by R. C. Lewis
“Remove damaged microduct,” Clank instructed.
“I’m trying,” I told the drone. It looked like the ship had seen better days even before the crash. “Dane, can you hand me that wrench? No, not that one—blue handle. So far, I’ve got six drones upgraded—seven if you count Dimwit, which I don’t. Enough to manage belowground operations themselves, directing the dumb-drones.”
Dane crouched nearby, having handed me the right item. “I still don’t see the problem.”
“Like you said, we have the highest output on the planet, thanks to the drones. Share value is based on output, so Forty-Two’s shares are worth more than any other settlement’s. As long as each man works an equal shift at the mine—or in my case, does work to support mining operations—they earn their shares. But with the drones, we only need a quarter-crew to monitor and direct from topside each shift. So I made it safer and more efficient, but I also made a settlement full of men with too much time and too many shares on their hands.”
Dane was quiet for so long, Clank and I were actually able to replace the microduct plus a power conduit. I hoped he would keep it shut for the rest of the day so I could get more done, but no such luck.
“You saved their lives,” he said. “But I heard them last night. A lot of them liked seeing you hurt.”
I grunted, yanking on a bolt to loosen it. “Don’t ask me to explain how their minds work. They’re bigger malfunctions than Dimwit. All I know is they aren’t always appreciative, and some wish I’d ‘appreciate’ them a little more.”
Dane fell silent again for a few sparkling minutes. When he spoke, I got the feeling he was right worked up but trying to hide it. “Be careful, Essie. I also saw how they looked at you when you got out of that cage.”
That was the second such warning I’d gotten in the last day. Hearing Dane say it felt different from when Petey did. But I’d been on Thanda eight years, most of those in Forty-Two. What made anyone think I couldn’t take care of myself?
“Worry about yourself and eventually getting off this rock,” I said. “Your problems are bigger than mine are bound to be.”
Dimwit chose that moment to spot-weld one of its feet to the deck.
As usual, I didn’t include that infuriating bucket of a malfunction in my tally of problems. After all, I could solve that one with a quick hour of dismantling work.
For some reason, though, I never did.
FOR THREE DAYS, I restored and reprogrammed bits of the shuttle’s computer system, and I still had plenty left to do, especially in physical repairs. Petey got the parts and materials piped in from the Bands as promised, and it looked like they’d do the job. Maybe. As good as Clank was at microwelding and Clunk at fabricating, they weren’t used to intricate tech that had to survive the vacuum of space. Half the time I could’ve spent programming went to keeping an eye on whatever drone I brought, making sure it didn’t botch anything. Still, I could’ve been faster, but Dane never did figure how to shut it and let me work. I thought if I stayed quiet, he’d get the idea, but when he asked questions and I knew the answer, I couldn’t shut my own mouth.
Part of me didn’t mind. He made better conversation than Petey and Whirligig combined, and I didn’t have anyone else to talk to. It couldn’t hurt to enjoy it while it lasted, even if most of what I enjoyed was telling Dane how unhinged he was. But I kept the tack laser handy, just in case.
On the third day, the conversation he sparked was more serious. “After the crash, I told you more than I should’ve,” he said, his footsteps approaching from behind me. “Maybe the head trauma, I don’t know. But you haven’t reported my plans to anyone. Not even Petey, really. Why?”
Stretching halfway into an exhaust manifold was an awkward way to work, so I wrenched the faulty regulator off the side and pulled myself out. I handed the part to Whirligig and sat cross-legged on the crate I’d been standing on, watching the drone fiddle with the regulator. So crude and clunky compared to the elegance of machine code.
“Like Petey said, we don’t want the watchdogs sniffing around. And part of me hopes you’ll see how impossible your odds are and just go home.” I chose my words carefully. Part of me hoped he’d beat those long odds and succeed. It’d lift such a weight off me. But I didn’t say that.
“And be happy with the status quo? I don’t think you really believe that. Didn’t you upgrade the drones because you thought it would make things better?”
No, I did it to make a place for myself, to create some standing that could protect me, with the side effect of helping the miners…selfish reasons.
I kept my answer simple. “You could say that.”
“Right. And I have to keep trying to make things better for my people.”
“With some ‘treasure’ that more than likely doesn’t exist? If you want to make things better, just go ask the Exiles for help, offer a treaty, and see if they’ll back your rebellion. Candara’s coming close to us in its orbit right now. Put those sparkling Garamite brains together with the Exiles’ military resources and you might end up less dead than you would otherwise.”
He didn’t answer, so I glanced up. His expression was tense and hesitant. I couldn’t decide whether to smirk or smack him.
“Afraid the Exiles will ‘possess’ you, steal your secrets, and make you their puppet?”
That shook him out of…whatever he was lost in. “I’ve heard the rumors aren’t true. I mean, I heard body-hopping isn’t like that. The way I understand it, transitioning to another’s awareness is more about empathy than control.”
My breath caught. Transitioning. Empathy. Words my mother had used when talking about the Exiles. I took the regulator back from ’Gig, testing the contacts to ensure it’d been fixed. Focusing on work helped mask my reaction.
