Illuminae
Author: Amie Kaufman
Date: 2015-10-20 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction; Young Adult; Romance; Fantasy; Fiction; Dystopia; Space; Thriller; Adventure
Description: Kady thought breaking up with Ezra was the worst thing she'd ever been through. That was before her planet was invaded. Now, with enemy fire raining down on them, Kady and Ezra are forced to fight their way onto one of the evacuating craft, with an enemy warship in hot pursuit. But the warship could be the least of their problems. A deadly plague has broken out and is mutating, with terrifying results; the fleet's AI, which should be protecting them, may actually be their biggest threat; and nobody in charge will say what's really going on. As Kady plunges into a web of data hacking to get to
Publisher: Knopf Books for Young Readers

THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by LaRoux Industries Pty Ltd. and Neverafter Pty Ltd.

Ship insignia illustrations copyright © 2015 by Stuart Wade

Ship blueprint and schematics copyright © 2015 by Meinert Hansen

Movie poster illustration copyright © 2015 by Kristen Gudsnuk

Jacket photograph and interior art copyright © 2015 by Shutterstock

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

Knopf, Borzoi Books, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

Visit us on the Web! randomhouseteens.com

Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Kaufman, Amie.

Illuminae / Amie Kaufman ; Jay Kristoff.

pages cm.

Summary: “The planet Kerenza is attacked, and Kady and Ezra find themselves on a space fleet fleeing the enemy, while their ship’s artificial intelligence system and a deadly plague may be the end of them all.” —Provided by publisher

ISBN 978-0-553-49911-7 (trade) — ISBN 978-0-553-49912-4 (lib. bdg.) — ISBN 978-0-553-49913-1 (ebook) — ISBN 978-0-553-49914-8 (pbk.)

[1. Science fiction. 2. Interplanetary voyages—Fiction. 3. Artificial intelligence—Fiction. 4. Plague—Fiction.] I. Kristoff, Jay. II. Title.

PZ7.K1642Ill 2015

[Fic]—dc23

2014017908
eBook ISBN 9780553499131
eBook design adapted from printed book design by Heather Kelly and Jay Kristoff

Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

v4.1
a

FOR NIC,

WHO ALWAYS TELLS THE BEST STORIES

AND STARTED THIS ONE

CONTENTS

Cover

Title page

Copyright

Dedication

Illuminae

Acknowledgments

About the Authors

So here’s the file that almost killed me, Director.

I won’t bore you with the tally of databases plundered, light-years jumped, or cute, sniffling orphans created in its compilation—our fee already reflects Level Of Difficulty. But this dirt is out there, if you know where to look. Seems your cleanup crews weren’t quite as thorough as you’d like, and your little corporate war isn’t quite as secret as you’d hoped.

You’ll find all intel we could unearth concerning the Kerenza disaster compiled here in hard copy. Where possible, scans of original documentation are included. Fun Times commence with the destruction of the Kerenza colony (one year ago today) and proceed chronologically through events on battlecarrier Alexander and science vessel Hypatia as best as we can reconstruct them.

All visual and audio data are included in original form, along with written transcripts. All typographical and graphical anomalies are present in the original files. Commentary from my team is marked by paper clip icons. Some written materials were censored by the UTA and had to be reconstructed by our commtechs, though profanity remains censored as per your instruction. Sure, the story kicks off with the deaths of thousands of people, but god forbid there be cussing in it, right?

The Illuminae Group

In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act. —Orwell

Incept: 01/30/75

Interviewer: Tell me about yesterday.

Kady Grant: I was in class when it started. This is going to sound stupid, but I broke up with my boyfriend that morning, and he was right there on the other side of the room. I’m staring out the window and coming up with all the things I should say to the jerk, when these ships fly right overhead and all the windows start shaking.

Interviewer: Did you know something was up?

Kady Grant: No. You don’t jump straight to an invasion. The Kerenza settlement wasn’t exactly legal, but we still got traffic around the mine and refinery. I figured it was an ore carrier coming in too low and went back to plotting my idiot ex’s downfall.

Interviewer: When did you become aware of the invasion?

Kady Grant: That would be when all the sirens started screaming. Some bright spark who’s probably dead now sounded the spaceport alarms. The Defiant—that was our WUC protection ship—had transmitted an alert to let us know unfriendly people with big guns had arrived, and—

Interviewer: How do you know the Defiant transmitted a warning?

Kady Grant: I’m good with computers. I wanted to know what was going on at the port, so I took a look.

Interviewer: You evacuated at that stage?

Kady Grant: You make it sound way more organized than it was.

Interviewer: How was it?

Kady Grant: All kittens and rainbows. Apart from the screaming and explosions.

Interviewer: How did you make it out?

Kady Grant: I’m a lateral thinker.

Interviewer: Meaning you used your comput—

Kady Grant: Meaning I broke open a window.

Interviewer: Oh.

Kady Grant: I had a truck in the parking lot. I borrowed my mom’s because I didn’t want to have to take the tube home with him. Having the truck there saved my life. I saw one of my teachers in the lot, and this chunk of metal came screaming in from the sky, and…

Interviewer: Miss Grant?

Kady Grant: I had this moment when I thought I’d left the keys in my desk, and I pulled apart my bag and threw stuff everywhere—I guess I knew I wouldn’t need any of it again, isn’t that weird? But I found the keys at the bottom and jumped in, and just as I start the engine, I look across and he’s standing right there, staring at me. I swear—

Interviewer: Hold on, the survivor list is refreshing. What was the name you were after?

Kady Grant: Ezra Mason.

Interviewer: We have him. He’s on the Alexander.

Kady Grant: [Inaudible.]

Interviewer: Are you okay to continue, Mr. Mason?

Ezra Mason: I’m all right. My shoulder hurts.

Interviewer: I’ll have an orderly bring you some more meds. You were saying about your escape from the school?

Ezra Mason: Never seen anything like it. Just this crush of people and screaming. Teachers. Students. I mean, we knew each other. Colony that isolated, everyone pretty much knows everyone. But it was like they all just lost it. I remember getting pushed along in the mob and wondering why the hallway was soft under my boots. And then I realized what I was walking on.

Interviewer: So how did you get out?

Ezra Mason: I’m six-five. Played point defense on the school geeball team. One time I hit this receiver so hard they had to ID him with DNA.

Interviewer: Where did you go after the first missile strike?

Ezra Mason: Everyone was headed for the tube station, but I figured a tin can in an underground ice tunnel was the last place you’d want to be with bombs going off. So—

Interviewer: Wait, you people had a subway system? I thought this settlement was illegal?

Ezra Mason: Chum, the Kerenza mine operated undetected for twenty years. Whole families lived there. You know how far from the Core we are, right?

Interviewer: Maybe further than you might think…

Ezra Mason: …What the hell’s that supposed to mean?

Interviewer: Nothing. I’m sorry.

Interviewer: You were saying about the subway?

Ezra Mason: Yeah…Right. Basically I didn’t wanna risk it down there, so I lit out through the fire escape. Doubled back into the parking lot. Which might not have been the best plan, since I didn’t have wheels. And I’m looking around, and the sky is raining fire and I’m still freezing because the windchill on Kerenza could hit forty below on a bad day. And there she was.

Interviewer: Who?

Ezra Mason: My ex-girlfriend. Who’d dumped me maybe three hours before. So that was…awkward.

Interviewer: What did you do?

Ezra Mason: Well, I figured there was a good chance she’d just run me over if I stood in front of the truck. So I knocked on the window and said something like “Lovely day for a drive,” and at that point the southeastern anti-missile battery got vaporized by what I assume was a missile. So maybe you might wanna note in your report that those things don’t, you know, stop missiles.

Interviewer: So she let you in?

Ezra Mason: She let me in. I guess she figured she didn’t hate me enough to let me get X-ed out by a BeiTech kill squad. She had to think about it for a minute, though.

Interviewer: How did you know BeiTech was behind the attack?

Ezra Mason: I think the biggest giveaway was the huge BeiTech logo on the warship hovering overhead. It’d dropped out of the clouds and was X-ing the rest of the defense silos by then.

Interviewer: By “warship,” you mean the BeiTech dreadnought Lincoln?

Ezra Mason: Yeah. That’s them. Bastards. Wait, can I swear in this thing?

Interviewer: So what happened next?

Kady Grant: We took off outta the parking lot like we were in a chase scene. Some moron had parked blocking the exit, but the truck was all-terrain, so we rammed it.

Interviewer: What was it like outside the school?

Kady Grant: There were a lot of explosions and a lot of dead people. Dead civilians who worked for a fucking mining company. I mean, imagine you’re an interstellar corporation, right? You discover an illegal mining op run by one of your competitors. Do you (a) report it to the UTA and laugh as the fines roll in, or (b) jump in an attack fleet and X-out every man, woman, and child on the planet? What the hell was BeiTech thinking?

Interviewer: What you and I need to do is focus on what happened on Kerenza. Gathering intel on the attack is the best thing we can do to help right now.

Kady Grant: I can’t believe this.

Interviewer: Miss Grant—

Kady Grant: Okay. Fine. We took the main arterial, and Ezra turned on the radio. For a second I thought the idiot was looking for the right soundtrack or something, but there was an emergency broadcast up. They were telling us to get to the spaceport, and our research fleet was going to send down shuttles to ferry us all up to orbit.

Interviewer: So you turned for the spaceport?

Ezra Mason: Yeah. I turned on the radio to maybe find us some getaway music, but there was an emergency broadcast telling everyone to hit the port for evacuation. So that’s what we tried to do. But there were cars everywhere, and some truck had overturned on the strip. Kady nearly flipped us, and when I offered to drive, she…well, she called me a very bad word.

Interviewer: I see.

Ezra Mason: I can repeat it if you want, but—

Interviewer: That’s fine, Mr. Mason.

Ezra Mason: Mr. Mason is my dad. And you still won’t tell me why I can’t see him.

Interviewer: We need you properly debriefed before you have any civilian contact, Mr. Mason. I mean…Ezra.

Ezra Mason: “Civilian contact.” Wow. He’s my father, chum. You guys still have fathers, right? Or does everyone in the great United Terran Authority get grown in a vat nowadays?

Interviewer: Why don’t you just tell me what happened next.

Ezra Mason: BeiTech blew the fucking spaceport, that’s what happened next. Popped a half-dozen missiles and turned it into a smoking hole in the ice. I played geeball with one of the ground crew guys. Rob Flynn. Burton, our next-door neighbor, he worked the quarantine bays. There was this girl, Jodie Kingston. I knew her since eighth grade. She worked the port comms rig. She was…

Interviewer: Ezra?

Ezra Mason: Wow. I just realized. She was the first girl I ever kissed…

Interviewer: Do you need a minute?

Kady Grant: No, I need to get this done. Once the spaceport was gone, it was hard to know where to head. Mostly we were just dodging explosions. The ground was shaking, and at first I thought it was the missiles hitting. Then I realized the impacts were cracking the ice shelf under the colony’s foundations.

Interviewer: Do you have a background in geology?

Kady Grant: I’m seventeen—of course I don’t. But there were these huge cracks opening up in the ground, big enough to lose a car down. And before you ask how I know that, I saw it happen. There were kids in the back.

Interviewer: So you were driving through the city, and what happened next?

Kady Grant: Ezra wanted to find his father. He worked at the refinery, but I told him we couldn’t get through the crowd that’d be streaming out of there. His dad’s a big guy, like Ez. I told him they’d all be evacuating together, and we had to trust him to keep his feet. If we went in there, someone might have jacked the truck, and then we’d be screwed. I saw a woman pull this guy off a quad bike and take off on it with her kid. I saw a security officer shoot a guy trying to climb into the back of his truck. We weren’t going to make it as far as the refinery. I wanted to go for my mom instead, and my cousin Asha. My dad was offworld—he works rotation on Jump Station Heimdall— so it was just Mom and me. She’s a pathologist, so she did research, worked at the med center. Asha was training there.

Interviewer: Do you need me to look up your mother’s name on the lists?

Kady Grant: No, she made it out. She’s here on the Hypatia. I saw her before my interview.

Interviewer: And your cousin?

Kady Grant: No. She didn’t.

Interviewer: I’m sorry.

Kady Grant: Yeah.

Interviewer: So, did Ezra see reason? Did you go to find your mother?

Kady Grant: We started. Ezra’s mom isn’t around, so mine had just spent a year feeding him. I think she was more upset about the breakup than anyone. We were heading for her lab, and by that time there were people in the streets, riding in all-terrains, some on quad bikes, folks on foot. The ground was cracking and there were chunks breaking off buildings, and all the time there’s this huge BeiTech ship in the sky, pounding our defenses with missiles. Shuttles were lifting off with civis evacuating. It was so loud I thought my ears were bleeding. And over the top of all that, Ezra chooses then to start criticizing my driving.

Interviewer: It’s hard to believe you guys broke up.

Kady Grant: You have no idea. Anyway, that was when half the cineplex fell on our truck.

Interviewer: …Wait, what?

Ezra Mason: I don’t know how long I was unconscious for. I came to and thought the sky was covered in spiderwebs. And then I realize I’m looking through the smashed windshield and we’re buried under half a building. The truck is scrapped, Kady’s next to me and there’s blood all over her face, and I couldn’t find a pulse. So I dragged her out of the wreckage and started to give her mouth-to-mouth and that’s when she slugged me, Your Honor.

Interviewer: She hit you?

Ezra Mason: Yeah, right in the face. Good shot, too. I dunno. She thought I was trying to kiss her. She’d hit her head, she was messed up. So we’re gearing up to start yelling at each other, and then we realize the sky is full of Cyclone fighter ships. So I figured the cavalry must have arrived.

Interviewer: Could you still see the Lincoln?

Ezra Mason: No. But we could see that the refinery had been hit. It was covered in this…I dunno. It’s hard to describe. It was like a mist? But it was black. Creeping in the air real slow, like molasses. Not smoke. It was…something different.

