“Until Verux claims it as confidential and locks it away in a vault somewhere, threatening to sue us if we say anything. Informationisn’t enough,” I say. “Just like a video of us on board isn’t enough. Someone will say it’s faked.”
“I’ll go over the ship’s manifests and check my Forum threads for possibilities, see what I can find,” Nysus says. “Keep an eye out for something not only easily mobile but also pricey. We might not get anything else out of the claim once Verux is done with us in court.”
“Got it,” I say.
Kane appears in the passageway from the bridge. He watches me for a moment, long enough to make me squirm, but he doesn’t ask me if I’m sure. Doesn’t ask me to stay behind.
Which is good because I’m going either way.
“Remember, you’ve only got a couple hours of air,” he says finally.
At the end of every assignment, I’m always scratching the bottom of the barrel for resources for myself and my team. So, low air is nothing new. But Kane’s right; it’ll be easy to get distracted in this scenario. “I’ll keep an eye on it,” I say, resisting the urge to addI promise. He didn’t ask for that promise, and I shouldn’t be so inclined to give it.
Once Voller and I are suited up and in the airlock, Kane steps up to cycle the airlock for us. I could do it from this side, but his way is faster. And the space is small enough that Voller and I are forced to stand back-to-back. So yeah, faster is better.
I watch Kane through the visor on my helmet and the small circular window at the top of the door. The concern in his serious expression makes my heart lift slightly.
Be careful,he mouths.
I bob my head, which, in the suit, is a full-body movement. If this works, if we manage to pull off this claim, I’ll have my transport company. Kane will have enough money to support his daughter for three lifetimes.
The outer door on the LINA opens, and Voller and I stumble and trip over each other to the threshold.
“Airlock to the corridor entry in the northeast corner,” Nysus says in my ear. “Take it toward the center of the ship and that shouldlead you to the main staircase, and then follow that up toward the bridge for the black box. We’ve got your helmet feed on-screen, TL, but I also pulled up the ship schematics so I can talk you through it if we lose your visual.”
Our helmet cams are too old to be completely reliable. And even when everything is working at peak-for-us condition, Nysus can only have one of our feeds up at a time.
“Got it,” I say, flipping on the light at the side of my helmet.
Voller bounds off the lip and into the dim cargo bay, the microgravity field on the LINA releasing him with a suddenness that’s always startling to experience or witness. “This way to fame and fortune, bitches,” he crows. Then a moment later, “Nothing personal, TL.”
“Show a little respect,” Lourdes snaps at Voller. “People are dead.”
I follow him more cautiously, pushing off from the LINA in the direction we need to go. We’re outside the bright, comforting circle of LINA’s working lights almost immediately, leaving us just two bright specks in the darkness, which is a little… disconcerting.
A memory leaps forcefully to the foreground of my mind. Me, crawling through a darkened outpost corridor, feeling my way through to the generator room. My hand slipping over and then into soft rot, the slippery release of former flesh. The smell of “used to be a person” curling up in my nose until I gag and…
I shudder inside my suit, my palms going sweaty inside my gloves. I curl my fingers up away from that remembered sensation.This is not the same. Not the same at all.
“Good luck,” Lourdes says softly.
I open my mouth to say thanks, but then the outer edge of Voller’s helmet light catches something on the wall to his left—a spray of dark red arcing out in a fan pattern.
Blood.
It’s impossible to tell how old it is. And Kane’s warning about survivors on board is ringing in my head.
Voller moves past it, oblivious, his focus on reaching the airlock door.
“Wait,” I say. “We should stick together just in—”
Motion to my right catches my eye, and the words die in my throat as I twist my head awkwardly to look.
My mother, my long-dead mother, floats just above me in her white lab coat, strands of her long dark hair standing out around her head in a cloud and her mouth stretched wide in a scream.
7
My throat convulses but no sound emerges. Instinct overrides years of training and experience, my arms and legs flapping uselessly in zero grav as I attempt to run.
