Something she appeared to allow, for now.
Kesh would take what she could get. Calix and she would both earn the trust needed to operate unfettered in this failing system. The fact Sloane appeared to prefer their species would only help. “Now,” Kesh said briskly, clapping her hands together hard. “We might as well keep busy.”
“I guess so,” the woman sighed. She stretched hard, rolled her shoulders, and bent to work.
With Sloane’s help, fallen equipment was righted, debris cleared from a bank of control screens.
In record time, Calix Corvannis returned with a bleary-eyed group of seven engineers of junior rank. Junior, Kesh knew, only because they refused to surpass their supervisor in rank. They leapt right to work, as if they didn’t need instructions. Not that Calix was silent. He barked the occasional order, using terms and abbreviations Kesh did not recognize.
He knew these people very well. They’d worked together for a long time. In fact, they’d all volunteered for the Nexus as a group, Kesh recalled. Something had happened on Calix’s previous post, a labor dispute during which—the notes attached to the report she was given had explained—he had gone against orders for the well-being of his team.
She didn’t know the details because he was too humble to talk about it.
Whatever the case, they were loyal after that, “to a fault,” in his words.
“They said they’d follow me anywhere,” Calix had said dryly, “so I thought I’d test them on that with Andromeda. Turns out they were serious.”
She’d asked if he was satisfied with that.
“I don’t hold anybody to anything they don’t want to do,” he’d told her, nodding in the direction of his team as they’d worked. “They want to leave, they can. But they saw the Initiative specs, heard the speeches, same as me. They’re here because they want to be, Kesh. They’ll work hard.”
She had never been given any reason to doubt that.
And thank the stars for it. Now they needed every last one of them honed and ready.
At a tersely shouted order from the turian, two of his team raced off in unison to fix a stuck valve, one deck below and three over.
Kesh stood back, resisting the urge to check the clock. Not that there was any need. Sloane saw fit to call out the remaining time as each minute ticked away. Fifteen. Soon enough it was only ten. Then five. The engineers worked furiously, but with the kind of calm usually reserved for a drill.
“Two minutes,” Sloane called, with less fervor than prior. Her voice sounded breathy, her tone weakened. The air now tasted of burned chemicals. It smelled even worse, and that was to a krogan. Kesh could only imagine what the humans were experiencing. Indeed, after uttering those words, the security director pulled her rebreather mask over her face and sat down.
Kesh didn’t ask if she was okay. She wasn’t, obviously. Only time could tell now.
And time was exactly what Calix called. “That should do it. Confirm?”
Sloane and Kesh waited as the engineering team verified the surgery they’d just performed.
“Oxygen levels stabilizing,” one said.
“Filtration at eleven percent,” another, an asari, said. “Now ten… nine. No, wait. Hovering between nine and ten percent.” The tension drained from the room. They smiled at one another.
“Success?” Sloane asked, her voice muffled by the full-face mask.
Calix let out a breath, reaching his long arms up in a stretch. “Let’s just say we’ve bought ourselves twenty-four hours. Maybe more.”
Sloane let out something that might have been one of her profane phrases that were meant to suggest gratitude. Kesh couldn’t hear her. She reached for the mask, only to pause when Calix waved at her.
“You’d better keep that mask handy. The air in here is still poisonous, and will be for a while.”
Visibly short on breath, Sloane let her hand fall and said loudly, “We can’t fix all this damage to the Nexus if no one can breathe.”
“Sir?” the asari engineer said.
Calix turned to her. “Go ahead, Irida.”
“If we returned unnecessary portions of the Nexus to a state of vacuum, and used the sorting membrane—”
“—we could create a pocket of custom atmosphere. Good thinking, engineer.” The asari, Irida, grinned at the praise.
Sloane rubbed her temples again. “Explain that?”
“Bring the good air here, shift the bad elsewhere, and leave most of the Nexus with nothing at all.”
“Sounds like a shell game,” Sloane said. Calix recognized the archaic reference.
“That’s because it is.” The turian raised a hand to stave off Sloane’s next objection. “It leaves us with a section, maybe two, containing perfectly safe air. With some clever rerouting we can move that air wherever it’s needed.”
Kesh pulled Sloane aside. She leaned in and lowered her voice. “We still do not know where Jien Garson is. If she’s wandered—”
“She can’t have gone that far.”
“It’s a risk.”
“We don’t have much of a choice here, Kesh.” Then, louder, to Calix. “Do it.”
Kesh studied the human. “You don’t want to run that by Tann, first?”
“Tann can bite—” She cut herself off. An improvement, Kesh noted. The narrow victory had settled the human some. “He’ll understand. Besides, better to ask forgiveness, isn’t it?”
CHAPTER SIX
Jarun Tann sat cross-legged on the floor of Jien Garson’s office—technically his office now, at least for the time being. He held a glass of asari honey mead in both hands, throat still tingling from the first sip, a pleasant warmth spreading through his belly.
He stared out through the impressive floor-to-ceiling window, one of the long habitat arms of the Nexus stretching out several kilometers before him. Doing so, he could just about manage to convince himself that everything would be okay. Then he smirked, amused and annoyed that his mind would flirt with that very human way of thinking.
