by Hugh Howey
“I’m not leaving here without you,” she says. “A friend will come for me. For us both. Someone you know—”
I wave her silent and take a step back, like she really is a bomb that might go off. “Scarlett, I can’t leave here.” And then I say what I’ve known for a while but haven’t told anyone at NASA, haven’t even admitted to myself, not out loud. “I’m never leaving here,” I say. “It’s a two-year, but I’ll re-up. This is like the army, except I’ll last longer. This is where I belong.”
She looks me up and down. Frowns. Her eyes glisten. “This isn’t you,” she says.
“It is,” I tell her. And I nearly tell her my secret. My dark one. She always got the truth out of me in the past, but never without a fight. I change the subject in a hurry. Any kind of crazy is better than my kind. “So how do you think you can end this war?”
Scarlett adjusts the small pack slung over her shoulder. She pulls out a weathered paperback. Holds it up so I can see the cover.
“You’ve read this?” she asks.
The book is Salaman’s Battle. It’s part of the Frontier Saga by T.W. Rudolf. Of course I’ve read it. It’s trench pulp, and practically required reading for grunts. We pass these novels around like VD. I read the entire series until the pages turned to mud and the spines fell apart.
“Sure,” I say. I smile. “Are we going to take out the Lord hive with a planet buster like Corporal Charlie Sikes does in book twelve?” I say this with the lilt and enthusiasm of a twelve-year-old planning the next stage of the neighborhood invasion from behind Mrs. Wilkerson’s petunias.
“How much do you know much about Rudolf?” Scarlett asks, clearly not amused.
I shrug my one good shoulder. “I probably scanned the back of a book or two.” Even before she turns the tattered paperback around, I can already see T.W.’s bald head, the fatigues he’s always wearing, and that angry I-served-in-the-military-so-buy-my-book-I’ve-seen-the-real-shit scowl.
“There’s no such person,” Scarlett says. “He’s as much a fiction as his stories.”
I raise my hand like I’m in class. “So we expose the conspiracy, and the war ends!”
“The person behind T.W. Rudolf is a former marine intelligence officer named Porter Mencius. Porter was the numero uno translator for the armed forces during the Orion Offensive.”
“I’m still not getting it—”
“These are repurposed Ryph novels, is what I’m trying to tell you.”
This takes my brain a few moments. Scarlett waits patiently.
“Bullshit,” I say, when I realize what she’s suggesting. “You’re saying someone translated Ryph novels, and that’s what we’ve been reading? But we kick the Ryph’s asses in those books. In the end, I mean. Right after it looks hopeless and all.”
Scarlett does a dogfighting maneuver in the air, twisting one hand after the book. “They switch everything around,” she says. “We become them. They become us.” Now the book is chasing her hand. “He changed a few other details, of course. What happened is, Porter fell in love with the original stories in translation, even fell for the Ryph a little, and he figured he could make a quick buck. What were the Ryph going to do, sue him? They were already trying to kill us all. He just had to change the names and which side was which.”
I think back on some of those books, many of which I read half a dozen times. Something is trying to fit together in my mind when Scarlett gives me a nudge.
“Don’t you see? We’re the alien horde.”
She gives me a moment to let this to sink in. It doesn’t quite.
“When someone told me who the author was, and where these books came from, I went and checked a few other races we’ve made contact with. The Hoko, the Tryndians, the Capricorns. Guess what? They all have a long and rich popular culture dealing with alien invasions. Every one of them. And it all starts about the time each race put something into orbit for the first time.”
“Okay,” I say, seeing this point at least. “That makes sense. We’re all scared shitless out here. It’s a scary place.”
“It’s worse than that. Don’t you see? We fear what we know we’ll become. As soon as we can go out, we start worrying about something heading our way. To the Ryph, we’re everything they thought we’d be. And we think the same of them.”
“But they are. Look at what happened on Delphi.”
“And they say look what happened on Arcturus. And we say Delphi happened first. And they say Arcturus was worse. And both sides are run by fear. You know why?”
