“Don’t lift the code,” she said, winded. “Please, JAX, I’m begging you. We came here in good faith, and right now we have command of the Brigantine. Obey your programming. Listen to me . . . Leave the code intact.”
“Just be quiet,” Rayan whispered, almost panting. Rosalyn leaned back, his breath fogging her visor. “Lift the code, JAX, do it. I’m your superior, she isn’t part of the crew. Lift it!”
The Servitor did not release her, but he seemed to regard them equally, weighing the options while Rosalyn wondered if it was possible to die from sheer panic. She slumped back against the wall, fighting the AI’s strength, inching toward the air lock doors.
At last the bot managed to make a decision or run through its programming or whatever it took, and it looked in Rayan’s direction. “Lifting the code requires a full reset of onboard ship functions.”
“I don’t care.” Rayan was sweating now, too, seething, his eyes flaring white again. Then he seemed to recall something and froze, blinking. “All functions?”
“Yes, sir, all functions. The lockdown on bays two and three will lift, sir.”
“Shit. Piero and the captain . . .” He wiped at his face, but time was running out. Behind her, Rosalyn heard Walters fumbling through the tunnel toward them. He would reach the doors in a matter of seconds.
Her heart lifted, one last gust of energy—of hope—breaking through the fear. Maybe these two would debate and hesitate just long enough for her to get the fuck off that ship. The portal to the Brigantine hissed, the galley pressurizing, one step closer to letting her unlikely savior in.
9
The burn behind his eyes was incredible. Rayan could hardly see through the pain and the fine web of blue lines that splintered across his vision.
But he could still make out the woman in front of him, huddled back against the doors, her face screwed up in a mask of fear. He hated that. Hated that anybody could look at him that way . . . But of course she did. Of course he deserved that look. He was only trying to help, but sometimes helping looked like something else entirely. Like violence. No. He was not violent, could never be violent.
And then there was JAX. This was impossible. More impossible was time, and the decision bearing down on him like a ship at speed. They needed her VIT credentials. Above all, they needed her VIT, and that was at all bloody costs. They needed to get back to Mother. Mother came first. So he closed his eyes, just for a tiny respite, just to see if he could escape the throbbing in his skull and heart for a second, and then he spoke, trembling.
“Do it, lift the code. Reset.”
It was a quiet order, and he didn’t give it lightly. The thought of Piero on the loose again . . . He shuddered, listening to the Brigantine snap to life, engines cycling, lights attempting to turn on but only managing a flicker, and of course, the most important part, the air lock functions resetting.
“No!”
He hadn’t heard a wail like that since Iwasa found Sverdal’s body. It stilled the blood in his veins and he clenched his fists, watching as the woman slipped her fingers between the Servitor’s hand on her arm and the slick material of her suit, prying his metal fingers off and spinning, sending JAX skidding toward the cockpit. She hurled her body against the air lock doors. He could see over her shoulder through the small, circular window in the door—the tunnel uncoupled, whipping free and then floating in the nothingness of space.
And with it, the pilot. All of his anger with her for lying vanished. It was only natural to try to escape, it was only natural for her crewmate to lend assistance—
No, child, you were foolish. Reckless. Once this new one relinquishes her VIT data she will join them, but she is not like Mother’s original children. You must control yourself, darling. No more silly schemes. No more syringes. Think of your family. Think of your mother.
He felt for her. But he stayed at a distance, numb with guilt as the interloper in his head went quiet again and he was left to his own thoughts. That was almost worse. Rayan could feel remorse, but the thing in his head? He didn’t know what it felt beyond determination. Endless hunger. Constant need.
Mother needs you. Mother needs this. Mother needs that.
The salvager pounded her fists on the door, shrieking. Her body faced away from him, but even so, Rayan knew she was weeping. Over her shoulder, he saw the pilot spinning away into the stars, his mouth wide open. The biggest and worst surprise of his life.
I killed him.
Yes—the other voice in him rose—for us. You killed him for your family. For Mother.