Interviewer: You said your father worked at the refinery?

Ezra Mason: Yeah. So of course I want to go look for him. And Kady still wants to go find Mrs. Grant. And the glacier is cracking open and the sky is on fire, and I think I can see BeiTech ground troops in the distance. And then I said it.

Interviewer: What did he say?

Kady Grant: He said, “You picked a hell of a day to dump me, Kades.”

Interviewer: …You honestly said that?

Ezra Mason: Yeah. So all hell breaks loose, and Kady is yelling at me and I’m yelling back. All this stuff that’d been building up for the last year and boiling just under the skin. Like, I loved her. I love her. But she had this way of just…It was so stupid. The world is ending all around us and we’re screaming about college applications and commitment and shit. I mean, can you believe that?

Interviewer: You’re seventeen, right?

Ezra Mason: Almost eighteen.

Interviewer: Then yes, I believe it.

Ezra Mason: Cold, chum. Real cold.

Interviewer: So what happened next?

Ezra Mason: I took off. She told me I was being crazy, but I was just…furious. And my dad is all I have left, so…yeah. Ran toward the refinery, burning cars and trashed buildings everywhere. I saw a Cyclone crash into an apartment block right in front of my face. Felt the heat on my skin. I was just keeping low and trying to get closer to the plant, but there were BT troops all over. Big, armor-plated goons in winter camo carrying guns you could kill a glacieosaur with. I didn’t really have a plan, I just needed to find my dad. Didn’t know what I was going to do once I hit that fog. But turned out that wouldn’t be a problem.

Interviewer: Why’s that?

Ezra Mason: Well, they shot me.

Interviewer: They shot him?

Kady Grant: I couldn’t believe it either. Those fuckers should have got in line. They’re not the ones who had to put up with his—

Interviewer: You said you’d parted ways at that stage. How did you find out he’d been shot?

Kady Grant: I started by heading toward my mom’s lab on foot, but there were a bunch of BeiTech troops in the way. They were putting carriers down on the ground and rolling out soldiers and all-terrain vehicles. I was a little concussed, I’m pretty sure. I know I stopped to puke at one point. I could see shuttles landing out by the labs to do evac, so I just hoped my mom was getting on one of them. I knew I wasn’t going to make it across town to her. I wasn’t going to make it anywhere without another truck. So I stole one from a BeiTech crew.

Interviewer: I’m sorry, you what?

Kady Grant: I am frequently underestimated. I think it’s because I’m short.

Interviewer: They didn’t want it back?

Kady Grant: Probably. They were pretty busy jumping out of the way. Also, I knew my way around the middle of town—they didn’t. I took some sharp corners around the back of the community complex, scraped the truck doors right off. But when I got out the other end, I’d lost them. Our people didn’t have weapons to shoot at me with, and theirs thought I was on the same team, I guess.

Interviewer: What happened next?

Kady Grant: There was this filthy black cloud oozing down from atmo toward the refinery, and I knew that was where Ezra was. I heard it was some kind of bio-attack. Is that true?

Interviewer: I don’t know. You said he was shot, so I guess you found him?

Kady Grant: On the wrong end of a BeiTech platoon, bleeding everywhere. I kind of freaked out when I saw it all.

Interviewer: Were you able to retrieve him?

Kady Grant: I, uh…Are there likely to be any prosecutions for stuff that happened down there?

Interviewer: They X-ed out a quarter of my crew. None of us are going to weep if you’re telling me you took out a BeiTech squad to get to him.

Kady Grant: Like I said, I’m pretty small, and there was a lot of blood all over everything. I guess my foot slipped on the accelerator. It was hard to reach, you know? I ran a bunch of them down and pulled up right beside him.

Interviewer: What did he do?

Kady Grant: He said, “Hey, Kades.” What a catch, seriously. The truck’s door was missing, though, so it was easy for him to climb in, and we took off like we were outrunning a blizzard. We could see shuttles coming down on the outskirts of town, and they didn’t have BeiTech markings on them, so we risked it. We were hoping they were evac sent by our research fleet.

Interviewer: And then what?

Ezra Mason: I don’t remember much. I think I made a joke about needing to see her license and registration. Because, you know, she just ran over a bunch of—

Interviewer: I get it.

Ezra Mason: Right. And then I said, “I’m bleeding,” and she said, “Shut up, I’m not talking to you,” so I just kinda concentrated on not dying. There was blood everywhere. It hurt so much I think I started laughing. Maybe I was going into shock. Kady was yelling at me to put pressure on it, but it hurt less if I didn’t. There were fighters overhead. I remember being really cold. I remember looking at Kady driving, covered in blood, with her hair crusted with snow and everything. I think I told her she was beautiful. Then the lights went out.

Interviewer: You made it to the shuttles?

Kady Grant: We made it close. We were driving a BeiTech truck now, so I had to stop and drag Ezra across the ice so they could see we were civis. A couple of the med center staff had made it out there, so they were putting the wounded on shuttles with those guys, and the rest of us into the others. I was screaming my head off, trying to get someone to help me lift him in. I don’t even know how I dragged him. The whole time there were these missiles arcing in and exploding around us, fires starting. I guess they decided if I could yell that loud, I wasn’t hurt bad enough to make the wounded shuttle, so they made me leave him with the doc. That’s how he ended up on the Alexander and I ended up on the Hypatia.

Interviewer: You’ve been very helpful. Did you see whether any missiles hit the refinery?

Kady Grant: I don’t think so, just the black cloud. They wouldn’t blow it up, though, would they? I mean, if BeiTech wanted the colony gone, they’d have just ratted to the UTA about it. They obviously wanted the hermium we were mining for themselves. They’d hardly destroy the only way they had to process it.

Interviewer: We can’t speculate yet on what their aim was.

Kady Grant: I guess if they catch up with us, we can ask them before they blow us to pieces.

Interviewer: There’s just one last thing, Mr. Mason.

Ezra Mason: Can this thing please include those pain meds you promised?

Interviewer: We’ve had another update to the casualty lists. I’m afraid I have some news about your father.

OFFICER MEMORANDUM

BATTLECARRIER ALEXANDER—78V

INCEPT: 01/30/75

FROM: GENERAL DAVID TORRENCE

Officers of the Alexander,

In the 24 hours since the assault on the Kerenza colony, the battle with BeiTech forces, and our subsequent withdrawal, our analytics crews have been working around the clock to assess our situation. In summary, here are their findings:

• Our jump gate generator is heavily damaged—wormholes can still be created but will more than likely collapse before a jump can be executed, resulting in the Alexander’s destruction. Acting Chief of Technical Engineering Colonel Eva Sanchez reports the damage is irreparable, given our current resources (most notably, the death of Mallory Yzerman, our former CTE). Essentially, independent jump travel is not an option.

• The closest static jump gate able to return us to a Core system is Jump Station Heimdall. Though the station itself is on the other side of the universe, a waypoint/wormhole leading to Heimdall is 6.5–7 months’ travel away at current speeds. In short, we are looking at over half a year’s journey before we can jump to safety in a populated zone.

• Missile strikes sustained in the battle have damaged our Artificial Intelligence Defense Analytics Network (AIDAN), responsible for many vital shipboard functions, including main drive control and jump gate calculations. The same missiles that damaged AIDAN also eliminated a considerable percentage of our neurogramming staff. Although AIDAN is self-repairing, and still functional, the full extent of the damage is unknown.

• Several other areas of the ship sustained damage, most notably our H_2O reservoirs, defense grid and propulsion systems.

• At least one BeiTech dreadnought participating in the Kerenza attack, BT042-TN (aka the Lincoln), survived the battle and is currently in pursuit of our fleet. With existing damage and crew levels, our tactical staff estimates we have a 22.7 percent chance of surviving should the Lincoln engage us.

• The two civilian transports we are currently escorting—science vessel Hypatia and heavy freighter Copernicus—are carrying 3,348 civilians from the Kerenza colony. Alexander is carrying a further 1,097 civilians. Given aforementioned damage to Alexander’s H_2O reservoirs, this overpopulation will place increased strain on our supply situation. Neither the Hypatia or the Copernicus will be of assistance should the Lincoln engage us.

• Distress calls have been issued on all United Terran Authority channels via the Heimdall waypoint. No reply has been received. In all likelihood, this means our transmissions have not been heard.

In short, ladies and gentlemen, we are bleeding badly and there are sharks in the water. We are understaffed and outgunned, and over six months from a realistic escape point. As such, I am issuing the following order, effective immediately:

Any Kerenza colonist with a skill set useful in plugging our shortfalls is to be conscripted into the United Terran Authority military. Engineers. Medical personnel. Scientists. Anyone with a history of military service.

Furthermore, every Kerenza colonist seventeen years or older will be immediately tested for aptitude in computer science, mechanics, electronics, spatial awareness, pattern prediction, hand-eye coordination, twitch reflex, and stress management. Anyone showing C-grade ability or better is to be conscripted the day they hit eighteen. We need pilots. We need gunners. We need spanner monkeys and chipheads. And we need them now.

This is an unprecedented situation—to my knowledge, no stellarcorp has ever openly attacked a United Terran Authority ship. I don’t care if BeiTech Industries’ litigation department has enough red tape to gift-wrap a small moon. These corporations need to learn nobody is above the law and nobody attacks a UTA vessel without consequences.

You have worked tirelessly, acquitting yourselves with distinction and valor. We have lost comrades. We have lost brothers and sisters and those we loved dearly. I know the past few days have been hard. The road ahead will be harder still. But knowing each of you as I do, I have no doubt you will rise to the challenge before us and get these civilians to the Heimdall waypoint alive.

Centrum tenenda.

David Torrence

General, United Terran Authority

Commander, Alexander—78V

SIDE VIEW

FRONT VIEW

ALEXANDER-78V

Heavy battlecarrier capable of self-generating ephemeral jump gates for interstellar travel. Carries a complement of Cyclone-class fighter craft. Possesses nuclear strike capabilities.

Commander: General David Torrence

Executive Officer: Colonel Lia Myles

CLASS: Vortex

LENGTH: 3.25 km

HEIGHT: 1.3 km

CREW: 4,000

MAX VELOCITY: 1.7 sst

ACCELERATION: 1.4 sst

MAIN DRIVE: Typhoon Mk VII x 6

SECONDARY DRIVE: Atlas Mk II x 12

INERTIAL DAMPENERS: 1 g

DEFENSE GRID:

DDT-10.9 phalanx

RG-166 samsara x 48

AIDAN-assisted FFG-01i

PAYLOAD:

Goliath 50mt x 40

Capricorn 10.8mt x 100

FIGHTERS: Cyclone Mk IV x 125(s)

SHUTTLES:

Vitus III x 20

Vitus IX x 12

SIDE VIEW

FRONT VIEW

HYPATIA

Long-range scientific exploration vessel, ideally suited for deep-space recon/assessment. Lightly armed and armored. Equipped with state-of-the-art tracking and QASAR arrays.

Captain: Ann Chau

Executive Officer: Syra Boll

CLASS: Oracle

LENGTH: 0.9 km

HEIGHT: 0.21 km

CREW: 500

MAX VELOCITY: 1.5 sst

ACCELERATION: 1.3 sst

MAIN DRIVE: Balor IX [gt4]

SECONDARY DRIVE: Balor IV x 4

INERTIAL DAMPENERS: 0.98 g

DEFENSE GRID:

ZXII-unig

Twilight GH-2 x 2

PAYLOAD: Capstone 7c x 6

FIGHTERS: none

SHUTTLES: Nova III x 12

SIDE VIEW

FRONT VIEW

COPERNICUS

Midtrek freighter, typically used for heavy-mass, system-length hauls [ore/ice/necs]. Slow-moving, with poor maneuverability, but durable. Interchangeable modular freight arrays provide excellent load flexibility.

Captain: Harry Ryker

Executive Officer: Heather Kelly

CLASS: Taurus

LENGTH: 1.2 km

HEIGHT: 0.96 km

CREW: 450

MAX VELOCITY: 0.9 sst

ACCELERATION: 0.8 sst

MAIN DRIVE: Helix-Chelsea VIII [in-line]

SECONDARY DRIVE: H-C II x 3

INERTIAL DAMPENERS: 0.94 g

DEFENSE GRID: Opti-Nex II [standard]

PAYLOAD: none

FIGHTERS: none

SHUTTLES: Vitus II x 12

Kerenza, Battle of

This article is about the Battle of Kerenza IV. Get the gen on the planet and system here.

INTRO

The Battle of Kerenza IV was the opening salvo in the ongoing and bafflingly unreported Stellarcorp War. Initiated by BeiTech Industries,[1] the assault targeted illegal hermium mining operations owned by the Wallace Ulyanov Consortium.[2] United Terran Authority vessel Alexander[3] answered WUC distress calls, resulting in a three-way throwdown between BeiTech, WUC, and UTA forces.

WUT DA FAQ

Get the gen on the planet and system here. This historical article is currently under Refuted status, because you choobs gobble corp propaganda like it was cheap dust at an all-night chuff party. It requires additional citations for verification purposes. Please assist by joining the Hivemind. Please attribute intelligence sources (your mom does not count). And learn to spell, for the love of [insert appropriate deity name here].

Contents [hide]

1. Background

2. Initial assault

3. UTA response

4. Pursuit

5. Secondary conflict

6. Aftermath

BACKGROUND

Kerenza IV is situated in freespace, approximately 34.5 AU from a waypoint leading to static Jump Station Heimdall. The planet contains unusually high concentrations of hermium on its polar ice shelf. In violation of the Interstellar Exotic Materials Act of 2514,[4] the Wallace Ulyanov Consortium had been conducting illegal mining operations on the planet since approximately 2556, relying on the system’s remoteness to keep its activities undetected. Operations were protected by the dreadnought Defiant and serviced by heavy freighter Copernicus. At the time of the battle, two WUC science vessels [Hypatia and Brahe] were also in orbit around Kerenza IV.