I nod. “Sure. Because fear is how you hedge your bets. If you’re wrong, you wiped out some friendlies. Oops. But if you’re right, you saved your ass and all of humanity’s.”
“No, that’s not why. It’s because fear sells. It’s because war is sport. And it’s also very good business. We warred with ourselves until we found someone to war with together.”
“Well, there you go,” I say, snapping my fingers. “There’s no stopping it. So why try? Look at me—” I wave my arm at the beacon. “I’m the hero because I checked out.”
“That’s exactly right,” Scarlett says. “The problem is, you didn’t take the rest of us with you.”
•••
I have no idea what Scarlett means by this, but all the crazy talk has me thirsty. Or I just want something to occupy my free hand. I cross to the small sink by the lounge and pour Scarlett a water, then I drink from the tap. I hand her a food pack as well. I don’t have any appetite, but I grab one for myself. Tearing the pack open with my teeth, I squeeze some of the protein paste into my mouth. It tastes better heated up, but the army taught me not to care.
“Tell me what you remember from that last day,” Scarlett says. I notice she’s eyeing the nasty knot of scars that peeks out from under my slinged arm. I haven’t seen her or talked to her in years. She shouldn’t know a damn thing about that day. Then I remember she tracked me here by hacking navy files. She knows the same bullshit story they know.
“More than I care to,” I tell her, chewing the paste and fighting to swallow.
“I want to hear about it. And not what’s in the reports. Tell me what really happened.”
I turn away from her, finish the paste, and throw the packet in the recycler. Staring out the porthole, I can see one of the ships moving through the asteroid belt. There’s the second ship. No sign of the ninja, which makes me smile.
“We pushed into the hive on Yata. Our platoon was pinned down. As was Echo company. Everyone in my squad ate it. That left me in charge. I was going to set off the nuke, wipe out the whole hive—”
I stop right there. I’ve never told this next part to anyone. Why do I do this for her?
“What happened?” she asks.
I stare out the porthole.
Scarlett takes a step toward me. I can hear her picking her way carefully through the debris scattered everywhere. She was always good at this, picking through the debris. When her hand lands on my good shoulder, I flinch, which feels like a knife slipping between my ribs.
“I know what happened,” she whispers. “I just want you to admit it.”
I look down at the floor. My eyes are watering. I blink that shit away.
“I didn’t do it,” I say. “My finger was on the button, but I didn’t do it. Couldn’t do it.”
“You didn’t set off the bomb,” she says. “And next thing you know, a Ryph Lord is standing over you.”
I nod. My voice would crack if I tried to use it. I feel my hand trembling. Scarlett’s hand is still resting on my shoulder, burning me there.
“And he opened you up,” she says. Her hand drifts down my bruised ribs and touches my stomach. My scars. I haven’t been touched in so long. I’d forgotten what it feels like. I nod.
“And then you killed him, and their entire army fled the battlefield, and you saved the day.”
“Yes,” I whisper, lying through my teeth, pretending my account of things was how they really were.
; “But you didn’t kill him, did you?”
I shake my head. Tears roll down my cheeks.
“You didn’t do shit.”
I nod. I can feel her breasts pressing against my back.
“Why didn’t you set off that bomb?” she asks me.
I don’t say anything. I just concentrate on her hand. I place mine on the back of hers, holding it there.
“Because of the company you would’ve lost?” she asks.
“No,” I whisper.
“Why, then?”
I can’t say.
“Tell me. C’mon, soldier, just spit it out. I know it’s right there. The truth is on the tip of your tongue.”
I don’t want to say.
“Tell me why you didn’t do it,” she commands.
And my will shatters. Maybe because of her touch. So I tell her the truth.
“Because of the hive,” I whisper, barely loud enough for anyone to hear. “I couldn’t do it because of the hive.”
• 5 •
The radio squawks. I can’t tell how long we’ve been standing there, in a fog of my admission, her arm wrapped around me, her hand on my flesh, my hand pressed against hers. Felt like forever. Wasn’t long enough.
“Son of a raped pig, do you read?”
