Her breath caught. Then she let it out, slowly. The details didn’t matter. None of it mattered, because Crowe had been right the first time: they didn’t have time for this.
“We can talk details later, Nadim,” she said, letting herself sound as panicked as she felt. “We can figure it all out then, air grievances, do whatever you want. But right now, you have to hear me. Preemas is gathering weapons.”
“Stop bluffing me,” Crowe said. “I know you’ve been to the weapons room. I know you couldn’t get in.”
She let out a small breath. She had expected him to monitor them—she would have monitored them—but to realize he had actually done it unsettled her just a bit.
No wonder he didn’t trust her.
“I’m not bluffing,” she said gently. “I’m not. We were all issued personal weapons when we joined the Fleet, remember? Most of us just don’t carry them day-to-day. Not even security does. So the fact that he didn’t get into the weapons room just means that he doesn’t have all of the weapons. That’s what I mean by gathering, Nadim. He’s going to break in, and he’s going to literally take prisoners. I assume you don’t have any weapons in there with you.”
There was another long silence. She wasn’t even sure Crowe had heard her.
Then he said, “What kind of talking do you think will work, Natalia?”
“We can agree to work together,” she said, realizing how stupid that sounded right now. “Maybe you can convince him why you took this action, maybe we can figure out how to work together until the crisis has passed.”
“I need you on the anacapa drive,” Crowe said. “It’s vibrating on the bridge. We think something in the energy from the Scrapheap has started a slow activation, but we don’t know, and we can’t go investigate.”
She was nodding as he spoke, trying not to smile. They were going to work together. He had skipped over the agreement part, and moved right into the help part.
“I can do that,” she said.
“Then do it,” Crowe said.
“Will you let me into engineering so you can brief me on everything that’s going on?” she asked.
“No,” Crowe said. “Let’s work on the anacapa first. Briefing will happen later. And I’ll open the doors to engineering when I think it’s safe to do so.”
A little chirrup echoed in the small space near the doors. Crowe had activated the sign-off sound, so that she knew he had cut off communications—at least right now.
She felt buoyed by the fact that he was willing to work with her. Scared that there was an anacapa problem. Worried that Preemas would misunderstand why she had moved to the bridge. And she was slowly beginning to understand why Crowe had taken such drastic action.
She half-walked, half-ran toward the bridge.
She would work with Crowe on the anacapa. If Crowe’s information proved correct—and she had no doubt that it would—then it would go a long way into convincing Preemas that the threat outside the Renegat was real, that they all needed to band together to solve that threat before dealing with the issues inside the ship.
Maybe this would get solved and they would be all right.
Maybe.
For the first time in hours, she actually had some hope.
Part Twenty-Seven
Survival
Now
The Aizsargs Rescue One
The life raft vibrated, and then the other end opened, like a curtain pulling back. Some of the people in the very back tumbled out.
Serpell’s heart rate increased. For a half second, she thought everyone had fallen into the vast darkness of space. But then she saw lights and walls and signage, all of it in Standard, which made her heart rise.
Please exit the life raft in a quick and orderly fashion. The faster you leave, the faster we can rescue your friends and family.
She let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she had been holding. She scooted forward, eager to get off the life raft, away from the Renegat. A few others vaulted across the life raft’s squishy floor, bouncing toward the exit and then jumping out of it, almost as if they were pushed.
She didn’t even try to stand up. The way the floor was bouncing, she wouldn’t be able to get purchase anyway. She continued to scoot forward, like a few others were doing, and she reached the edge of the raft faster than she expected.
It had docked on some kind of platform. Her legs dangled over the edge. A few of the people who had run and jumped were moving forward, away from the raft.
She wanted to linger, but she didn’t dare. Everyone on the Renegat needed the life raft.
Everyone left on the Renegat.
She was so happy she would never see that ship again. She had lost everything on board that ship. Everything except her life.
She pushed herself off the lip and onto the floor. As she did, several versions of the same sign in Standard floated around her.
Please follow the yellow lights. They will take you to Decontamination.
She shuddered. What did these people think she had brought back from the Renegat? How in the universe could anyone be contaminated from riding on a ship, anyway?
She glanced over her shoulder, looking for familiar faces, but most people were still wearing their full environmental suits. She didn’t blame anyone for doing that. It had been terrifying on the Renegat, and even though everything looked fine here—wherever they were—that was no guarantee it was fine.
The yellow lighting rose around her like her own personal hallway. Only it was just a bit out of reach, guiding her forward. She finally reached the far wall in the area where the life raft had docked. The yellow lighting illuminated an actual door, and she stepped through it, into a smaller area, dim and a little cold.
Remove your clothing. Covering will be provided for you once you are through decontamination.
They were going to take her clothing? Serpell had been through decontamination before, but mostly as a formality. She had never had to remove her clothing before.
