Fleet of Knives

by Gareth L. Powell

  I pulled the blob of golden computing stuff from my suit and handed it to Dalton, asking him to hold it for me until we were reunited. Then I rubbed my palms together. “Who’s going first?”

  Bernard raised his eyebrows. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “You’re the captain.”

  Beside him, Addison gave me an apologetic nod. “He’s right,” she said.

  I peered over the edge, into the seemingly bottomless well that formed the bottom of the shaft, and then up towards the lighted aperture that marked our destination. Despite my earlier enthusiasm, the climb looked next to impossible, and I’d been hoping someone else would take the lead and show me where to put my hands and feet.

  “You guys suck.”

  Addison moved up next to me. Freed from the sweaty confines of her suit, she smelled like a gym locker.

  “It serves you right for promising to shoot me,” she said.

  Ignoring her, I shuffled to the end of the ledge, where the corridor met the wall of the shaft, and reached out, brushing my hand along the plastic padding until I found the seam between that cushion and the next. I pushed my fingers between them until I felt I had a secure handhold.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll go first. Lucy follows. Then you, then Bernard.”

  “Aye-aye.”

  “And for God’s sake, let’s all be careful.”

  I took a final look at Santos and Dalton. The chef gave me a slow nod, as if trying to reassure me it was okay to leave him. Beside him, Dalton’s expression was unreadable. His jaw seemed to have been hacked from granite. He was doing what he saw as his duty, both as a professional and as a friend, but that didn’t mean he was entirely happy about the predicament to which we were abandoning him.

  “Look after yourself,” he said.

  “You too.”

  I inhaled through my nose, trying to keep my emotions in check. If these people were looking to me for leadership, it was my job to inspire confidence. With effort, I swallowed down the lump building in my throat, and forced a grin.

  “All right,” I said. “Let’s do this thing.”

  I gave Addison a wink, and then gripping the cushion in one hand, I swung myself out onto the vertical wall of the shaft.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  SAL KONSTANZ

  The sheer size of the Nymtoq vessel took some getting used to. Even compared to Camrose Station, it was large—so large that the mouth of the hangar we were being guided towards appeared as nothing more than a pixel against the looming immensity of its craggy bows. And details I had assumed to be the size of packing crates transpired, as we drew closer, to have the scale of buildings. Dots against the whole turned out to be vast monoliths protruding from the surface. And we moved between them, aimed at one of a hundred similar openings hacked into the approaching cliff.

  As we drew near, I felt Clay stiffen in the seat next to me. My job was to search for the crew of the Lucy’s Ghost; hers was to keep us safe. As far as she was concerned, this would be another combat drop into alien territory, facing an undetermined number of hostile life forms. The tattoos on her forearms rippled as she gripped the Archipelago pistol in both hands, ready to roll out of her seat as soon as the shuttle’s skids touched the deck.

  “Hey,” she said. “That boyfriend of yours. What was his name? Sledge?”

  “Sedge.”

  “Has there been anyone since?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Not even a quick fuck?”

  “No.”

  She was silent for a moment. Then she said, “I’m sorry I teased you about Preston.”

  We were approaching the opening. This close I could see how truly massive the hangar was. The Trouble Dog could have parked herself comfortably within its cavern-like interior, with plenty of room to spare at either end.

  “It’s fine,” I said.

  Red dots began to flash on the hangar floor, guiding us in.

  “I shouldn’t have said anything. I was being a jerk.”

  I shook my head. “No, really. It’s okay. I’m not some wilting blossom. I can handle a bit of banter.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  The rosy landing lights illuminated her smile. “Well, okay then,” she said. “Stay behind me and keep your eyes open. If one of those crustacean motherfuckers comes at us, I want to know about it.”

  * * *

  With the Trouble Dog flying the shuttle remotely, we came in fast and hard, only decelerating at the last conceivable instant. Although I hated being flattened into my couch like that, I couldn’t blame the Dog for being cautious. As a former naval vessel, manoeuvres like that had been hard wired into her makeup. When facing a force whose strengths and motivations were unknown, she’d been trained to be pre-emptively defensive and always assume the possibility of incoming fire.