“Fuck off, Vladimir.”
I turn to look at Scarlett, who has pulled away from me at this intrusion by the HF.
“It’s two of the bounty hunters,” I say.
“No shit,” she says.
“How many cats you have in bag right now?” Vlad asks.
“Speak English,” O’Shea radios back.
“Bounties. How many in ship? I find it hard to believe you make two bounty like this, but I’m going through ship scans, and I see three warm on ship of yours, and I know you have no friends, no girlfriend. So how you get so lucky, boy of bacon?”
“That’s Vladimir,” I say. “Eastern European, I think.”
“I know who he is,” Scarlett says.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, asshole. What bounties? It’s just me and my warthen, Cricket, on this ship.”
There’s a pause in the communications. My brain goes to where Vlad’s brain is going. Three signatures on O’Shea’s ship when he arrived, and now only two. Plus, I have the advantage of already knowing the answer. I’m standing beside the answer.
“Shit,” Scarlett says. “You sent them all the scans?”
“I had to,” I say.
“Yeah, but of their ships as well?”
I shrug. I can almost hear the rock hanging around my neck say: Dumbass.
“I’m looking at the scans right now,” O’Shea radios to Vlad. “This don’t make no sense.”
“Of course it does, you spawn of a molested sow. You brought her here.”
“Fuck,” Scarlett says. She fishes into her bag.
“Yeah, let’s read a paperback to them,” I say. I can already see the two of us in jail together. Unless she wants to say she had a blaster on me the entire time. She would do that for me. No point in both of us going to prison.
Scarlett pulls something out of her bag. “I really don’t want to do this, but ending the war is worth more lives than have ever been spilled.”
I see what’s in her hand. It’s a remote detonator. She already has the little clear guard flipped up to expose the silver switch.
“What’re you doing?” I ask.
She steps toward the porthole and peers out at the asteroid field. Her body has gone tense. Her shoulders are riding up around her neck. I step toward her, reach out my one good hand.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
I hear a faint click. Out in the debris field, an orange cloud blooms like a flower on high-speed film.
“What did you do?”
I think of that animal in its cage. I think of the way it looked at me, water streaming from its jowls. It’s strange that I think of the animal before I think of O’Shea. Maybe it’s the cage. Maybe I have some affinity for helpless things.
“Vlad was not a good guy,” Scarlett says. “He’s with the mob. Has done horrible things to decent people.”
“Vlad?” I ask. “I thought you came here with O’Shea.”
Scarlett crosses the room and stares at one of my screens. “I did. But I only had one bomb. And I kinda like Mitch. I mean, he’s a dick, and he’s dumb as a sack of sand, but he’s not evil.”
“What about the kid?” I ask, thinking of the boy who looked at me through his bangs. “What about Vlad’s bounty?”
Scarlett turns and looks at me. I can tell she never saw the boy. Probably placed the bomb on the ceiling of Vlad’s airlock, right inside the door while we were in the cockpit. It’s what I would’ve done. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask me about the kid, just swallows this information as she turns back to the monitors.
“Now where’s that other ship?” she asks. “And Mitch is going to be on his way. We’ll have to get ready for that.”
“Beacon 23, Sanity’s Edge. Come in.”
“Shit,” I say. “I’ve got to get that.” I cross over to the HF. Scarlett grabs the mic before I can and squeezes the transmit button to talk to O’Shea. She must’ve already considered the ruse of commandeering the beacon and saving my ass.
“You’ve got two minutes to spin up your drive and scoot,” she says. “In two minutes, I blow your ship.” Narrowing her eyes, she stares out a porthole. “And don’t come any closer, asshole.”
I turn and follow her gaze; I see the bounty hunter’s ship heading our direction.
“Bullshit,” O’Shea says. “You woulda already done it.”
“I’ll kill this beacon operator, then.” She lifts an eyebrow at me. Smiles.
“Fifty million in cold hard cash,” O’Shea says. “I’ll shoot him for you.”
