by M. R. Forbes
The rest of the group started to laugh. Hayden shifted his aim and squeezed the trigger. The round hit the floor right beside the man.
"I'm not joking with you," Hayden said.
"No?" Tatoo asked. "You look pretty comical to me."
The man beside Tattoo was shifting, reaching for something. Hayden adjusted his aim again and fired. The man's head snapped back, and he toppled over, a half-drawn gun in his hand.
“Think it’s funny?” Hayden asked, getting angry. “Want to keep laughing?”
The remaining members of the group quieted, except for Tattoo.
“You have no grepping idea what you just done,” he said. “You kill one of the Scrappers; you have to deal with us all.”
Hayden didn’t hesitate. He shifted the rifle and fired again. The second member of the group died.
“I will if I have to,” Hayden said. “I’m already having a bad day.”
“It’s going to get worse for you, then.”
What was he doing? He wasn’t sure. Killing people was getting easier. Could it get too easy? Or maybe it had to be to survive out here. Compassion had been in short supply since Natalia had disappeared. Not from the Governor, not from his deputies, not from the girl he assumed was probably Gizzie, and not from these assholes.
“Answer my questions,” Hayden said.
“Or what?” Tattoo replied. “You kill me? Grep you.”
Hayden shifted his reticle to the man but didn’t shoot. “There was a woman. She found a body. That one, I think.” He motioned to the leg on the cooktop. “Have you seen her?”
Tattoo’s face changed, softening with a sudden understanding. He smiled wide. “Oh. Shit. Now I get it. You’re like her. You come from Inside. You come looking for her, mate? You her bitch?”
Hayden tried to keep himself calm. His heart was pulsing at the news that this guy had seen her and that she had been alive when he did.
“You’re worth a pretty penny, Insider,” Tattoo said. “Grepping treasure indeed. You got out. On purpose. Which means you know how to get back in.”
Hayden stared at the man, trying to decompile what he was saying. His eyes focused on the tattoo, finally identifying it.
An eagle. The USSF logo.
He heard a whisper from below, and he shifted his attention to the woman. She was leaning down, holding something in her hand and talking into it. A transceiver of some kind.
“You don’t know grep-all about grep, mate,” Tattoo said. “That uni will fetch a grepping treasure in the market; I’ll tell you that.”
Hayden fired again, hitting the woman in the side of the head. She collapsed.
“I can’t wait to cut your grepping head off and take it from you,” Tattoo finished. “But not till you shows me how to get inside.”
Hayden’s reticle landed on the man’s forehead. Tattoo was still smiling. Unafraid.
Hayden heard the echoes of feet approaching, too many to count, all coming toward the room at a run. The noise distracted him, and when he pulled the trigger, the bullet grazed Tattoo’s face instead, ripping a gash across the eagle.
Tattoo didn’t react. He didn’t even blink. He just stood there, smiling and unconcerned.
“Better run, Insider,” he said.
36
Hayden backed out of the hatch, turning his head back the way he had come. Ten men were rushing toward him, still a good two hundred meters away. It looked like they were armed, and the suspicion was confirmed when a slug hit the wall a few meters in front of him.
“Shit,” Hayden said, cradling the rifle.
He was tempted to use the secondary trigger, to send one of the explosive balls out to greet the men. But Metro’s waste system was just on the other side, and if it damaged the wall, he could wind up killing everyone inside.
He followed Tattoo’s advice, instead.
He ran.
He broke to the west, rushing headlong down the corridor at a sprint, thankful for the added boost of strength the body armor provided. He had gone a hundred meters when he heard a heavy crack behind him, and a moment later something hit him in the back. The impact threw him forward, sending him sprawling to the ground, the rifle coming from his hands. He felt the sharp sting on his muscles, but he didn’t think the round had pierced the plating. He pulled himself up as quickly as he could, risking a glance back.
Tattoo was standing in the doorway to the room, a revolver similar to the one he had taken from the girl in his hand.
Hayden bounced back to his feet, finding an intersection a few meters ahead. He sprinted toward it, laying out in the air to dive around the corner as Tattoo fired his cannon again. The round whizzed past Hayden’s ear, close enough he could hear it, before slamming into the opposite wall, punching right through.
Damn, he was an incredible shot.
Hayden got up again, running north along the new corridor. He had a headstart on the Scrappers, or whatever the hell they called themselves, but if Tattoo made it to the junction before he was out of sight? He didn’t know if the man would miss again.
He charged down the corridor, the threat of xenotrife forgotten. One enemy at a time. Malcolm had warned him about leaving Metro, but he doubted the Governor knew the full extent of it. A lot had happened on the Pilgrim over the years.
He shouldn’t have shot first. It was a mistake. He had pissed them off instead of trying to make allies. With cannibals? Besides, he had already killed the girl. The matching weapons made him pretty sure she was the one Tattoo had called Gizzie. He had been screwed before he entered the room.
He raced another fifty meters, coming to another intersection. Which way? He looked to the right. A dead crew member was splayed out on the floor. He looked to the left, back to the eastern side of the ship. Port, if he was facing the bow. He didn’t know if he was. It looked clear.
