by Nick Webb
Reardon looked surprised at how easily Chuck gave up the information. But he scowled suddenly. “Wait. How’d you come into possession of that information?”
“I … called him,” said Chuck, simply.
“That’s it?” Reardon raised an eyebrow. “We’ve been tapping Smith’s line. That’s how we knew to come get you—but nobody’s actually been in touch with him for ages.”
“Well,” he said slowly, “when I called Smith, I let it ring out. And when it did, the error message mentioned the Tiberius Sector.” He figured he didn’t need to tell them about his still-operational diplomatic security code.
Reardon stared at him. Then down at Sammy. “We called him too, right?”
“Yeah,” Sammy shot back defensively. “But I didn’t wait for it to ring out. Why would I?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Waste of time. I just put a trace on the wire, to track anyone who calls.”
“Well obviously it wasn’t working!”
“Well obviously you’re a stupid idiot!” Sammy spun his wheelchair around to face Reardon. “If you weren’t so stingy using the long-range communicator to download all those stupid romance flicks you watch, then maybe I would have been more comfortable letting it ring out like that!”
“Shut the hell up!” hissed Reardon, and then, adjusting his glasses, regained some measure of his composure. “Okay, then. New Los Alamos. Let’s hit the road.” He coughed. “And by road I mean Z-Space. And by hit, I mean plot and execute a translation into.” He stormed out.
“Okay,” said Sammy, then turned to Chuck, grinning a little. “So, want me to help you change the baby?”
“That would be good, actually,” said Chuck, slightly confused. “But uh, wait, you… actually want to help me with this? You know there’s poo, right?”
Sammy didn’t appear to be distressed. “I just really like kids, so I wanna help. It’s not a problem at all.”
“Okay,” said Chuck. “Can always use a hand.”
“Just, uh,” Sammy considered. “Do you wanna see the mutant? We don’t know much about her, so … be careful.”
Careful. Of having a mutant with a baby around. Chuck held Jack closer and managed a little nod. “Yeah,” he said, as much to himself as anyone else. “I think I will.”
Chapter Fourteen
InterStat Transport IS-221
High orbit of New Kentucky
Tiberius Sector
Guano jerked awake.
“—come to the Tiberius sector,” said a calm, likely pre-recorded voice over the transport’s intercom. “We have now completed our Z-Space translation and have arrived above New Kentucky. In a few short minutes we will begin our transition into the atmosphere and will be preparing for landing. As per United States quarantine guidelines, all fruit and vegetable matter must be submitted to quarantine and inspection. Thank you for flying InterStat. We understand you have a choice in carriers, and…”
She tuned out the rest of the boring garbage.
“That was quite impressive,” said the guy sitting next to her, a gentle smile on his face. “You slept the whole way through. Thirteen hours and you were out like a light. Not a peep out of you the whole time. I almost considered calling the flight attendant.”
Guano, for some reason, couldn’t even bring herself to look at him. “I’m fine,” she said, folding her arms and staring out the window.
“I like what you’re doing, by the way,” the guy said, seemingly determined to talk to her.
“Huh?”
“The costume,” he said, gesturing to her blood-flecked orange jumpsuit. “A lot of people are protesting the media silence about the kidnappings, too. That’s a really effective way of getting your message across.” He nodded approvingly. “We’re all prisoners of the mainstream media.”
“Y-yeah,” said Guano, fixing her eyes out the viewport as the beginnings of New Kentucky’s atmosphere began to come into view. “Totally.”
He kept trying to talk to her, but Guano stubbornly gave only short, one-word answers, waiting for the ship to drop into the atmosphere, until finally he gave up. When they landed, Guano waited until the plane was almost empty and then unclipped her belt and got up.
What was she even doing here? Why didn’t she remember buying a ticket, and why had she slept the whole way?