Artist’s impression of the dreadnought Lincoln

INITIAL ASSAULT

At 14:21 [Local Standard] on 01/29/75, four BeiTech dreadnoughts [Churchill, Kenyatta, Zhongzheng, and Lincoln] dropped from an ephemeral wormhole[5] created by Mobile Jump Platform Magellan[6][7][8][9]—a blackbag prototype and, to Unipedia’s knowledge, the first mobile jump tech ever developed outside of a UTA lab.[10][11] The entire fleet then proceeded toward Kerenza IV. WUC defense vessel Defiant was quickly destroyed, though not before it could issue distress calls—due to Kerenza’s relative isolation, the BT fleet presumed these calls would go unanswered.

Sadly for BeiTech, one ship did receive the Defiant’s SOS: the United Terran Authority’s Alexander, a Vortex-class battlecarrier also capable of generating its own jump gates,[12] which was on covert maneuvers near Kerenza VII.[13] The Alexander attempted to send communications to UTA HQ via the Heimdall waypoint, but BeiTech agents aboard the station itself ensured the signal never made it through. Receiving no response, the Alexander jumped to Kerenza IV without support. For more on the occupation of Heimdall Station and the resistance movement, see sub-articles here.

With their hand caught in the proverbial cookie jar by the UTA, the BeiTech fleet made the astounding decision to attack the Alexander in the hope of eliminating the witnesses. Instead, the Alexander critically damaged Mobile Jump Platform Magellan, cutting off BeiTech’s retreat. As the BT fleet engaged Alexander, shuttles ferried civilians from the decimated settlement onto the Hypatia, Brahe, and Copernicus. Reports that an unknown bioweapon was used on the settlement by BeiTech dreadnought Lincoln are unconfirmed.[14][15][16]

During the nuclear exchange that followed, the Zhongzheng was destroyed, and the Churchill and Kenyatta sustained massive damage. The Alexander took several hits—sources report both its jump gate generator and its artificial intelligence matrix were compromised.[17][18] No ships in the Kerenza system were now capable of jump travel, meaning any assistance would be months away. The BeiTech group closed to a range unsafe for the use of nuclear ordnance. The Alexander launched its Cyclone-class fighter craft, with the BeiTech group launching its Warlock fighters in kind. It is believed the BeiTech ship Lincoln destroyed science vessel Brahe at this point. Unconfirmed reports estimate at least 2,000 civilians had been evacuated onto the Brahe from the settlement below.[19][20][21]

To: Kady Grant/KGRANTHYPATIAONBOARD

From: Ezra Mason/EMASONALEXANDERONBOARD

Date: 02/14/75

Timestamp: 14:04

Subject: Hey

Hey Kades,

They told me almost everyone on the Hypatia has been fixed up with an onboard comms account now. I hope you get this.

I’m not sure what you know and what you don’t. Everything is a mess over here. The military don’t really tell us anything. But I wanted you to know I made it out alive. I wanted to say thanks. Without you I don’t think I’d be here.

Delete that. I don’t think, I know.

I’m in the med bay on board Alexander. My shoulder is almost 100%. Still trying to figure out what the hell happened. I heard a rumor that the Alexander’s jump drive is bricked. There’s definitely something up with the water supply but they won’t say what. Someone else said the BeiTech dreadnoughts that attacked the colony are still chasing us. But I also heard we’re just days away from meeting up with a whole UTA fleet. So maybe we’ll be safe soon.

I feel bad about what happened between us. I keep feeling like there’s something I could’ve said to fix it. And then I wonder if I’m an idiot for even thinking that way. I wonder if it was supposed to happen. I mean, if you hadn’t broken it off, if you hadn’t driven to school that day, we’d both be dead, right? If that’s not the universe’s way of telling me it wasn’t meant to be, I don’t know what is.

Anyway, I’m glad you and your mom made it out. I hope you’re okay.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Love E

Grant, Kady—
Psych Profile/Conscript Suitability Assessment
Incept: 02/17/75

—Page 2—
suggests Ms. Grant is considerably more capable than her test results indicate. When contrasted with the early training exercises she undertook in the Hypatia’s makeshift educational facility, her current outcomes are less than impressive. Simply put, she doesn’t want to score the sorts of results that would get her into the neurogramming training program.

TEAMWORK: Ms. Grant does not work well with others. The accounts of her peers indicate she was previously a relatively social girl at school, although she did not have a large number of close friends. It is clear that she now prefers her own company. She is, frankly, demoralizing to others in a group situation.

ATTITUDE: Ms. Grant displays strong anti-establishment sentiments and has an awkward habit of questioning authority figures at all the wrong moments. This, combined with the intelligence she tries so hard to conceal, makes her something of a liability. It doesn’t appear ego is at play, as she is content to be viewed as average. Rather, it appears her queries and (often successful) attempts at destabilization are driven by her personal beliefs.

CONCLUSION:

☐ Conscript—Priority 1

☐ Conscript—Priority 2

☐ Conscript—Priority 3

☒ Do Not Conscript

COMMENTS: We’d expend more time combating her games and forcing her to get some work done than could be compensated for by her output. It appears she’s willing to leave us alone if we leave her alone, and there are better candidates for recruitment.

NETWORK SECURITY INCIDENT REPORT

» » » »BREACH ATTEMPT 02/18/75 03:15

RECORD: Lu, Xi Wei, Network Engineer

TARGET: Refugee_Psych_Profiles

PROCESS: Brute-force cascade attack on Alexander datafort

OUTCOME: Defended

» » » »BREACH ATTEMPT 02/18/75 07:15

RECORD: Lu, Xi Wei, Network Engineer

TARGET: Refugee_Psych_Profiles

PROCESS: Codewyrm interdiction on Alexander datafort

OUTCOME: Penetration successful, duration 3 min.

» » » »BREACH ATTEMPT 02/18/75 18:15

RECORD: Lu, Xi Wei, Network Engineer

TARGET: Galley_Database—Meal_Schedule\Network_Engineering

PROCESS: Access Trojan infiltration on galley database

OUTCOME: Penetration successful. Meals to Network Engineering canceled. Galley database security upgraded to Level 3.

» » » »BREACH ATTEMPT 02/19/75 06:00

RECORD: Brown, Benjamin Fraser, Senior Network Engineer

TARGET: Crew_Database—Network_Engineering

PROCESS: Access via personnel records, penetration method as yet unidentified

OUTCOME: Penetration successful. Network Engineer Xi Wei Lu deleted from database. Attempt to restore profile under way.

To: Kady Grant/KGRANTHYPATIAONBOARD

From: Ghost ID/FAILFAILFAILFAIL

Date: 02/20/75

Timestamp: 23:17

Subject: The sound of one hand clapping

You’ve been busy, my friend. I [unable to retrieve] very entertaining piece of hacking. There are 8,340 people aboard our fleet, and there’s a skill here for every occasion. You don’t [unable to retrieve] teach yourself.

Break through into shell ref 436HT:904JX:003 and [unable to retrieve] show you what’s out there.

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Participants: ByteMe, CitB

Date: 02/21/75

Timestamp: 00:44

Shell Ref 436HT:904JX:003

ByteMe: That all you got?

CitB: ah, the new girl

ByteMe: Sure it is, but who are you?

CitB: the guy who can show u how to get all the info you’ve been trawling for

CitB: and more

ByteMe: In exchange for what? Nothing comes for free in this place.

CitB: for u, no cost but time. for the folks upstairs, plenty. the Alexander is a military ship and here on Hypatia we’re civilians, but emergency or not, we have a right to more information than they give us.

CitB: our lives are on the line too. u want to join the fight, ur welcome

ByteMe: Just like that.

CitB: u’ve been sitting your entry exam these last 3 weeks, grasshopper. been watching u poke around inside the system. u don’t like being kept in the dark either. seen u keeping an eye on a few things. on a few people.

ByteMe: Well you don’t sound creepy at ALL.

CitB: what i sound like is someone who knows more than u. u want lessons or not?

ByteMe: Want.

CitB: then let’s get started

To: Kady Grant/KGRANTHYPATIAONBOARD

From: Ezra Mason/EMASONALEXANDERONBOARD

Date: 03/18/75

Timestamp: 21:32

Subject: Knock knock

Hey K,

I’m not sure if you’ll get this. I mailed you last month, but maybe it didn’t go through. If things aboard the Hypatia are anything like things over here, it probably didn’t. Maybe you’re busy. Or you don’t want to talk to me. I get it.

It was my birthday yesterday. Eighteen years old, can you believe that? Good news is I can drink legally now. Bad news is there’s nothing to drink. Even the water’s in short supply. :P

They’ve got a whole bunch of us doing tests. VR sims and psych analysis and physicals. They’ve drafted a whole bunch of the Kerenza refugees into the UTA over here. “Wartime conscription” they called it. And now I’m eighteen, they’re looking at me. Which I guess means we’re in deeper shit than anyone figured.

I had a dream about you last night. No, not like that, relax.

It was the day of the attack, and I see you in your truck in the parking lot. And I run up to the window and knock, but you don’t let me in. You just stare like you don’t know me. And I pound on the glass and yell your name, but you just shake your head. And then you drive off and leave me there. Weird thing is, there’s someone who looks exactly like me sitting right next to you the whole time. And he’s laughing.

And then the ships come.

You think it means something?

Anyway, I hope you’re ok.

Love E

Mason, Ezra

Psych Profile/Conscript Suitability Assessment

Interview Excerpt

Incept: 03/19/75

INTERVIEWER: So tell me about your mother.

Ezra Mason: [Laughter.] Nice one, chum. You know, you’re the first shrink I ever met with a sense of…

Ezra Mason: …Wait, you serious?

INTERVIEWER: Does it bother you? Talking about her?

Ezra Mason: It bothers me you snaffled your psych eval questions off the back of a box of Jupiter Loops, chum. That’s honestly your opener? “Tell me about your mother”? Are you dusted?

INTERVIEWER: You’ve undergone psychiatric evaluation before, then?

Ezra Mason: What makes you say that?

INTERVIEWER: You said I’m the first psychoanalyst you’ve met who had a sense of humor. Meaning you’ve met others who didn’t?

Ezra Mason: Proper little Sherlock over here, huh.

INTERVIEWER: There’s no need for hostility, Mr. Mason.

Ezra Mason: Mr. Mason is my dad.

INTERVIEWER: Yes, your father. Tell me about him.

Ezra Mason: Nothing to tell. He’s an engineer. Works the heavy processors in the hermium refinery. Bad cook. Worse jokes. You know. A dad.

INTERVIEWER: Do you miss him?

Ezra Mason: What kind of question is that?

INTERVIEWER: It’s been over a month since he was killed in the Kerenza assault. You still talk about him in the present tense.

INTERVIEWER: Do you think that’s interesting, Ezra?

Ezra Mason: [Inaudible profanity.]

INTERVIEWER: All right, then. Let’s talk about something that makes you happy.

Ezra Mason: …You mean like lingerie models?

INTERVIEWER: Tell me about your girlfriend.

Ezra Mason: Wowwww.

Ezra Mason: You’re really bad at this, chum.

Ezra Mason: Like, if Bad was a sport, you could Bad for your planet.

INTERVIEWER: Your girlfriend doesn’t make you happy?

Ezra Mason: She dumped me the day our colony exploded.

Ezra Mason: Rim-shot?

INTERVIEWER: Do you still care about her?

Ezra Mason: Next question.

INTERVIEWER: It’s just I notice you put her down as your emergency contact on the Alexander intake form. It seems strange to name a girl you broke up with as your effective next of kin.

Ezra Mason: I never told you I broke up with her. She broke up with me.

INTERVIEWER: Why?

Ezra Mason: That’s so not your business it almost punches clean past the event horizon of Not Your Business and becomes Your Business again.

INTERVIEWER: You two had a fight?

Ezra Mason: All couples have fights.

INTERVIEWER: Is that how you got those scars on your arm?

Ezra Mason: …What? Chum, I’ve had these since I was eight. What the fuck is wrong with you?

Ezra Mason: You don’t do this for a living, right? Please tell me the real Alexander psych crew all got X-ed out by those BeiTech assholes and you’re the guy who used to clean the scrubbers or something.

INTERVIEWER: I work in the infirmary.

Ezra Mason: …Jesus, I was kidding. You’re serious?

Ezra Mason: You’re not even a qualified shrink? Well that’s just fucking chill.

INTERVIEWER: I’m postgrad med from the UTA Academy. Psych major. We do six months of fieldwork in our final year. I pulled duty on the Alexander. But it doesn’t take a graduate from Neo-Oxford to see you have some serious anger issues, Mr. Mason. So we can talk about it if you like, or we can sit here and stare at the walls until our allotted hour is over.

INTERVIEWER: It’s up to you.

[Skip 51:27 minutes of complete silence.]

Ezra Mason: She asked for something I couldn’t give her.

INTERVIEWER: …I beg your pardon?

Ezra Mason: My girlfriend. Kady. She asked for something I couldn’t give her.

INTERVIEWER: What did she ask you for?

Ezra Mason: Doesn’t really matter now, does it? Whole verse gone to hell and all. Point is, for someone like Kady, the asking part is hard enough. She doesn’t do the vulnerable thing real good. She doesn’t like needing anyone. So when I said no and couldn’t give a reason, it kinda…broke the back of it, you know?

INTERVIEWER: Why wouldn’t you give her a reason when you said no?

Ezra Mason: If I didn’t tell her, you honestly think I’m gonna tell you?

INTERVIEWER: Which brings me back to your mother.

Ezra Mason: Oh, and how you figure that, Mr. Postgrad?

INTERVIEWER: Typically, trust issues in teenagers stem from childhood abuse by authority figures. Teachers and parents, mostly. The fact that you’ve undergone psych eval before lends weight to the theory.