  The landing gear hit the stone floor of the bay with a thump that snapped my teeth together. And then the cockpit doors were open and Clay was already outside. According to the Trouble Dog, the air inside the vessel was breathable, so we hadn’t bothered with suits, opting instead for combat fatigues.

  On the deck, Clay dropped to one knee below the shuttle’s nose, sweeping the barrel of her gun back and forth as she surveyed the area for possible threats. I climbed out and crouched behind her.

  “How does it look?”

  “Clear.”

  She rose and moved forward, keeping the pistol held out before her, and I followed a few paces behind. The air in the rocky cavern held no moisture. It was dry and cold, and I could feel it pinching the tips of my ears and nose. I thought of Sedge, lying un-ageing and frozen in the bowels of the Hopper ship, en route to Andromeda, and shrugged away the image. However much I missed him, I couldn’t afford to get distracted right now. The peculiar pain of unfulfilled love wouldn’t help me negotiate this imposing behemoth, or protect me from the armoured creature we’d seen crawling over the wreck of the Lucy’s Ghost. If Alva Clay and I were to live through this foray, and extract any remaining civilians, we’d have to keep our attentions focused on the here and now.

  “Keep moving forwards,” the Trouble Dog said via our earbuds. “The survivors are four decks below you, and half a click sternwards.”

  “How are they doing?”

  “According to the Lucy, they’re okay. Four of them are climbing an air well. If all goes to plan, they should meet you on this level in another five hundred metres.”

  “Four of them?”

  “They left another two on the lower level. You’ll have to find some way to reach them.”

  “And how are we supposed to do that?” I asked.

  “They were hoping you might have AG harnesses.”

  “And do we?”

  “No.”

  “Then what the hell are we supposed to do?”

  “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

  “Thanks a bunch.”

  “Hey!” Clay’s voice was an urgent growl. “Will you two shut the fuck up? I’m trying to concentrate here.”

  I made a penitent face. “Sorry.”

  At the back of the capacious hangar, a tunnel led into the rock’s interior, wide enough to accommodate a four-lane highway.

  “We walk down the left side,” Clay said. “You stay ten paces behind me.”

  “Wouldn’t it make more sense to walk down the middle, so we can see anything that leaps out?”

  “Having the wall beside us will make it harder for them to sneak up on us. We’ll only have to keep watch in one direction.”

  “Fair enough.”

  I watched her walk ahead, and waited until she’d taken ten cautious steps before I followed.

  Our footfalls echoed in the vastness. Everything else was still and silent.

  “You know,” I said hesitantly, “the Trouble Dog’s started referring to me as her sister.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s nice for you.” Clay wasn’t really lis
tening, concentrating instead on the tunnel ahead.

  “Well, the thing is.” I took a deep breath. “I know we’ve had our ups and downs, but I’m kind of used to having you around, and we’re heading into danger and all…”

  “And what?” Clay didn’t look around. She kept her pistol aimed along her line of sight, her left hand gripping her right wrist. “Spit it out.”

  “And I was wondering if you’d be my sister too?”

  She was silent for a minute, and I thought I’d pushed things too far, too precipitously. Then she turned and looked me in the eye.

  “I reckon I could do that.”

  “Do you mean it?”

  She gave a shrug.

  “I never had much family. I mean, there were a few people from when I was in the marines, but they’re all dead now.”

  I felt something hot in my chest, like a ball of molten wax.

  “So, we could be family? You, me and the Dog?”

  “Sure.”

  I swallowed back an upwelling of emotion. Since my parents died, the only person I’d even come close to considering family had been Sedge. And he was long gone.

  “Thank you.” I felt like hugging her. “I mean, that’s great. You won’t regret it.”

  Clay glanced around, checking for possible threats. “Okay,” she said. “But do me a favour and shut up about it now. Don’t make it weird.”

