Kicking Ashe

by Pauline Baird Jones

  Ashe waited a whole two-count before she followed Shan through the doorway. Thought it was murky outside. Inside took murk to a whole new level of murk-ness. Gray dust hung in the air, like a dust storm waiting for a good head wind. Nasty had infiltrated the interior, mated with rotting to produce vile. Shan passed between lumps that might have been furniture. No way to tell. Felt no desire to find out. Because the lumps might not be furniture. No color anywhere except for shades of gray. Even the shadows fell short of black, perhaps because of a shortage of bright enough light to create gray shades.

  Shan stopped at the foot of a staircase. “I wish we had more light—”

  Lurch activated her suit’s head beam, almost blinding her. If Shan flinched he was over it by the time her eyes adjusted. You did that on purpose.

  I was waiting for you to recall you had it.

  Which brought them back to on purpose.

  “Sorry.” It was almost too bright, bouncing off the dust particles—Lurch adjusted it until the staircase became better defined. It looked intact. Ashe found a position that beamed the light up, while Shan tested the first step. Then the next. Minor sway turned to major as he reached the center.

  “Wait until I am at the top.”

  The light moved with her nod. It probably couldn’t take their combined weight, even if Lurch adjusted her suit’s gravity settings, but it was hard to wait. Take the thought as a request to adjust my gravity settings.

  Taken.

  She felt gravity’s grip weaken as Shan took his time testing each step before shifting his weight up, the soft creak of wood and the thump of her heart the only sounds breaking the deep silence. Once the creak turned to a crack when he was just shy of the landing and they both froze—a place Ashe thought she already occupied. Seemed a few molecules left to freeze. He moved his foot to a different spot, shifted his weight forward a bit at a time. The step held, though it protested loudly. Then the whole staircase whined. He picked up the pace, reached the landing despite a distinct, final sway from the staircase. Or the building.

  “You could wait for me.” His voice was hollow, a bit raspy. “This structure is very unstable.”

  “I could if you wanted me to have a total, screaming freak out.” She’d faced the time tsunami with more dignity, but this felt different. The cold, oily air was…hostile.

  Did you find the time tsunami friendly? Personally I thought it quite inimical.

  Sometimes the high road was very high, but if she could have crawled up on it and hid, she would have. I don’t care how dead this place looks, something is watching us. Like being caught in a creepy, horror vid. And you know how that goes for the girl left to wait “in safety.”

  That he had no answer felt like agreement.

  “Take it slowly, then. Try to put your weight where I stepped.”

  Slow sucked. Matching his footsteps was easy since his boots had left clear prints in the thick dust. The staircase swayed once during her ascent, but with her weight cut in half by her suit, she made it up without a major protest from the structure. Grabbed Shan’s elbow because she needed to feel something warm and living. And cause it felt safer. Was that soft rustle the building settling? Couldn’t be the wind when there wasn’t any.

  “You are cold.”

  “No, well, maybe, but—” His arm circled her, pulling her in against the hard warmth of his body. “So very cold.”

  Not too proud to burrow in, she pressed her face against his chest. The slow thump of his heart steadied her. He didn’t say anything about her waiting for him this time, just carried her forward with him. She liked this so she un-dug her head enough to light his way. Up close made walking a bit odd for them both, but her molecules did a happy dance. Kind felt like she floated down the hall—

  You are. Your gravity settings?

  Right. Better leave them. Don’t want to throw him off balance. Meant she could close her eyes and imagine they were somewhere else.

  “I believe the hull to be this direction…”

  She felt him adjust their course. Took a peek. Didn’t like what she saw. One long, creepy hallway turned into another before the silver gleam of the hull pierced the gloom. Ashe directed her headlight on it. Reluctantly settled back on terra not-firma. “It looks intact on this side.”

  “And I believe we are at the correct level to achieve access.” His arm dropped away. “Wait for me to see if I can reach the panel, discover if it still works.” He hesitated. “The process of opening may also disturb the building’s structure further.”