INTERVIEWER: Now, you obviously loved your father, hence your inability to process his death and your open hostility toward anyone who makes reference to it. The next logical line of inquiry is your mother.

INTERVIEWER: So. Tell me about your mother.

Ezra Mason: You’re taping this, right?

INTERVIEWER: Audio only. Camera is faulty.

Ezra Mason: Okay, well for the benefit of the sight-impaired, I am now raising my…oh, dear…yes, it’s my middle finger at Mr. Postgrad here.

INTERVIEWER: Mr. Mason…

Ezra Mason: Now I’m wiggling it.

INTERVIEWER: Terminating interview at 13:58 on 03/19/75.

Ezra Mason: Look at it wiggl—

—audio ends—

Mason, Ezra—
Psych Profile/Conscript Suitability Assessment
Incept: 03/21/75

—Page 2—
shows signs of post-traumatic stress disorder: aggression, avoidance, night terrors and survivor guilt.

TEAMWORK: Mr. Mason is a team player, capable of stepping up to leadership roles if required. High school sports: making life easier for military recruiters since 1914.

ATTITUDE: The death of Mr. Mason’s father during the Kerenza assault has left him with a deep sense of resentment and anger. However, his aggression is progressing and is almost entirely focused on BeiTech Industries. And BeiTech will be the ones shooting at him.

CONCLUSION:

☒ Conscript—Priority 1

☐ Conscript—Priority 2

☐ Conscript—Priority 3

☐ Do Not Conscript

COMMENTS: Mr. Mason’s PTSD and anxiety levels would normally make him a washout for combat duty. However, with Alexander’s current shortfall of suitable Cyclone pilots, and considering Mason’s test results (Spatial Awareness: 94th percentile; Pattern Prediction: 99.7th percentile), it’s our recommendation to conscript.

The kid’s hostility toward BeiTech can be harnessed in a conflict situation. Throwing him into task-oriented activities in a social environment (combat training) may even prove therapeutic. And if not, a few months from now, he’s not our problem.

Get him in a cockpit ASAP.

To: Kady Grant/KGRANTHYPATIAONBOARD

From: Ezra Mason/EMASONALEXANDERONBOARD

Date: 07/03/75

Timestamp: 23:45

Subject: DO NOT SEND THIS

Kades
i am not sending this to you I am just writing it down and then i will delete it because of reasons. My friend jimmy says it is best to get these things off your chest and since u are not here to say this to i’m pretending because you know, think of my chest. it has things on it
so i am somewhat…liquefied but never fear i do notspend my days drinking alone in my bunk, the hooch is to hard to get lol. IT IS A CELEBRATION as i am now officially cleared for flight status, me flying a cyclone holy fuckingshit wtf has the universe come to.

anyway since i will never send this, I feel it fair to say i thought it wasrough not to mail me back I get mahybe you don’t want to talk me and thats fine but a simple “i do not wish to speak to you goodday sir” would have been nice and this is shabby treatment madam, verily
since i will not send this, i also feel it is my duty to inform you that almost six months on I think I still love you and that makes me sad becaue love shouldn’t feel this way. is like getting kicked in the stomach every time i think of you and it makes me want to roll my face across this keyboardbiu;///ubEWdcfhugiov’byhi;.//////-=’-0i9juh8ygtfdcsaazs34defg7u8hi9o0p-[[09ju8hy7gtf6rdsasdrftg67yh8u9ji0o-p-o0i9juhy8gtfrdesazsxdcfr5gt6y7h8u9ji0ko-lp0i9uj8hy7gt6frdesazsxdfghu7ghbuio.;ucfrexdAQW3XDE45THYUJYI

INCEPT: 07/20/75

LOCATION: Kerenza VII barycenter 778.76, 325.71, 1243.56k

PILOT IDENT: Ezra Mason (UTN-966-330ad)

RANK: Second Lieutenant

CALLSIGN: N/A

_________________________________

Fire does weird shit in space.

You don’t really think about it until you see something burn out there. You light a match in zero grav, the flame will be perfectly round. Like the way Terra looks in the old ’casts. And just like Terra, the flame won’t flicker orange or yellow or even white out there in the black. It’ll burn blue as a VR sky. Blue as a pretty girl’s eyes.

They didn’t tell us that in basic. It kinda dunked my head.

I’ve never written one of these before. An After Action Report. You can probably tell. Sorry if I chuff it up. Between zero-grav flight sim and Cyclone tech systems and memorizing the Alexander’s 316 different firing solutions, they probably figured teaching us paperwork wasn’t the best use of our time. I’m so green at the controls they haven’t even given me a callsign yet. The general told me to just type up everything and let the censors sort it out, so that’s what I’ll do.

Follow fucking orders.

That’s what I do.

On 7/19/75 at 21:00 hours I was situated in the cockpit of my Cyclone fighter. Our fleet—consisting of battlecarrier Alexander, science vessel Hypatia and heavy freighter Copernicus—was in orbit around the first moon of Kerenza VII, engaged in resupply operations. The fleet’s H2O levels had reached critical, and Kerenza VII(a) was mostly frozen water, so our crews were busy hauling thousand-ton ice boulders up from orbit while the Lincoln got closer and closer.

My fighter group was running dogfight drills 600 klicks off the Alexander’s port side, skirting the edge of Kerenza VII’s atmosphere. Present during “the incident” were myself and three other members of Alexander Flight Group Echo: our CO, Major Eli “Prophet” Hawking, First Lieutenant Zhenya “Dreadnought” Alvaranga and another rook, Second Lieutenant Mikael Carlin.

I’d only been cleared for flight status two weeks earlier, and I was still a bunny at the stick. I’d logged near a hundred hours in VR, but all the sims in the verse won’t prep you for the real black. Two minutes out there is about all it takes to teach you how little you know about everything. You’re a speck of animated carbon and water with about seven centimeters of ballistics-grade ceramic between you and absolutely nothing. Ninety-three billion light-years of fucking nothing. No up. No down. No sky. No ground. Just endless dark shot through with tiny spears of sunlight older than you and your entire species stacked end to end. You want to feel small? Spend sixty seconds in a Cyclone’s cockpit, chum. Look out at the nothing and feel it looking back. Then you know exactly how much you add up to.

We were off the Alexander’s port side, like I said. Even 600 klicks away, you wouldn’t believe how huge a United Terran Authority battlecarrier looks. It’s a megacity-sized fist of matte gray, tail end lit blue-white by thruster arrays big as skyscrapers.

I saw in VR somewhere that old Terran sailors used to refer to their ships like they were ladies. It was all “She’s the fastest ship in the isles, Guv’nor,” or “She went down with all hands on board” or whatever. And it’s funny—my Cyclone feels like a girl. Looks and moves like a girl. She’s all sleek lines and sharp curves and edges that can bleed you white. Sometimes, I swear she flies me.

But Alexander is a “he,” no doubt in my mind. There’s no grace to him. No real symmetry. He looks exactly like what he is—a brawler who picked a fight with someone just a little better. He’s got a broken-jaw face and a bucktoothed smile, wide as an ocean. He doesn’t fly through space, he punches through. Rips holes in it and drags himself and everything around along with him. A hundred thousand kilometers of cable beneath gunmetal skin. Open black scars torn down his flanks from the retreat at Kerenza IV. Brain the size of a city burning inside him. He’s no lady, sure and certain. No gentleman, either. You do not fuck the Alexander. The Alexander fucks you.

The science vessel Hypatia was situated about 4,000 klicks aft of the Alexander. Now she’s a “she.” Beautiful ship, chum. Lines like poetry. She doesn’t move in space, she dances in it. Asks you to take her hand and close your eyes and fly with her.

The heavy freighter Copernicus was on Alexander’s port side, about 6,000 klicks aft. If I had to pick, I’m not sure if I would’ve called that ship a boy or a girl. I’ve seen pictures of turtles on the VR. Copernicus almost reminded me of those. The city-sized shells on its back filled with enough fuel to juice it, the Alexander and the Hypatia combined. All the eggs in one basket.

I think there’s a saying about that.

Second Lieutenant Carlin and I had just been tagged by Dreadnought for the fourth time in twenty minutes. Regular as analog. Her targeting computer would light us up, the words “VESSEL DESTROYED VESSEL DESTROYED” would flash on our heads-up displays and she’d laugh down comms at us like we were the funniest clowns she’d ever seen fly a stick.

She’d started referring to Carlin as “Chatter” because he talked too much between engagements. I felt bad for the guy—when a superior officer slaps a nick on you, chances are it’s gonna stick. “Chatter” doesn’t rank up there with the chillest callsigns in the fleet.

Dreadnought was still tossing ideas around for me, and every time she dropped a firebomb like “Prettyboy,” I’d shit myself just a little. They engrave those callsigns on your coffin when you get X-ed out. Last thing you wanna picture when you imagine your send-off is a bunch of fellow Cyclone drones standing around toasting the death of “Lieutenant Sugarpants.”

We were forming up for another round of tag when the red alert sounded. At first I thought it was a drill, but then AIDAN spoke to us direct on comms. See, AIDAN doesn’t do drills. The Alexander’s artificial intelligence isn’t capable of lying. Sure, it can think for itself, but no neurogrammer is stupid enough to make a computer capable of conceptualizing deceit. These things are so smart now, the ability to spin bullshit is all that separates us from them.

“MAJOR HAWKING. PLEASE ORDER YOUR FLIGHT GROUP TO ARM BALLISTICS AND PULSE MISSILES. SAFETY DISENGAGED. THIS IS A CODE RED.”

AIDAN’s voice is sexless. It has perfect tone and inflection and pronunciation, but it doesn’t sound old, or young, or have even a hint of an accent. It even refuses to refer to pilots by their callsigns. I mean, sometimes it sounds cranky with you if you carve up the flight deck when you land or whatever, but aside from those occasional twitches, it’s like a beautiful painting of a totally empty room. Gives me the crawls.

Prophet repeated the order, and Dreadnought, Carlin and me all went hot. Didn’t even think about it. Thinking gets you killed, that’s what they tell you.

The three of us formed up on Prophet’s wing as he opened channel to Alexander, asking for confirmation from General Torrence. Except Prophet got no meat response on the other end. Just AIDAN giving us coordinates and telling us to scramble at redline speed. We flipped 270 degrees, jammed stick, and burned it toward the target. One look at my spatials told me where we were headed. Right at the Copernicus.

I remember the conversation that happened next. Every word. I can hear it right now in my head, like I’m there all over again.

“AIDAN, this is Prophet. Patch me through to General Torrence.”

“MAJOR HAWKING. PROCEED TO DESIGNATED GRID COORDINATES AT ASSAULT SPEED.”

“UNABLE TO COMPLY.”

“Say again, AIDAN?”

“UNABLE TO COMPLY.”

I squinted at my instruments, glancing up through the blastspex to confirm what my readouts were telling me. A tiny flare was blooming on the Copernicus’s skin. I saw nearly a dozen small scarab shapes dropping from the heavy freighter’s belly, one after another. Thrusters flaring. Twisted metal glittering in their wake.

“Prophet, something just blew through the Copernicus’s launch bay doors,” I reported.

“Why was the launch bay locked in the first place?” Carlin asked.

“Shut your fucking blowhole, Chatter!” Dreadnought barked, “Prophet, I’m detecting multiple shuttle launches from the Copernicus, acknowledge?”

“Roger that, I see them. No comms from Copernicus. No launch permit on the shuttles. Lead craft ident: Osprey.”

AIDAN’s voice crackled over comms.

“MAJOR HAWKING, YOU ARE ORDERED TO INTERCEPT OSPREY GROUP TWO THOUSAND KILOMETERS FROM COPERNICUS HYPOCENTER. ACKNOWLEDGE.”

“…Hypocenter?” Prophet repeated.

Hypocenter. From the Greek, chums. Literally means “below the center.” It’s a term used to describe the origin point of an earthquake. Or a nuclear explosion.

That got our attention. No fucking doubt.

I saw warning lights flashing on my HUD. Radiation spike. At that point I was nothing but adrenaline and sweat. And then I realized the Alexander had arced up its assault batteries. Missiles were heating, firing solutions feeding into our nav comps, a dozen LEDs flashing on my consoles now. The Alexander had armed its nukes.

And it was aiming at the Copernicus.

I asked Prophet what the fuck was happening, only to get howled at by Dreadnought for clogging comms. We were closing on the Copernicus at full burn, about 3,000 klicks away now. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely hold formation. The freighter loomed in my viewshield. Metal gleaming in the light of Kerenza VII’s atmo. Swirling blue and bloody red and copper-flavored gold.

Prophet was shouting into comms now. “AIDAN, we have detected nuclear armaments being spooled in your silos. Patch me through to General Torrence now! Acknowledge!”

“TRANSMISSION ACKNOWLEDGED, MAJOR HAWKING. UNABLE TO COMPLY.”

Prophet ordered me to raise the Copernicus on comms while he kept trying to get through to anyone human on board the Alexander. Copernicus was transmitting nothing but white noise. I did what I was told anyway.

“Heavy freighter Copernicus, this is Second Lieutenant Mason from Battlecarrier Alexander, do you copy?”

I got hissing silence for a reply. Maybe they couldn’t hear me.

Maybe they weren’t transmitting.

Or maybe they were being jammed.

“Copernicus, this is Alexander Cyclone Flight Group Echo. Do you copy?”

And then it happened. Inbound alarms screeched in my cockpit and the Alexander let loose. Just like that. There’s no up or down in space. Everything is relative. Funny how it can still feel like the entire universe has flipped on its head. My HUD was pretty much all red at this point. Prophet was yelling into comms, demanding an explanation from AIDAN. He still pulled up at the 2,000 klick point like he’d been ordered to, though.

