Salvaged

by Madeleine Roux

  Rosalyn squeezed her eyes shut. “I hate this. I hate this so much.”

  The engineer reached out and took Rosalyn’s hands, holding them tightly. “I know you do, but this can’t all be for nothing. There’s going to come a moment when you want to stay, and it will feel like the right thing to do. But, Rosalyn? Running can be brave.”

  It was Misato who had called her a survivor, even after she confessed to running from home and her pain. Could she know what it really meant, to have that choice validated? She didn’t ask and it didn’t matter. Rosalyn listened and squeezed her hands back, then pulled Misato toward the cockpit.

  “We should get back,” she said.

  “Rosalyn? Chickadee.”

  “I heard you,” Rosalyn told her, flinching away. “I heard you.”

  * * *

  —

  After all of Edison’s warnings, the landing turned out to be routine. He expertly maneuvered the Brigantine to the lowest level of the station, cutting the main thrusters and using the smaller precision boosters to glide them gradually to an open bay. The ship bumped into place, but the usual magnetized clamps didn’t engage. Without them, the Brigantine would float slowly away, unmoored.

  “Shit. I’ll have to secure us manually,” Edison muttered. Misato had brought his environmental suit to the cockpit, and he struggled into it while nodding toward the flight screen. “Misato, keep us steady while I take a look out there. I should be able to secure the ship from the mobile platform, but if not, I’ll have to find the dockmaster’s terminal.”

  “I’m going with you,” Rosalyn announced.

  Edison shot her a warning look. “It’s too soon. We don’t know what it looks like out there.”

  “We’re not staying here no matter what,” Rosalyn replied, planting herself near the air lock in the gallery. “I won’t wander away, I just want to get a look.”

  “Stop wasting time and let her go, Edison.”

  “You know, for a while there, I thought I was the captain,” he groused, yanking up his suit with an irritated growl. “Fine. Pressurize and prepare for outer doors.”

  Misato seemed quite at home in the captain’s chair and quickly followed his instructions, though it was doubtful she needed them. Rosalyn watched him approach and lightly adjusted one of the loose toggles on his helmet seal.

  “Are you nervous?” she asked softly.

  “Don’t leave my side,” he said by way of answer. “I’m serious, Roz.”

  He knew something. She read it in his face, in the way his jaw ground and ground; his eyes, even transformed by the Foxfire, were distant and distracted. And if he knew something, then that meant it had to do with his malady.

  “The samples,” Rosalyn whispered as the air lock doors hissed and shrieked. The Brigantine rocked. “You can sense them, can’t you? They’re close.”

  Edison’s eyes flashed at her. He looked on the verge of tears. “It’s more than that. A lot more.”

  They waited together side by side at the doors, then he stepped out first, into the pressurizing antechamber and then through the round open portal to the platform. Rosalyn heard her boot land on the flat like a clap of thunder. She could have heard dust settle if she tried. It was silent, completely abandoned, ships left docked and empty, no sign of any workers or crew. Edison gazed around, twisting to look up at the higher docking bays and toward the central flight control tower with its huge, rectangular bay windows.

  He stopped at the end of the short ramp leading from the ship to the docking flat, then turned right, finding the mobile terminal assigned to this bay. On a normal shift, a Servitor or human worker would be there to assign them to a specific customs line, double-check the crew manifest and confirm how long the ship intended to stay. When everything checked out, the crew would be allowed to leave the ship unattended.

  But there was nobody. Edison leaned down to inspect the terminal.

  “Well, it’s functional,” she heard him say as she stopped at the end of the ramp.

  “But?”

  They both jumped and reached for each other as an earsplitting blast came from the intercom. It was an emergency tone from the flight tower, a swath of orange light traveling across the flat in time with the jarring horn.

  “Reactor breach detected, evacuation in process, please proceed to emergency pod bays on levels 1-B and 1-C. Do not run. Use caution when engaging elevators and shuttles.”

  The automated voice sounded far, far too calm, given the circumstances.

