There was a chime, the armor piece knocked sideways. Nate’s black blade was in the air between them, golden fingers holding it up. Reiko swung, and again Nate’s arm blocked it. Then his augmented leg, also golden metal, kicked out with machine speed and power, Reiko stumbling.
Nate turned his head, thoughts like clay. The machine watched him for a moment, then turned to face the only person upright and okay. Saveria Complex, hand to her mouth, eyes wide. Reiko looked around, taking in Nate, and the fallen girl, lingering a second longer on Hope, and looked up at the crew deck above and the lack of reinforcements arriving. It grabbed Saveria, then dashed past him to the airlock.
That won’t do. Get up, Chevell. You’ve got people in trouble. Nate got up on a knee, then found his feet. The machine was watching him, hand on the controls of the other ship’s airlock. Reiko flicked the controls, the airlock sliding shut.
Problem was, the Tyche’s airlock was still open. Overridden by whatever mischief Reiko had brought about. The distinctive sound of drives warming came from outside the hull, and Nate spoke, his lips feeling as responsive as a three-day dead horse. He wasn’t even sure who he was talking to. “She’ll blow the airlock. Emergency release.”
His gold hand tossed the black blade, straight and true.
The airlock blew, the chunk-chunk-chunk-chunk of explosive bolts shearing seals. The howl of explosive decompression. And then the shunk of the Tyche’s airlock slamming closed, the black blade embedded in the door’s EMERGENCY CLOSE control.
Nate turned, thinking of his fallen crew. The ones supposed to be under his care. Here he was, still upright and alive, when he’d let them down.
Again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE MEDBAY WAS the only place not full of angry people. It was calm and quiet, the Tyche’s normal metal walls giving way to smooth white ceramic. Diagnostic machines studded the walls.
It had just two people: Hope and El. Hope watched her friend, the Helm unconscious, the white strapping over her missing arm and shoulder tinged red and brown.
No one on the Tyche was a medtech. Hope knew a little about human biology. Grace knew how people moved, both inside and out. Nate had spent his time doing field dressings, and it had been his hands on El, bandaging her.
Hope clutched the prosthetic she’d made. It wasn’t like Nate’s, not shiny and gold. It was ship-forged, silver bright, strong, and tough. Delicate and precise. Everything an arm should be. Except it wasn’t flesh and blood. El had lost her own arm to Hope’s creation.
Hope rubbed at her eyes. They wouldn’t stop leaking. Her chest felt both heavy and empty like she was about to explode, but also about to fall apart. The machine was supposed to be Reiko. Just like the original, in every way. Minted from the same experiences that formed the person Hope had married. Hope had left nothing out, not the good or the bad. No editing, just pure experience, as best as she could find from records.
She clutched the prosthetic again. Hope wanted to attach it to El, but Nate had said Maybe we should ask her first. When Hope had blinked, Grace had put a hand on Hope’s elbow and said, Maybe waking with parts of the thing that almost killed you could be hard.
It sounded so true, Hope wasn’t sure why she hadn’t thought of it herself. So, here she was, in the medbay. Waiting to talk to El. Kohl was out on the hull, welding metal to the Tyche’s damaged exterior where the explosive bolts had shorn the shuttle away. Nate was on the flight deck, figuring out what to do next. Grace spoke to the girl they’d brought on board, whose name was Providence McKinley. Hope had known Bing McKinley and wanted to talk with Providence.
But not now. Now was the time to sit with El. They didn’t have the right tech to keep El in a coma, so she’d wake up at some point, try and get up, realize she didn’t have an arm, and start yelling. That’s why Hope was here. She was the one who deserved to be yelled at.
The prosthetic shook in Hope’s hands, and she wondered if it was the strain of holding it, or the stims, or the lack of sleep, or maybe she’d lost her wife again, or maybe — weird — that her wife had once more screwed over the Tyche’s crew. It could be all of those things.
Hope put the prosthetic down.
El made a low groaning noise, so Hope scooted forward, fielded a water pouch from the table, and held the straw to the Helm’s lips. El took a couple of sips, then made to push it away.
No arm.