Copernicus was armed with anti-inbound batteries and ghost tech that might fool a missile’s targeting computer on a good day. But the ship wasn’t running up its defense solutions. It looked fine from the exterior—they still had power, engines, nav. The lights were on, but nobody was home.

I watched the missile speed across the black. Lipstick-red tip, pristine white flanks, serial number stenciled in neat black lettering along its belly: URD:00M.

“Your doom.”

I wondered if that was some spanner monkey’s idea of a joke.

I wondered if the fucker was laughing now.

Sound doesn’t travel in space. There’s no atmo to carry it. All those old-school Terran future flicks we laugh at on retro night in the amphitheater got it wrong. But when that missile struck the Copernicus and burned blue, I swear I heard it. Felt it in my chest. The compensators on my visor dropped into sudden black against the flare, but I could still see it—the Copernicus being blown to pieces within a perfect sphere of blue. Chunks tumbling like thousand-ton jigsaw pieces across the black. Two thousand plus lives snuffed out in an instant. Dismantled by the blast or frozen into people-shaped icicles.

All of it happening in perfect, absolute

silence.

Debris was speeding toward us on the edge of the blastwave, pattering on my blastshield like rain, colliding with Kerenza VII’s atmo and burning through every color of the rainbow. I could still hear Prophet’s voice on comms, but I can’t remember what he was saying. Maybe he was still asking for an explanation. Maybe he was praying. I honestly can’t tell you.

I could still see the shuttles streaking toward us, came to my senses, like someone turned the universal volume back on. I could see other Cyclones popping up on my spatials—more flight groups scrambled from Alexander. I’d tried hailing the lead shuttle on open comms, on the day’s secure frequencies, on universal. Nothing. But someone had to be flying them—they’d been moving too erratically for autopilot scripts. And then AIDAN spoke again.

“MAJOR HAWKING, INTERCEPT OSPREY GROUP AND DESTROY. ACKNOWLEDGE.”

I heard Dreadnought talk on open comms then. That’s when I knew we were in real shit.

“Jah…,” she said. “Jah, help us.”

Prophet requested confirmation. “AIDAN, say again? You want us to fire on civilians?”

“QUARANTINE BREACH IN MOTION. CLASS ALPHA ZERO PATHOGEN. INTERCEPT OSPREY GROUP AND DESTROY. ACKNOWLEDGE.”

“Oh god…,” said Carlin.

“QUARANTINE BREACH IN MOTION. CLASS ALPHA ZERO PATHOGEN. INTERCEPT OSPREY GROUP AND DESTROY. ACKNOWLEDGE.”

“INTERCEPT OSPREY GROUP AND DESTROY. ACKNOWLEDGE.”

“INTERCEPT OSPREY GROUP AND DESTROY. ACKNOWLEDGE.”

“INTERCEPT OSPREY GROUP AND DESTROY. ACKNOWLEDGE.”

ISSUED BY: CAPTAIN CHAU, SCIENCE VESSEL HYPATIA

DATE: 07/21/75

TIME: 08:00 (Shipboard Standard)

ASSIGNMENT: ALEXANDER FLEET

In the six months since we left Kerenza, we have been pursued by the BeiTech vessel BT042-TN, the ship we know as the Lincoln. We owe the Alexander, her crew and the United Terran Authority military a great debt of gratitude for their protection.

We are still over four weeks from reaching a jump waypoint, and the Lincoln will use any means within her power to prevent us from reaching that safe passage and telling the rest of the galaxy of the atrocities perpetrated by BeiTech on the Kerenza colony.

It is with deepest regret I inform you all that last night at 21:15 (shipboard time), the Lincoln launched a surprise assault on our fleet, resulting in the destruction of the heavy freighter Copernicus.

I know many of you had friends, family and colleagues aboard the Copernicus, as did I. Survivors aboard nine shuttles were rescued during the assault by the Alexander’s Cyclone pilots, and we extend to them our heartfelt thanks for their heroic efforts.

Due to the health concerns on the Copernicus in recent times, the survivors have been quarantined aboard the Alexander. This has slowed our efforts to compile a list of names and details; however, please rest assured we understand the urgency of this task.

We are renewing our efforts to make good time toward a jump waypoint and safety. Please assist and support those around you who have lost family, friends, or colleagues. Interdenominational memorial services will be arranged shortly, with details to be posted in the mess halls.

Participants: ByteMe, CitB

Date: 07/21/75

Timestamp: 08:15

ByteMe: u seen the PIR? it’s bullshit

CitB: huge surprise, the brass r lying. KNEW this was coming

ByteMe: u psychic now?

CitB: should have started digging when they took down civilian comms on the Copernicus. “maintenance” my ass.

ByteMe: so they were hiding something, let’s work out what

CitB: you got any gen?

ByteMe: working on it now.

CitB: u still there?

ByteMe: trying to get past the ICE wall, takes a while. systems are SO busy over there. seems like they have their main engines off, but that makes no sense. we should be accelerating fast as we can before the Lincoln gets busy again.

CitB: tick tock tick tock

ByteMe: u can do any better, feel free

CitB: sorry. r u ok?

ByteMe: fine. found a court martial list

CitB: …

CitB: say again?

ByteMe: they’re court martialing the pilots that heroically saved all the people on the Copernicus shuttles

CitB: what the fuck?

ByteMe: got the records here. u tell me why they do that if the pilots were under orders

CitB: not the only mystery, grasshopper. i’m hunting for any scans or records showing Lincoln got close enough to us to take a shot. nothing so far. it’s still way behind us, far as i can tell

ByteMe: so no attack from Lincoln, and they’re court martialing our pilots. are we saying it was our guys who took out the Copernicus?

CitB: fuck me

ByteMe: ew no

CitB: this is getting weirder and weirder. but that can wait, trying to find u a survivor list first

ByteMe: don’t need one

CitB: course you do

ByteMe: i don’t want to talk about it

CitB: you need to know who made it off

ByteMe: i need to know who shot down the Copernicus, that’s the real mystery here

CitB: look, we both know i have no social skills, but if you need to talk about it

ByteMe: need you to tell me what you’re finding

CitB: …

CitB: finding something weird.

CitB: I can’t get a read on AIDAN. thought I was just hitting ICE walls but it’s more like nobody’s home…

COURT MARTIAL LISTING (PAGE 3)

PILOT IDENT: Cayla Alton (UTN-924-776ad)

RANK: Major

CALLSIGN: Sting

FLIGHT GROUP: Delta

PILOT IDENT: Eli Hawking (UTN-912-842ad)

RANK: Major

CALLSIGN: Prophet

FLIGHT GROUP: Echo

PILOT IDENT: Zhenya Alvaranga (UTN-945-817ad)

RANK: First Lieutenant

CALLSIGN: Dreadnought

FLIGHT GROUP: Echo

PILOT IDENT: Ezra Mason (UTN-966-330ad)

RANK: Second Lieutenant

CALLSIGN: N/A

FLIGHT GROUP:

——LIST INCOMPLETE——

-——ACCESS INTERRUPTED——-

To: Ezra Mason/EMASONALEXANDERONBOARD

From: Kady Grant/KGRANTHYPATIAONBOARD

Date: 07/21/75

Timestamp: 10:00

Subject: Hey Ezra

I’ve tried writing this email ten times already and I can’t get it right, so I’m just going to send this through, whatever it ends up saying.

I’m sorry I didn’t write you back. I should have. I mean, when you say “I’m never going to speak to you again,” you don’t think your planet’s going to be invaded that afternoon. It was more, you know, an opening position on negotiations. I was angry.

But you said in your email maybe the universe was telling us it wasn’t going to work out. You’re the most romantic idiot I know, so I guess if you think so, it must be true. That stung, but still, I’m sorry I didn’t write back. Because yeah, I should have let you know I was okay.

I’m still on the Hypatia, I’m in intel training. Since I heard about the Copernicus, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you—this is not me retracting my promise to kick you into the soprano range if you ever come near me again, but I had to check you’re okay. So, let me know if you’re okay, then we can go back to being…whatever we are now.

Kady

Participants: Ezra Mason, Second Lieutenant,

UTA Airborne Division, James McNulty,

Sergeant, UTA Marines

Date: 07/21/75

Timestamp: 10:02

Mason, E, LT 2nd: well played, McNulty. well played, indeed

McNulty, J, Sgt: wut

Mason, E, LT 2nd: You have just overstepped the line, chum. I put you on notice

McNulty, J, Sgt: this my wtf face—> ?_?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: What I want to know is how you jacked her User ID. You pull in Dorian from commtechs to help? What did you do to convince him to help? Blowjob?

McNulty, J, Sgt: r u dusted or sumthing

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I thought the chipheads would have their hands full trying to figure out what made AIDAN go all HAL on us. Instead, they’re piggybacking secure IDs and helping you fuck with my head. I didn’t think your blowjobs were that good

McNulty, J, Sgt: chum wtf u talkin bout

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I take this as a declaration of war. Presuming they don’t line me up against a bulkhead and shoot me after my court martial tomorrow, I will be making sweet, sweet love to your sister by week’s end. This I do solemnly vow

McNulty, J, Sgt: ezra don’t joke about my sister I fucking warned u

Mason, E, LT 2nd: sweet

McNulty, J, Sgt: chum…

Mason, E, LT 2nd: sweet

McNulty, J, Sgt: mason…

Mason, E, LT 2nd: lurrrrrrve

McNulty, J, Sgt: DON’T JOKE ABOUT MY FUCKING SISTER COCKSUCKER I WILL RIP OFF UR FUCKING SQUIB AND JAM IT UP YOUR FUCKING ASS

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I LIKED THIS GIRL. I TOLD U THAT. I MAY NOT HAVE BEEN ABLE TO WALKSTRAIGHT AT THE TIME BUT YOU SAID IT WAS IN THE VAULT

McNulty, J, Sgt: WUT GIRL U CRAYZ FUCK

Mason, E, LT 2nd: KADY GRANT

McNulty, J, Sgt:…who?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: oh you don’t know, fuck you chum, this is some pistols at dawn shit right here

McNulty, J, Sgt: mason I have NO FUCKING IDEA wut u r talking bout rite now

Mason, E, LT 2nd: so you didn’t send this message

McNulty, J, Sgt: WUT MESSAGE

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I send u

Mason, E, LT 2nd: got?

McNulty, J, Sgt: roger that

Mason, E, LT 2nd: and?

McNulty, J, Sgt: READING FUCK

Mason, E, LT 2nd: *taps fingers*

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Fuck me how long it take you to read you illiterate fuck

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I heard your sister likes it zero gee true/false?

McNulty, J, Sgt: chum this wasn’t me

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i smell lies

McNulty, J, Sgt: srsly

Mason, E, LT 2nd: eat a dick

McNulty, J, Sgt: MASON

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Yummy scrummy dick

McNulty, J, Sgt: LOOK AT THIS WRITING I DO NOT WRITE LIKE THIS SHE GOT ALL PUNCTUATIONS AND THINGS

Mason, E, LT 2nd: if you are lying, all jokes aside, i will totally gun for your sister

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I swear to god I will make her my bride

Mason, E, LT 2nd: …although now you mention it, your punctuation is fucking ungodly…

McNulty, J, Sgt: “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you”

McNulty, J, Sgt: CHum

McNulty, J, Sgt: You are IN

Mason, E, LT 2nd: …

McNulty, J, Sgt: PICKING CURTAINS

McNulty, J, Sgt: MEETING PARENTS

McNulty, J, Sgt: MAKING PUPPIES

McNulty, J, Sgt: wait didn’t u say this fem rolled u up and smoked u

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ripped my heart out my chest

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Showed it to me, still beating

Mason, E, LT 2nd: then slam-dunked it off the ice shelf

McNulty, J, Sgt: she get good air?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: fuck you chum

McNulty, J, Sgt: cheer up, bitch. She wouldn’t have written if her loins did not ache for thee

Mason, E, LT 2nd: can u read? She threatening to kick me in the sopranos. She says it’s over.

McNulty, J, Sgt: “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you”

McNulty, J, Sgt: “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you”

McNulty, J, Sgt: “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you”

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ALRITE SHUT UP FUCKER

McNulty, J, Sgt: read between the lines fool

Mason, E, LT 2nd: zzzz, so what do I say to her?

McNulty, J, Sgt: nfi. probably start by apologizing for wutever u did

Mason, E, LT 2nd: what makes you think it was my fault?

McNulty, J, Sgt: because it’s ALWAYS the chum’s fault, chum

McNulty, J, Sgt: u got extracurricular didn’t u?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: fuck no. I’d have no sopranos to kick if i’d done dirty

McNulty, J, Sgt: come on, u can tell uncle Jimmy

Mason, E, LT 2nd: shut up i like this fem

McNulty, J, Sgt: AND SHE OBVS STILL LIKES U OR SHE WOULDN’T BE WRITING GODDAMN U ARE A MOPEY BITCH

Mason, E, LT 2nd: …

McNulty, J, Sgt: so whatever u did, say u’re sorry. on your knees.

McNulty, J, Sgt: <insert quip about u being good at that here>

Mason, E, LT 2nd: …

McNulty, J, Sgt: and if that works

McNulty, J, Sgt: u must name ur first kid james in my honor

Mason, E, LT 2nd: >_>

McNulty, J, Sgt: if it’s a daughter u name it jamette

Mason, E, LT 2nd: 0_o

McNulty, J, Sgt: and then it’s happy ever after for Ezra Mason

Mason, E, LT 2nd: :D

McNulty, J, Sgt: shit

Mason, E, LT 2nd: what

McNulty, J, Sgt: I was just thinking now it will be a real crusher if they shoot u 2morrow

Mason, E, LT 2nd: …

Mason, E, LT 2nd: :(

To: Kady Grant/KGRANTHYPATIAONBOARD

From: Ezra Mason/EMASONALEXANDERONBOARD

Date: 07/21/75

Timestamp: 16:15

Subject: Re: Hey Ezra

Hey Kades,

Well, this is attempt #18 at writing back, so I guess I’ve got you beat.

