Salvage

by Charles Brass

  Shifting debris off me, I crawl from beneath the drone. With effort, I rise to my feet. The back of my right knee, where something has been poking me, feels hot. My other aches have multiplied in severity. I activate the sensors in my suit. It performs a scan and reports there’s no blood or other fluids floating about.

  Both cradles are covered with debris, most of it metal. Makes sense–all the components close together like this created the strongest focus of pseudo-gravity in the room. The fourth and final component remains clutched in the arm’s grip. I pull and jerk the debris free, careful not to sling any back into motion, then lean close and do a quick inspection. The components look undamaged, the cradles intact. Debris has also pelted the drone. But again, though the metal’s scuffed, I see no damage.

  Everyone slowly rises to their feet. Leader and whoever’s helping him free K-3, lift him up. The person nearest me approaches. It’s K-4, the arm operator. “Raise your arms,” he says in our native tongue. “Let me have a look.”

  I remember the inspection Geen gave me when we first put on our suits. I turn slowly, let him examine me up and down. He clears away small rocks and metal shards that have snuck into my suit’s nooks and crannies. When he’s done he claps a hand to my shoulder.

  “Looks good.”

  “Raise your arms,” I say. I take my time, checking every crease and crevice, every length of flexible piping, the suit’s many patches, and even the bottoms of his boots. I clear away over a dozen small bits of rock and metal, then drop a hand onto his shoulder when I finish. “Everything looks intact. Free of debris.”

  He nods. “Let’s go check on the others.”

  K-3 does have a gash in his suit, on the outside of his right knee. But a quick-stick patch resolves the issue. H-4 limps noticeably as he tries to walk off his pain. “God damn,” he mutters with every other step. “God damn.”

  Leader looks at each of us in turn. “Everyone else looking good? Any suits with malfunctions?”

  No one says anything.

  K-4 crosses to where the first reactor used to sit. The metal at the top is crumpled, the piping and circuitry jutting out. Small bits of debris bounce off his suit. “It looks like it came apart right there.” He points toward the ceiling, where a large space rimmed with jagged rock and splintered metal has opened up. “Something buckled the metal and rock right out of position.”

  As a group we slowly make our way to where he stands. I grab one of the spotlights that’s come to rest on the plating and turn its light into the gash. Alloy sparkles within.

  I’m the first to see them.

  “Hey! Look!” I jiggle the spotlight, then point with my free hand. “Are those... boots?”

  * * *

  My hearts race, and my pips sputter with each breath. Blood flushes my neck. My aches fade from my awareness.

  The presence of those boots changes everything.

  It’s inexplicable, this feeling. I’ve only just glimpsed the boots, only just come to understand I’m looking at human feet. Kavax and humans can sometimes exchange footwear. But my first glimpse of these boots, there in the spotlight, convinces me these are human feet.

  A single thought blasts through my mind: This is it. This is the reason for everything.

  There’s an exchange of words over the comm. I pay little attention. The shadows shift as the others pile cargo pods together until one person is able to climb high enough to reach the boots. A few jostles, a few tugs, and the rest of the body slides free, along with more debris.

  It’s a human male. We gather around as the kavax who pulled him free floats him at about waist level. Debris continues to swirl about, most down around our knees. We focus our lights on our newfound prize.

  One of the kavax asks, “What you think? Fifty, sixty years old?”

  Leader bends close. “It looks like there’s some sort of... glaze over his skin.”

  He’s right. Thin, nearly transparent–visible where the edges catch the light. It disappears beneath the clothing.

  He taps the human’s cheek with a fingertip, then the right eyelids. There’s no give–the man’s flesh is as solid as the outpost around us.

  “Is he dead?” K-4 asks.

  “Must be,” says another kavax–K-3, I think. “He’s exposed to vacuum.”

  “Desiccated.” This from H-4. “Exposure to the vacuum of space desiccates a human body. And kavax and byveri, too, I suppose.”

  “Well, he ain’t desiccated,” says Leader. “Look at his eyelids. He’s still got eyeballs. And his cheeks, there. Ain’t shrunken in.” He prods the human’s neck and shoulder. “Got plenty of meat left on him, too.”