“I’m sorry . . .” Rayan managed. He would burn up in his brain for this, and suffer, and he would pray later for true forgiveness, even if he felt certain it would never come. “Walters was his name? I’m sorry, but you don’t understand, I have to—”
Her grief changed then, spiraling out, snarling into rage, and she turned on him, slamming into his chest and sending him flying back against the card table. The little white rectangles fell around them, floating onto her back and his head as she tackled him to the floor. His back exploded in pain from the sudden impact, and at once Foxfire—Mother—consumed him, rushing over him, dulling the sting and summoning his own anger.
“No!” he shouted. JAX had already lumbered over and yanked her off of him by the elbows. His control returned and he sighed, covering his face with both hands before sitting up with a groan. “I did what I could . . . and then I did what I had to. You should’ve let me inject you. You should’ve let me! It will help! I’m sure it will help, the experiments, the allium . . .”
“What the hell are you talking about?” she shrieked back, struggling against the AI, kicking out both legs in frustration. “You killed my pilot! You killed him. What the hell is wrong with you? What did you try to stab me with, huh? You want to kill me, too?”
“No!” There were too many questions. His brain throbbed and throbbed, Foxfire grappling with him, but Rayan subdued it for the moment, rubbing at his face. “No, I . . . I wanted to help you. I didn’t mean to hurt you, okay? I tried to save you. Joining hurts. It shouldn’t be forced on anybody.”
“Save me? Save me!? I thought I was here to save you, or what the hell was all that about?” She was gasping for breath and reeling, her eyes unfocused.
Rayan climbed slowly to his feet. He wanted to tell JAX to let her go, but that didn’t seem wise just yet. “I didn’t try to hurt you. It’s protection,” he said, and pointed to his own head. “Against this.”
She went still, her dark hazel eyes sliding to the bent syringe on the floor. “I need to sit down,” she said. “And you”—she pointed a shaky finger at him—“you need to start from the beginning. After that, you can sync up with the Salvager for a tow, then I’m taking you and whatever this sick shit is back to MSC.”
Clearing his throat, he gave a tiny nod. “Okay.”
It was kind of an affirmation, just enough to calm her down and just enough to be a lie.
“JAX? Release her.”
“Sir, I detect elevated levels of both—”
“Let her go, just do it.”
The Servitor took a step back, its clamp-like “hands” loosening. The woman tumbled forward, sneering, and snatched up one of the tipped folding chairs. She righted it and sat down hard, dropping her face into her hands for a long moment. Soon, she stood again and collected the syringe, studying it briefly before snapping off the needle and sliding the tube into her pocket. Smart, the voice inside him sneered. Smart and prepared. Troublesome. Rayan didn’t disturb her, but he felt something stirring in the ship, a dark echo, a familiar hum in his head that was both of him and not of him. Someone else was waking up.
Oh no.
“So?” she groaned, finally staring up at him. Her cheeks were pale, streaked with tears. “Start from the beginning.”
Outside the galley doors, down the corridor, he heard the
distinct lurch of the heavy storage-bay doors unlocking. The mechanism stuck a little as it gave, they could all hear it, and their heads turned simultaneously toward the portal leading deeper into the Brigantine. The sound resonated like a low howl through the hull, sending a tremor through his legs.
Rosalyn Devar’s eyes widened as she sat up straight. “What was that?”
“I’m sorry,” he told her earnestly, trembling at the footsteps that came toward them. “The others are waking up.”
10
Rosalyn had been there before, in that breathless, deep panic that seemed to flatten out time and sharpen the senses. It wasn’t calm, exactly, but a falling away of every noncritical thought and impulse. She had been there before, curled up on the floor, in pain and shock, faced with what felt like the impossibility of the next moment coming, and the next, and the next after that. Rosalyn looked down at the bulge in her pocket where she kept the syringe. She had been there before, but this time there was no running away.
“JAX,” Rosalyn heard herself say. Her own voice sounded distant, as if emerging from underwater. “Reseal this door, please. Lock it tight.”
