Vishal bent to check the dressings on the leg of a Marine and then said, “True, true. But the xeno knows how to heal, yes?”
“Yes,” said Kira, thinking of how it had joined Carr and the Jelly. Sometimes too well.
“Then perhaps it could join a new arm to you. I do not know, but it seems capable of great things, Ms. Kira.”
“The Varunastra.”
“Indeed so.” And he smiled at her, showing his bright white teeth. “Aside from the injury itself, I can find nothing wrong with your arm. You tell me if you feel any pain, and I will look at it again, but in meantime, I do not think it is necessary to take any special precautions.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Of course, Ms. Kira. My pleasure to help.”
Back outside the sickbay, Kira paused in the hallway, hand on hip, and took a few seconds to collect herself. What she really needed was time to sit and think and process everything that had happened.
But, as Vishal had said, time was short, and there were things that needed doing. And not all of them were so obvious—or straightforward—as combat.
From sickbay, she headed toward the center of the ship and the lead-lined storm shelter set directly under Control. She found Nielsen standing by one of the seven cryo tubes mounted along the walls. Trig lay inside the tube, his face barely visible through the frosted viewplate. Smears of dark blood still discolored his neck, and there was a slackness to his face—an absence—that Kira found unsettling. The body before her didn’t feel like the person she knew but rather an object. A thing. A thing devoid of any animating spark.
Nielsen moved aside as Kira walked over and put a hand on the side of the tube. It was cold beneath her palm. She wasn’t going to see the kid again anytime soon. What was the last thing she’d said to him? She couldn’t remember, and it bothered her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. If she’d been faster, if she hadn’t been so careful to keep the Soft Blade under control, she could have saved him. And yet, maybe not.… Given what she now knew about the creation of the nightmares, letting go was the last thing she should have done. Using the Soft Blade was like playing with a motion-activated bomb; at any moment it could go off and kill someone.
What was the answer, then? There had to be a middle way—a way that would allow her to operate not from fear but a sense of confidence. Where it was, though, she didn’t know. Too much control and the Soft Blade might as well be nothing more than a glorified skinsuit. Not enough and, well, she’d seen the result. Catastrophe. She was trying to balance upon a knife’s edge, and so far, she’d failed and it had cut her.
“Eat the path,” Kira murmured, remembering Inarë’s words.
“It’s my fault,” said Nielsen, surprising her. The first officer joined her by the front of the cryo tube.
“No, it’s not,” said Kira.
Nielsen shook her head. “I should have known he would do something foolish if he thought I was in danger. He’s always acted like a puppy around me. Should have sent him back to the ship.”
“You can’t blame yourself,” said Kira. “If anything … I’m the one responsible.” She explained.
“You don’t know what would have happened if you let the suit act on its own.”
“Maybe. And there’s no way you could have known that Jelly was going to pop up. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
After a moment, Nielsen relented. “I suppose. The thing is, we should have never put Trig in that situation in the first place.”
“Did we really have a choice? It wasn’t much safer on the Wallfish.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s right. He’s younger than both my sons.”
“He’s not a child, though.”
Nielsen touched the top of the tube. “No, he isn’t. Not anymore.”
Kira hugged her, and after her initial surprise, Nielsen hugged back. “Hey, the doc says he’ll live,” said Kira, pulling away. “And you did make it. Everyone on the Wallfish did. I bet Trig would consider that a win.”
The first officer managed a wan smile. “Let’s try to avoid any more wins like that from now on.”
“Agreed.”
5.
Twenty-eight minutes later, the Darmstadt exploded. One of the nightmares controlled by the Seeker managed to hit the UMC cruiser with a missile, rupturing its Markov Drive and vaporizing half the ship.
Kira was in Control when it happened, but even there, she heard a loud “Fuck!” echoing up from the injured Marines in sickbay.
She stared with dismay at the holo of the system—at the blinking red dot that marked the last location of the Darmstadt. All those people, dead because of her. The sense of guilt was overwhelming.