I’m ok. I’ve been on the Alexander since Kerenza fell. The UTA recruited me when I hit eighteen.

I’m flying cyclones now, if you can believe that. Shows you how short-manned they are if they’ve got me droning a fighter stick. I guess I finally made it off world, huh? Probably not what you had in mind…

You might wanna be careful with the intel training. If they’ve got you doing any neurogramming, the UTA might conscript you too. They’re way short-handed over here since the hits they took at Kerenza. One of the pulse missile hits X-ed out, like, three quarters of the NG guys. Might be hard to keep avoiding me if we’re living in each other’s pockets. :P

Anyway, I gotta go. Got this meeting thing coming up. Guy here to talk about it.

It’s chill to hear from you, though. Real chill.

Ezra

PS: Um, the drunken keyboard face mail? Totally not me. One of my squaddies got onto my terminal. He thought it’d be funny. Really sorry about that.

PPS: Seriously. Not me.

PPPS: SERIOUSLY.

Message Status: DRAFT—DISCARDED

To: Ezra Mason/EMASONALEXANDERONBOARD

From: Kady Grant/KGRANTHYPATIAONBOARD

Date: 07/21/75

Timestamp: 17:15

Subject: Well, we are awkward at this.

But thanks for messaging back. Everybody here is talking about the Cyclone pilots. They put out a PIR about how you all rescued the shuttles from the Copernicus. What’s it like to be a hero? I guess your meeting is getting measured for medals, right? Anyway, what was facing down the Lincoln like? And the rescue? It seems kind of weird that the Lincoln could just come out of nowhere like that. How did it all happen? Also, my friend here is wondering about the survivor lists becauseASDLKDGFKNDFGJBE MORE SUBTLE KADY LIKE A BRICK WHY DON’T YOU?

Message Status: DRAFT—DISCARDED

To: Ezra Mason/EMASONALEXANDERONBOARD

From: Kady Grant/KGRANTHYPATIAONBOARD

Date: 07/21/75

Timestamp: 17:35

Subject: Uh oh

They do have me in the civilian neurogramming program, but I don’t like the sound of those odds. Time for a career change, if only I had a choice.

I’d be okay coming over to the Alexander, to be honest. I bet you guys have more information than us. You’re the military, you have a whole intelligence wing, right? Then again, if what they’re saying is true, the Lincoln snuck right up on us. Is that what really happened?

Anyway, the Alexander would be okay. My quarters here aren’t with anyone I knew back on Kerenza, and even if everybody went through the same thing with the evac, it’s still…I don’t want to say lonely, because that sounds so ungrateful. We’re the ones that got out.

I know things didn’t end well, but I think if the attack hadn’t come maybe we’d have found some way to at least still be friends. And you know, maybe…A year together can’t mean nothing. I thought

Message Status: DRAFT—DISCARDED

To: Ezra Mason/EMASONALEXANDERONBOARD

From: Kady Grant/KGRANTHYPATIAONBOARD

Date: 07/21/75

Timestamp: 17:57

Subject:

…fuck

Date: 07/21/75

Subject: It’s dark in here

We’re back doing group counseling again. I’m back doing group counseling again. ME. I mean, I don’t even. After all the effort I put into getting out of this the first time.

But they’ve decided we are all super traumatized by the Copernicus, and reconvened the groups they had running after the rescue. The latest round of talking (or not) about our feelings led our group leader to conclude maybe some of us are more forthcoming than others when it comes to sharing the deepest, darkest parts of ourselves.

Being the astute creature she is, she spent ten minutes I’m never getting back pointing out that just because we don’t talk about our feelings doesn’t mean we don’t have them.

Thank you, Captain Obvious.

I guess she was looking at me on that one. I haven’t slept properly since it happened, and I keep waking up at night wondering…bad things. I just don’t think talking about it to a group of worried faces is the way to help me.

I hate the crying the most. It just creeps up on you out of nowhere. You’re in the middle of doing something and suddenly you realize your goddamn eyes are wet again and you don’t know how it happened. And the last—the LAST—thing you want is for anyone to notice, because next thing they’re cooing and clucking over you, and they want you to talk, and it’s more than I can take.

I have my mom’s voice ringing in my ears, though, so I am trudging along dutifully to these stupid group discussions, even though it’s pointless.

I haven’t kept a journal since I was a kid, filling it with all the secrets of the universe, the suckitude of my parents moving me to a hideous hunk of rock like Kerenza, the total angst of it all that I’d give anything to get back. It worked, though. Writing it down stopped me saying it when I shouldn’t, and over time the problems faded away. My present problems aren’t going anywhere, but maybe the Return Of The Journal will stop my head exploding.

This thing is locked down under the kind of privacy protections even Byron couldn’t crack. And if anyone reads it, I’m going to devote my life to finding a way to program every bathroom door on the Hypatia to refuse to recognize their ID. Actually, I think I could do that. BEWARE, SNOOPER.

So, a journal. I appreciate that they’re trying to help with the group sessions, but they’re scientists, not therapists. You can’t run people through a quick training session and then have them host a bunch of traumatized survivors sitting in a circle and trying to talk it out.

My group leader says it’s important to talk about my FEELINGS. I am stone-hearted and have none, of course.

Well, that’s not true. Most people would say I’m pretty cold, but I think of it more as…private. People are always saying “how are you?” to each other, and I guess I don’t see why I should answer such a personal question for just anyone.

But for the sake of trying, here goes.

Ezra’s been on my mind a lot lately. Why, I don’t know, except that the more you lose, the more you realize you don’t have much left.

But at the same time, I’m…am I dumb to go back there? It was hard enough to make a decision the first time, but if after a year he couldn’t even trust me enough to talk about whatever he had going on…and anyway, practically the first thing he did was email me and say it was all a sign, and we weren’t meant to be together, and I do have SOME dignity. I don’t want to be an option for him just because now he doesn’t have any others.

I’m glad he made it out, obviously. It’s not about that.

I think a lot about who made it out, who didn’t. I think about my cousin Asha. Sometimes I just remember some random person, like the lady who came to fix our habitation recyc the week before it all happened. I can see her face, but I don’t remember if I knew her name.

I wonder if she made it out, if she’s somewhere on board, or if she died. And then I don’t know why I’m wondering something like that, or why I feel so bad about not knowing. Survivor Guilt, according to the Counseling Circle Of Hastily Downloaded Wisdom.

I guess an experience like this is supposed to mess you up.

Participants: ByteMe, CitB

Date: 07/22/75

Timestamp: 09:02

ByteMe: u there?

ByteMe: ping

ByteMe: ping

ByteMe: PING COME ON COME ON

CitB: fuck me, i’m here, what?????i was trying to find Copernicus survivor lists for you, that takes concentration u know

ByteMe: told you i don’t want them. forget that. ping the Alexander

CitB: how can u not want to know?

ByteMe: PING THE ALEXANDER

CitB: ok

ByteMe: u doing it?

CitB: trying

ByteMe: well?

CitB: still trying did u miss ur meds or what?? whats the rush??

ByteMe: well?

CitB: i can’t

ByteMe: I KNOW

CitB: ??

ByteMe: comms are down

CitB: system check?

ByteMe: no they all blinked out simultaneous. when they’re running a check u see them cascade out. Alexander’s main engines are still offline too. i was watching for court martial results when comms were cut

CitB: checking on ur boyfriend

ByteMe: this again?

CitB: don’t deny the flame still burns. ur heart leaps at the mention of his name. u know this is love, sent by forces above…

ByteMe: r u quoting song lyrics now?

CitB: i do not have a lot of rl experience with romance

ByteMe: listen, i’m doing this because it’s our best chance of finding out wtf happened to the Copernicus. we don’t have anyone else on the ground.

CitB: mmm hmmmm

ByteMe: can we please keep our minds on the job at hand?

CitB: I don’t know, can we?

ByteMe: Byron, they cut the ship link. Just like they did with Copernicus.

CitB: ok, ok. i don’t like it either. i have news though

CitB: there are def Copernicus survivors on the Alexander. i found signs about an hour ago. The Cyclones are only landing in bays 1, 2, 3, 5 and 6. see what’s missing?

ByteMe: omgnumbers

ByteMe: wait, wait, I CAN TOTALLY DO THIS.

CitB: …

ByteMe: o, the thinking, it HURTS.

CitB: ok fine, point taken

ByteMe: wait…is it the number…4?

CitB: all RIGHT I’m sorry

CitB: point is, we found our Copernicus shuttles

ByteMe: so the survivors are still locked down

ByteMe: shouldn’t they be debriefing, working out wtf happened?

CitB: i’m just one guy, patience, grasshopper

ByteMe: i want to know y they isolated us by cutting comms. R we next?

CitB: careful going after that sort of gen. thats hardcore. they find u doing that they burn u right out

ByteMe: ur scared

CitB: no, smart. dangerous times

COMMAND TRANSMISSION SENT 07/22/75 09:06

HYPATIA HAILS ALEXANDER: NARROW FREQUENCY BROADCAST

Alexander, Alexander, Alexander, this is Hypatia, Hypatia, Hypatia. Do you copy? Over.

[NO RESPONSE]

HYPATIA HAILS ALEXANDER: AUXILIARY FREQUENCY

Alexander, Alexander, Alexander, this is Hypatia, Hypatia, Hypatia. Do you copy? Over.

[NO RESPONSE]

HYPATIA HAILS ALEXANDER: MAYDAY FREQUENCY

Alexander, Alexander, Alexander, this is Hypatia, Hypatia, Hypatia. Do you copy? Over.

ALEXANDER HAILS HYPATIA: MAYDAY FREQUENCY

AUTO-RESPONSE: Your message has been received and quarantined. Your message will be processed. Over.

HYPATIA: Alexander, this is Hypatia. What the fuck do you mean our message has been “quarantined”? This is Captain Chau. Get me Torrence on the line. Over.

AUTO-RESPONSE: Your message has been received and quarantined. Your message will be processed. Over.

HYPATIA: That right? Well, process this: You flex your tiniest gun turret, look like you’re even reaching to scratch an itch, I’m going to raise so much noise the Lincoln and every ally she has in the ’verse will know where to find you.

ALEXANDER: Hypatia, this is Colonel Myles. Go secure. Repeat, go secure. Over.

HYPATIA HAILS ALEXANDER: COMMANDER’S SECURE FREQUENCY

HYPATIA: Lia, what the fuck?

ALEXANDER: Sit tight, Ann. Comms are down while we do some work on AIDAN, and we could live without gossip flying back and forth between the ships. You should see the stats on broadcast frequency the last couple of days. Your people and ours have been busy. Loose lips…

HYPATIA: Look, I said exactly what you told me to say. I said it was the Lincoln that took out the Copernicus. Pretty soon someone’s going to have to start answering some questions for me, though. Anyone with eyes can see your main engines are offline and you’re reaccelerating on secondaries. Has this work you’re doing taken AIDAN offline completely? Get your drives back up!

HYPATIA: Where’s Torrence?

ALEXANDER: He’s taking care of some official business. You have my word, Ann. We’re here to keep you safe.

This girl has to be some kind of spider monkey. I don’t know what those are, but I know what a spider is and I know what a monkey is, and if you found some unholy way to combine the two, that’s what I’d be watching right now. You said include everything: Right now I am including my impression that she is very flexible, and apparently unaffected by gravity. I guess you need more context. I’ll go back to the start and transcribe from there.

Footage opens at 11:38, on 07/22/75. Subject is Kady Grant, neurogramming intel student third class, a Kerenza refugee training aboard the Hypatia to replace crew they lost to the Alexander. Camera 892A takes in the corridor leading through to the servers. She enters with a group of fellow trainees and an instructor, and they make their way down the corridor.

The floor is a metal grid, and the clanging of their footsteps interferes with the audio on the file—the sound dampeners don’t work when there’s such a big gang. The noise drowns out individual conversations, but that doesn’t matter. They’re just fooling around the way students do, showing off for each other as they funnel down the long, narrow corridor, and she’s in the middle of it. She’s short, so she’s sometimes hidden behind the others, but there are enough glimpses to confirm she’s there.

They reach the server door, and she slips to the back of the group as they shove through. The subject digs in her jumpsuit and palms something too small for the cameras to pick up on. Just as she reaches the door itself, last in line and invisible to everybody else, she jumps, slapping at the environmental sensors by the top of the doorframe. There’s a dark mark there when her hand comes away, but camera resolution isn’t good enough to pick up the specs.

I would have laid down this week’s salary she couldn’t jump so high. Where does she get that kind of bounce from? Seriously, big jump for a small girl. She slips through the door the moment before it hums shut.

Inside the server room, the data monkeys look up and scowl and make shut up we’re working gestures, which dampens the students. The data monkeys don’t look worried, though—either they don’t know the Alexander cut comms or they’ve been fed some excuse.

The room originally housed servers only, with personnel up the hall. The repurposing of the Hypatia from research vessel to refugee carrier removed that luxury. The relocated servers now line the walls, and rows of desks are crammed into the resultant space.

The cables that would usually slither all over the floor have been looped up against the ceiling by fat metal bands, though they still droop and coil downward like so many intestines. Whichever interior design genius handled the redesign found some harsh fluorescent emergency lights and jammed them in among the cables bundled up against the roof, which means there are bands of bright light and deep shadow all over the room.

The students, including the subject, take up places at the desks and log in to their individual ports, getting to work on today’s assignment.

At 11:41 the environmental controls in the server room and the corridor beyond indicate a concern regarding air quality, loud, high-pitched and fucking annoying beeping cutting over the chatter of the class and ruining what little audio I have.