  “Reactor breach?” Rosalyn repeated when the air around them was again leaden and dead. “That’s not a failure, right? It could even just mean some hardware malfunction. Maybe that’s why everyone is gone, they evacuated already.”

  Edison hunched over the mobile terminal and sighed. “I know I teased you for being a reformed pessimist, but the reactor breach is the least of our problems.”

  “What do you mean? They called for an evac; the station is probably completely empty.”

  He closed his eyes and shivered, his hand falling slowly over the manual lock lever. “No, you have to listen to me. The station isn’t empty. It isn’t. I can feel them, Roz, and they’re everywhere.”

  40

  Half of a Servitor’s body lay slumped on the ground just beyond the mobile terminal. Rosalyn hurried to inspect it, crouching and poking at its lifeless husk.

  “Look at this,” she whispered. Even her own voice, filtered as it was through her suit, was startling in the dense silence. She could swear it echoed.

  Edison joined her after securing the ship, and she could hear movement from inside as Misato cut the boosters and engine, powering down the Brigantine. He knelt and pushed over the Servitor, then pointed to the joint where the main chassis had been severed from the lower half of the machine’s body.

  “It’s like it was pulled clean in half,” he said, then turned and looked down the walkway leading to the customs platform and the control tower. “Rosalyn, I think you should get back on the ship and stay there. Coming here was a terrible idea.”

  “What? No! No, we’re finally here and I’m not going to just hide.”

  “Something’s not right,” Edison continued, taking her hand and pulling it close to his chest. He flattened her palm over his heart and waited until she stopped arguing. “There is Foxfire everywhere but it’s . . . it’s like they’re dormant. Sleeping. I can sense them, but they’re not moving or communicating. Misato and I can go deeper and have a look around, then come back for you. This way, if anything happens, you can at least autopilot back to campus.”

  “I agree.” Misato stood with arms crossed at the end of the ramp.

  “Not you, too! This is ridiculous. I survived this long and I can survive this, whatever it is!” Edison opened his mouth to fight her but she clapped her hand over his visor. “I’m the way you keep it together now, Edison. You can use that song, but you know I’m the stronger anchor. I can keep you in yourself, you know I can.”

  He pulled her hand away, breathing heavily. His shoulders slumped. “She’s right, Misato, but first thing’s first: We need to find her a weapon. And we should move fast; I don’t like the sound of that reactor breach.”

  “We need to get to the maintenance hub for diagnostics. None of the ordinary terminals would allow access to that kind of information. I’m sure I can . . .”

  She trailed off mid-thought, staring straight through Rosalyn. That wasn’t good. They watched Misato’s eyes flicker once, twice, and then blaze into pure, blistering white.

  “Oh, shit,” Rosalyn whispered.

  Edison put out a hand to silence her. Rather than the usual swift attack on Rosalyn’s helmet, Misato didn’t seem to notice her at all. Or she saw her, but quickly lost interest. Instead, she drifted by them, as if pulled along by an invisible string or an intense magnetic force. She said nothing, immune to their
wide-eyed staring as she marched down the walkway toward customs and processing.

  “Misato?” Rosalyn stage-whispered. “What’s happening to her?”

  “She’s being called somewhere, summoned,” he murmured. She hadn’t actually expected a coherent answer from him, but was grateful that he hadn’t gone white-eyed and spooky. Taking his hand, she pulled him forward, following in Misato’s trail.

  “I can’t explain it,” Edison went on. “It’s calling me, too, but it’s . . . like there’s a time delay. Each word bounces around in my head for a while. It doesn’t sound anything like the Foxfire I’m used to. It’s Mother, but coming in a hundred different voices.”

  “What did that sound like?” Rosalyn asked, trying to keep Misato in range. She was going faster now, walking with real purpose.

  “Mother but flat, no emotions,” he said. “Still a woman’s voice. She sounds . . . kind. Worried, almost.”

  “Right, I wouldn’t fall for that.”

  “Stay close,” Edison told her, latching onto her arm. “We’re going to need each other.”