Falconi must have seen something of it on her face, because he said, “There’s nothing we could have done.”
Perhaps not, but that didn’t make Kira feel any better.
Tschetter contacted them almost immediately. “Captain Falconi, the Jellies with me will continue to provide you with as much cover as possible. We can’t guarantee your safety, though, so I’d advise maintaining your current burn.”
“Roger that,” said Falconi. “What sort of shape are your ships in?”
“Don’t worry about us, Captain. Just get back to the League in one piece. We’ll take care of the rest. Over.”
In the holo, Kira saw the three friendly Jelly ships darting in and around the larger conflict. Only four of the hostile Jelly ships remained, and most of the nightmares’ had been disabled or destroyed, but those last few were still fighting, still dangerous.
“Gregorovich,” said Falconi. “Crank us up another quarter g.”
“Captain,” said Hwa-jung in a warning tone. “The repairs may not hold.”
He looked at her with a steady gaze. “I trust you, Song. The repairs will hold.”
Gregorovich cleared his simulated throat, then, and said, “Increasing thrust, O Captain, my Captain.”
And Kira felt the weight of her limbs increase yet again. She sank into the nearest chair and sighed as the cushioning took some of the pressure off her bones. Even with the help of the Soft Blade, the extra thrust was far from pleasurable. Just breathing took noticeable effort.
“How much time does that save us?” Falconi asked.
“Twenty minutes,” said Gregorovich.
Falconi grimaced. “It’ll have to do.” His shoulders were hunched under the force of the heavy burn, and the skin on his face sagged, making him look older than he was.
Then Nielsen, who was on the other side of the holo, said, “What are we going to do about the Marines?”
“Is there a problem?” Kira asked.
Falconi lay back in his own chair, allowing it to support him. “We don’t have enough cryo tubes for everyone. We’re four short. And we sure as hell don’t have the supplies to keep anyone awake and kicking all the way back to the League.”
Apprehension formed in Kira as she remembered her time without food on the Valkyrie. “So what then?”
An evil gleam appeared in Falconi’s eye. “We ask for volunteers, that’s what. If the Jelly could put Trig into stasis, then it can wrap up the Marines. Doesn’t seem to have hurt Tschetter.”
Kira exhaled forcefully. “Hawes and his men aren’t going to like that, not one bit.”
Falconi chuckled, but beneath it, he was still deadly serious. “Tough. Beats having to take a walk out an airlock. I’ll let you inform them, Audrey. Less of a chance they’ll punch a woman.”
“Gee, thanks,” said Nielsen with a wry expression. But she didn’t complain any further as she carefully pushed herself out of her seat and headed down to the hold.
“Now what?” Kira asked once the first officer was gone.
“Now, we wait,” said Falconi.
CHAPTER VIII
SINS OF THE PRESENT
1.
The day had started early. One by one the crew, the Entropists, and the Marines still able to walk gathered in the galley. With so many
people present, the room was cramped, but no one seemed to mind.
Hwa-jung and Vishal took it upon themselves to heat and serve food to everyone. Despite the ration bars she’d consumed earlier, Kira didn’t refuse the bowl of rehydrated stew when it was pushed into her one remaining hand.
She sat on the floor in a corner, with her back propped against the wall. At 2.25 g’s, it was by far the most comfortable option, despite how much effort it took to get up or down. There, she ate while watching and listening to the others.
On each table, a holo displayed a live view of the ships behind them. The projections were the main focus of attention; everyone wanted to see what was happening.
The Jellies and the nightmares were still skirmishing. Some had fled to planet c or b and were currently chasing each other through the fringes of the atmosphere, while another group—three ships in total—were diving around the star, Bughunt.
“Looks like they still think they have plenty of time to catch us before we go FTL,” said Lt. Hawes. He was red-eyed and grim; all the Marines were. The losses they’d suffered during the escape from the planet, as well as the destruction of the Darmstadt, had left them looking hollow and withdrawn, shattered.