  Chilled and not happy, Ashe waited until he’d taken four steps away, then padded after him. She’d keep a wise distance. And closer seemed wise. Prudent even.

  You are not and have never been prudent.

  And you’re the nanite who lives inside not-prudent which makes you—

  He did not fill in the blank.

  His bird had cut a swathe through a building already deep into the unstable zone. Without an engineering report, there was no way to tell if the sliced off hallway would hold either of them long enough to gain access to the bay. The floor made threatening sounds, and did some scary shifting, as Shan moved closer to the dull hull—and the sliced off end of the hallway. It was a pity her gravity field inhibitor couldn’t extend to Shan.

  A chill, one more persistent the than others trailed down her back and the hairs on the back of her neck rose. Never a good sign. Ashe pulled her weapon, because in her experience, when the hair on the back of her neck rose, shooting at something would soon follow. Turned back to the empty corridor. Light stabbed down between the walls. Nothing. Gray, gray and more gray. So why couldn’t she look away? Why did if feel as if her life depended on not looking away? She backed toward Shan not caring if the whole building came down because of it. Neither building nor the floor appeared to be impacted by her passing as Lurch cranked her gravity inhibitor higher. Her toes dragged through the dust, just enough contact to keep her moving now. The soft rustle seemed more pronounced. Or she was getting paranoid. Not that paranoia seemed contraindicated in the situation. In fact, it felt wise. When Lurch didn’t mock or disagree, the hairs on her neck rose some more.

  “Ashe?”

  Did—was the floor…moving?

  “Yeah?” Her voice had more quiver than she liked.

  “I will try the controls and if it is safe—”

  Black slits, or maybe knotholes began to dot the walls and the floor, popping out of the mass of gray. Her light could be adding shadow, but the angles weren’t quite right…

  “I don’t think we have time to wait for safe.” Safe was an illusion. Family saying three hundred and something. She moved her head, tracking the light across ceiling, walls and floors, her weapon following the same path. The rustle increased in intensity, as if the light bothered something. Or attracted it. Hard to know which. She stabbed the light down toward her feet.

  “Bug.” The word came out rather squeaky. A big sucker, too. Long as her forearm. Had the general shape of a cockroach, which didn’t surprise her or Lurch. Bugs were often the last to life form to go when a world died and cockroaches were probably the most persistent of those bugs. She shifted her light, realized the bug was the leading edge of a swarm. In the words of some dead ancestor, it was a target rich environment. “Lots and lots of bugs.”

  I hate bugs. Lurch boosted her adrenal function and brought her shields online, though they didn’t actually know they’d work against bugs, since they were designed to deflect energy bursts. Pinchers the size of hands flexed just below the eyes. A clacking joined the rustle, or maybe it engulfed it.

  “Keep backing toward me. When I tell you, throw yourself backwards.”

  Ashe sped up her light sweep. It seemed to be holding them at bay. Or they liked to play with their food. She stepped back, felt the floor angle down. She must be close to where his ship had sliced through the building. Kept the light moving. The walls, floor, all of it appeared fluid gray—though the bugs did not seem to be fas
t moving—with specks of black that were probably bug eyes. I hate bug eyes.

  “Wait.” His voice was a breath of sound not far from her ear. Air shifted as his free hand, now holding his weapon, moved past her shoulder. She adjusted her line of fire. In the small space, it might work for long enough. A feeler from one of the creatures brushed her hand and a small squeak of horror made it past her clenched lips.

  Heard the high whine of metal on metal as the bay doors began to open. The building shuddered. Debris tumbled down, enveloping them in gray dust, muting the force of her light. The sound the bugs made changed, turned more shrill, more insistent. Lurch boosted her light just in time to catch the bugs taking flight. They fly. I hate flying bugs more than anything.