Walters was gone. Dead. She was alone on a ship full of strangers and some kind of biological threat. There was nothing left to do but focus and survive.
The engines had cycled, but only ship-critical systems remained functioning. She could hear the diminished hum of a ship running with locked thrusters. Likely plenty of fuel remained, but the code blue had sent them drifting toward headquarters, and now that the system had logged the linkup between the Salvager and the Brigantine, the ship would cease its trip. They were stranded. If she could somehow unlock the thrusters, she could pilot the Brigantine back to the Salvager 6 and leave the forsaken hulk far behind.
It was a fantasy, of course, but she needed a fantasy just then.
“Door sealing.” JAX snapped to action quickly, as if eager to be of use. The lights in the galley flickered, dim, less bright than the blue mass glittering along the walls and ceiling. It wasn’t much, but she heard the locks engage on the door and called it a victory. One step at a time. Even in a panicked state, it was critical to plan. Rosalyn glanced at Rayan, who fiddled sheepishly with the ends of his shirtsleeves.
“How much time before the rest of your crew gets through that door?” she asked. Rayan stared at her and shrugged.
“Depends on how motivated they’re feeling,” he said softly. “And, well, considering I locked them all up for their own good, they’re probably pretty motivated.”
“And dangerous?”
“They’re not dangerous,” Rayan insisted. He paced to the locked door, putting his ear to it. “At least, I don’t think so.”
Rosalyn smoothed her gloved hands down her thighs, a self-soothing gesture she hoped would stop her from wringing the guy’s neck. “The way you said it—‘they’re not dangerous’—what do you mean?”
“Misato and Edison are my friends, they wouldn’t want to hurt you, or anyone really. Piero is, uh, Piero. He’s got a bad temper, but he’s a good person. They’re all good people. They were, anyway, before . . .” He gestured helplessly to the blue glowing all around them. In him.
“That blue stuff is keeping you alive,” Rosalyn observed. In her many years of studying medicine and biotechnology, it was like nothing she had ever encountered. “You shouldn’t be able to breathe in this atmosphere, and your head wound—” His lips tightened at that, maybe a sore subject, so Rosalyn pivoted. She wanted to keep him from lashing out again. “But somehow that blue substance is controlling you or . . . or what, Rayan? Help me out here. You said you wanted to protect me with that injection, so give me something to work with.”
“I want to,” he said, darting forward. She went rigid and he backed away, looking crestfallen. “Yes, the Foxfire controls us; it tries to, anyway. It was just a few spores at first, a fungal infection, probably started just in the lungs, but now it’s everywhere, growing and spreading, and it’s doing the same inside us. Bit by bit we’re losing ourselves to it. It talks to us.”
His eyes flared almost white hot again and he swore, clutching his head.
“I take it this ‘Foxfire’ doesn’t want you helping me?”
“Yeah,” Rayan sighed, shaking out the pain. “I’ve been fighting it, but I didn’t know if the others were, so I tried to keep them locked away. I coded the ship and sent the hail. Oxygen levels are fine, I hacked JAX to report whatever I wanted. The Foxfire would’ve just spread to a rescue crew, but salvagers have those suits, right? Those are equipped with powerful filters, decontamination protocols . . . so I thought you’d have a fighting chance at least.”
Rosalyn went quiet, studying him for a long time. The door to her right groaned, a sudden weight slamming against it. Bang, bang, bang. She jumped, and so did Rayan. Her mind began spinning—she still had no plan, but Rayan could be an ally if she played it right. If he was telling the truth, of course. But how could she trust him? If that blue Foxfire stuff was trying to control him, then maybe it would make him lie, too.