  “Just frozen then?” says K-3.

  “I don’t think it’s that, either,” Leader says. “I mean... He looks... Damn. Ain’t never seen nothing like this.”

  I make an effort to slow my breathing. Regain my composure. He’s not dead. I don’t know how I know this, but to me it’s an incontrovertible fact. He’s not dead. He’s been here all along, waiting for someone to find him. Waiting for us. Waiting for me. But I keep these thoughts to myself.

  H-4 shines his light back into the hole above. “Where’d he come from? What’s up there?”

  Others cast their lamps toward the ceiling. Leader says, “He was up in there, in that... chute. But what the hell? That space wasn’t in any of the schematics.”

  “How recent were the schematics?” asks H-4. He’s balanced on his good leg.

  “Recent enough.”

  I look up at the hole, then back down. The human, face frozen in the first stages of a frown or scowl, looks older than Leader, has broad cheeks and a smooth chin. A rugged face, with edges–sort of like Mr. Tremp, but thinner. Gaunt. Thin lips. Short dark hair cropped close. Faint scars mar his skin, one on his forehead above his right eye, others on his cheeks, one on the side of his neck. He’s seen fighting–could he be Fleet? His clothes are rather generic–a simple dark tunic beneath a thigh-length, buttoned-down workcoat, and plain pants with pockets on the thighs. Simple boots. His hands are clenched into fists. I peer at his face. His teeth might be clenched as well. Like he was expecting... pain?

  I remember what Geen revealed about the outpost’s previous owners. Could this be one of them, a member of the Black Diamond? If so, must’ve been someone important within the organization, to have had this... whatever done to him. If he was here when the Unity Fleet attacked…

  Those scars... Not Fleet. Maybe from fighting them?

  The thought is chilling, and gives me pause.

  But this is it. This is why everything’s happened. As strange as it is, the thought sticks hard. This is why I’ve ended up at this spot in this place at this time. This human. I have no idea what’s happened to him, or how. There’s always new technology coming out from somewhere–I’ve seen it enough on the pilot’s deck, even in my brief a career. How the human ended up like this could be something entirely new, for everyone here.

  It’s my goal now to learn what happened. Maybe fix it. Find a way–

  “So what do we do with him?” H-4 asks. “We can’t very well bring him with us.”

  I open my mouth, but Leader replies first. “We damn sure well can’t leave him here. Shit.”

  His voice has an edge. I wonder then if he knows who the outpost’s previous occupants were–rumored to be, anyway. The thought’s stupid. Of course he knows. He has to know. Who else would’ve told Geen?

  “Is there room on the sled?” one of the kavax asks.

  “We’ll make room,” Leader says.

  I find my voice. “There’s always room.”

  Leader looks at me. His expression is inscrutable. But I decide, Yes, he knows. So he knows this human might be one of... them.

  “It’s settled,” he says. “Let’s finish here and get the hell on our way.”

  “I’ll check the remaining scanners,” K-3 says. “Make sure nothing else is about to come apart.” He and another kavax head to the second core we pilf
ered. The operator takes his place at the arm and picks debris from the control plates. Leader, H-4, and the remaining kavax join me in jerking debris from the cradles on the drone’s cargo bed.

  “Pilot, check the integrity of the cradle arms,” Leader says. “Make sure nothing’s been jostled loose.”

  “Acknowledged.” I head toward Geen’s work area to get the scanner, stepping over and around debris. Small bits bump off my faceplate.

  “K-4, report.”

  “The arm looks intact. Self-checks all show green.”

  “Good, good.”

  They wait for me to check each of the cradle arms. “Looks like nothing hit hard enough,” I announce. “Everything’s in place and tight.”

  “Fantastic. Let’s finish this. We only have an hour left before our transport back to Chalico swings by.”

  I check my faceplate. Leader is correct. The hour for our departure is creeping upon us. Based on my last check, we’d lost a good twenty minutes dealing with the fallout of the ceiling rupture.

  K-4 nudges the arm into motion. The final component, already close, settles into position with our help. The kavax with the drill clamps the brackets. K-4 draws the arm back. The rest of us step away from the cargo bed.