  She’d have screamed but didn’t want one to fly into her mouth. She fired, the energy beam stabbing down the hall. Shan did, too. The bugs fell, igniting a feeding frenzy among the not-dead ones. The floor turned into a heaving swarm of wriggling gray bodies. Frantic clanking increased, too, just in case it wasn’t terrifying enough. The wind of their movement blew dust back in her face. The floor sagged, started to give way.

  “Now!”

  Ashe threw herself back. Light enough to almost take flight, she sailed back. Hit a panel or something. Felt sharp stab of metal in her back. Started to rebound forward. Too light. Give me some gravity— Lurch got the memo before she could finish thinking it. Cut the inhibitor. She dropped like a rock. Felt the jolt from her pelvis to the top of her head. The angle of the bird meant a slide across metal into some jagged edges. Couldn’t move or breathe for several seconds. When she eased clear, reached back to check, her hand felt warm and wet. Didn’t have to look to know it was—

  Blood.

  The bugs went crazy, the clacking rising in a frenzied shriek.

  Ashe flicked her weapon to continuous fire, targeting the opening, hoping she wasn’t taking out the controls to shut the hatch—

  The building gave a major shudder, wood crunched and then crashed, and the upside of the Shan’s bird went downside, sending Ashe sliding toward the closing-too-slow hatch. Crunching sounds that could be wood. Could be bugs.

  The frantic swarm shrilled, bug parts scraping the hull in their attempts to get in. The flash of her weapon’s fire too bright for her to see how effective it was as she continued her slide toward the narrowing gap—

  A hand clamped her shoulder, dragged her around and into the bulkhead. She took the hit, twisted to bring light to bear on gap. Light swept her foot as pain crawled out from her impact wounds. Saw the bug clinging to it. It was as long as her calf, its feelers reaching almost all the way up her thigh and its tail twitching by her toes. Felt the pinch of something through her uniform. A bite? A bug was biting her? She screamed then, the sound bouncing off multiple sections of the metal hull. Kicked. Fired. Several times. Felt the shots zing off her shields where her foot probably was. Pinch stopped but she didn’t. Couldn’t stop screaming or shooting.

  Dust and debris burst into the breach as the ship crunched against rubble, the angle almost normal. It bounced once, then settled deeper into the wreckage with what seemed like a distinct grumble. Ashe sagged against the hull until one section of debris sprouted black slit eyes. She fired on them. So did Shan. Bug guts splattered against the bulkhead. A last slam of metal against metal, as the doors sealed, muting the frantic clacking against the hull.

  She did a light sweep, her weapon following the track. No movement. No eyes. She relaxed her arm, felt arms grab her, guy arms that patted and clutched in an alternating pattern.

  “Are you all right?”

  She leaned her head against his shoulder, took a couple of deep breaths that twanged her wounds—as Lurch sent drones in to repair the damage—and grabbed his shirt with her free hand. “I hate bugs.”

  He made a sound that was half laugh, half something else. “What is there to like?”

  * * * *

  “Kind of ironic, isn’t it?” Her voice was a bit muffled against his chest.

  “What is ironic?” He should release her.

  “That our frantic efforts to get in here will now be replaced by frantic efforts to get out.”

  His grip tightened instead, his hands sliding across her back. He found a spot that was warm and wet. “You are injured.”

  “I’ll be fine. Except for the nightmares I’m going to have until I die.” She stiffened. “I think one of them bit my leg. I don’t want to turn into an alien bug. I won’t, will I?”

  Shan did not see the connection, but he loosed his hold, sat back and ran his hands down both her legs. There was a tear in the slacks Calendria had provided for her, but— “It did not break the skin.” His hand resting on her ankle because he could not quite break contact, he looked at her. “Why would you turn into a bug?”

  “Haven’t you seen the horror vids?”

  Tremors of shock still shook her and he eased in beside her, sliding his arm around her again, pulling her to the place where she fit, where it felt she belonged. “What is a horror vid?”

  She moved to stare at him, though she managed to do it without breaking his hold. Did that mean she liked being held by him?

  “Don’t you have vids—moving pictures of made up stories?”

