by K. Gorman
And they’d run away for very good reasons.
“Hey,” she said, leaning forward on her bunk. “You remember the night it first started?”
The guarded expression snapped back into place. He nodded. “Why?”
“Did you have a dream? About stone ruins?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Yes—how did—”
“We all had dreams. Mostly the same.” She paused, searching his face. “Was there anyone else in your dream?”
“No. No one.” He frowned, and she saw his brain work through to the conclusion. He wasn’t a dumb kid. “Wait—was there in yours?”
“Yeah.” She rocked back. “My sister. I’m still trying to find out what she was doing there.”
“What does it mean, that we all had the same dream?” he asked. “Do you know?”
She shook her head. “We’re trying to find out. Marc’s downloaded a bunch of dream science journals. I’m going to help him read through them in a few minutes.” She paused, giving him a critical look. The kid hid it well, but she could tell he was exhausted. She leaned over, reaching for the netlink she’d propped against the pillow. “Actually, I think I’ll do that now.”
Ethan sat straighter as she stood up. “What? You’re leaving?”
She hesitated, then touched the tips of her fingers against his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll be just over there.” She gestured to the door. “I’ll keep it open.”
“But—I—”
“We can talk more later, after you sleep,” she said. “Think of more questions. Maybe I’ll answer them.”
Chapter Twelve
The sky was clear and cold, and the wind raised gooseflesh on her skin. She shivered, wrapping her arms around her. She was in a dress—a very old, sunny-day dress she hadn’t worn in a very long time—and she was alone.
The ruins stood in front of her, larger and closer than they’d been before. Close enough that she could see the slight shape of their etchings under the light of the stars. The scratchy white looked thin and stretched against the rough gray—nearly invisible, actually, like lines of chalk washed out in a rain.
But, for some reason, the lines called to something deep within her bones.
She shivered again, this time not because of the cold. Then, she glanced around, taking in the surroundings.
Nomiki wasn’t around this time. The field lay empty, dark. Pockets of shadow filled the dips in the grass, shifting as the wind blew, and the air rustled with a scattered hush, as if the different patches of grass were whispering about her. A dark fringe of trees lined the edge. Like the stones, they appeared closer than they had been last time. If she went downhill, then veered to the left, she’d see the edge of the compound’s walls.
The wind blew again, rustling through the dry grasses. Her hair flipped over her face, and she raised a hand, pushing it back.
She took a careful step, testing the ground, then walked over to the closest stone.
It towered over her, twice as tall and more than four times as thick, and its rough surface scratched at her fingertips as she traced one of its faint etchings. Like the rest, its designs were well-worn, impossible to guess at. They looked like a mix of Nazca desert drawings and something she’d once found in pictures of old Scandinavian stone carvings—she’d researched them both, along with many others, back when she had still been looking for answers.
But the old stone was too worn to tell, and anyone who could have explained it was long, long gone.
She splayed her hand against its surface. The stone felt cold, but not as cold as the wind that blew across the field. And, in an entire world that seemed to be moving, it stood still.
That mattered somehow.
Karin glanced up. The stars were out. Unlike last time, this dream had started in night. Not a trace of the sunset lingered in the sky. A dark wisp of cloud pulled across the sky.
Slowly, the stars seemed to grow brighter, to move, like one of those long-exposure pictures from a planet.
Except instead of spinning, they were falling.
Their light pulled at her. She could feel herself lifting up, rising…
The blaster went off in her ear. Karin snapped her eyes open just in time to see the Shadow vanish.
Marc crouched at her bedside, braced against her trunk and locker, a grim, determined expression set on his face, the gun barely a foot from her head. The heat from its plasma pack radiated onto her cheeks.
Slowly, her heart rate returned to normal. She took a deep, steadying breath, then pushed herself into a sitting position.
There hadn’t been a struggle this time. Her blankets were just as she’d left them, and she’d managed not to leak any light out. That was something she’d worried about, with Marc watching. It was also the reason she’d pulled out her other spare blanket and wrapped herself so thoroughly before going to sleep. Ethan had watched her do that, a knowing look in his eyes.
She glanced over. He was still there, bolt upright on the other bed, his back ramrod straight against the far wall.
“I told you he was better,” she said. “That blaster comes in handy.”
“Actually, I had to get around to this side,” he said, lowering the weapon and tucking it into its holster. “Didn’t want to risk the hull.”
Ah. “Is that why it was so close?”
“No. It started out that way. Didn’t even see me, I think.”
Movement by the door caught her eye. Soo-jin appeared, did a quick scan of the room, then put a hand to her hip. “I go to sani for one minute and I miss out on the action.”
“Yeah, well—there wasn’t much to see. Right, Ethan?” Marc turned his head, an inquiring eyebrow lifted.
Ethan didn’t say a word.
Marc shrugged. Then he pushed himself up from the cramped position. “There’ll be more to see soon, anyway. We’re almost within spitting range of Caishen.”
Karin glanced at the clock, then started to pull the covers off. “All right, I’ll change. Meet you on the bridge.”