“Motherfucker,” I say. Scarlett cradles the mic. Is obviously thinking. “That blaster of yours is all we got,” I tell her. “There aren’t any weapons here. There are two of them out there. And my lifeboat can’t go hyper.”
“Can we lock them out?” she asks.
“They’ve got warrants. I know how to override the airlocks to open them in an emergency, but no way to keep them closed, not if they have marshal IDs. I mean, if I had a few hours to really dig into it I could figure something out.”
“Then we get the jump on them,” she says. “We get down there and wait.”
I stare at the radio. O’Shea hasn’t said a thing since offering to shoot me dead. I think about that animal on his boat, did he say it was a warthen? He could probably turn that thing loose on us and just smoke a cigar and wait for the screaming to stop. I pull out the bounty sheet and unfold it. Study the fine print. “Fifteen mil just for locating you,” I say. “He doesn’t even have to come in here. He’ll just call it in and wait for the cavalry. You shouldn’t have come for me. What were you thinking?”
Scarlett ignores this last bit. Instead she says, “I know Mitch. For an extra thirty-five mil, he’s coming in. We should get down there.”
She heads toward the ladder. I feel like pointing out that it might take him an extra fifteen minutes to dock. But I see out the porthole that he’s hauling ass our way. And we’ve got fifty-six rungs between us and the lock collars. Before I hurry after Scarlett, I de-energize the two free collars. He should be able to use his credentials for an override, but it’ll take a few moments before he figures out he needs to.
Scarlett is down the first ladder and on to the second before I even get started. I barely feel my sprained ankle thanks to the rush of adrenaline, but the arm is still useless. I go down gingerly, remembering the time I slipped off a rung, caught my chin on the ladder, and nearly bit clear through my tongue. In my living quarters, I grab a blanket and a shirt and throw them down the next ladder. More rungs. I can feel O’Shea getting close. I can hear Scarlett below, calling for me to hurry. In the next module, I grab a roll of duct tape from where I was working on my project earlier that d
ay. Was it just that day? Seems like forever ago. Time flies with company. I toss the blanket, shirt, and tape down the last ladder and start my last descent.
“What’s this?” Scarlett calls out, as the items rain down.
“Didn’t you see that thing on his ship? This is so it doesn’t chew us in half.” I reach the bottom of the ladder, grab the shirt, and try wrapping it around my forearm with my teeth. Scarlett sees what I’m after and does it for me, holstering the blaster. She uses the duct tape to secure the wrap, tearing the tape with her teeth. It’s strange, but I want to kiss her right then. Maybe just in case anything happens.
“I was thinking maybe we could bag it with the blanket,” I say. “If I was him, I’d send it through the door first. Try and scare us shitless.”
There’s a bang against the beacon. Fuck. He’s already here. I hear a screech and a scrape as he tries to get a lock. But without the electromagnets engaged, there’s no grab. It’s taking longer for him to figure that out than I thought.
“You take the blaster,” Scarlett says, pushing the pistol into my left hand. “I’ve got two hands for the blanket. Besides, you’re a better shot.”
“Not with this hand, I’m not.”
But she’s already got the blanket and is positioning herself beside airlock Bravo, which is where the scraping seems to be emanating from. I glance over at my walk suit, wishing I had time to put it on. I feel unprotected. Like a raw and open wound. And then I hear the collar buzz as O’Shea figures out he needs the override. I also see that I’m a criminal now. Without even considering the alternative, I’m sitting here, ready to blast away at a bounty hunter on legal marshal business. There’s a bounty sheet tucked in my waistband. It’s for a girl I had sex with a few times amid the fury of war, someone who just happened to be in my squad for half a tour, who is obviously batshit crazy, and who has probably done a lot of illegal stuff, like hacking into navy databases and tracking me down. And I’m just throwing my life and my career away for her? What the hell am I doing?
I look down and realize I’m holding the blaster. Fifty mil. I could sit in miserable solitude on an island in sector one for the rest of my life. I could contemplate my black thoughts every day in paradise. Just need to slide the barrel to the right, away from the door, and onto a woman I once loved.