Their ability to filter and twist reality had always eluded his comprehension, and yet the more time he spent around them, the more it seemed to happen to him. Or it threatened to, anyway. He would have to analyze this when things calmed down.
If things calmed down, he corrected himself, not when. “When” implied certainty of success, a mere matter of time. When Garson was found, not if. He had his doubts, born of a sense of realism, but he’d yet to voice them. Let Sloane Kelly or Foster Addison speak of whens. A useful tool when rallying the crew. Garson herself had said it, too. “When we reach Andromeda…” He would presume nothing.
If was realistic. If allowed for the possibility of failure, and thus the ability to plan for that.
If we reach Andromeda.
If we can fix life support in time.
If Garson is—
“Life support has stabilized,” Addison said. He glanced up at her. Hadn’t even realized she’d returned to the room. She took the mead from his hands and allowed herself a rather generous gulp.
“They did it,” she added, and gulped again.
Humans. “Well, that is wonderful news,” Tann said aloud.
Addison went to the window and stood there. He watched her face as reflected in the glass, translucent over a mass of stars. And over that, that skein of black none of them could identify. The fear that chased them all remained, but greatly diminished. Determination had replaced doubt, success a barrier against whatever private worries she carried.
He wished he’d known this would happen, wished he’d any reason at all to research the Initiative’s leading committee. Starting anything ignorant bothered him immensely.
Addison sipped one more time, nodding as if reaffirming something to herself. “Damn, that’s good. Where did you find it?”
He pointed to an open panel to one side of Garson’s desk. It had popped open during the calamity, revealing a rather impressive assortment of beverages. Some had toppled out, but none�
�wonder of wonders—had broken.
Addison smiled on seeing it. “Jien’s going to be pissed that her supply was raided.”
“Under the circumstances,” he replied calmly, “I think she’ll forgive me.”
Addison drained the glass. As if possessed of too much energy, she paced back to the large desk, rounding it. She seemed poised to sit in the large chair behind the massive marble slab, a tactic he wondered at, but instead simply set the empty cup down and faced Tann.
“Do you think we’ll be able to salvage the mission?”
Tann smiled at her. “It is only a matter of if,” he said, pleased at the wordplay.
Addison’s brow furrowed. She opened her mouth to question him, but evidently thought better of it. “Any progress on comms?”
“The screen behind you,” he replied, gesturing. “I started a routine to determine what connections, transmitters, and receivers are still available, with instructions to create a new mesh based on the results. Optimized for coverage, of course. Some, err… less critical wiring is being repurposed as needed.”
“You did all that?” Her surprise galled him. “I thought you were revenue.”
Let her think that. It served his purposes well enough, for the moment. “Well,” he said demurely, “the routine already existed. I knew this because I approved the budget for it, and also recall with perfect clarity the moment it came back balanced.”
Addison eyed him.
Had he lost her? Tann bit back a sigh. “I selected the program,” he said patiently, “then pressed the big button marked ‘GO’.” He flexed his long fingers, like some kind of button-pressing champion.
Addison, it seemed, wasn’t quite yet in the mood for humor. Even so, this earned a tick of amusement from one corner of her mouth. “Gold star,” she murmured.
“Eh?”
“And by ‘less critical wiring,’” she said, louder, “you refer to…?”
Tann turned to face her now. “Did you know that Medical—and I mean the entire section—was configured with a premium sound system?”
“Sound?”
He tilted his head. “Soothes the patients.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Nice.”
“Yes.” A beat. “State of the art, incredibly well-designed. The finest minds came together to incorporate the art of sound with the science of it. Never before had any station claimed the like.” Her eyes were getting wider. Her skepticism, as well. Tann allowed himself a brief smile. “Well, it was state of the art. I’m afraid they’ll have to find soothing somewhere else, now.”
When Addison laughed, she did so bluntly. No coyness to her. “Nice,” she said again, but dryly.
He shrugged. “I thought it better we have functioning comms in the area.”
Her humor faded as he studied her, until it seemed she replayed something else in her head. Something he didn’t understand, until she murmured, “We make the greatest sacrifice any of us have ever, or will ever, make.”
The quote sobered him. After a moment of silence, he set his own glass down on the desk and offered, somewhat hesitantly, “Perhaps a fine sound system was not what she had in mind, but…”
But what? But at least they’d gotten a brief bit of amusement from it.
And semi-functional comms.
Addison seemed to understand, though she waved at him as if brushing away the moment.
The terminal chimed.
Saved from the painful effort of conversation, Tann stood and crossed to it. The director joined him. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
The view wasn’t pretty. Tann chewed on his lower lip as he analyzed the mess of lines and bubbles. Vast sections of the Nexus were not covered by the comms, and even the areas that were could barely be considered so. There were hallways where one end had a connection while the other, just a scant ten meters away, had nothing. Labs where the edges of the room were fine but, were one to be standing in the center, they’d find themselves totally cut off. Overall, the dark areas edged out those in the light.