Twenty minutes later, they all crowded around the main screen, listening to the ship’s tone as they hailed the station command. After a few seconds, she brought up a second window and zoomed in on the station with the Nemina’s outboard cameras.
As far as stations went, Caishen was mid-sized to look at, and even smaller when one counted its usual population. Although commissioned as a relay point for the outer planets during the Alliance’s outward push after the war, when it set its terraforming sights on Amosi and Clemens, the population that was expected to follow didn’t.
Instead, the effort fizzled.
Which left Caishen providing services that required a little less than a quarter of its capabilities.
It was, however, close enough to the belt to act as a stepping stone. She’d seen more than a few fringe and Independent ships docked, last time they’d passed. Despite the station’s Alliance loyalty, Caishen appeared to have branched out.
She’d bet there was more than a little contraband hidden inside—and with a station that huge, it wouldn’t be hard to hide.
“There are ships docked there,” Marc said. “Six, seven?”
“I count nine on the sensors,” Soo-jin said.
Ethan slipped into the co-pilot’s seat, gripping the edge as he leaned forward to squint at the screen.
The Nemina’s call tone continued.
“We definitely have fuel enough for Enlil, right?” Marc asked after it had gone a minute without answer. “If we need to—”
The screen flashed as the call connected. Suddenly, they were looking up at the grainy image of a greasy-looking man with dark circles under his eyes and a bandaged cut on his forehead, his face lit up by the glow of his own screen. He didn’t look happy to see them.
“Caishen station.”
Karin sat up. “Hi, we were looking to dock for a time. I’ve got our license right here, ready to ping.”
“Of course you do, sweetheart,” he said. “But I d
on’t care about that.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“We have money,” Marc said bluntly. “We aim to spend it.”
“Wonderful. What color are your eyes?”
Ah. That confirmed it—the Shadows had attacked here, too.
A small part of her, one that was still holding out hope, let go.
Just how far has it spread?
“Not black,” she replied, resisting the urge to grimace.
“Everyone’s?” He squinted closer to the screen, then jabbed a finger. “What about the other chick? Hers look dark.”
“Suns,” Soo-jin said. “I’m Asian. Of course they look dark.”
“Get closer to the camera. Prove it.”
Soo-jin rolled her eyes, then stood and bumped her way past Marc. She pulled her eyelids down, made a Halloween face at the dashboard cam, then made a rude Novan Earth gesture toward it with her hand as she walked away.
The man chuckled as he left. “Perfect! All I needed to see.”
“Great,” Marc said. “Where can we park?”
“I’m authorizing Dock Nine for you.” He tapped a few keys, then looked back up at the camera. “I assume you know what’s been happening? With the Shadows?”
“We’ve been attacked, too. Killed ‘em.”
“You’re one of the lucky ones. We lost half our staff the first night. It just went downhill from there.”
“Any word from the Core? Alliance?”
“Not yet. They don’t look our way much. Now, you’ll have to submit for an inspection once you’re locked. That all right?”
“We just got back from a job,” Marc said. “Got some unidentified firearms that might flag an inspection scan.”
“So long as they don’t have black eyes, I don’t care what you’re carrying. Hopper will meet you at the lock, show you what’s going on. See you soon.”
The transmission cut.
Karin, Marc, and Soo-jin all exchanged looks.
Soo-jin closed her eyes and tilted her head back. “Well, this sounds like fun.”
“I told you it’d be exciting.” Marc straightened, stretching out his back. “I’ll go make sure those guns are secure. Karin, take us in?”
“You got it.” She leaned forward and summoned the navigator, typing in a new command. Stations liked this preferred to do the docking procedure themselves rather than trust pilots. All she had to do was monitor its progress. Technically, she didn’t even need to do that, but she liked to be thorough.
Only Ethan stayed on the bridge with her. He kept silent as she worked, watching.
Then, after a few minutes, he spoke. “They aren’t going to send anyone for the Ozark, are they?”
She glanced over. With the relative dimness of the rest of the bridge—like many ships, they preferred to keep the lights turned down for better clarity on the screens—he looked small, fragile. Too skinny in his borrowed clothes. The glow of the dashboard washed out his features, but his face still had a gaunt look to it.
He hadn’t been sleeping all that well. More than once, she’d helped him wake up from a nightmare.
“They aren’t a rescue station, but they will report the emergency to the appropriate people,” she said, meeting his eyes. “Protocol dictates they do.”
He perked up. “Really? And then someone will come?”
“Yep,” she said, forcing herself to smile through her doubt. That was how it was supposed to work, but anyone who had a lick of experience with the government knew it rarely went smoothly. Out in the black like this, with so much distance between things, you took your own risks.
She cleared her throat, forcing her tone to remain even. “Did anyone on the Ozark have any relatives on this station?”
He shook his head.
Damn. That would have made a rescue more likely.
She decided not to ask about any political figures, or rich people, or people with bounties.
“Well, someone will come.” She busied herself with the dashboard again, establishing the connection with Caishen’s docking program. “Your people will be okay.”
“Are you guys going to leave me here?” he asked.