  “We’re done here,” Leader says. “H-4, help Pilot with the drone. Get things ready at the sled.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  I corral my focus and walk the drone to the hangar bay, slowly at first, trying not to kick up any more debris. The drone seems to know this and takes exaggerated steps until we’re in the corridor. I park the drone by the sled and power it down. Only our suit lamps illuminate the space. I realize according to the schedule, a patrol has passed by.

  “Hell of a thing back there,” H-4 says.

  I grunt, not wanting to say more. “How’s the knee?”

  He grimaces. “Gonna be hell getting out of this suit. But worth the pain.”

  “Yeah. Something’s been poking the back of my knee.”

  “Oh, shit, man, I feel that. Always something with these damn suits.” He pats beneath his left axilla. “Got something right here that’s been jabbing me all job long. Three days of shit like that are enough to drive any man crazy.”

  Light appears in the right-side corridor. It’s the two humans I last saw in the pocket. They’re carrying cargo pods.

  One of them says, “Pocket’s disassembled.” He lowers his pods to the plating.

  The other places his pods by the first stack, then points at the cradles. “Is that them? Thought they’d be bigger.”

  “All four, and all intact,” H-4 says. He limps beneath the sled.

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  “Oh, man!” H-4 laughs. “Wait’ll you hear about this shit!”

  As they talk, I climb into the pilot’s chair and bring the sled to life. Its spotlights brighten the hangar bay. I check the systems–nothing amiss. Then the reserves of propellant and power. Neither should be a problem–providing the components don’t make piloting the sled an amusement park ride.

  “Frozen, you say?” one of the men asks H-4.

  “Or something,” he says. “Leader seems intent on bringing him with us. I say leave him. Don’t need that shit.”

  The other man asks, “You think he was a scientist here? Got all froze up in some sort of accident?”

  The first man grunts. “Would the Unity Fleet cluster the outpost if they knew he was here?”

  H-4 laughs. “Shit. U-Fleet don’t give a crap about no one. They probably clustered this place because the guy was here all froze up like he is. Covering up their mistake. No telling what kind of technology does something like that. Maybe it’s something new from the Sha-Ho. Or stolen.” He sounds excited.

  “Yeah, well,” the second man says, “we still got jobs to do.” He raps the first man on the chest. “Let’s pack up the curtain.”

  “You two go on ahead,” H-4 says. “My knee kinda hurts real bad now.”

  I climb down from the pilot’s chair. “Anything I can do for you?”

  “Not unless you got some whiskey squirreled away in your suit there.” He waves me off. “I’ll be fine. Been hurt worse than this. Expect Leader to have some good pain meds when we get back to the station. Something he can give me when I pop this damn helmet off.”

  I point at the sled. “Need help climbing up?”

  “Naw. I’ll get up there all right. Let’s load the cradles on first, get them latched down, so me sitting there won’t be in the way.”

  “You think the two of us can do that?”

  “No, no. Wait for the others. How’s the sled?”

  “Ready to go.” I glance at the timer in my faceplate. We need to be on our way within the next twenty-five minutes. So much for a test flight.

  The two humans working on the curtain have it down and disconnected from the supporting rods. While one folds the first half of the fabric, the other begins disassembling the rods. H-4 limps over. “Hey, I can at least help with that.”

  Leader and the four kavax emerge from the left-hand corridor, the human floating between them. Each carries a pair of cargo pods, which they stack along the wall.

  “All right, good,” Leader says. “Let’s get the cradles loaded. Then we can stash this fellow somewhere between them.”

  “What about the rest of the gear?” I ask. There’s hardly a quarter of the cargo pods in the hangar bay than when we started out.

  Leader waves. “The drones will pack up whatever we miss. Sling them out to my freighter as it passes by over the next few weeks.” He looks around. “Gonna be some things we’ll have to throw away. Can’t really help that now, I figure.”

  We gather around the first drone’s cargo bed. One of the kavax unlatches it from the drone. It vibrates in my gloves.

  “All right, lift on three,” Leader says. “Nice and easy now.”

  We crouch.

  “One... two... three.”