“Hmm.” Addison didn’t seem impressed.
“I believe the phrase we’re looking for is ‘better than nothing,’” Tann suggested.
“Sums it up quite nicely.”
“I motion that we initiate this configuration change.” He gave her a sideways glance. “All in favor?” This earned a brief smile.
“You don’t need my vote, acting director.”
Tann shook his head. “I feel confident in achieving success together.” He paused, and repeated, “All in favor?”
She shrugged. “Aye.” But any victory she may have taken from the moment quickly and obviously faded to guilt. Her voice dropped to a whisper again. “I can’t believe this happened. Suppose… suppose Jien is… What the hell are we going to do?”
“Survive.”
A blunt answer for an obvious question.
It was her turn to glance at him. She searched his eyes. “It’s not enough though, is it, Tann? The mission—”
“I meant the mission. The mission must survive. Above all else.”
“If the Pathfinders arrive to find there is no Nexus—”
Awkwardly, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “One thing at a time. We both agree, the mission is the most important concern. Good. But to accomplish that we’ve got…” He turned her toward the expansive window, and its view of the broken ship, “a lot of work to do. Hard choices to make. Likely more death and pain to absorb. Bodies to jettison before disease—”
Foster Addison let out an involuntary laugh.
“What?” he asked her.
“Nothing,” she said. “Just… maybe you should let me handle the motivational speeches.”
“Another point,” Tann allowed, “on which we most certainly can agree.”
She stared out over the wreckage for a brief moment. Tann furiously worked various conversational gambits through his filters before deciding simply that he had nothing. Logic didn’t suit her, entirely. He wasn’t sure how to proceed with sympathy.
Instead, he waited until she shook off the shadows of her thoughts and turned. Her facial features, he was relieved to note, had settled into harder lines. Determination was back. Much preferred. He could channel that.
“Can we try the comms now?” She raised her arm, showing off her wrist. He didn’t get it until she added, “Maybe Jien can be located by her omni.”
A fine idea. The initial staff, as evidenced by Addison’s own omni-tool on her forearm, would have geared up first thing.
He swept a spindly hand at the comm panel. “Delighted.”
With ease, he programmed the computer to initiate the new connection matrix—a process that only took several seconds. Most went green, but a few immediately reverted back to red or, worse, remained dark. Wires to replace, antennas to reconnect. He ignored it for now. Long fingers swiping across the display, he brought up the map and pushed, pinched, and pulled it around.
“Hmm…” A common enough sound heard around here, he reflected wryly.
Addison peered at the digital mass. “Where is everyone?”
“Exactly my concern. Biometric location is offline, it seems. Database corruption maybe. Another thing to fix—but no matter,” he said abruptly. “Let’s see if anyone can hear us.” He tapped and held the transmit option. “This is Jarun Tann. If you can hear me, please find the nearest comms panel and reply. If the nearest one doesn’t work, well, I hope you’re familiar with the process of elimination.”
He could hear his own voice coming from the adjacent Operations room, as well as echoing through several nearby corridors. A good sign. He felt pleased.
Silence stretched. Tann waited. Beside him, Addison shifted on her feet.
Then, just as Tann considered whether he should try again, the comm flicked on.
“Sloane Kelly here.” The familiar voice boomed through the room’s speakers. “Nice work, you two.”
“And you as well,” Tann replied. “I cannot help but note that
we have not suffocated in the vacuum of space.”
Addison shot him a disbelieving eyebrow.
Well, whatever. They knew what he meant.
“Calix and his team deserve all the credit,” the Security Director replied. Oddly humble, he thought, wasn’t it? “They’ve already begun work on reversing the damage, but it’s going to take some time.”
And his team, eh? That only slightly worried him—as much for the extra breathers as the little bit of rebellion he saw in the act. Still, the ability to draw breath pleased him enough, for now. Tann decided not to question it.
Out loud.
Privately, he wondered if they’d even tried fixing the problem with only Calix involved. Sloane seemed like the consummate security officer—which in Tann’s experience meant her default reaction to any problem would be immediate and overwhelming firepower. Figuratively speaking.
Something to keep an eye on. He filed this observation, aware too late that he very likely was meant to say something obligatory at this juncture.
Addison caught it. “Please thank them for their efforts.”
“I will. Has Garson turned up?”
“Sadly, no,” Tann replied. “And bio location isn’t working.”
“Of course it isn’t. Hardly anything is.” Sloane paused. “Damn. Well, I’ve been sending out search parties whenever someone has a spare minute. We’ve started moving bodies to a temporary morgue in one of the labs.”
“Understood. Return to Operations.” Within nanoseconds, he realized how much that had sounded like an order. Too soon, given Sloane’s obvious misgivings about his temporary leadership status. “At your earliest convenience,” he added. “We have much to discuss.”
“It’ll be a while.” Sloane’s voice bristled over the comm. “Life support was only the first of our problems. We’re not out of the woods yet.”
“Addison and I understand that, but—”
“Out.”
The link closed.
Well, he tried. Tann did not sigh. Not out loud, at least.
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