Kira thought it was an accurate representation of how everyone on the ship felt.
“Fingers crossed they don’t change their minds,” said Falconi.
Hawes grunted. Then he looked at Kira. “Once you’re up for it, we need to talk with the Jelly. This is the first chance we’ve had to communicate with one of them. The brass back home is going to want every bit of intel we can squeeze out of that thing. We’ve been fighting in the dark until now. It’d be nice to have some answers.”
“Can we do it tomorrow?” said Kira. “I’m wiped, and it won’t make any difference if we can’t escape first.”
The lieutenant rubbed his face and sighed. He seemed even more exhausted than her. “Yeah, sure. But let’s not put it off any longer.”
While they waited, Kira withdrew deeper and deeper into herself, as if she were retreating into a shell. She couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d learned about the nightmares. She was responsible for creating them. It had been her own misguided choices, her own fear and anger that had led to the birth of the monstrosities currently running rampant among the stars.
Even though Kira knew that, logically, she couldn’t be blamed for the actions of what the humanoid nightmare had called the Maw—the twisted, mutated fusion of Dr. Carr, the Jelly, and the damaged parts of the Soft Blade—it didn’t change how she felt. Emotion trumped logic; the thought of everyone who had been killed in the conflict between humans, Jellies, and the nightmares made her heart ache with a dull, soul-crushing pain that the Soft Blade could do nothing to alleviate.
She felt as if she’d been poisoned.
The Marines ate quickly and soon returned to the hold to oversee preparations for the transition to FTL. The Entropists and the crew of the Wallfish lingered about the holos, quiet save for the occasional murmured comment.
At one point, Hwa-jung said in her blunt way, “I miss Trig.” To that, they could only nod and express their agreement.
Partway through the meal, Vishal looked over at Falconi and said, “Is there enough salt for you, Captain?”
Falconi gave a thumbs-up. “Perfect, Doc. Thanks.”
“Yeah, but what’s with all the carrots?” said Sparrow. She lifted a spoon piled high with orange disks. “Always seems like you put in an extra bag or something.”
“They’re good for you,” said Vishal. “Besides, I like them.”
Sparrow smirked. “Oh, I know you do. Bet you keep carrots hidden in sickbay to snack on when you’re hungry. Just like a rabbit.” And she made a nibbling motion with her teeth. “Drawers and drawers full of carrots. Red ones, yellow ones, purple ones, you—”
A flush darkened Vishal’s cheeks, and he put his spoon down with a loud clack. Kira and everyone else looked. “Ms. Sparrow,” he said, and there was an uncharacteristic note of anger in his voice. “Always you have been, as you put it, ‘riding my ass.’ And because Trig admired you so much, he did the same.”
With an arch expression, Sparrow said, “Don’t take it so seriously, Doc. I’m just ribbing you. If—”
Vishal faced her. “Well please don’t, Ms. Sparrow. There is none of this ribbing with anyone else, so I would thank you to treat me with the same respect as I treat you. Yes. Thank you.” And with that, he went back to eating.
Sparrow seemed embarrassed and taken aback. Then Falconi gave her a warning look, and she cleared her throat and said, “Sheesh. If you feel so strongly about it, Doc, then—”
“I do,” said Vishal with definitive firmness.
“Uh, then sorry. Won’t happen again.”
Vishal nodded and continued eating.
Good for him, Kira thought dully. She noticed a small smile on Nielsen’s face, and after a few minutes, the first officer got up and went to sit next to Vishal and started talking with him in a low tone.
Soon after, Sparrow left to check on the Jelly.
Everyone had finished eating, and Nielsen and Vishal were washing up, when Falconi trudged over to Kira and carefully lowered himself onto the floor next to her.
She watched without much curiosity.
He didn’t meet her gaze but stared somewhere at the ceiling across the room and scratched the day-old stubble on his neck. “You going to tell me what’s bothering you, or do I have to pry it out of you?”