She almost sat back down and considered flying back to Chrysalis to demand answers about what was happening to her, but she knew it was silly. Going back would be horribly dangerous, suicidal really, and she needed to rejoin her crew. Whoever was left after the battle.
At least that’s what she told herself.
Walking as casually as she could, Guano disembarked the spacecraft and strode into the terminal. The rifle and pistol she had traveled with had been surrendered to Customs and that was not an argument she wanted to have, so she decided to just let them keep ‘em. Where she was going she didn’t need guns.
Within fifteen minutes Guano was through decontamination and out into the cool, fresh air of New Kentucky. It reeked of sulphur, a product of the planet’s regular volcanic eruptions, and on the horizon burned the ever-present glow of distant fires.
She breathed in deep, savoring the stink. What a shithole.
What was she even doing here?
Guano wandered out of the airport and down the long road that lead away from the airport. It seemed to stretch on forever, asphalt laid over basalt and igneous rock. The surface of the road was hot against her feet, but she kept going, putting one foot in front of the other until she came to the city center—a flat, urban area that felt more like an overgrown country town than the capital of a whole planet. Buildings sprang up from the ground in neat squares. The roads were well maintained and logically arrayed. A stark contrast to the chaos of Chrysalis.
And she walked.
Chapter Fifteen
The Aerostar
Low Earth Orbit
Sol System
There was a box with a mutant in it.
It seemed far too small to hold a person, let alone such an obviously huge creature as her. Chuck stared in bewilderment at the … thing stuck within. She—and Chuck was only calling it a she because that’s what Reardon had called it—was a huge, hulking beast, over two meters tall and built like a linebacker. She had strange, mottled skin and muscles like bounded cords, which made her current posture—folded neatly into a too-small box—so much more perplexing.
Even more perplexing was that she seemed to be alive. She lay on her side, only one almost completely human eye visible, but it tracked Chuck keenly. A few small tubes and wires connected her to the inside walls of the box, but she was otherwise free to move.
But she didn’t. She only watched.
“Hi,” he said, unsure of what else to do.
The mutant said nothing. Just stared up at him with those eyes; so full of life and, seemingly, pain. It couldn’t have been comfortable inside that box. How long had she been in there?
“See,” said Sammy, a little ruefully. “She doesn’t say much. Doesn’t eat, doesn’t drink. We think those tubes from the box feed her. We’ve tried everything and she won’t move or react.”
That seemed strange to him. Chuck moved over to the box, within touching range, but Sammy grabbed his shirt.
“Hey, don’t get that close,” he said, cautiously. “We don’t know what it’s capable of. We don’t know anything about it.”
Wordlessly, Chuck handed Jack to Sammy, who seemed delighted to hold him. That gave Chuck the momentary distraction he needed; he slid forward, crouching beside the box, hand just a few inches from the mutant’s body.
“Hey,” he said, gently. “It’s time to wake up.”
Surprisingly, her eye flicked at him, meeting his gaze. He held it, smiling.
“Whoa,” said Sammy. “What the…”
Chuck ignored him. He moved his hand forward, touching her side. Her skin was cold and clammy, probably because of the temperature of the s
hip. Or was it maybe something else? Something pulled Chuck towards her, and he slowly rubbed her side.
She let out a contented sigh. At least, it sounded content to his ears.
“Just like a baby,” said Chuck, almost to himself. “She’s… basically a baby.”
Sammy’s eyes went wide. “I never really thought about that,” he said. “She’s just so …big.”
“A baby in a full grown mutant’s body,” said Chuck. And then he had it figured out. “There has to be some kind of way to get her out of here.”
Sammy blinked. “Okay, I like kids, but we are not having a box baby in the cargo bay of my brother’s ship. He’ll kill me. Metaphorically. And maybe literally. Or maybe just literally-metaphorically. More on the literally side than the metaphorically side, but… still. It’s bad.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Harry always has a way of finding these things out.”