  He shook his head, though not with certainty. “We have training videos.”

  A small frown creased the smooth space between her brows. He touched the frown, because he could not help it.

  “What do you do for fun?”

  “My duty.”

  Her brows arched now. “No dancing?” He shook his head. “No singing.” Another negative, though he felt that lack of certainty once more. “No parties? No games?”

  “Training games. War games.” And meetings. Was that what she meant by party? Somehow he did not think so.

  “Even when you’re little?”

  “Children must learn to do their duty.” Did the words sound as bleak to her as they felt to him? My mother didn’t have a garden. Life is about duty. A dutiful live is a life lived well. He had a sudden, shadowy image of two boys throwing a round object back and forth. His mind groped for the word…ball? “What of your people?”

  She grinned. “In my world, all work and no play makes Jack or Jill dull. And dull is dang near as big a crime as not pretty.”

  The clacking outside seemed to build in intensity and sounded as if the swarm were expanding. She looked up as he did, the grin fading. “Does that sound like they are climbing up your bird?”

  He could not access the ship’s link from this bay, but… “It does.”

  She made a face. “Creepy plus.” She held out her hand. “We need to get your atmospheric bird in the air, sooner rather than later.”

  Which brought them back to ironic. He did not ask why. He felt the same urgency. With a wry grin, he helped her to her feet. She used the light from her forehead to sweep the interior of the bay, giving him a look that the emergency lighting could not provide. When his ship dropped that last time, it cut off his contact with the link, but he did not need it to know this section had minimal life support. He could smell it in the air. Another reason to get airborne as soon as possible.

  Her light found the spot where his in-atmosphere craft—bird? He tried the word and found it suited the small craft—which wasn’t where it should have been. Followed the marks scored into metal to where the small craft was now. Around it, panels sagged from the ceiling and supplies lay in tumbled piles.

  “The anchor moorings snapped.” Though they should not have—not when the bulk of his ship and the craft remained intact. They’d been stress tested under extreme conditions.

  Ashe crouched next to an anchor fitting built into the deck, held up the binding with a severed end and ran her finger across it. “Smooth. I’ll bet the time wave did this.” She straightened, her gaze sweeping the messy bay. “Probably left chunks of the mooring cables in another time. Maybe we’ll catch up with them.”

  Shan had seen the waves happen duri
ng the battle, but did not like thinking about them. He paced to the craft, trying not to think about going to the remains of his home. This dead city, this place was not his home. Home was nothing like this grim, bug-infested place. Home was this ship, back up there in the wild vastness of space. So why didn’t he object? Because some instinct deep inside called him to that place, even as his mind argued with her, and those instincts. They had not let him down yet, though there was always a first time for everything. He stared at a dent near a weapons port.

  “What’s the damage?” Ashe picked her way through tumbled rubble, bringing a better scent with her, though he did not parse it, just enjoyed the mitigation of stale air.

  “Exterior damage appears minimal.” He spread his fingers against the metal, felt some residual heat on the surface. “A few dents and scrapes.”

  “But?”

  “I am concerned about internal damage, particularly to the weapons systems. If this ship experienced any of the torque that impacted the bridge…” Then this bay could well be their tomb.

  “You planned to shoot our way out.”

  Her obvious approval made him grin. She had not lied when she said she liked to shoot. “That was my plan, yes.” He looked at her, because he liked looking at her.

  “And you’re worried that the time wave did damage you can’t see.” She nodded, like she spoke of a normal problem, not the fantastical. Her gaze slanted his direction, hesitancy entering into her eyes and manner. “We can…help, or rather, Lurch can, if you’d allow it.”

  “Your time theory expert. And the tweaker of my system settings.” He’d have looked around, but he knew there was no one but the two of them. He knew, or thought he knew, that she could not connect to this man from a different time. He stared at her, not to catch her out, but because he could not look away. He did not know how much longer— “Where is this expert?” He tensed, wondering what would change once he met him, knew him. Saw them together? “How did he survive the crash?”