“Empathy sounds like just what you need, so why not go to them? Seems the more direct route to me.”
“Garam won’t unite against Windsong unless we can do it standing on our own.”
I shrugged and pulled myself back into the manifold, setting the regulator in place. “Standing on your own will get you killed, Dane, and that’d be a blazing shame after all this work.”
“I’m as capable of taking care of myself as you.”
“Sure you are.”
“Taking care taking care taking care—”
“Shut it, Dimwit.”
When I emerged again, Dane offered his hand to help me off the crate. I ignored it and jumped down, but Dimwit scuttled past right in front of me, making me stumble into Dane. He helped me right myself, no big deal, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he ran his thumb across my cheek.
I swatted his hand down and backed off, both fists up and ready in case he tried anything else.
“I—you—just a smudge of grease,” he said.
Just some grease. You’re twitching out over nothing, Essie.
Forcing myself to relax and lower my hands, I snorted. “A touch of grease is nothing new, is it?” Not with the perpetual dust and grime covering every inch of me. I liked it that way.
His head cocked to the side, confusion in his eyes. “No, I guess not.”
I grabbed my slate and headed out of the engine compartment. “I’m going to work on coding the navigation system. Dimwit, stay!”
For once, the malfunction listened.
Leaving Dane with his shuttle at the end of the day brought a touch of relief. Solitude was familiar, comfortable. I needed that.
Back in my lab that night, I worked for hours, writing and testing subroutines, stitching together components that might or might not work. When I couldn’t focus on the readout anymore, I gave it up and went to bed.
Working so late usually put me right to sleep, but not this time. I stared at the ceiling, wide awake, letting the imperfections in the metal above form patterns and pictures in the moonlight. A star. A logic circuit. A waterfall…but an ugly one. I’d seen better.
I sat up and opened the trunk at the foot of my bed. The notebook w
as just where I’d left it. I flipped to the right page, and there it was. A high cliff, water cascading from the top, churning into foam at the bottom. Trees all around. Mother had captured it perfectly, down to the mist.
I thumbed through the sketches one by one until I came to my favorite—a dragonfly hovering over an orchid. I’d never been able to figure how she made a static image so alive with movement.
I’d never been able to figure how my mother did a lot of things. I’d managed to stop thinking about it until recently.
The past few days with Dane were botching my brain. Most of the last eight years had been filled with perpetual fear. Never able to trust anyone or let the truth slip free. I knew how to handle that, knew how to keep myself separate and safe. I confronted that fear in the cage, beating it down as I beat my opponents, showing them both I was in control.
Something about Dane made me feel very out of control.
I stood by my initial assessment. He was terrifying. I had to get him out of Forty-Two and get things back to normal. Soon.
I ran through my mental checklist of systems that still needed to be patched and found it wasn’t as long as I’d feared. I’d send all the drones—other than Dimwit—to the mines the next day so I could focus on the computer subsystems. Another couple of days, maybe three, and Dane would be gone. I’d settle back into my routine. That assurance finally lulled me to sleep.
A scraping noise jerked me awake.
The door. I’d been in a hurry to get into the lab and lose myself in my work. I may not have engaged the lock.
Someone was in my shack. Someone big and lumbering, someone who’d never learned how to sneak around.
I barely had time to sit up before that someone entered my bedroom.
“Like I said, Essie, yeh shoulda been nicer to me.”
One step into the room, then another. Panic flooded me along with the stench of jack-ale. He came closer, and I should’ve moved, my mind screamed to move, but my body wouldn’t listen.
Tiny space, no room to maneuver, no escape route, no weapons. Big. He’s too big—
It was too late. Moray grabbed my shoulder, his fingers digging in.
My surroundings went fuzzy, blurring with motion as something inside of me was yanked somewhere else.
To someone else.
A sniff of dizziness rolls through me, like I’m too close to the edge of the mine shaft. Like I’m too tall. But that’s just because I’m standing over Essie.
Essie. I look down at her, slim but strong, small outside the safety of the cage. She doesn’t even pull away from my grip. I squeeze tighter, digging my fingers into her shoulder, and she does nothing. She knows. She knows she was wrong.
I know no such thing! Blazes, he can’t hear me. I’m stuck in here—my body there, my eyes are so blank, I’m helpless. But there’s something here, something holding back. That voice, listen to the voice in the corner, Moray, what it says, listen listen listen…
My grip loosens. Hawkins and Petey. They might find out. Essie might take the drones and leave. We’d be like all the other mines, burying a man a week, like my uncle and my grandfather. She might, but I don’t know. I don’t know if she’d dare.
Yes, you know, Moray, you know I’ll leave you with the harri-harra and their sludge and the dark, and you can die in its depths and I’ll never look back.…Listen to that voice, you know it’s right.
I release my hold on her shoulder.
My mind snapped back where it belonged, back to my own body. At least, I was pretty sure it was my body. It felt more like an old woman’s, drained and worn. Moray stumbled out the bedroom door, but I still couldn’t move.
I’d body-hopped him. It was a part of me I thought I’d shut down years ago, only using it with my mother and never since then. If Moray had any idea, if anyone else found out, I’d have more trouble than he’d already meant to bring. No one could discover I had any Exile blood. From there, it was a short dig to the whole truth.
