by Alex White
“I’ll watch the scan! You drive!” shouted Boots, reaching across the console and slamming down the throttle.
“Hey!” Then Nilah spotted the incoming crag. “Oh.”
They shot through the cavern at breakneck speed, but Boots couldn’t make out a thing through the tumble of rocks and dust. Every instinct shouted for her to watch the unfolding carnage, but she kept her eyes and hands on the scanners. It wasn’t so different from the Midnight Runner, she told herself.
A mountain of rock smashed the ground in front of them, and Nilah swerved around it, narrowly avoiding a pancaked demise. She dove under an archway of cracking earth before ramping off a small hill.
“Yes!” she roared, eyes wild with adrenaline.
“Jump charge fifty percent,” said the Devil.
Boots tried to hang on while she pinged the superstructure ahead for fighter bay–sized cavities. Another sharp turn slammed her temple against the passenger side window. Between the different deposits and wildly changing environment, there was so much interference—maybe too much to get a fix.
“Boots, darling, let’s have those coordinates!” said Nilah, skidding past a rolling boulder.
“Almost got it!”
But it was all static. Boots frantically searched for any suitable ingress, but every time she saw a hole, it closed or fizzled away. She glanced up to see the flat wall of the Vogelstrand in the distance, brightly lit by the Devil’s visual enhancements.
Then a massive chunk of rock crashed down before the ship, obstructing their view.
“Boots!”
“I know!”
“Jump charge ninety percent,” said the Devil, the only calm one in the cabin.
Boots’s eyes traveled the scanner readouts, and a black spot reappeared where one had been before—a void.
Hell, why not?
She tapped the spot and sent it to the jump computer. “Coordinates locked!”
The wall of stone rushed toward them, and either they’d jump—or be splattered against it. Once more, pink energies coated the hull, and the Devil rent space asunder. Bright light filled their view, and Boots shut her eyes. Her restraints cut into her chest and blood prickled her cheeks as they went screeching to a halt, all tires stuttering against the ground.
Nilah was laughing.
More like cackling.
It clashed somewhat with the blaring of alarms.
Boots creaked her eyes open and cut them in her companion’s direction. Nilah was nearly wheezing with ecstasy, bent over the steering yoke with a huge grin on her face. Boots looked out of the windscreen to see a roiling column of black smoke, a conflagration under desperate siege by ancient fire suppression systems.
She spotted the overwrought decorations and Originata outside, and her heart skipped a beat; they’d made it aboard the Vogelstrand. For so many years, Boots had swindled and lied about things far less important than this place. Now, the only thing between her and a major piece of human history was a layer of tank.
“I’m detecting a nasty fire outside,” said the Devil. “Are we pleased about that, or should I put it out?”
“You can do that?” asked Boots.
“I’m designed to cause destruction wherever I go,” said the Devil. “My creators were wise enough to include top-notch catalytic firefighting capabilities.”
“Please,” said Boots.
The canister launchers spat out a pair of silver, glyph-covered balls into the encroaching flames, which snuffed out instantly in their presence. Then the balls sucked in all the smoke, storing it inside their tiny hull, and the glyphs went out.
Nilah finally took a breath to give Boots a big smile and say, “I’ve still got it, mate! I’m the maestro of motors! Did you see that bloody driving?”
Boots gave her a pained look as she loosened her harness. “Closed my eyes at the end. I’m sure it was incredible.”
She shrugged. “’S all right. Going to make you all watch the playback on the ship.”
Their comm dinged once. “Insertion team, this is Sleepy. Please report.”
“Alive and well, sir,” said Boots. “We’re inside the Vogelstrand.”
“What do you see?” asked Malik. “Our video uplink is being scrambled by interference.”
“Good question,” said Boots, flipping the imagers to low-light mode.
A wide-open bay spread before them, its walls covered over with thousands of fleshy vines. Dotted among the framework of leaves were human-sized blossoms, their petals a startling vermilion, and they pulsed in slow time—breathing. Nearest the armored carrier, the plants were mere carbonized stencils on the wall, and a few casket-sized pods hung open.