  We raise the cargo bed to the height of our helmets. It wobbles in my grasp, as though water’s sloshing around inside the thin metal. It’s the pseudo-gravity. There’s a substantial pull toward the sled.

  “K-1, K-2. Get up on the sled,” Leader says. “Everyone else, keep a tight grip now.”

  Two of the kavax climb up. We work together to position the drone’s cargo bed onto the sled’s larger bed. The two kavax then drop down, and we repeat the process. Then we all climb on board the sled and lash the cargo beds in place. The cradles tug hard at our suits, drawing laughs.

  “Don’t no one get stuck now,” K-4 warns.

  Leader says, “Now, let’s get him on board.”

  We position the human between the four cradles. A few straps keeps him from floating free. Then Leader points to a dark shape on the plating by the right-side hatch.

  “One of you climb down and grab him.”

  I realize the dark lump is Geen, still curled into his tight fetal position. I’m ready to climb down to get him myself, but one of the kavax beats me. I’m still fixated on the human we found.

  By the time we lash Geen in place, the humans working on the rods and curtains have nearly completed their tasks. The four kavax move off to help. Leader climbs down and activates the two drones, sends them down the left-side corridor. I settle into the pilot’s chair, maybe for the final time, and plug myself in.

  “Are you ready, Pilot?” Leader asks.

  “Affirmative.” I switch my faceplate data to the sled’s instrument panel. Plotting a reciprocal course back to the freighter takes just a moment. I plan to let the sled’s AI do most of the maneuvering, but I’ll have my hands on the control sticks, just in case our cargo causes problems.

  The disassembled rods are stacked among the cargo pods. A few pods are loaded onto the sled and strapped down. Everyone takes their seats.

  I notice movement through the hangar bay opening and tense. But it’s only the freighter, coming in from the right. I relax.

  “Right on time,” Leader
says. “Pilot, if you will?”

  My muscles tighten again, but this time not in alarm. Tingles run down my limbs. The thrill of piloting again strikes as hard as it did before we left the cargo container. I query the sled. It confirms all systems are ready. I retract the anchors and fold the landing skids.

  “Launching.”

  A nudge to the control sticks sets us into motion. I laugh.

  Once we’re clear of the hangar bay, I thrust the sled harder. Quick maneuvers reveal that she’s a little back-heavy, that I may need to give some extra thrust during certain maneuvers. I settle us into our reciprocal path back to the freighter. Once again, we’re exposed to any watching eyes. But so far Leader’s schedule has allowed us to avoid them. A few more minutes and we’ll no longer have to worry.

  I have all the debris in our path highlighted. Sensors warn me as we approach each. I correct our flight to avoid them. It’s hard not to overcompensate. I burn a lot of propellant keeping us on track and on time. We’re still a bit ahead of the freighter, and a bit below our cargo container, which I can see now. As the minutes pass, the freighter slowly catches up. We ascend to the level of the now-open container.

  Hearts beating fast, I spin us around so the freighter’s behind us, then thrust on the colis axis to match its speed.

  “Looking good, Pilot, looking good,” Leader says.

  I scrutinize the alignment grid in my faceplate, double checking that we’re at the right speed and elevation to back into the open container. Then I nudge us backwards. Giving just enough thrust that the grips at the end of the cargo container latch on. Data streams running across my faceplate confirm we’re secured. As if in agreement, the cargo container hatch swings shut.

  I’m breathing hard, my neck is warm, my arms and legs tingly. This is it, I realize. My job is done. My part in the operation is over.

  “Well done, Pilot,” Leader says. Cheers from the rest accompany his praise.

  Readouts in my faceplate indicate the power and air cables from the cargo container ceiling are now attached. I drop the sled into stand-by mode and slump in my chair.

  It’s over. Geen would be proud. I check my timer. Sixty-two hours. Another two until we reach Chalico Station, then fifteen or twenty minutes to get the cargo container moved. I wonder how Leader will handle the cradles. No doubt he has equipment waiting. The station’s gravity will be a lot stronger. That’ll make moving the cradles more of a challenge. Nothing the Leader hasn’t experienced before, probably. Assuming he even unloads the cradles. Makes sense to me he’d leave them on the sled, in the container. Keep the container hidden.