Kira didn’t feel like talking. The truth about the nightmares was still too raw and immediate, and—if she was honest with herself—it made her feel ashamed. Also, she was tired, tired right down her to bones. Having a difficult, emotional discussion felt like more than she could deal with at the moment.
So, she deflected. Motioning at the holos, she said, “That’s what’s bothering me. What do you think? Everything’s gone wrong.”
“Bullshit,” Falconi said in a friendly tone. He gave her a look from under his dark brows, the blue of his eyes deep and clear. “You’ve been off ever since we got back from that Jelly ship. What is it? Your arm?”
“Sure, my arm. That’s it.”
A crooked smile appeared on his face, but there wasn’t much humor to his expression. “Right. Okay. If that’s the way you’re going to be.” He undid a pocket on his jacket and slapped a deck of cards down onto the floor between them. “Ever play Scratch Seven?”
Kira eyed him, wary. “No.”
“I’ll teach you then. It’s pretty simple. Play a round with me. If I win, you answer my question. If you win, I’ll answer any question you want.”
“Sorry. I’m not in the mood.” She started to stand, and Falconi’s hand closed about her left wrist, stopping her.
Without thinking, Kira formed a cuff of spikes around her wrist, spikes sharp enough to cause discomfort though not sharp enough to draw blood.
Falconi winced but kept hold of her. “Neither am I,” he said, his voice low, his expression serious. “Come on, Kira. What are you afraid of?”
“Nothing.” She sounded unconvincing even to herself.
He raised his eyebrows. “Then stay. Play a round with me.… Please.”
Kira hesitated. As much as she didn’t want to talk, she also didn’t want to be alone. Not right then. Not with the leaden ache in her chest and the fighting going on in the system around them.
That by itself wasn’t enough to change her mind, but then she thought of the scars on Falconi’s arms. Perhaps she could get him to tell her the story of how he acquired them. The idea appealed to her. Besides, there was a part of her—buried deep inside—that really did want to tell someone about what she’d learned. Confession might not make things any better, but perhaps it would help lessen the pain in her heart.
If only Alan were there. More than anything, Kira wished she could talk with him. He would understand. He would comfort and commiserate and perhaps even help her find a way of solving the galactic-l
evel problem she’d caused.
But Alan was dead and gone. All she had was Falconi. He would have to do.
“What if you ask something I really don’t want to answer?” Kira said, a bit of strength entering her voice.
“Then you fold.” But Falconi said it as if he were daring her otherwise.
A sense of rebelliousness stirred within Kira. “Fine.” She settled back down, and he let go of her wrist. “So teach me.”
Falconi examined the hand she’d poked and then rubbed it against his thigh. “It’s a points game. Nothing special.” He shuffled the cards and started to deal: three cards for her, three for him, and four in the middle of the table. All of them facedown. The remainder of the deck he set aside. “The goal is to get as many sevens or times sevens as possible.”
“How? By multiplying the cards?”
“Adding. One plus six. Ten plus four. You get the idea. Jacks are eleven, queens twelve, kings thirteen. Aces low. No jokers, no wild cards. Since each player has seven cards, counting the shared ones,” Falconi indicated the four cards on the deck, “the highest natural hand is a straight sweep: four kings, two queens, and an ace. That gives you—”
“Seventy-seven.”
“For a score of eleven. Right. Cards always keep their face value, unless—” He held up a finger. “—unless you get all the sevens. Then sevens are worth double. In that case, the highest hand is a full sweep: four sevens, two kings, and a nine. Which gives you…” He waited for her to do the math.
“Ninety-one.”
“For a score of thirteen. Betting is normally done after each shared card is turned over, but we’ll make it easy and just bet once, after the first card. There’s a catch, though.”
“Oh?”
“You can’t use your overlays for the adding. Makes it too easy.” And a message popped up in the corner of Kira’s vision. She opened it to see a prompt from a privacy app that would lock their overlays for as long as they both chose to use it.
To Sleep in a Sea of Stars Page 54