This had been the ship’s hibernation bay, and those vines had cracked open the pods and eaten everyone inside.
“The air outside is safe,” said the Devil. “Should I prepare the personnel area for egress?”
Boots stared, wide-eyed, at the deadly plants slithering around the walls. “No! No. Uh, nope, we’re good. Maintain internal cabin pressure and initiate biohazard protocols,” she said, hoping that was one of the Devil’s features.
Their ears popped as the pressure increased a little, and the Devil replied. “Easily done. Please know that you are all safe within my confines.”
“Devil, make sure none of those vines touch us,” said Nilah.
“Supreme Being, I can energize the hull with a one hundred–enra flash charge of arcane power,” said the Devil. “Any life-form that attempts contact with us will be nothing more than dust and a bad smell.”
“Devil,” said Nilah, “we need to get to this ship’s engineering deck. Any passages we can use?”
“This ship’s layout isn’t in my exhaustive data banks. However, I can attempt a likely-choice analysis based on object recognition and scanner reflections.” A glowing, golden line appeared on the HUD, indicating they should turn around.
A thick bundle of vines shot out from the wall, entangling into a bone-barbed harpoon and striking at the windscreen like an asp. A bright crack lit the cargo bay, and only a cloud of swirling ash was left.
“I can continue this hull charge for three point five years,” said the Devil. “I do hope that creature makes another attempt.”
“Pretty cocky, for a car,” said Boots, grimacing at Nilah. “I see why you two get along.”
“Har-har,” said Nilah, shifting into drive. She tapped the personnel comm. “Stay strapped in back there, we’re moving out.”
She made a three-point turn and rumbled toward the exit of the bay, where the gold line made a hard right. As they rolled through the corridors, Boots was struck by the extraordinary decorations of the ship, covered over by centuries of rot. Long trails of algae dripped from atmospheric scrubbers, growing in the cool water of the condensers. The Vogelstrand either couldn’t clean itself or hadn’t bothered to do so. She recognized various components from archival photos of the expansion period, but she wasn’t sure what most of them did. Baron Gaultier would probably love to get his hands on just one mundane piece of tile from the ship.
“Hey,” said Orna. “Pensive and Spyglass are complaining of nausea, but I’m fine. You two feeling anything up in the cockpit?”
“Negative,” said Boots, checking Nilah, who shook her head. “We’re good. What’s going on?”
“Pensive says he’s going to barf,” said Orna, “and… Oh, the wall just dispensed a medical waste bag for him.”
“Not everyone can handle my more exciting maneuvers,” said the Devil. “I’m equipped for that.”
“Don’t ruin my new-car smell,” said Nilah, nostrils flaring.
“It’s not the maneuvers,” said Jeannie, audibly gulping. “There’s something wrong with this place.”
“Psychic resonance?” asked Boots. “All the semi-dead people?”
“That’s a reader stereotype,” said Jeannie. “It’s not a real thing, and—”
“Okay, they’re barfing,” said Orna. “Let’s get so
me AC back here.”
They came to a blocked door where the golden line terminated. Boots checked the readouts and saw a titanium composition, not the regraded steel of a modern ship.
“Would you like me to clear the obstacle?” asked the Devil, autoslinger turrets locking into place on either side of the cockpit.
Nilah smirked. “Would you, love?”
The turrets roared to life, transforming the blast door into a molten orange blob. The Devil rolled over the entrance, and on its hull integrity readout, Boots watched it pick up each articulating tire like it was stepping over something disgusting.
“My god, it’s like easy mode,” Boots chuckled. “We ought to board more ancient ships this way.”
“Why, thank you,” said the Devil as they came to a narrowing in the passageway.
This corridor was clearly meant for pedestrian crew, three meters across by four meters high. Boots’s heart sank at the possibility that they might have to get out of the Devil, and behind them, a creeping bed of vines eagerly followed their progress.
“Maybe we could jump to engineering?” asked Boots, searching the scanners.
“Nonsense,” said the Devil, wrenching them hard left as it placed its articulating wheels onto one wall and ramped up onto its side, slinging them about the cabin.