She needed to know more. So much more. She wouldn’t know enough before whatever or whoever was behind that door broke through the manual locks. Rosalyn hurried toward the cockpit. This wasn’t her usual ship, but they all used similar technology, issued by the same company. An unlocked plastic case sat next to the cockpit bay, a standard-issue emergency kit. The blue mass had formed over it, making it just a blue lump, as if purposefully trying to conceal what was inside. Rosalyn shoved that thought aside and knelt, swiping away the growth. To her surprise it was thin and vine-like, the glowing blue spores breaking up and into the air as she touched them. Behind her, she heard Rayan give a moan of pain. The flowers . . . the glow . . . Were even their pain receptors linked?
It sounded like he murmured, “Oh, please hurry.”
The banging started up again, harder this time. Rosalyn groped blindly for what was inside the crate, fighting the low light in the galley. She powered on her overhead light, finding what she was looking for.
“What do you think he has?” Rosalyn called over her shoulder. “A door jammer? A wrench?”
Rayan was quiet for a second and then said, “It’s big and metal.” Another pause. “Like a crowbar.”
Great.
“You can sense that, huh?” she asked. It would be fascinating if it weren’t so terrifying. That racket didn’t sound friendly. Rayan had to be an anomaly. The rest of the crew would probably murder her on sight if this Foxfire stuff had totally taken control of them. “Or just an educated guess?”
“Bit of both. What are you looking for?”
“This.” Rosalyn stood and turned to face him, brandishing a collapsible fire extinguisher. It wasn’t all that big, but the blast packed a punch, and if she aimed it right, the powder had a chance of blinding an attacker. She sighed and pulled the pieces apart, reassembling them into a functioning extinguisher. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Rayan shaking his head.
“It’s no good,” he whispered fiercely. “If I can see you, so can he. He’ll know what’s coming. When we’re this close to each other, it’s almost like my mind, my eyes, are his.”
She refused to put down the extinguisher, choosing instead to take a few steps toward Rayan. Maybe he could see the wild panic in her eyes, and maybe he could see her chest pumping hard under the suit, but she tried her best to give him a straight look.
“No bullshit,” Rosalyn said, hazarding a hand on his shoulder. “You can help me. We can help each other. Please, you could be my eyes right now. You could help me get out of this. If he can see through you, then the reverse is true, right?”
JAX whirred softly, feet clacking as he took a few steps toward the door and spun to face them. “Manual lock integrity at twenty percent.”
“Rayan . . .” Rosalyn spoke slowly, wincing each time the door was slammed into. “I know
a thing or two about xenobiological samples, we used them all the time at my job,” she told him. “I studied it for a long, long time. It was my whole life before I went into salvaging. Maybe we can, I don’t know, figure something out together. If you get me back to the Salvager 6, we could work on this, just you and me. Maybe there’s a way to reverse things, a cure, if you figured out a vaccine—”
“It’s not a vaccine,” Rayan stated flatly. He closed his eyes. “Basically just garlic.”
“What?”
“Manual lock integrity at five percent and failing,” JAX interjected.
Bang, bang, bang.
They both glanced at the shivering door.
“Sulfur compounds,” he went on. “I was trying things on samples, and something about the allicin must be toxic to the spores. An organosulfur compound from Allium sativum. Garlic. It wouldn’t protect someone for forever; they would probably need ongoing injections.”
Rosalyn nodded, but she could hear the hinges on the manual locks screaming with each hit of the crowbar. They were running out of time. Sulfur compounds and whatever else could wait until she wasn’t facing down a homicidal crewmate.
“That’s a start,” she breathed. “It’s a start, and with your knowledge and mine, we can do something. You can help me. You can help me get back to the Salvager. We can . . . we can incapacitate him together, unlock the thrusters and get to the Salvager to regroup or, hell, just get on it and leave. What’s keeping you here?”
“N-Nothing,” he stammered. “And everything. My head. My head. Mother is . . . I . . . can’t. I can’t do that.” Rayan flinched, gripping his skull again with both hands. “I want to. I really want to, maybe I can—”
Rosalyn heard the manual lock give on the other side. The lockdown sequence would lose priority on emergency settings, the ship relying on good old-fashioned bracketed stops to keep the doors in place. It would do a decent enough job sealing them in if there was nobody tampering with them.
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