He turned that way. The more walls he could put between himself and the Scrappers, the better his chance of escaping.
He kept moving, desperate to keep ahead of them. He crossed another series of hatches, passing them without slowing. He heard one of them swing open, and when he looked back, there were a pair of xenotrife bounding toward him, their long limbs and light frames carrying them faster than he could run.
Damn it.
He grabbed the pistol on his hip, not trusting his aim with the revolver while running. He turned enough to fire back at them, more rounds missing than not. He emptied the magazine to drop them, taking them out before they could catch up.
He made another intersection, turning north. He kept going, another two hundred meters until he reached a central column, a circular room with a cylinder in the center. A lift. This was the main hub, which he assumed meant he was moving toward the bow of the starship.
A bullet hit the wall a half-meter ahead of him. He dove to the ground as more rounds smacked the area where he had been. He looked up, finding a fresh trio of Scrappers coming out of one of the other passages. One of them was carrying a transceiver of some kind, along with a gun. The other two had what looked like spears in their hands, wires running from the weapons to their backs. They were all wearing masks like the girl. Were they some kind of hunting party?
The man put the transceiver onto his hip, along with the spent pistol, reaching behind and withdrawing a similar spear. Hayden got to his feet as they approached, catching one of them with the pistol while reaching for Baby.
The apparent leader lashed out with the spear, using the butt of it to slap his gun hand. Hayden felt a shock from the blow, and his whole hand went numb, forcing him to drop the weapon. The other Scrapper moved in from the side, lashing out with the tip of the weapon, hitting the armor plating. A web of energy flared around it, but it didn’t pierce the protection.
“Pig wants him alive,” the leader said, stepping back cautiously as Hayden got Baby out in his good hand.
It was also his off hand, leaving him feeling incredibly exposed. He didn’t have time to linger on these two, not when Ta
ttoo was close behind.
“He’s got Gizzie’s popper,” the other man said, confirming that was the girl he had killed.
Hayden faced off against them, waving Baby to keep their spears at bay. He needed to figure something out if he was going to survive. He glanced over to the lift. The control panel was close. Could he reach it?
He had to try. He faked a slash with Baby, and then dove sideways, barely avoiding the spears that slapped down toward his feet. He reached out, hitting the control panel with his hand. It lit up, the word ASCENDING appearing on the display. It worked!
He stood with his back to the door as the leader came at him with the spear. He knew the plating on the armor would protect him, so he brought his forearm up, using it to deflect the weapon. He slashed out with Baby, nearly catching the man in the hip as he backed away again.
The second man had retreated, picking up his dropped pistol.
“Hey, frekton,” the Scrapper said, getting Hayden’s attention.
The weapon was aimed at his head.
The door to the lift opened behind him.
“Don’t,” the man said.
Hayden stood motionless ahead of the open lift door. He couldn’t let them catch him. He had to risk it.
He threw himself backward. The Scrapper fired, the bullet hitting the armored collar of the uniform, cracking the plating before deflecting away. As Hayden fell into the lift, he saw the Scrapper’s head vanish in a spray of blood and bone.
“I said alive!” Tattoo roared, entering the area.
Hayden pushed himself to his knees, reaching out for the panel with his left hand.
A blue light appeared, stretching across to the identification chip beneath the sleeve of the uniform. The display changed.
CONFIRMED.
The door slid closed as Pig’s face appeared in front of it, an expression of both displeasure and mirth mixing on his face as he raised the middle finger of his free hand.
“I seen your bitch, Insider. She’s on her way. You want her? Come and get her.”
37
Hayden let himself fall back onto the floor of the lift, breathing heavily as it descended. His right hand was tingling, the feeling starting to return to it. His body was burning, sore and tired.
He had escaped. Just barely. The lift had scanned the chip he took from the Governor, and it was taking him - where?
At the moment, he didn’t care. He was grateful to be alive.
Natalia was alive too, if the Scrapper, Pig, was to be believed. His words echoed in Hayden’s mind. She’s on her way. What the hell did that mean?
They knew about Metro. About the city inside the Pilgrim’s hold. They wanted to get in, but couldn’t. They must have known the door opened because of the turbs. Maybe the body she had found, Toko, had tried to get in, and was attacked by a xenotrife before he made it? Maybe the other Scrappers hadn’t been far behind, and had grabbed her before it closed again?
Pig knew Hayden had come out on his own. He was too well prepared for his exodus to be a mistake. Maybe that was something he could use.
Could he barter Malcolm’s identification chip for Natalia’s life?
Should he?
The possibility sent a chill through him because he knew he would trade every last one of them for her. He didn’t have to think that hard about it.
Then again, would Pig agree to that kind of deal? He seemed like the sort of man who would accept the terms and then renege as soon as it was convenient, killing him and keeping Natalia for whatever it was they wanted her to do. If they knew she was an Engineer, he could imagine they would find her incredibly valuable.
Besides, even if Pig didn’t stab him in the back, then what? They were all trapped on the Pilgrim together, and what kind of life would they have hiding from xenotrife and the Scrappers on the starship? The ultimate solution was still the same. He had to recover Natalia, and together they would find a way to get the ship back on course. To get them to their destination. Once they had a future, a real future, all of their options would expand.