She froze. That had been a loose plan—stations were much better-equipped to deal with strays than a single ship was—but it didn’t sound like Caishen was up for another mouth. They may be stretched thin as it was.
“We’ll see,” she said. “We’ll see.”
Chapter Thirteen
The head inspections officer was surly, brutish, heavily armed, and insisted on examining every square centimeter of the ship—right on down to the cupboards in Mess, the laundry, and the underneath of everyone’s beds.
That last made Soo-jin raise her eyebrows, at least. She stood over the burly man, arms crossed over her chest as he put his head down and flashed his light underneath.
“Shit,” she said. “Wish I’d put something exciting down there.”
He ignored her, moving on to check her locker, and then behind the sofa she had on the opposite wall. She followed him around like a territorial dog.
Finally, he seemed satisfied. He gave a nod to another team member as they passed by, then addressed Marc in the hallway.
“You’re clear. Hopper will meet you now.”
“Great.” Marc shook the man’s hand, though the action seemed a bit begrudging on his part. “I hear it’s bad?”
“That’s one word for it,” the man said. “We usually use more colorful ones.”
Something bumped against her waist, about kid-height. She put a hand down, closed her fingers around Ethan’s shoulder, and squeezed.
Soo-jin wandered over, sending a scathing look down the hall as Marc escorted the inspector back to the airlock door. “You ever get the feeling you’re being ignored?”
“Yeah,” Karin said, considering the two men as the inspector left. It wasn’t the first time she’d been ignored on a ship. As part of a larger crew, it was fairly commonplace—inspection parties in busier ports simply didn’t have time for pleasantries or small talk—but this one definitely struck her as odd.
Caishen wasn’t exactly brimming with traffic. And the man hadn’t spoken to anyone but Marc.
She shrugged it off. “Come on. Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”
Soo-jin looked down at Ethan’s head. “He coming, too?”
She nodded. “Better than being alone. I don’t think they’re going to show us anything he hasn’t seen.”
“Not necessarily a good thing, that.” She tilted her head, catching Ethan’s eyes. “You okay with that, kid?”
“I’m not staying,” he said.
“Guess that settles it.” Soo-jin snapped a hair tie from her wrist and pulled it loosely around her dreads. “All right. Let’s go.” She gestured for them to go first.
Karin steered Ethan beside her. He swerved, ducking her grasp of his shoulder, then fell back into step beside her. As they drew close to the door, the conversation from outside came to them.
“—not take any chances. If one of them comes off your ship, we will shoot. We don’t care who it is.”
“You just saw my ship. All of my ship. There’s no one else.”
The man’s gaze flickered to Karin and Ethan as they stepped over the sill, then to Soo-jin behind them. His jaw tightened visibly.
“They can change in an instant,” he said. “I’ve seen it happen.”
“We’ll be careful.”
“You better be.” The man backed off a step, half-turning to join the rest of his team farther down the corridor—but he seemed to think better of it. He paused for a second and jerked his chin in their direction. “The weak always go first.”
And then he was gone, calling to his team as he jogged to catch up.
Soo-jin watched him go with an ugly expression. “Remind me to stab that man before I leave.”
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” Marc said. “Though I will help you hide the body if it comes to that.”
; “See? This is the kind of employee loyalty program I can get behind.” She frowned and looked around the empty corridor. “Wasn’t there supposed to be another guy here to show us around?”
“He got caught up. We’re to meet him on C-deck.” Marc waved his netlink. “I’ve got a map. Shall we?”
Soo-jin stepped forward. “Yes. Let’s.”
Although considered mid-sized by today’s standards, Caishen was massive on the inside. Grandiose. Built as a show of power and wealth after the first stalemate between Fallon and the Alliance some three hundred years ago, when the Alliance had expected to fully colonize the two outer planets, the government’s expenditure showed the second they stepped out of the station’s standard metal docks corridors and into the main halls. High, arched ceilings towered some ten meters high, with support struts sloping up and in from the walls what appeared to be a mix art deco, brutalism, and gothic architecture—she’d seen it before in Alliance buildings, the style was so prevalent and dedicated that it was recognizable. Nearly everything was made of metal, and nearly everything seemed stuck in the past. Though Nova Earth, the heart of the Alliance government, was famed for its disk architecture, and the beauty with which it played with light and transparency, none of that was reflected in Caishen station.
No, Caishen was, like most old Alliance stations, a postcard of its time. Any upgrades were fitted into its existing metal and prefab.
It was also completely empty.
Normally, in stations along the main shipping routes, the halls, massive as they were, would have been crammed with shops and vendors—the combination of rent and an enclosed micro-economy was how stations made a good chunk of their money—but Caishen was not a popular station. The most action it saw came from the regular mining ships that grazed the outer asteroids for metals and minerals. The rest, scrounge-ships like the Nemina and passenger vessels like the Ozark, were loose change.
But she hadn’t seen many docked. The sensor had said nine, but how many of those were permanent docks? Had people left? After what had happened, she could see why they might. Enlil was the closest planet, and she’d bet a lot of the station regulars had family there.