  “I won’t. It’s just—”

  “Shush.”

  She started walking forwards again, knees slightly bent and gun at the ready. Every sense alert for danger.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  JOHNNY SCHULTZ

  My hands were sweating against the shiny plastic of the wall padding. My forearms ached with the strain of maintaining my grip. The cushion below felt spongy beneath my feet, but just rigid enough to take my weight.

  “How are you doing?” Addison asked, leaning out from the opening in the side of the shaft.

  I bit back the first reply that came to mind. “I’m okay,” I said instead. “It’s a bit slippery, but it’ll be fine if we’re careful.”

  I watched her swing out onto the wall beside me.

  “Dig your toes in as far as they’ll go,” I told her. “If you try to rest your weight on the edge of the cushion, you’ll slip off.”

  She didn’t need my advice. With her hands and feet pressed into the gaps between the pads, she clambered towards me as if she’d spent half her life climbing like this.

  Lucy followed her, and Bernard brought up the rear.

  I tried not to look down, but the depth of the shaft below chewed at the edge of my awareness, sending cold, vertiginous shivers through my neck and shoulders. I could feel every one of the thousand metres of empty air between the unseen bottom and me. Reflexes older than humanity were telling me to cling unmoving to the wall, to dig in and hold on. My hands were claws, my toes curled as if trying to grasp a branch, and actually moving forward required every speck of determination I could muster.

  I tried to concentrate on our goal: the wide opening forty metres above us. From here, it seemed almost impossibly distant, and I felt my earlier optimism wilt. In order to climb upwards, I had to bring a foot up level with my hands, and then use that toehold to lunge upwards and grip the rim of the next pad. It was a clumsy and precarious process, although Addison seemed to be coping well, and Lucy scurried upwards like a caffeinated spider monkey, seemingly devoid of both fear and caution. Only Bernard seemed to be having as much difficulty as I was. With each movement, he let out a small, irritated grunt, and his rifle swung loosely on its strap, its butt bumping against the backs of his legs. Several times, he cursed loudly in both English and French. But each upward lunge we made—each row of pads scaled—brought us a metre closer to our goal, and that much closer to our rescuers.

  After a while, despite the protestations in my arms, I began almost to enjoy it. For the first time since the crash, I didn’t have a decision to make. All I had to do was look for the next handhold, and pull myself up to it. And while hauling myself upwards one row at a time was awkward and dangerous, it was still just a case of repeating the same actions over and over again. I didn’t have to think too hard about what came next.

  And then Lucy slipped.

  I heard her squeak and looked up in time to see her falling towards me. With no time to think, I grabbed at her and caught her arm. The shock of stopping her fall almost pulled me from the wall, and I found myself gripping on with one hand while she dangled from my other, her feet kicking futilely in the empty air a thousand metres above the bottom of the shaft.

  I didn’t have the strength to lift her.

  “Help.” The word came from between gritted teeth.

  “Hold on!” Addison started working her way around to me, moving as quickly as she dared.

  “I’m trying.” I couldn’t feel the hand gripping Lucy. My shoulder felt as if it was being slowly torn from its socket, and our combined weight was too much for the pad on which I stood; I could feel the edge sagging beneath my heels. If it collapsed too far, I’d lose my foothold and slip, and then we’d both be screwed.

  How long would it take to fall a kilometre? How would it feel to see the bottom of that expectant throat, and know nothing could be done to avoid it?

  I tightened my grip on the wall. At the same time, I heard a shout from below. Gil Dalton stood on the ledge where we’d left him. He was holding my gun and pointing it down, into the shaft. I looked beyond Lucy’s upturned face and saw movement on the wall. At least three of the lobster-like metal freaks were pulling themselves towards us from the depths. Their spiked feet made thumping sounds as they punched through the vinyl-like wall padding, seeking purchase. Their pincers clacked and their jaws snapped.

  Dalton fired. The flashes lit up the shaft. The reports echoed up and down. But still the creatures came on.