Boots grunted, hanging limply from the restraints, and wished this monster of a car had internal gravity drives.
“Oh, my god, warn me next time!” shouted Orna. “Oh, ugh. Ugh! Pensive dropped his bag.”
“Not to split hairs, love,” said Nilah, “but this disgusts you? You have literally torn people in half.”
“Inside Charger!” came Orna’s reply. “Who, by the way, is probably starting to get a complex about being vomited on!”
Nilah whistled nervously as they continued deeper into the bowels of the ship. The Devil easily squeezed through doorways and around corners, wriggling its segmented body through the labyrinth like a rat. The ship kept closing doors in their path, and they kept blasting them. Boots was relieved when they came level next to a bank of elevators.
“I love this bloody thing,” said Nilah, petting the steering yoke. “You’re a little beauty, yes, you are.”
Boots pointed to the nearest cargo lift. “That’s where the line is taking us, to the engineering deck. If we try to ride the elevator, the Vogelstrand is probably going to drop us to the bottom of the shaft.”
Nilah nodded and grabbed control of the weapons array. “Agreed.”
She jerked the trigger and blew the door to molten shards, then crept forward until only the front bumper of the Devil was inside. A lift car came whooshing down at them, and she nailed it with a few shots before backing into the hallway. The broken carriage went plummeting to the bottom of the shaft in a flaming skeleton.
“Okay,” said Boots. “That works.”
Nilah tapped the personnel comm. “We’re going down, and gravity might get funny on us. Be ready.”
“Sure,” said Orna. “Thanks.”
The Devil slid into the elevator shaft, bracing its wheels on opposite walls.
“Next stop, engineering.”
They were almost out of the shaft when they lost traction.
The transport’s bumper caught on the jagged elevator threshold as the ship’s gravity attack tugged it loose. For a moment, they were in freefall—no, faster than freefall. The Vogelstrand was accelerating their doom, sucking them down into its lower decks.
A pair of grappling hooks shot out of the front of the Devil, their tow cables spiraling as they flew. The hooks popped a pair of guidance thrusters, making an abrupt turn into the open elevator doors on the engineering deck. Boots and Nilah slammed back into their seats as the tires caught and the Devil began to winch them up.
At long last, they emerged onto the engineering deck, their guts in a twist, and Nilah rolled to a stop a few meters onto level ground.
“On a scale of one to five, how pleased are you with my response?” asked the Devil.
“That gets a five from me,” said Nilah hoarsely, her dermaluxes green.
“Thank you, Supreme Being. We’ve arrived on the engineering deck.”
The light amplification systems projected their surroundings onto the windscreen, rendering each panel and conduit in perfect detail. Boots’s heart skipped a beat as she recognized the pathway that Witts’s team had taken. This was where Mostafa had been shot, which meant the computer core wasn’t far.
It all seemed so surreal. Just two years ago, she’d been barely scraping by, eating reconstituted noodles and drinking whiskey out of the bottle, and now she was salvaging Quintet War–era colony ships—with a healthier diet, sadly. Boots’s love of mysteries had taken her beyond civilized space into the arcane unknown.
“I suggest we take this slow,” said Boots.
The personnel compartment door slid open, filling the cabin with the stench of sickness, and Orna poked her head through.
“We’ve got a problem,” she said. “Jeannie and Alister are just about to hyperventilate back there.”
“Should be smooth sailing now,” said Boots.
Orna shook her head. “I don’t think it’s motion sickness. Take a look.”
Boots unstrapped herself and peered around the corner into the personnel bay; it was a pretty bad mess in there. One of the biohazard bags lay tipped over, its contents massaged all over the room by the shifting gravity.
Then she saw Jeannie and Alister, faces locked in pain, palms pressed into their eye sockets.
She turned to Nilah. “Get us somewhere safe. Looks like we should’ve brought the good doctor after all.”
Chapter Thirteen
Illumination
Nilah tapped the lockdown button, and thick spikes on pistons braced the Devil against all surfaces within reach.