They all rise and grumble and turn for the door, and as they exit, Grant pulls her spider monkey thing. Stepping up onto her desk, she grabs at the nest of cables, tangled up there like a bowl of noodles. She’s little, and they hold her weight. The subject has picked a spot in the back of the room, and by the time the head datatech checks for stragglers, she’s clinging to the ceiling in the shadows and out of sight.

The door hums closed as she unpeels from the ceiling and drops to the ground. She walks over to one of her fellow students’ stations, which is still logged in. The enviro system continues beeping, and she looks up at the speakers like she wants to silence them with her death glare. It’s a pretty good death glare, actually. I’d behave.

Subject inserts a mem-chit into the station’s port, pulls on the HUD headset, and activates the old-school keyboard. It slides out from the side of the station, sitting vertically, and her fingers dance. She sends a batch info dump to an anonymous holding drive—we know this from what we could piece together of the drive records. We still don’t know what most of that info was. Sliding away the keyboard, subject pulls off the HUD and dumps it on the desk. She then crawls under the desk, so for a moment all you can see is her butt sticking out.

No complaints here. Just saying.

For those playing along at home, she was attaching a device called an interface leech. Has to be attached physically, and allows access to a transmission array the fleet commanders use for emergency communications. So if you can access it, you can piggyback your own comms on it without anybody noticing.

Also, somebody should probably tell the UTA they’ve got a fleet-wide security vulnerability going on there.

At 11:48 the enviro alarm stops beeping without warning.

She freezes. Caught by surprise, I’m guessing. Abruptly, she’s scrambling out, banging her head on the desk in her hurry, clambering to her feet, yanking the mem-chit from the station, though she still pauses to give the monitor a little pat, like it’s a good dog for behaving so well. Subject hurries over to the back of the room, stuffs the chit into her pocket, and crouches in the shadows behind a bank of desks.

At 11:49 the students and datatechs file back in, grumbling about the interruption. She makes for the door. The head datatech says something inaudible. With a quick smile that’s on the opposite end of the spectrum from that death glare, subject says something inaudible in return. They don’t need this girl in neurogramming, they need her in psych ops, eyeball to eyeball with the guys who need to see things a little differently. Just saying. What she says must be an excuse, and it works. Not batting a lash, he palms the door open for her himself. She strolls back down the hallway ultra chill, stands there waiting until a datatech opens that door from the other side. She slips past, and she’s out and free. As the door hums shut, subject is visible pivoting and blowing a kiss back toward the server room.

I don’t blame her. She just plundered that thing.

It took eleven fucking minutes. And she’s just strolling away.

Date: 07/22/75

Subject: Behind the curtain

Learning is everywhere. I remember my mom telling me that when I was little, making mundane things seem like they were full of adventure. What I wouldn’t do for a little mundanity at this moment. Or my mom.

I wonder if I’ll be able to claim some kind of school credit for the stuff I’m learning on board. It’s not exactly conventional, but I haven’t given up on college and I don’t want to end up behind. Note to self: Figure out how to argue the merits of practical experience in computer crime to a college application board without getting arrested. (ha ha, I am on a REFUGEE SHIP limping alongside a disabled military battlecarrier being chased down by a BeiTech dreadnought and hoping to live long enough to find a jump gate so I MUST NOT GET BEHIND ON MY SCHOOLING…I sound dusted.)

I am just too funny, but there’s nobody here to appreciate my jokes. My group leader says I mask my emotions with dark humor and sullenness. Maybe she’s right. The poor woman used to be a geologist before they made her a counselor, and the only thing she’s got going for her is that our group is about as easy to talk to as a bunch of rocks. But who wants to break the dam on stuff like this in public? You write it down and put it away, then back to work.

Today’s counseling session was about looking behind the face we put on in public to think about what else might really be going on. I wonder if that was just a sideways attempt to get me to be nicer to some of the others, walk a mile in their shoes, blah blah.

Anyway, she gave us the theme, and as she launched off into another round of How-Does-That-Make-You-Feel, I kept thinking about this holoshow I saw as a kid. They put on a play in the community complex with light-projected puppets, and I snuck away from my parents and went around the back to investigate the puppeteers. The whole romance scene was spoiled by me sauntering out onstage to share my discovery. (I am only realizing now how Mom and Dad must have wanted to hide under their seats, but to be fair, it was hardly the first time I’d mortified them.) I remember that moment really clearly. It was so important to me that everybody understand that what they were seeing, this romance, these feelings right there onstage—none of it was real. And that the girl puppet was really a guy with the biggest mustache I’d ever seen, which struck me as hilarious.

Clearly I had missed the romance of the moment.

I was all over today’s theme of What-Might-Really-Be-Going-On, though, even at the age of eight. I knew it mattered, getting behind the pretend, the masks, and finding out what was really happening.

And romance? I knew even then it wasn’t the real deal.

Today, as we practiced empathy and pretended to put ourselves in the shoes of others (without really doing it, because none of us want to imagine anyone else’s grief, we have enough problems with our own), I thought a lot about that holoshow, and the commanders of our little refugee fleet.

Like I said, back to work. My group leader has no idea how much I want to know what might really be going on. And I’m going to find out.

COURT MARTIAL TRANSCRIPT

UNITED TERRAN NAVY

ALEXANDER FLEET

INCEPT: 07/22/75

WITNESS IDENT: Ezra Mason (UTN-966-330ad)

RANK: Second Lieutenant

CALLSIGN: N/A

COMMANDING OFFICER: David Torrence (UTN-951-787ad)

RANK: General

CALLSIGN: Dozer

—TRANSCRIPT (PAGE 5)—

DT: Lieutenant Mason, what was your initial reaction when Echo Group was ordered to attack shuttle group Osprey?

EM: Sir?

DT: What did you do when the Alexander ordered you to open fire on the Copernicus shuttles?

EM: I didn’t do anything. I was waiting for my CO to confirm the order.

DT: Your commanding officer being Major Eli Hawking.

EM: Yes, sir. Prophet.

DT: And did Major Hawking confirm the Alexander’s command and order Echo Group to engage and destroy the shuttle group?

EM: [Inaudible.]

DT: I beg your pardon, Lieutenant?

EM: [Inaudible.]

DT: Lieutenant, you are accused of disobeying a direct order in a time of war. Do I need to explain the severity of this situation to you? The penalty you will face if this court finds you guilty?

EM: You have the communications logs, what do you need me to—

DT: Lieutenant Mason, you will answer all questions addressed to you, or this court will find your prettyboy ass in contempt.

EM:…No. Prophet didn’t confirm the order. Sir.

DT: What did Major Hawk—

EM: We’d just watched the Alexander murder over two thousand civilians for no good reason, what the hell was Prophet supposed to do?

[slamming noise]

DT: Lieutenant Mason, you might be fresh meat from some pitdigger shithole, but that’s still a goddamn UTA sigil on your collar. One more outburst and I will rip out your eyeballs and skullfuck you so hard you’ll wish your mama told your daddy she had a headache the night you got loaded into the launch tube.

EM: My father is dead, sir. He died at Kerenza. Sir.

DT: [Inaudible.]

EM: Sir?

DT: Listen, son, I know you’re conscript material. I know you didn’t join the UTA willingly, and I know you don’t want to be here…

EM: No, sir, I’m happy to help out, sir. Alexander saved us at Kerenza. And I want to help. I really do. What I don’t understand is why you fought so hard to save us, only to X-out the Copernicus near six months into the retreat.

DT: This is not a retreat, Mason.

EM: Can we tell that to the BeiTech dreadnought chasing us?

DT: This is a tactical withdrawal, Lieutenant.

EM: Yes, sir. Apologies, sir.

DT: Are you ready to start answering my questions now, Lieutenant? Or do I get the MPs to warm you a seat in the hole?

EM: [Inaudible.]

DT: Lieutenant?

EM: Ready, sir.

DT: What did Major Hawking do when Alexander ordered Echo Group to engage and destroy the Copernicus shuttles?

EM: He asked for confirmation from you.

DT: He refused the order.

EM: He wanted confirmation from a human. He’d just watched AIDAN nuke the Copernicus.

DT: How did you know it was the artificial intelligence that ordered the strike on Copernicus, Lieutenant?

EM: Because it was the AI talking to us. Prophet tried to raise you on comms, and AIDAN told him it was unable to comply.

DT: And so instead of following orders, Major Hawking decided to tow the shuttles into the Alexander’s hangar bay. Despite repeated warnings of an Alpha Zero pathogen aboard those ships.

EM: He didn’t…

DT: Lieutenant?

EM: The Major didn’t escort the shuttles right away. He spoke to Dreadnought—

DT: First Lieutenant Alvaranga.

EM: Yes, sir. He spoke to her and the CO of Delta Group. Delta got scrambled when the Copernicus was nuked. They talked it over. And all the while, AIDAN was just screaming at us to engage and destroy. We had no comms on those shuttles. The EMP from the blast had knocked out their systems, and they were floating helpless. But they were close enough at that point for us to see the people inside. I saw this little girl in one of the viewports, she couldn’t have been more than ten—

DT: Who made the final decision to tow the shuttles onto Alexander?

EM: You know the answer to that, sir. You have the communications logs.

DT: I am asking you, Lieutenant.

EM: You want me to feed Prophet and Dreadnought to the wolves.

DT: I want your version of events, Lieutenant Mason. I’m not going to warn you again.

EM: There were innocent people on board those ships. We could see them. Prophet and Dreadnought made the right call.

DT: So it was Major Hawking and First Lieutenant Alvaranga who made the decision?

EM:…

DT: Lieutenant?

EM: I don’t recall, sir.

DT: I beg your pardon?

EM: I don’t remember. Everything happened too fast.

DT: You are on thin fucking ice, Lieutenant…

EM: I’m sorry, sir. I don’t remember. You want to brig me for that, do it. I’ll sleep easier in the hole than I will on thirty pieces of fucking silver.

Participants: Ezra Mason, Second Lieutenant, UTA Airborne Division

James McNulty, Sergeant, UTA Marines

Date: 07/22/75

Timestamp: 23:07

McNulty, J, Sgt: jus saw you head back to your rack wut news chum

McNulty, J, Sgt: chum

McNulty, J, Sgt: mason

McNulty, J, Sgt: ezramaaaaaaaaaaaaaassssssssssooonISrnbopNRb[on erb

McNulty, J, Sgt: ANSWER ME FUCKER

McNulty, J, Sgt: i guess they didn’t shoot u

Mason, E, LT 2nd: nope, not me

McNulty, J, Sgt: good news for ms hottie and my young namesake

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Bad news for Prophet and Dreadnought

McNulty, J, Sgt: ?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: they fucking shot them, Jimmy

McNulty, J, Sgt:…

McNulty, J, Sgt: u fucking kidding me

Mason, E, LT 2nd: DO I SOUND LIKE I’M FUCKING JOKING?

McNulty, J, Sgt:…JESUS

Mason, E, LT 2nd: lined them up against the bulkhead and X-ed them out. CO from Delta group too. And some Lt from Flight Control. Just straight-up shot them

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Only reason me and Carlin got off was because we were obeying direct orders from Prophet. They had it all on the comms logs. Whole show was bullshit.

McNulty, J, Sgt: FUCK

Mason, E, LT 2nd: They revoked my flight status. Decked until further notice.

McNulty, J, Sgt: wut the fuck is Torrence thinking? We shorthanded as it is and they’re X-ing out our best jockeys? Wut they charge them with?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: On paper? “Disobeying a direct order in time of war.” Unofficially, I heard it was a gag job. Command is telling the civis on Hypatia it was the fucking Lincoln that blew up Copernicus. Prophet and Dreadnought wanted to tell it straight. Wouldn’t keep quiet about it.

McNulty, J, Sgt: civis would shit bricks if they knew it was Alexander on the trigger

Mason, E, LT 2nd: You said it

McNulty, J, Sgt: but X-ing out our own guys? i didn’t sign up for that shit, chum

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Watch the chat, they could be monitoring

McNulty, J, Sgt: Dorian said the whole commtech crew is working full time on AIDAN, they got no juice to monitor local chatter, fool

Mason, E, LT 2nd: does Dorian know what they did with the civis we escorted over from Copernicus?

McNulty, J, Sgt: They all locked in bay 4. Nobody getting in or out

Mason, E, LT 2nd: no confirmation about Phobos?

McNulty, J, Sgt: shit chum, they’ve had constant outbreaks on Copernicus since we evac’ed Kerenza. Wut are the chances none of those folks are carriers?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: so we could have let the virus on board Alexander?

McNulty, J, Sgt: *shrugs*

Mason, E, LT 2nd: shit

McNulty, J, Sgt: wuts the prob? It’s a bug. 3 days and you’re good as new

Mason, E, LT 2nd: During the Copernicus snafu, AIDAN called it a “Class Alpha Zero Pathogen.” And command ain’t treating it like the common fucking cold.

McNulty, J, Sgt: jesus

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you didn’t hear that from me btw

Mason, E, LT 2nd: The worst thing about this shit is we never even heard direct from Torrence during that whole mess. It was AIDAN that gave us the red alert. AIDAN that ordered us to fire on the shuttles. Prophet was just supposed to X-out a bunch of civis because the computer says so?

McNulty, J, Sgt: Order must have come from Torrence. The Ai can’t make calls like that

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Then why the fuck didn’t Torrence transmit the order? He must’ve known Prophet wasn’t going to waste 9 shuttles of civis without meat authorization

Mason, E, LT 2nd: we couldn’t just fucking kill them

McNulty, J, Sgt: chum, I know

McNulty, J, Sgt: I would’ve done the same thing in your boots

Mason, E, LT 2nd: The brass has got pants full of bricks over this AI, jimmy. I dunno wut’s up, but it smells brown

McNulty, J, Sgt: Dorian said they pulled the plug on it

Mason, E, LT 2nd: …on AIDAN?

McNulty, J, Sgt: ya. is why the engines are off

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Then what’s flying the ship?