Her eyes snapped open, lips pulling wide in horror. El looked at Hope, then at the prosthetic behind her. El tried to scramble back in her bed, but she only had one arm. Hope reached hands out, saying, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” but a loud noise got in the way of the words.
El screamed. She was saying GETITAWAYGETITAWAY, this long, anguished sound. Hope stumbled back, clattering against the medbay wall. She picked up the prosthetic, opened the door, and threw it outside.
Slam. Medbay door sealed. Prosthetic gone. Hope turned, seeing El upright in the bed, chest heaving. The white of her bandage was turning redder, and she’d yanked the tubes out of her arm. The ones that gave her blood and painkillers.
“Umm…” said Hope.
El faced Hope. She looked like she was about to say something, then El’s mouth snapped shut. She opened it, then closed it, and did that three more times, before she said, “Why?” El’s voice was cracked and raw, like a rent in the ground after an earthquake.
Hope’s hand pressed against her mouth. She didn’t remember when she’d put it there. She lowered her hand, backing up against the medbay wall. “I don’t think she remembered being Reiko. I think—”
“No, Hope,” said El. “Why’d you bring the devil back to life?”
“I had to,” said Hope. “I hurt so much.”
El looked at where her arm had once been, then back to Hope. “You … hurt?”
“All the time,” said Hope. “When I was awake. And I think it was worse when I was asleep.”
El looked at the medbay door, eyes low, maybe looking to where she thought the prosthetic lay. “And how do you feel now?”
Hope turned to run, then turned to stay, and turned to run again. Then she stopped doing anything, head against the door, her hand hovering above the controls, just waiting. Her heart hammered, this big thudthudthudthud that wouldn’t stop, or slow, or anything. “She was supposed to be Reiko.”
“She is Reiko,” said El. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? This whole time, we’ve shielded you from the mistakes you’ve made. I don’t mean the bullshit with the Republic and the money.”
“I know,” said Hope.
“The thing is, you never pay,” said El. “Everyone but you pays.”
“I know!” said Hope.
“Maybe Kohl was right,” said El.
Hope did run then, tearing out of the medbay. She kicked the prosthetic in passing, shiny metal spinning away. Hope collided with Nate a couple paces outside the medbay, bounced, and ran. Back to Engineering. The rear of the ship, where it was noise and darkness.
Back to where she belonged.
CHAPTER NINE
NATE WATCHED HOPE run, her feet slamming against the decking, pink hair flowing behind her. He’d seen the pain in her eyes, and the tears on her face. Nate had half a mind to follow her, when he saw the prosthetic on the deck. Silver and new. The one Hope had made for El. He looked at the medbay door, sliding shut with a hiss.
He bent over, picking up the prosthetic arm. His golden fingers closed around the silver metal. It was good work, but he’d expect nothing less from Hope, even for a rush job. Nate wondered for a minute how she had the schematics to make an arm with the Tyche’s fab. Ah, the Reiko machine had arms. Might just be a copy of those.
Be a sore point, having the arm of your enemy welded to your side. Nate sighed, laid the arm beside the medbay, and stepped inside. El sat upright, face so white she looked like a ghost. Her eyes were red, face lined with tears, and her remaining arm clutched at the thin blanket covering her. Like it was looking for the ot
her hand to hold.
Nate sat beside El. “Helm.”
“Cap.” Even on the one syllable, El’s voice cracked.
“I’m not here for any motivational speeches, Elspeth.” Nate shook his head. “I’m not good at those, anyway.”
“Why are you here?” she said. Her voice was soft, slurred by the drugs in her system. “Want to tell me—”
“Not here to tell you anything.” Nate saw the lines had yanked from her arm, so he got himself up, preparing fresh ones. “Was a time I woke up, after my arm and leg were shot off. I’ll admit, it almost undid me. Had no friends at my side when my eyes opened.”
“Neither did I.”
“Huh,” said Nate. He bent over El. “This will pinch some.” She didn’t seem to notice as he slid the needles home. “Your situation is a little worse than mine. Someone had the courtesy of giving me an arm and a leg to wake to. Wasn’t fun, though.” He held up his metal fingers, noting how El flinched a little when she saw them.