“Defensive mode engaged,” said the Devil, a little too confidently. “Would you like to designate any friendlies outside this vehicle, Supreme Being?”
“Anything bothers us, you blow it to hell, mate,” said Nilah, unstrapping and following Boots into the back.
The smell bowled Nilah over, and she did her best to breathe through her mouth. Boots knelt before Alister, checking his vitals, and Orna did the same for Jeannie.
Nilah patched through to the Capricious. “Sleepy, come in. There’s something wrong with our twins. Looks like they’re in a lot of pain.”
“It’s… like something is trying to get out of my head,” said Jeannie.
“Okay,” said Malik, “first, we’re going to need to validate that nothing has broken the outer seal of your vehicle. I don’t know the precise nature of those magical pathogens we saw in the recording, but we have to assume they’re a biohazard.”
“I’ve maintained full hull integrity the entire time, and I’m equipped with the best NRBCA filtration systems on the market,” said the Devil, “so you’ll want to look elsewhere for causes. You have all been exposed to the atmosphere of this planet. I can scan you for the presence of known contagions.”
“No need to be defensive,” said Nilah as a scanning arm popped out of the ceiling. She positioned it over Alister’s head, and it began to hum as the sensors inside spun up.
“Scanning,” said the Devil. “Negative, organ inflammation. Negative, elevated white blood cells or blood and lymphatic toxicity. Negative, known curses and magical effects. Blood pressure elevated. Pulse elevated. Extreme synaptic activity detected.” The scanning arm switched off in a descending whine. “This male appears to be thinking very hard about something, which could be creating psychosomatic issues.”
“Meaning?” asked Nilah.
“He’s worried sick, as they say,” said the Devil. “Is this his first combat operation?”
“Been in plenty of combat. Seen a lot more bodies than you ever will,” muttered Alister.
“Give me time and opportunity,” replied the Devil.
Nilah touched Alister’s damp forehead but felt no fever. “Wha
t’s on your mind?”
He shut his eyes, brow knitting together. “I don’t know. There’s just this… like… dread the deeper we go.”
“I feel it, too,” said Jeannie. “It’s like my mind is… wriggling in my skull. Thoughts keep bumping up against one another.”
“We’re not feeling any ill effects up here,” said Malik. “Boss, perhaps we should consider scrubbing the mission. Our crew could be in serious danger.”
“If we do that,” said Boots, “it’ll be harder to board the Vogelstrand a second time. Right now, it’s unprepared for us, but it has tried to stop us several times. Some part of that AI is still kicking around inside here. It might adapt some better defenses.”
“Like what?” asked Cordell.
Boots gave Nilah a grim look. “If the legends are to be believed, this ship would’ve had seed pods for hundreds of those Gardeners. If we gave the Vogelstrand time to sprout one, I bet it could mess up the Devil pretty easily.”
“If it can be killed, I can kill it,” said the Devil.
Boots shook her head. “Well, it can’t be killed, so thanks for playing. We might be looking at a monster or ten if we come back.”
“Hunter Two,” said Cordell in Nilah’s ear. “We’re on a private channel here. Malik thinks you can set the med bot on the Devil to monitor the twins, tranquilize them, and continue the mission. I’ve got Hunter One and Boots patched in, as well.”
Nilah stroked Alister’s hair and checked on the other Ferrier. Jeannie was no better, and they were terrible at comforting her. Boots and Orna looked to Nilah, conspiracy in their expressions.
“Sir, I respectfully disagree,” said Nilah. “You don’t put a hurt racer on the track, no matter the reason. It costs millions of argents to get a team to the track, but life is worth—”
“Hunter Two, you are not racers,” Cordell cut in, not rude, but final. “You are a paramilitary force that has killed civilian terrorists in Allied Space. Your advice is noted, but we must maintain mission integrity.
“This seems cruel,” Cordell continued, his tone a lot more consoling than Nilah was expecting. “I know better than most what it is to tell someone to go into danger, but I think Boots is right. The more we attack the Vogelstrand, the more likely it is to develop a viable countermeasure. Set the Devil to tranq them and move out.”