  Rosalyn wasn’t complaining. The thought of being alone and hunted by Foxfire-infested people in that massive space station while it went into core breach made her stomach burn with anxiety. Clinging to the bigger, stronger Edison at least allowed the illusion of safety, or the illusion of prolonged survivability odds. The vast dark echoed around them, safety lights illuminating the path forward, blinking yellow, then green, then back to yellow. She had no idea where to look or for how long, convinced that danger could be and was lurking in every possible nook. The other ships might not be empty, she thought, glancing at them with hostile suspicion. They could be filled to the brim with white-eyed, crazed passengers just waiting to tackle her and bring her into the cluster.

  She froze, certain she saw a shape move among the windows hanging above them, where the Servitors and ground crew organized and cleared incoming and outgoing ships.

  “Up there,” Rosalyn whispered, pointing with a nod. “I saw something move. My AR isn’t picking up a signal, but I don’t trust anything anymore.”

  “I’ll watch Misato, you watch our backs.”

  “And then? We’re not exactly armed,” she reminded him.

  Edison had no answer for her. Rosalyn kept her eyes fixed on the windows, but nothing moved there again, and she promised herself it was just a trick of the eye, or one of the flashing emergency lights reflecting oddly. They reached the customs kiosks, completely abandoned, work tablets still poised and at the ready. A Servitor’s foot, cleanly severed, still stood, as if the body had been whisked away mid-interview. A handful of crates to be inspected were stacked next to the foot, unopened. Misato disappeared into the shadows on the other side of the rounded walkway leading through customs and toward the main elevators.

  They needed to hurry. Edison nudged her along with greater haste while Rosalyn peered in every direction, a cold, slimy feeling crawling over her neck whenever they passed an open doorway.

  “Kenopsia,” she whispered, head turned and eyes trained behind them as he hauled her toward the elevators. Misato waited for a car to be called, her body unnaturally stiff and still. The doors were opening, a friendly golden light spilling out onto Misato’s head.

  “What?”

  “It’s like that bizarre feeling you get when you’re in a place that should be filled with people but isn’t.”

  Not just a weird feeling, a hollow one, an eyes-on-you-from-every-direction-at-once feeling. Which was ironic, considering Rosalyn hadn’t spotted another soul on the station except for Misato. But she trusted Edison’s instincts, so perhaps it wasn’t so strange to feel as if she was going out of her skin with untold numbers of Foxfire agents waiting for them somewhere inside.

  The central bank of elevators led to the last security staging area, which was a mandatory stop before getting clearance and being allowed access to whatever segments of the station involved your stated business. The cantinas and retail spaces could be reached by anyone, but many of the corporate offices required an additional step, usually a rotating pass card or code. Rounded banks of stories-tall windows looked down onto them, and as they neared the elevators and Misato disappeared into them, Rosalyn felt her heart sink to her toes.

  “You were right,” she gasped, gazing, transfixed by the pulsing blue light pouring out from the windows above. “They’re everywhere.”

  Rosalyn collapsed with relief as the elevator doors closed with a hush. Sheer terror and Edison’s arm had been keeping her upright, but now the full weight of what she had seen barreled into her, dropping her to the floor. Vaguely, she heard Edison programming the elevator. Of course he knew which floor. That thing was calling to him, too. If she hadn’t been there, close to him, he would be going to it as blindly as Misato.

  She tried to make sense of the mayhem. The glittering growth of Foxfire along the Brigantine’s walls and ceilings was disturbing, but this was far worse by comparison, like a typhoon next to an afternoon shower. The only word that came close to describing it was hive. It was like a hive, blue and webbed and shining. It was much worse than the ship, worse than a smatter of blackish, lichen-like growth with twinkling blossoms. No, it was an overwhelming riot of color. Nothing that she could see moved among it, yet it breathed.