  I felt Addison beside me. Pulling together, we heaved Lucy far enough that she could regain her hold on the wall.

  “Thank you,” she said, as if thanking us for inviting her to tea. Then she started climbing again, scurrying upwards far faster than I could have managed, even if I weren’t now exhausted.

  “Be careful,” I called after her, but she didn’t seem to hear.

  Dalton fired again. I saw one of the crawfish jerk as a bullet put a dent in its armoured casing. But the beast kept climbing.

  “Go,” I said to Addison.

  Below, Bernard was fumbling with his rifle, trying to unhook it from its strap while clinging one-handed to the wall.

  “Don’t stop,” I called to him. “Keep climbing.”

  He looked up at me, eyes wild with terror.

  “This is your fault!”

  One of the crustaceans was directly beneath him, but still a few metres out of attack range. He finally managed to free the gun and hold it pointing downwards, with the tip of the barrel resting against the heel of his boot. As I watched, he pulled the trigger three times. Each shot jerked his shoulder upwards and rocked him against the wall. The first missed. The crawfish took the second on one of its armoured claws. But the third got through. It hit the animal in the face, blowing a chunk of flesh and gristle from the upper jaw. I think it took out an eye as well, but I couldn’t be sure. A discordant scream filled the shaft, and the creature swayed. Two of its legs came away from the wall and flopped uselessly.

  Bernard turned and glared up at me. His teeth were bared, his face contorted with fear and revulsion. He couldn’t climb one-handed. He let go of the rifle and allowed it to fall. It bounced from the shell of the wounded crawfish and fell end over end into the darkness.

  Bernard pulled himself up onto the next row of pads. Now he was only a couple of metres below me.

  “Come on!” I crouched as far as I could. My arms burned from holding Lucy, but still I thrust out my hand.

  Bernard’s lip curled. Fear and panic were turning to anger. He reached up, but was still a good half a metre short. He opened his mouth to
say something, but didn’t get the chance. Before he could speak, the wounded beast made a last, flailing leap, and closed one of its pincers across his legs, from left knee to right hip. For an instant, I saw cold realisation whiten his eyes. Then the creature fell back into the shaft. Its weight ripped him from the wall and dragged him down, kicking and thrashing, into the abyss.

  Gunfire rang up the shaft as Dalton opened fire from the ledge where we’d left him. His shots rattled off the nearest creature’s carapace like hail off a skylight.

  “No!” I shouted. “Stop!” But it was too late. If the creatures had followed us up the shaft, Dalton and Santos may have stood a chance of remaining undiscovered. But now the beasts knew where he and the chef were, and all they had to defend themselves with was my crummy rifle—which they had been left to defend themselves with, not to unnecessarily draw attention.

  In frustration, I squeezed the padding to which I clung. I was unarmed. Even if I started back down the wall, what could I do to help? By the time I got there it would be all over, and I’d simply be throwing myself against the monsters barehanded.

  Above me, Lucy and Addison were almost at the opening we needed to reach. I should have hurried to catch them, but I was frozen in place as the first creature pulled itself up onto Dalton’s ledge.

  The doctor had backed out of sight, retreating into the corridor to protect his injured crewmate, but he kept up a steady fusillade. Muzzle flashes threw shadows across the walls of the shaft. I saw the metal crawfish shiver as a bullet struck home. But it continued to advance, until it too became lost from sight. I heard three more shots, and then an indignant cry, followed by a gurgling scream. Flesh tore and bones snapped. Behind it all, Santos hurled curses at the beast. Then his tone changed as the monster advanced on him. I heard sounds of a scuffle, as if objects were being thrown against metal plating. There was a final, booming expletive. Then the chef’s voice rang out in a long, throaty howl of anger that seemed to fill the shaft before breaking down into a series of smaller cries.

  I could feel hot tears burning the corners of my eyes. But I couldn’t move. Everything seemed far away and unreal. Below, the third crawfish advanced towards me, but my limbs wouldn’t move. My grip on the wall refused to loosen.