got it?” I say to the girls.

  Erin looks dazed. It takes her a moment to

  nod. While she’s focusing, Kez gently pushes

  her against the wall. Slides out from under

  her arm. Erin reaches for her crutch,

  frowning, but Kez steps away. Kez drops

  Erin’s equipment bag at her feet, shrugs out

  of the backpack, rolls her shoulders, and

  looks up at me expectantly. “Lead the way,”

  she says.

  “Where d’you think you’re goin’?”

  “With you.”

  I shake my head. “Stay with your sister.

  Get off this ship. Finish the run.”

  Kez puts her hands on her hips. Her little

  kitten chin juts. “You said you wouldn’t let

  me out of your sight until this was done,

  remember?”

  I remember. And I meant it.

  “You’re on your own,” I tell Erin.

  Without waiting for her response, I vault

  the handrail and take the stairs two at a time,

  moving as fast as I can without letting my

  wet, heavy boots clang on the ceramsteel

  risers. The deep, asthmatic breathing gets

  louder as I reach the top of the stairs,

  drowning out the noise of my movement, and

  the soft squeaking of Kez’s shadowsuit.

  At the top of the stairs, a landing and

  another fucking T-junction. I go in low,

  kukris ready, and tilt my head just enough to

  see around the corner. An empty corridor.

  Both directions. Corridor stretches to the

  right. To the left, an open hatch. That’s the

  source of the breathing.

  I glance over my shoulder at Kez, who is

  waiting on the step below me. Her back

  brushing my back. “My left,” I whisper to

  her.

  “Got it.”

  I move fast and low around the corner.

  Arms up; kukris leading the way. Kez is a

  light pressure against my back as she

  matches me, step for step. Covering my ass.

  My kitten.

  I clear the hatch and get a view of the

  room beyond. Empty. I straighten and take a

  slow look around. There’s movement. Lights

  flickering on the control panels. Codes

  streaming down several screens. But there’s

  no one reading them. The deep, asthmatic

  breathing comes from a pump in the far

  corner of the control room. Sounds like it

  needs a seal replacing. No other breathing in

  the room but Kez’s and my own. Out of the

  huge windows, moonlight silvers sea-spray

  and the tips of waves. Water, water and

  more water. There’s no sign of any crew. On

  the horizon, a long, low black ridge. The

  Northern Island. A silver diamond of light on

  the shore pinpoints Tiv’s dock. The

  bowship’s neatly lined up with that gleaming

  diamond, but it’s not being steered by any

  human hand.

  I move across the control room, checking

  the monitors. No alarms. One shows the

  ship’s course. Right on schedule. A couple

  show interiors of the ship. All empty. A flash

  of yellow on the central screen tells me the

  pre-docking sequence has been initiated.

  Movement out on the deck snaps my head up.

  But it’s mechanical movement: the

  bowship’s massive prongs unfolding as they

  ready to dock and unload the cargo.

  Behind me, Kez whispers, “It’s a ghost

  ship.”

  “Maybe.” I flick a finger at the monitors.

  “Lotta displays for a roboboat.” I lean over

  the bank of monitors, peer out the central

  viewer and scan the deck carefully. It’s not

  easy to see anything. The deck’s a maze of

  huge ceramsteel containers, stacked in neat

  rows. The bridge is about fifteen meters

  above the deck, just a few meters higher than

  the tops of the largest containers, so I’m

  peering across the top of a metal maze. I

  watch for a full minute, and just as I’m about

  to turn away, the shadows between two huge

  crates shiver the way no shadows should,

  and peel apart. A finger of brilliant white

  light reaches across the wet deck, then a

  crawler appears out of the actinic halo. Two

  low arms extend from the crawler, running

  along the bases of the containers, popping the

  maglocks attaching the containers to the

  deck. The crawler turns and disappears

  behind a stack of containers, only a rime of

  white light creeping above the containers’

  upper edges marking its passage.

  “Fuck,” Kez says from beside me.

  “Yeah.” I track the crawler’s progress.

  It’s definitely following a pattern as it moves

  between the containers. I watch it for a

  moment; extrapolate the pattern. The crawler

  will end up in the starboard forecastle as the

  ship docks. If we come up the port side of

  the deck, hugging the shadows of the bigger

  containers, we might be able to slip off the

  ship unnoticed. I beckon Kez to my side with

  two fing
ers. Point out the route to the bow.

  Kez nods.

  “Memorize it in case we get separated.”

  “Aye-firmative,” Kez responds, her

  voice distant with concentration. “But we’re

  not. Getting separated.”

  I smile at her. Give her another moment

  to track the twists and turns between the

  containers. When she nods, I lead the way

  back to the Überbitch.

  Erin’s bloodshot eye tracks us sullenly as

  we descend the stairs. There’s no need for

  silence now, so half-way down, I vault over

  the handrail and land in a Parkour-style

  crouch next to the hatch. Immediately regret

  it when my knee grumbles and threatens to

  give. Gonna have to watch that.

  “You’re cutting it fine,” the Überbitch

  snipes at me.

  I shrug off her criticism. “Stay low. Stay

  left. Don’t be seen.”

  Her red-red mouth, its perfect shape and

  color marred by several cuts, opens to frame

  a question, but she’s forestalled by Kez, who

  returns to crutch position with my kitten’s

  usual efficiency. Ignoring her sister’s

  curiosity, Kez pulls Erin along just a step

  behind me as I crack the hatch and step out

  onto the deck.

  It’s not quite the same assault as riding

  the finboard, or the maelstrom below-decks,

  but after the quiet interior, the wind and

  spray and darkness are a slap against my

  senses. From the bridge, there was no sense

  of the howl of the wind through the branching

  tunnels of the containers. No sting of spray. I

  let my eyes adjust while I take in the small

  details my senses feed me and integrate them

  into the mental map I developed on the

  bridge. I spin it out around me like a holo.

  The distant popping of maglocks pinpoints

  the crawler on my mental map. As it makes

  its next turn, those harsh lights will sweep

  right across where we’re standing.

  Better not be here then.

  I beckon the girls after me as I move left,

  avoiding a wide corridor – too exposed –

  and thread my way between two smaller

  stacks of containers.

  Left, right, left and left again. Creeping

  along, step by careful step, I lead the girls

  through the chasms created by the containers.

  Through wind and spray and darkness broken

  only by the probing light of the crawler. I

  keep the girls carefully out of that light. In

  our shadowsuits, we’ll be hard to see, but

  Kez is so pale she’ll fucking fluoresce if the

  crawler’s lights hit her. Finally, we stand in