“I don’t want … that,” said El.
“Eh,” said Nate. “That happens. I guess you could just walk around a cripple for the rest of your days.” He pulled the blanket up, covering her bandage and her loss from both of them.
“Fuck,” said El.
“More or less,” said Nate. “Thing is, I’ve let you down, El. I said while you were on this ship, no one would threaten you because you wore the falcon’s wings.” Her rent ship suit was on a table beside them, and he touched the Empire falcon with his fingertips.
“Wasn’t you,” said El. “Wasn’t the Empire.”
“Figure it was,” said Nate. He leaned back. “Most everything comes back to the choices me and mine made. My brother, Dom. Probably his dad, and then the rest, back and back and beyond. The universe is a crazy, mixed-up place.”
“Top is bottom. Down is up. East has met west,” said El, looking past his shoulder. “The sun never sets.”
“I said that,” said Nate. “But it feels like the sun’s growing dark, El. The light’s going out of the sky. Nothing but demons and the hard black. I’d give a lot for an angel, right about now. But we’re fresh out.” He gave a short, harsh laugh. “My fault, like I said. I broke my word. I let an enemy on our ship.” He took her hand in his and laid his forehead against it for a second. “I’m so, so sorry.”
El cried. It started small, just a few tears, but before a handful of seconds trickled past, she was wracked with sobs. Nate waited it out, holding her hand, while enemies of the Empire waited outside in the hard black. He said nothing, because there weren’t any words. Not for what had happened to her.
After a spell, she sniffed, then pulled her hand free to wipe her nose. “Ain’t nothing,” she said.
“It’s everything,” said Nate. “There’s a covenant between a captain and his crew.”
“Precious few captains believe that.”
“I don’t know the truth of that,” said Nate. “Never had much time for them, myself.”
El laughed, a short sound, hardly anything in it. “I reckon,” she said. She looked past him, at the metal skin of the Tyche. “You got someone in mind to fly her? To fly my ship?”
“What?” said Nate.
El held up her one hand. “Can’t very well Helm a starship with only one hand.”
“We’ll work something out,” said Nate. “Ship chose her Helm. Hasn’t chosen another. Leastways, not that she’s told me.” He stood. “Get some rest.”
“But I can’t—”
“I figure that’s wrong,” said Nate. “Second wrong thing you’ve said since I walked in here.”
El looked down. “You mean about Hope.”
“If you like,” said Nate. He turned, walking to the door, before pausing. “There’s always a place for you on this ship. We’ll probably all die, on account of me flying—”
“No!”
“But I figure there’s only one person who sits in the Helm chair.” Nate slipped out into the corridor. He paused, then saw the prosthetic. Nate hefted it, felt the weight, the precision, and the love that went into making it. He looked toward Engineering.
“Cap,” said Kohl, clanking up the ladder from the cargo bay. The big man was still wearing a welding rig but had shucked his helmet.
“Kohl,” said Nate. “How’s the hull look?”
“Fucked,” said Kohl. “Totally fucked. I don’t know what Cunt Reiko was thinking, but you don’t blow a ship-to-ship seal. Not good for either ship, you get me?”
“Cunt Reiko?”
“They were both cunts,” said Kohl. “But I mean it now.” He looked at the prosthetic Nate held, then at the medbay door, then back toward Engineering. “Give me that.”
Nate thought about that for a second or two, then handed it over. Kohl meant to pull it away, but Nate held on for a moment longer. “Kohl? She’s precious and fragile in equal measure. The universe hasn’t been right, or fair. Not to any of us. You get me?”
“Be sensitive,” said Kohl.
“Right,” said Nate.
“Always am,” said Kohl, trudging toward Engineering.
CHAPTER TEN
WHEN KOHL ENTERED Engineering, he expected to see scorched blood on the floor, on account of the plasma cutter used to shear El into a more fun-sized package. But everything looked clean, shiny almost. Hope knelt, using solvent and a rag to polish the decking.
“Hey, Hope,” said Kohl. He held up the prosthetic. “Where do you want this?”