  Rosalyn hugged herself, feeling the dread in her gut spiral into panic. Breathe, she reminded herself, drawing air but only suffocating. The harder she tried to breathe, the less air came in. Wheezing, groaning, she rocked back and forth, squeezing her middle hard until it ached, until she felt like her chest was caving in. How long would her oxygen filters last in an environment all but choked with dangerous spores?

  “Talk to me.”

  His voice cut through the attack, her face hot and covered with sweat. She blinked up at him, pursing her lips, sealing a sob inside her throat.

  “You were right,” she hissed. “I should have stayed on the ship.”

  “No, no. We knew it could be bad. Remember? You told me to prepare for the worst,” Edison told her, holding her and leaning into her in a rocking motion. Somehow it felt better, less painful when he did it with her. “We’re in the worst now, and I need you to help me get through it. We can help each other now.”

  “It’s too much. You saw it. It’s too much . . .”

  He cupped her visor, raising her face to his. His eyes were still that too-bright blue and it frightened her, but at least the color seemed warmer beaming from his face. She expected platitudes or begging, but all she wanted was to stay there on that elevator floor until it could go down again and bring her back to the ship. The floors dinged by, moving fast, bringing them swiftly to that horror she had glimpsed from below.

  “Tell me the plan,” Edison said, touching his helmet to hers.

  Rosalyn blinked. The plan. Her mind spun into a frenzy without her meaning for it to. A plan. She licked her lips, which were cracked and stickily dry. “M-Misato has JAX’s hard drive. We need it.”

  “That’s good. What else?”

  “Search the manifests,” Rosalyn whimpered. “Search Piero’s handle, find out where he got the Foxfire in the first place and make sure this was the only point of origin. We should be able to check the numbers we found with his badge, too, see if those launch dates coincide with any pickups.”

  Oh God. The elevator stopped, the door opening with an eerily cheerful chime. With the evac, the floors should have all been lit for the emergency, flooded with whirring yellow warning lights. But it was all turquoise, glittering like the insides of a sapphire struck by a sunbeam. She couldn’t close her eyes, couldn’t look away, even while every reasonable fiber in her body begged her to blink.

  Edison raised her unsteadily to her feet and she slumped against him, only moving forward because she refused to be dragged.

  And the worst part. The worst part . . .

 
“What’s happened to them?” she breathed.

  They stood just outside the doors, which closed with another happy chime, a sound from out of time, not this time, not this nightmare. The floors were covered in the same gummy webbing and growth as the walls, lapis bright. Strands of it, ropes of it, hung between railings, over visitor signage, over the lights, blotting out whatever the station floors might have looked like, covering it instead in brilliant blue. It almost hurt her eyes to look.

  But the people. Most were in a state of decomposition so advanced it rendered them inhuman. Mounds of rounded fungus protruded from skulls and abdomens, bursting from bellies with reaching, arcing stems. Spores puffed out of the flowering ends, sending streamers of particulate white into the air, a winter-dense snowfall of pollen. Other workers and occupants were less disfigured, simply sitting hunched against the wall. One man looked as if he were napping, head tilted against his shoulder, mouth parted as if to snore.

  “Is this what you become?” Rosalyn whispered, clinging fiercely to his side, then realizing the true horror of it and tearing herself away. She had forgotten Misato. The plan. The looming and then that she had no answer to.

  Edison seemed almost not to hear her. He looked beyond her shoulder, to the curving, tall corridor of the fifth floor, where the blue carnage butted up against a glass office door. No, not butted up against, spilled from. It was quite obviously the epicenter of whatever had happened here, most likely an unwitting customs worker opening a Foxfire sample, not knowing what they were unleashing on the station.

  “That way,” Edison said. He shrugged helplessly at her. “The call, the voice, it’s coming from that direction.”

  “Wait.” Rosalyn tugged hard on his arm, pulling him away from the hideous mounds of overtaken people to the waist-high directory across from the elevators. A low panel, lit from each side, showed a layout of that corporate floor, with directions to each separate company. Blue film covered the map, but Rosalyn wiped it away, leaning down to study the schematic. Her AR chimed, pairing automatically with the kiosk.