It brought a new and very different panic, one that was cut off by a shout and a thud that shook the floor.
I pulled myself out of bed, bracing myself against the walls to stay up, and took a few steps toward the doorway and the cause of the noise. Moray was sprawled in a tangle with Dimwit and Zippy on the ground. It looked like he’d tripped over the drones.
“Get out,” I said, pushing all shakiness from my voice.
When Dimwit sparked a microwelder in his face, Moray managed to get to his feet, only a little wobbly, and stagger out into the night. As soon as the door closed, cutting off the frosty wind, I turned to the drones.
“What are you two doing out here? You’re supposed to be recharging.”
“Essie was in danger and needed help,” Zippy said. “Human male was in the wrong place, not the right place, not supposed to be here.”
Huh. I hadn’t programmed the drones to wake at signs of an emergency in the shack. Maybe I should have. Maybe the upgrades were taking them further than I’d realized. Then Dimwit offered its own answer.
“Dane Essie watch Essie help Essie.”
Something flamed in my gut, churning with the panic and exhaustion. “Oh, he told you to keep an eye on me, did he? Well, he’s the one who needs help, not me. Get back to recharging.”
Both drones scurried back to the lab, and I triple-checked the locks on the door. By the time I got back to bed, I was gasping for breath, unsure whether it was more from the fear or the effort. Body-hopping was more work than running out to the flats. I didn’t remember it being so hard when I did it with Mother.
I’d only gotten out of trouble because my control had slipped. That wasn’t supposed to happen, ever. But if it hadn’t, Moray might have overpowered me.
And maybe the drones would’ve come in and taken a cutting torch to his backside.
Maybe it was a good thing Dane had given Dimwit whatever instructions he had.
I vowed never to tell him what had happened.
The hike out to the flats felt twice as long the next day. I’d been both too tired and too worked up to do more than doze fitfully for an hour or so before giving up. Dimwit was chipper as ever, naturally.
It might have been the awkward moment the day before. Maybe something else. Either way, one look said Dane knew I’d had a rough night. Another look said he wasn’t going to comment.
Whatever the reason, I accepted it and got straight to work.
Despite the exhaustion, I pushed hard, telling myself to take on one more system before I left…and then one more again. The more I finished, the sooner he’d be gone. And I was ready for him to be gone, for everything to be normal and dull and quiet. For the first time, he was silent most of the day, but he lingered nearby, handing me interfaces or reading off diagnostic results when Dimwit wandered away.
Finally, I’d done the last thing I could without more weaving and stitching in my lab, plus another round of cracking interplanetary networks. I closed out the coding matrix and tucked my gear in a corner. “I think I’ve convinced the stabilizers to coordinate with each other, but the thrust regulator still doesn’t want to listen to the computer. Tomorrow I’ll try some code with more teeth.”
As I wrapped myself in my heavy coat and scarf, Dane stepped between me and the main hatch. “It’s well past sunset and the temperature’s plummeted. You should just stay here tonight.”
Alone with him in the shuttle all night? I don’t think so. “One of the moons is out—it’s light enough.”
“It’s an hour to the settlement. You’ll freeze out there.”
I rolled my eyes. “We’re not all from Garam, you know. Come on, Dimwit, we’re leaving.”
The drone whirred and beeped, skittering behind Dane to open the hatch. I pushed by and stepped out into the frigid night. The breeze bit the exposed skin of my face, but I strode across the flats without a word.
It took an unusually long time before the whine of the closing hatch reached my ears, so I glanced over my shoulder. The m
oon gave enough light to see the dark form of Dane trailing after us. Just what I needed after last night—a strange off-planet boy following me in the dark.
I walked a little faster.
Half an hour later, he was still behind us. Maybe he was just making sure we got back all right. I hadn’t seen chivalry like that in years. It felt foreign. And it didn’t make me like the feeling of being followed any better.
When we were far enough into the forest to cut off the breeze I’d felt earlier, I figured I could lose him in the trees and the dark.
“Wrong way wrong way,” Dimwit said for the third time.
“Oh, shut it,” I muttered. “You’d get lost in a one-room shack. I think I know my way home, thank you.”
“Wrong wrong wrong—”
A cracking sound cut off the drone’s electronic voice. I registered that it was a bad noise, but had no time for anything else.
I fell, swallowed by glacial water.
SINKHOLE. The only thing it could be, filled in and frozen over. Not frozen enough.
I fought off the reflexive gasp as my body reacted to the sudden change, but that was all I could do. Water soaked my heavy clothing, weighing me down. I clutched frantically at the fasteners on my coat, trying to shed my outer layers, but my fingers refused to work. Cold seeped instantly to my bones, sapping my strength. Gravity seemed to triple, fighting my efforts to swim back to the surface.
No hope. No chance. All I’d survived in seventeen years, only to be taken down by a frozen chasm on this ice-rock.
I kicked one more time. One last try.
Something clamped onto my shoulders, piercing all the way through to my skin. A corner of my mind that hadn’t frozen yet directed my hands to reach up and grip the metal arms the best I could as they pulled me out of the pit.