“It’s the only humane thing to do. Whatever she is, she’s also clearly … human. You can’t leave someone there like that, suffering,” said Chuck, frowning and looking over the box. “There’s gotta be some way to get her out. It must be—” There. A small red button. “Maybe this is it.”
“Maybe it’s the life support system. Or self-destruct. It’s too risky, Chuck.”
“If it is the life support system,” said Chuck, considering, “maybe that’s what wakes her up. You know. A shock to the system?”
“Or kills her. Or blows us up. Did I tell you about all the explosives lining the box walls?”
That was a distinct possibility. “Gotta be better than life in that box.” Couldn’t ask for more than that, going in her sleep…
Sammy’s face was a sour mask. He tapped the frame of his wheelchair pointedly. “Yeah, I mean, what would I know about when life is worth living, huh?”
Good point. Chuck looked away for a moment and then, before he could change his mind, pressed the button.
“Ooooh shit,” whined Sammy, wheeling back.
For a moment nothing happened. Then, with a faint hiss, small wisps of smoke started to rise from the edges of the open box.
“Ooooh shit,” echoed Chuck, standing cautiously. “Maybe that was the self-destruct.”
More smoke rushed out of the edges of the box. Then, just as quickly as it had begun, it stopped.
And the mutant sat up.
Chapter Sixteen
The Aerostar
Low Earth Orbit
Sol System
It was alive.
Chuck stared in bewilderment at the creature he had just freed. Now that she was out, she—and Chuck was only calling it a she because that’s what Sammy had called it. She had strange, mottled skin and muscles like bounded cords, and stood hunched in the cargo hold, her head almost reaching the ceiling.
“Whoa,” said Sammy, his tone soft and awed. “You woke her up.”
The thing glanced right at Sammy for a moment and, despite it all, looked quite frightened. Her hands hovered over the box.
“It’s okay,” said Sammy, behind him, his voice gentle. “Hey, giant mutant baby thing, this is Chuck Mattis.”
“Chuck Mattis,” she repeated in a grunt. Then, with a suspicious glare, she turned to look out the window. She held up her hands to the porthole in the cargo bay, fingers extended as though laying them over a keyboard.
It was such a strange gesture that, for a moment, he didn’t know what to make of it. “Does…” Chuck considered the placement of her fingers. Her steady gaze out the window. “Does she think she’s flying the ship?”
Sammy shrugged. “How the hell should I know.”
It certainly seemed that way to Chuck as he watched the mutant’s fingers fly across the invisible keyboard, typing meticulously.
“She needs a name,” said Chuck. Only one seemed to be right. “How about… Lily?”
“Like the flower?” Sammy paused, considering. “It’s … actually a nice name. A family member? Friend?”
“Nah. Back when Elroy and I were adopting, we considered Lily for a girl, Jack for a boy. Obviously, Jack got picked, so…”
Lily continued to stare out the porthole, fingers wiggling away. “Lily.”
“It works,” said Chuck, with a playful little smile.
Right. Okay. There was something else, too. Something he was missing. the way those fingers were moving. Chuck slowly realized that it was less like typing than grabbing. It as a motion he’d seen Jack do a hundred times. “I think she’s hungry.”
“I’d be hungry if I’d been sleeping in a box for a few months,” admitted Sammy. “What do you think she eats?”
“I’ll find out,” promised Chuck. And he would. “But first, we should probably, you know, get back to work.”
“Work. Right.” Sammy tapped the side of his wheelchair and a screen folded out of the armrest. “Hang on,” he said. “I’m just going to check my scripts.” He typed for a few seconds, and strange computer code flew across the screen. “Mmm. Looks like the signal from Bratta’s phone really did originate in New Los Alamos. I’ve even got the city. Hell, I’ve even got a cross street. Time to go check it out.”
“Great,” said Chuck, feeling the first thing approaching hope he’d felt since Jack had first gotten sick. “Let’s get a move on, then.”