There wasn’t even a place to be private. She gripped the shoulder of her environmental suit, and tugged. It ripped in her hand, something she hadn’t thought possible.
She stared at the edges in stunned surprise. They were ragged, filled with stressed fabric and microtears. No wonder the suit kept telling her it was compromised.
It wasn’t just compromised; it had been disintegrating.
She let out a small involuntary bleat. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized just how close she had come to dying.
She peeled the rest of the suit off herself. Some of it adhered to her shirt and her pants. She knew that an environmental suit shouldn’t have done that. It should have remained separate, creating its own little world. Instead, it had glommed onto her and her clothing.
She had been wearing a short-sleeve shirt. She looked at her arms, saw some of the suit was still stuck to her. She dug at it, felt it loosen, and then come off.
Maybe she did need decontamination, just for the suit. She kicked the remains of the suit away. It skittered until it hit the hairy leg of Anthony Varasteh. He looked up in surprise, saw Serpell looking at him, and covered his private parts with both hands, turning away from her. His naked buttocks looked vulnerable, his back curved.
She had never seen him naked. She hadn’t seen many on the ship naked, including the women.
Serpell didn’t say anything to put him at ease. She wasn’t at ease; she had no idea why she felt the need to put others at ease.
And there were others here, people she could finally recognize now that they were out of the suits.
They were staggered along the floor at what looked like irregular intervals, so that it didn’t seem like they were lining up as much as standing in their own little booth, waiting for the next turn.
Until she had kicked the suit, she hadn’t realized how public this space was. Part of her brain marveled at the design feature, making this entire area seem private when it wasn’t.
She had never seen a
nything like it.
Please step forward. Decontamination will take approximately two and a half minutes.
She glanced around, trying to see if anyone else had heard that voice. No one else seemed to. So she stepped forward, through that yellow lighted door, and into a small area. The area was dark. The outlines of the yellow light still reflected along her eyeballs.
The area was also cold, and a little damp, which made her feel like the place was contaminating her rather than decontaminating her. First something that smelled of antiseptic blew on her skin, followed by a tingling that she didn’t like, particularly when it invaded all parts of her.
She groped herself, like Varasteh had, trying to keep that feeling out. Then the tingling stopped and the air got so dry that her lips chapped almost immediately. She felt a growing sense of claustrophobia. She needed to get out of this area. She wanted her clothes. She wanted normality. She wanted—
Then a door she hadn’t seen opened in front of her. White light filtered toward her, making her blink.
Proceed.
She did. She was in a small room now, barely the size of an airlock. A robe hung from the wall.
Put on the clothing, then exit. You will receive further instructions once you leave.
She nodded, as if the damn voice could see her response. She put on the robe. Its softness felt good against her hands, but scraped the skin of her arms. That scraping feeling was either from the suit or the decontamination procedure.
The door didn’t open when she put on the robe, like she had expected. She wasn’t sure if she should pound on the door, or call out. God, somehow, she had become terrified of small spaces, of being trapped, of never escaping. She was not on the Renegat anymore, but she still felt hopeless and frightened and—
The door slid open. She didn’t even have to wait for the voice to say, Proceed.
She did, almost leaping out of the room, like some of the others had bounced out of the life raft.
The room she stepped into was large, filled with soft chairs and tables in groupings so that a small cluster of people could sit together. Thick carpet, soft as the robe, covered the floor, and felt good against her bare feet. There were several doors on the far side of the room, but they were closed and marked Crew members only in Standard.
Food sat on a side table, but what kind, she couldn’t see. There was also a sign not too far from her that said Beverages, but she couldn’t see what kind either.
Ten others stood in the room, all wearing robes, all barefoot, all with wet hair. She touched her scalp and realized that her hair was wet too. The dampness must have caused it. Or maybe she just hadn’t noticed when that tingling started.
Varasteh stood a few yards from her. She almost walked over to him, to apologize for kicking the suit, but he turned away, clearly too embarrassed to talk with her.
She was thirsty and exhausted and scared. She walked toward the beverage area, and as she did, that voice returned.
Welcome to Aizsargs Rescue One. Once your friends and family have joined us, we will take you to the Aizsargs. Until that moment, take whatever refreshments you need and rest. We will let you know when we will leave for the Aizsargs.
The Aizsargs. That was the ship the people on the bridge had said they were from. Serpell let out a small sigh of relief. Her knees nearly buckled under her.
This was a transitional vessel. It would take her to a larger ship, where, maybe, she could actually relax.
She stopped in front of the beverage table, saw a screen with some simple choices like water and tea, and other choices she had never heard of.
She was only a linguist, but she had served on a number of ships. She had never seen anything quite like this. It almost felt like she was on a vessel for a culture she had never seen before, one that recognized the Fleet way of doing things, but wasn’t Fleet.