What if that’s where she was right now? What if the Scrappers had taken her to the bridge, or to the engine room? What if they were already using her to find a way to get them to their new home?
It wasn’t crazy to think they had a shared goal. Nobody wanted to be drifting through space until the power went out, and Malcolm had suggested that was going to happen sooner rather than later. It was possible Natalia was not only still alive, but being treated fairly well.
He had to believe that. It was the most logical position, and it allowed him to continue to hold onto hope, even against what felt like crushing odds. He would find her. Knowing she was alive gave him fresh strength and motivation.
The lift came to a stop. Hayden looked up at the display on the control panel to see what deck they were on. Instead of a number, it read “RESEARCH.”
He didn’t linger; certain Pig would call the lift back up. When the door slid open, he pushed himself up and stumbled out, collapsing on the other side. The door closed behind him, and he could hear the lift rising again.
He wasn’t worried about the Scrappers reaching this level. The system had scanned the chip. This area was locked down.
He was safe. For now, anyway. He knew he couldn’t stay here forever, but if this area had been secured, there was a reason it was secured. Was there another weapons cache hiding down here?
He leaned back against the side of the lift, surveying the area. There wasn’t much to it. The hub was similar to Deck Seven, a rounded space with the lift in the center. Except there weren’t four corridors leading off in each direction. There was one directly ahead of the lift, sealed off by a hatch with a plate hanging on the wall beside it. The writing hadn’t been scratched off it because nothing had been down here.
In how many years?
Since the colonists had been sealed into Metro, at least. He was the first to enter the area in centuries.
He stood up, reaching for the closure to the armor and pulling it down. The suit expanded as he unzipped it, giving his body room to move in it again. He pulled it off, resting it beside the lift. The armor had saved his life multiple times, but he enjoyed the feeling of freedom to be out of it, and besides, he had to use the bathroom, an impossible task in the uniform.
He wasn’t sure where to relieve himself, so he moved to the other side of the lift and went. It smelled awful. So much worse than he remembered. Was it a result of the infection?
He had almost forgotten about that. Three months, Malcolm had said. He still didn’t want to believe it was true, but everything suggested it was. The Scrappers wore masks to protect themselves from the disease. Where had they gotten them?
Pig hadn’t been wearing a mask. Did that mean he was infected? Immune? Did that mean maybe they had a cure? He couldn’t imagine them living with the creatures for so long unless they could inoculate themselves somehow. The lift had called this place Research. Maybe there were no weapons down here, but a cure to whatever disease the xenotrife carried. Maybe the crew of the Pilgrim had been working on it when they were forced to lock themselves in Metro.
If they had abandoned this deck, maybe it wasn’t as safe as he thought?
He returned to the armor, pulling it back on. There was no reason to risk it, not now that his bowels and bladder were clear. He had lost both the rifle and the pistol, which didn’t make him happy. At least he had the revolver and Baby. At least he wasn’t completely unarmed. Still, it wasn’t nearly enough to confront the Scrappers again. It wasn’t nearly enough to wade back into an unknown number of xenotrife. He needed more. Could he find it here?
He headed to the hatch.
It slid open as he approached.
38
Hayden held the revolver in his hand, ready to use it if needed. He didn’t think he would have to, but he didn’t want to be caught unprepared. He walked through the corridor that connected Research with the lift, covering a hundred meters before reach
ing a second hatch that slid open ahead of him.
The room beyond it was dark at first, but the opening hatch seemed to signal it to come to life, a series of interior lights flickering on overhead and revealing a command center of some sort.
It reminded him of Engineering. Workstations with displays suspended in front of them. A board at the front to show information to all of the workers in the area. They all began to activate as he entered, the displays showing the USSF logo before switching over to individualized interfaces, all of the stations locked and requesting a passcode.
He stood at the entrance to the room and stared. It was nearly identical to Engineering, save for the fact that it was immaculately clean. Everything was white and silver, and while he would have expected a layer of dust to have settled over it after all of these years, it remained pristine and fresh, the particles filtered out of the area.
His eyes shifted to the lead station near the back of the room. It was on a slightly raised dais, giving the team lead a full view of everyone else from the position, and also the best view of the master display. It was the same area where Natalia had spent the most time, when she hadn’t been moving station to station, asking questions and encouraging her subordinates. She was a fantastic leader. So much better than he was. He could picture her there, looking up and smiling at him. Welcoming him to her department.
Only this wasn’t that. This was something else entirely. He didn’t understand what. The Pilgrim was a colony ship. What were they researching? Was it anything he could use?
He made his way to the lead station. The display was on, beckoning for a password. Jonas had given him Metro’s master code. Would it work down here?
He typed it in. The screen changed.
WELCOME ADMIN.
Admin? Was that the name of the head researcher? It didn’t matter. He was in.
The interface reminded him of the PASS. A query tool, and direct access to systems he didn’t understand displayed on the left. He stared at the screen, trying to decide what to ask it for.