Sammy eyed Chuck with a curious look. “You got any luggage?”
“Nope. Just me and the baby.”
“No gun?”
Chuck blinked in surprise. “I live in Maryland,” he said.
“You say it like there are no guns in Maryland.” Sammy sighed, tapping the other side of his chair, withdrawing a pistol; it was chromed up and seemed loaded. “Take this one. I hate the color. Harry keeps saying…” His tone became sing-songy and sarcastic. “You just gotta get the chrome plating, Sammy. Nobody will respect you if you just have a normal gun, Sammy. Real men aren’t afraid of having people look at them, Sammy. Blech.” He fished out three magazines, then held the thing out. “Take it. I don’t need it. There’s a holster in the cargo bay.”
Chuck hesitated. Was this some kind of test? Some kind of weird initiation? He cautiously took hold of the gun.
It’d been a while since he’d held a piece. Dad used to take him to the range, even as a kid. Some of his fondest memories were scrounging up spent brass and stacking it as high as he could. Chuck thumbed the magazine release, ejecting the device into his hand, then awkwardly racked the slide. A brass round was ejected, hitting the wall with a tink and rolling around on the deck.
“Damn,” said Chuck, peering through the ejection port to make sure he could see the deck, then clicked the slide forward and eased the hammer down. “You kept the thing loaded?” He inspected the magazine. Standard twelve round box, full. “Dirty loaded, too.”
“You know guns,” said Sammy, nodding in agreement. “Harry says I have to keep it that way.” His voice became mocking again. “Never know when you might need one more bullet, Sammy. Smuggling’s a dirty job, you gotta give it a smuggler’s load, Sammy.”
“Right, well, I’d prefer to keep it clean if you don’t mind. Prevents negligent discharges.” He squatted, picked up the stray round, and put it in his pocket.
“Negligent discharges,” echoed Lily.
They both turned to her in surprise. But that was all she said, and resumed grabbing hungrily at her imaginary keyboard.
Sammy tilted his head. “Sounds like a military term,” he said.
“That’s just how my Dad described accidental gunfire. They aren’t accidents because they’re preventable.”
“Fair enough,” said Sammy, then murmured to himself. “Okay. Fly us to New Los Alamos, got it. But not too fast—if I push the compressor too far, it blows. And if it blows, I don’t want to have to pay to have our new friend buried. Especially when I’m dead.”
“No explode,” said Lily, tapping on her imaginary console with her comically oversized fingers.
Great, thought Chuck, holding Jack nice and tight against his che
st. At least the mutant cares if I live or die…
Chapter Seventeen
Derelict Avenir vessel
Moon Debris
Pinegar System
There was a mutant alive in there.
Mattis took a moment to process it. One of the creatures who had brought so much ruin and devastation to them was, save for the airlock portal, almost within arm’s reach. It wasn’t moving. Wasn’t doing anything but calmly watch him through the thick glass. Its face was mottled green, like a bloated corpse’s, but its saggy, leathery flesh pulsated with life and it blinked, slowly and deliberately, staring at the away team that stood on the other side of the glass.
“Holy shit,” said Lynch behind him. “Is that—”
Mattis thumbed his radio. “Captain Spears,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “We have a survivor.”
“A … survivor?” Spears seemed to adjust her headset on the other end of the line. “Away team, please confirm. Are you saying there is someone alive on that ship?”
That’s what being a survivor means, he itched to say. Instead he dutifully replied “Affirmative,” still staring at the mutant creature, its face lit up by his shoulder lamp. “It’s contained in an unused escape pod nestled inside the ship.”
“An escape pod on the inside?” Her scepticism was justified. “As in, right at the very core of the ship?”
“That’s correct,” said Mattis. “We don’t know enough about its layout to comment as to what it’s doing here, but it’s possible that it’s for some kind of VIP. Hell, they keep their computers right on the outside of their ship… we have no idea why this could be.”