“Burn it,” said Hope.
“Fair enough,” said Kohl, tossing it aside with a clatter. He rumbled toward her. “That decking ain’t gonna get much cleaner.”
“She was here,” said Hope. She looked up, face tear-streaked.
Fucking great. She’s crying. I hate the waterworks. Kohl passed what Hope had said through his head a few more times, then said, “Yeah. And now she’s not.” He looked at the chains where Cunt Reiko hung, and then at the decking where El fell. “Wait. Who are we talking about?”
“October, have you ever done a bad thing?” said Hope.
Kohl laughed. “Course.”
“How do you handle it?”
Kohl crouched. “Gimme that.” He took the solvent and rag from Hope, tossing them over by the prosthetic arm. He looked her in the eye. “I reckon you’re asking me because you figure you’ve done something wrong.”
She nodded, pink hair falling over her face. “The wrongest thing ever.”
Kohl stood, stretched his back, and then popped his neck. Goddamn, but where Cunt Reiko hit hurts like hell. He’d have a shiner for sure. Medbay said his jaw and eye socket were fractured, but he’d swallowed meds and went outside to fix the ship. His jaw would heal, but the Tyche wouldn’t. Not without help. And, near as Kohl could tell, neither would Hope. “See, I figure that’s wrong.”
She looked up at him. “What?”
Kohl shucked his welding gear, tossing it beside the arm, the rag, and the degreaser. Quite a little pile growing there. Someone else’s problem now, though. He collapsed onto Hope’s acceleration couch. “I know y’all think I’m not smart.” He held up a hand. “Not about that, Hope. Just let me talk for a minute. Words aren’t my thing.” He looked at the decking where El had fallen. “I’ve done plenty of wrong things. And, because I’m more gifted with my fists than my brains, plenty stupid things. I figure I know which is which. Bad, or stupid. Got me some, uh… I think Karkoski would call it ‘life experience.’”
“Life experience?”
“The shit she says you use to justify promoting someone who’s unqualified,” said Kohl. He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. The Cunt Reiko thing? That was stupid. Really stupid, Hope. You brought a killer machine that can self-heal onto the Tyche, and left it connected to our systems. It sucked down most everything about us. Who we are. Why we’re here. What we’ve done.”
“I know,” said Hope. “I know, okay?”
“I know you know,” said Kohl. “Because you’re not being stupid rig
ht now. You were being stupid before. But I’m as sure as the day is long, you’ve never done a bad thing in your life.”
“How can you be sure?” she said. Her voice was so soft, he had trouble hearing her over the drives and reactor.
“Let me tell you about bad,” said Kohl. “Bad is when you betray your crew, see? You might go to a place, and folk might offer you money to give up one of yours. Or, maybe, you hate someone for no good reason. Or, you know the reason, but the reason is wrong. You hate ‘em just because you want someone to hate.” He stood up. “This is bullshit. Anyway. You’re stupid, Hope. You ain’t bad.”
He made it three paces before Hope said, “How do I make El forgive me?”
Kohl scratched his head. “Best talk with Gracie about that.”
“But what would you do?”
“Get drunk,” said Kohl. After a moment, he said, “Probably invite El to get drunk with me. Solutions to different problems, but both are fun.”
“Thanks,” she said.
“Anytime,” said Kohl. “Piece of free advice, if you’re interested.”
“Sure.”
“Cap keeps some Europan whiskey in his cabin. In his trunk.”
“That’s your advice?” Hope blinked at him.
“Yep,” said Kohl. “Stop stealing mine. His shit is better. It’s why I steal it.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GRACE SAT IN the Helm chair on the Tyche’s flight deck, waiting. Not for El, because she’d be out for a while, but for Nate, who would find her as sure as iron found magnets. She’d busied herself speaking with Providence, then let the girl sleep in their cabin. She was another broken, cast-off remnant who didn’t deserve the war that found them. Grace remembered finding Providence’s father, dead before they left Earth, and saw the girl felt the truth of it. Alone, mother and father both gone.
She wouldn’t be the first lost soul the Tyche held close.
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