The thought made her shiver.
Then she took a deep breath. She was having catastrophic thoughts because she had narrowly averted a catastrophe. She was going to be unsettled for a long time.
She had to accept that.
At least she was alive. She had survived.
And that was all that mattered.
The Renegat
Finally, Cargo Bay One.
Breaux let out a small breath, feeling the relief. She was here. They were here.
And the doors leading into the cargo bay were open.
She pushed off the corridor’s wall with a little more force than she had planned. She was so thrilled to be here. The wall vibrated, making her uneasy.
If her memory was right, there had been a lot of damage down here when the ship got attacked outside of that weird planet. But she didn’t see any damage now.
Except that wobble. That wobble took some of the thrill away.
Still, the force of her push made her zoom into the bay, and then she ducked, because something floated by her. The duck caused her to spin, and she was losing control, so she activated the gravity on her boots, hoping they would find the floor, not a wall.
They found a wall. She was jutting out just like a badly designed light fixture. And she felt stupid, because the rest of the crew would see her like this.
She walked down the wall, put a tentative foot on the floor, and saw the rest of her little troop float in. Their lights illuminated the floating cargo, and just a small section of the bay.
And that was when she realized there were no other lights. She couldn’t see other people in environmental suits. She didn’t see anyone else.
Her heart sank. They were too late. They had missed the rescue because she had gotten lost, because she hadn’t known how to get to the cargo bays in the dark.
Maybe this was the wrong bay. Maybe this was something else.
But the map had led her here, and this looked like a cargo bay. It had to be a cargo bay, right? It couldn’t be anything else.
She turned, slowly, picking up her sticky gravity boots and moving. No. No one. No other lights.
And she had no idea how to get around the ship, let alone find the escape pods.
If there were any left.
Then she saw a lighted figure directly ahead of her. For a moment, she thought she had imagined it.
It looked like an angel. A glowing, beautiful, human-shaped angel.
“Hello?” she said tentatively.
“Hurry up,” the angel said. “Get to the cargo bay doors. We have one last life raft coming to get us. How many are with you?”
“There are five,” she said, then looked around her. The others were pushing forward, trying to get to the angel. “Six, counting me. I’m not sure if their comms work properly. They haven’t said anything to me since we started.”
“Can you hear me?” the angel asked them.
A couple of people nodded. Of course. She should have asked that.
“Can you respond?” he asked, and no one did.
Breaux felt her cheeks heat. At least there was a reason they had glommed on to her. She could communicate with them.
She walked in her activated boots, and when that worked as poorly as it had back in the rec room, she shut off the gravity. As she pushed off the floor with her feet, she aimed her body at the angel.
He had moved to the side of the bay doors, and was doing something over there. Then the doors rose, and a lighted room appeared.
Light, with a lot of empty space. A rescue vehicle, just like he had said.
She entered it, with the other five. They bounced in, and he followed.
“Where’s everyone else?” she asked.
“You’re the last,” he said, then did something with his hand. The door they had come in sealed up.
“Who are you?” she asked, feeling stupid that she hadn’t done that before. She had been panicked and not thinking, and even though the panic was fading, she still felt a little on edge, as if she couldn’t quite believe she was rescued.
“My name is Raul Zarges,” he said. “I’m with the rescue te
am. I’m taking you to our ship. It’ll take a little longer than usual. But you’re safe now.”
Safe. She wanted to hug him. She wanted to scream with relief. Instead, she felt herself get heavier as gravity came on.
Then an androgynous voice said, Welcome. You are on a small rescue vessel on its way to Aizsargs Rescue One, a large rescue ship….
And she felt herself relax.
She was safe. They were safe.
They had been rescued.
And it was over.
Part Twenty-Eight
The First Death
100 Years Ago
The Renegat
The air on the bridge felt odd. Breaux stood near Atwater, brushing the hair on the back of her neck. The hair kept rising, not because she was unsettled—which she was—but because something kept drawing it up, like static electricity. It wasn’t static electricity, though, because when she touched something, she didn’t get one of those little shocks.
But something was off, and it wasn’t just everyone’s mood.
She and Atwater were leaning over the console, comparing the data that she had been organizing since she joined the Renegat with the feed from the Scrapheap. They were working hard at this because no one had given them orders on what to actually do.
Captain Preemas was angry at First Officer Crowe, and had left the bridge with Natalia Stephanos to investigate some other way of regaining control of the ship. And Breaux didn’t want to think about any of that, particularly given the charged way the air felt around all of them, as if the ship herself knew that something was horribly, horribly, horribly wrong.
She was trying to focus on the work, trying not to think of it as make-work. Everyone else on the bridge was talking in low tones, using words like “invasion protocol” and “override” and “impossible.” A couple of people had moved away from their consoles, as if the consoles themselves were at fault.
The Renegat Page 55