McNulty, J, Sgt: momentum, afaik

Mason, E, LT 2nd: …

Mason, E, LT 2nd: fuck me

McNulty, J, Sgt: I got some rocket fuel from a squaddie. He got a line to the spanner monkeys. Come over and have a drink chum

Mason, E, LT 2nd: neg

McNulty, J, Sgt: come onnnnnn best cure for those sorrows is to drown em, boy

Mason, E, LT 2nd: no drowning these ones, chum

Mason, E, LT 2nd: these badboys can swim

Date: 07/23/75

Subject: Nightmare time

Today’s group counseling session was taken up by a lady called Martha, who worked in GeoSpec Analysis on Kerenza. I think. I guess it doesn’t matter where she worked.

Martha had three daughters named Julie, Lela, and Katya.

Julie was six. She died during the evacuation of her school.

Lela was two. She died when their car crashed on the way to the evac shuttles. Martha’s husband Tony had Lela on his lap. He died too.

Katya was eight. Martha doesn’t know how she died, or if she died, just that she never made it off planet.

She’s been so quiet through all our sessions. Like me, she never really spoke. You couldn’t tell what was going on in her head. She’d sit there, hands folded in her lap, listening. But she’s been slowly coming unfastened the last month or two. Strands of hair hanging loose from her normally perfect bun. Buttons done up wrong. Shirt untucked. Little things you see everywhere, but never before on Martha.

Today, she just imploded. She was sitting right beside me.

I don’t even know what set it off, but one minute I was counting ceiling tiles, and the next she was talking. One of the guys in the group, Thanh, was in the middle of some story, but he went quiet when she started. He knew it meant something that she’d chosen that moment to speak.

She told us about her girls and her husband. She said she thinks a lot about whether Katya and Julie were scared at the end. That she wasn’t there for them. And then she started gasping for breath. Short, sharp, hoarse breaths, like she couldn’t drag in enough air, her whole body shaking.

Some people, when they lose it, they scream, they fight. I hope that would be me. Martha just slowly slid down off her chair and folded in on herself. Everyone stared at her like she was contagious, and I reached out like—I don’t know, maybe I was going to touch her or something. And suddenly she was crying. Long, low moans that sounded like they were wrenched out of her. All her grief and pain in those noises, like her body couldn’t hold it any longer. One piece too many got added to the load, and she couldn’t do it anymore.

The group leader called the medics, and by now Martha’s probably under sedation, but I’m not.

I’m lying awake in bed, wondering what will happen if one piece too many gets added to my load. Wondering if there’s any way out for Martha. Any chance she’ll ever be okay. I’ve had to stop myself thinking about Asha. I can’t let myself be Martha. Can’t lose myself in the people we left behind.

I can hear every sound in my dorm, every rustle as someone turns over, every sigh.

It’s impossible to sleep.

There are a lot more of us on board than there were ever supposed to be—the Hypatia’s a research vessel, so they have a lot of space, but most of it was intended for samples, labs, stuff like that. There are over 2,000 of us jammed in where there used to be just 500 crew.

My living quarters used to be a storage facility for geological specimens, by which I basically mean rocks. The air leaves a sharp, metallic tang in your mouth, almost salty. It clings to your hair, so you carry it with you and the scent wafts around you when you turn your head. The air is also HOT and kind of humid, because the scrubbers just weren’t designed to recyc for this many people. Makes you really, really wish we weren’t on water rations. You get used to it, though.

They’ve taken down the shelving and crammed sixteen of us in here. Each person has a bunk that’s kind of a shelf sticking out of the wall (you have a belt to stop you from rolling out at night). Being the youngest in the dorm, I’m up at the very top. I don’t mind being up high. Sometimes it almost feels safe.

But I still can’t sleep. This isn’t my room, isn’t my place.

There’s nothing around me that’s known anymore. Sure, I have routines—there are times to eat, times to sleep, times to train. I just never realized that on Kerenza there was this background comfort level, the knowledge of safety, that was the bedrock under everything else. My big adventure was going to be college. My little adventures were hikes, choosing classes at school, Ezra even.

I thought he was going to be a big adventure, but that’s a whole other thing.

Point is, I had no idea how safe I was, because I’d never been unsafe. Ezra said that to me once. He was right. I took it all for granted. The constant and comforting background static of the universe.

Now, though there are more routines than ever before, nothing’s certain. The Lincoln could catch up with us at any point. It’ll be months until we reach the waypoint to Heimdall. Even when we do, we’ve been isolated for half a year. We could be in the middle of a war, for all we know.

And beyond all that, command won’t tell us what’s happening. I’m pretty sure they’re lying to us about a lot of things that matter, though I don’t know why.

And right now, that’s just one uncertainty too many.

I don’t know my limit, but I’m scared to reach it. I don’t know what will happen if I do.

And I still can’t sleep.

Participants: Ann Chau, Captain(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence, General(systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/23/75

Timestamp: 08:03

ByteMe: Ezra, u there?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Who this?

ByteMe: Kady.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Hello, Dorian. Your timing is as shitty as your comedy

Mason, E, LT 2nd: You don’t happen to have a sister, do you?

ByteMe: It’s me, Ezra. I don’t know who Dorian is

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I can’t believe that scrub told you. McNulty’s vault has more leaks than a recycled baby baggie

ByteMe: That’s completely disgusting. We have 7 mins until I have to shut this thing down or they’ll be able to track it.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Uh huh

ByteMe: This is not the reception I was hoping for. It’s ME.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Prove it, he cried

ByteMe: How about…you sprained your ankle jumping out my bedroom window while I stalled my parents at the front door.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: …Kady?

ByteMe: This is what I’m saying. Yes, Kady.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Well I feel sheepish…

ByteMe: baaaaaa

Mason, E, LT 2nd: How have you got access to IMs? Ship to ship comms are down?

ByteMe: You’re right, how is this happening??? WITCHCRAFT

Mason, E, LT 2nd: This isn’t like jacking the school system to give me a passing grade in chem. You could get into a lot of trouble

ByteMe: You did suck at chem. It’s fine, trust me. Short bursts, text only, undetectable if we keep it under 7 mins. Comms might be down, but command always leave themselves a back door open in case they want a heart to heart.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: …is that what this is? heart to heart?

ByteMe: Let’s not get carried away, I wouldn’t want to impose

ByteMe: Do you know why comms are down?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: All nonessentials are offline.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Life support and power is about all we have while the data monkeys do their thing

ByteMe: With the AI? Something’s wrong with it, isn’t it?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: probably shouldn’t be talking about it. We could both meet some serious grief.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Like, imagine “serious” written in 40 story high letters, set on fire with dancing girls all around it and you’re there

ByteMe: I think we are eyeball to eyeball with some serious grief already. Are you ok?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: …Why wouldn’t I be ok?

ByteMe: The comms aren’t the only thing I jacked. I saw your court martial records

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Are you dusted? That’s classified UTA intel and we’re in wartime. They can charge you with espionage if they catch u

ByteMe: you know, I hadn’t considered I’d get in trouble if I got caught. Thanks Ez.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Kady, I’m not talking about a slap on the wrist I’m talking about them LINING YOU UP AGAINST A BULKHEAD AND SHOOTING YOU

ByteMe: There’s no way they’ll catch me.

ByteMe: Trust me

ByteMe: I saw what you said to them. That was…unexpected.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: how so

ByteMe: You do not have a long history of telling the man to go fuck himself.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Could’ve thrown me in the hole for that. Kinda stupid, right?

ByteMe: My kind of idiocy.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: …

Mason, E, LT 2nd: maybe I should do it more often then?

ByteMe: Once is enough for now. You’re no use to anyone in the hole. Not even sure what that is but I am taking some nasty guesses.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: solitary. Water and dehydrate grub. Occasional visits from a big hairy guy called Raoul.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I might be exaggerating about the Raoul part

Mason, E, LT 2nd: He’s not all that hairy

ByteMe: I saw what you said about your dad, too. I saw his name on the casualty lists after the evac.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Oh.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Right.

ByteMe: I’m so sorry, Ezra.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: It’s not ur fault. You got nothing to be sorry for

Mason, E, LT 2nd: how’s your mom doing over there anyway? Tell her I said hi

ByteMe: How long’s AIDAN been down? Since the Copernicus was destroyed?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Um.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I shouldn’t have told u that. I’m not even supposed to know. Don’t say anything, alright? people could get rolled.

ByteMe: Not planning on broadcasting this conversation. They’re lying to us tho, you know it. We should just sit here and wait to see what happens next? How’d that turn out for the Copernicus?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: There’s no danger to you guys. Nobody’s sick on Hypatia, right?

ByteMe: What’s sick got to do with it?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: If nobody’s sick, then nothing at all. Dun worry about it.

ByteMe: So because we’re safe over here we should just swallow whatever lies they want to feed us? Nobody here is saying AIDAN is down. They’re pretending the Lincoln is out there and we still have comms, but we have to stay silent to avoid detection. You want to tell me that’s true? Saw a great big BeiTech dreadnought when you were out by the Copernicus?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: they’re just trying to avoid a panic, Kades

ByteMe: I for one am not feeling super calm.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you should leave it alone. You could get in real trouble.

ByteMe: We’re already in real trouble. I want us to at least be in it together.

ByteMe: Ezra? You there?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Yeah, I’m here.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: though I’m kinda wishing I was on Hypatia right about now

ByteMe: I am fearsome, but I’m not quite that good. I’ll try and get a line up tomorrow. You’ll be here?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: As you wish

ByteMe: If only THAT were true. Keep your head down. Don’t do anything too noble.

——CONNECTION TERMINATED——

Participants: ByteMe, CitB

Date: 07/24/75

Timestamp: 07:36

CitB: sooooo u talking to ur boyfriend again?

ByteMe: not my bf

CitB: u talking to him?

ByteMe: 7 min burst no sign of detection so far

CitB: he know what going on over there?

ByteMe: not spilling

CitB: he know about the AI?

ByteMe: it’s down, not spilling more than that

CitB: so work some magic

ByteMe: not as simple as that. u don’t just jump into lawbreaking with a guy like Ezra. don’t even know if i want to involve him yet.

CitB: then why do it?

ByteMe: to see if i can. now have to decide what to ask him to do. not safe for him.

CitB: not safe for anybody. get it done

To: GENERAL DAVID TORRENCE

From: COLONEL EVA SANCHEZ

Date: 07/24/75

Timestamp: 11:30

General,

As of 11:00 hours, an assessment of the Alexander’s Artificial Intelligence Defense Analytics Network (AIDAN) has been completed by myself and Senior TechEng Specialists Major Nico Lassinger and Major Lisa Barker. Junior staff were excluded to preserve the confidentiality of our findings. Status report and recommendations follow.

Current Status

During the battle at Kerenza, AIDAN suffered significant physical damage. Due to losses of key personnel in TechEng, we have been unable to carry out a full diagnostic, but most obviously, we cannot generate a jump gate, and AIDAN’s computational speed is reduced. However, damage to AIDAN’s neural network may also be worse than first realized.

As per your orders after the destruction of the Copernicus, AIDAN remains in shutdown mode, carrying out only essential functions, including recyc, climate moderation, and artificial gravity control. AIDAN is now essentially the equivalent of a human in a coma; breathing and heartbeat continue, but no conscious thought or decision making is possible. As a result, the AI has been unavailable for active questioning. However, in the opinion of my team, it is likely that AIDAN’s decision to destroy the Copernicus was the result of its directive to prioritize the safety of fleet members.

Our review indicates that, over the last month, AIDAN has accessed Copernicus medical records with increasing frequency. As a matter of routine, all data the AI accesses are backed up to the Alexander’s servers, however, AIDAN seems to have taken steps to ensure we cannot locate these particular reports.

We believe AIDAN formed a view that the illness aboard Copernicus had reached a tipping point and posed a danger to the fleet. Nevertheless, we are concerned by AIDAN’s decision to (a) take such drastic action without consulting senior command and (b) shut down comms between senior command and the Alexander’s Cyclone squadrons, despite your direct orders. AIDAN’s design parameters prioritize the preservation of human life but allow the fleet commander almost unlimited override. We believe the damage to AIDAN may have impacted its willingness to factor in your commands and preferences.

Proposal

The halt at Kerenza VII(a) for water will have eroded our lead on the Lincoln. Without AIDAN online, main drive is inoperative, and we are left to reaccelerate on slower secondaries. It is increasingly likely we will need to engage the Alexander’s weapons systems, which cannot be done with AIDAN offline. Therefore, we propose increasing AIDAN’s operational level without restoring full independence. If you will permit me to continue the analogy, we propose bringing our coma patient back to consciousness, but under considerable restraint.

Potential Hazards

The Copernicus incident demonstrates we are not fully aware of AIDAN’s current operational capacity. On revival, AIDAN may not respond to restraints as anticipated, or the restraints may not function as expected. Danger exists for both Alexander and Hypatia personnel. This must, however, be weighed against the danger of doing nothing.

Revival scenarios will be run over the next 24–48 hours; we are aiming to establish a scenario with a better than 90 percent chance of full control. If this is achieved, we recommend AIDAN be revived.

If you have any further questions or wish to discuss options, we are available at your convenience.

COLONEL EVA SANCHEZ

MAJOR NICO LASSINGER

MAJOR LISA BARKER

Participants: Eva Sanchez, Colonel, UTA Engineering Division

Nico Lassinger, Major, UTA Engineering Division

Date: 07/24/75

Timestamp: 11:37

Sanchez, E, Col: Nico, I’ve done the memo, can you proof it for me?

Lassinger, N, Maj: Printing it, hold on.

Lassinger, N, Maj: …

Lassinger, N, Maj: So basically what you’re saying is we’ll do our best to wake it up without it going loco, but our best promise is a 9 out of 10 chance it won’t kill us all?

Sanchez, E, Col: You know what the chance is if the Lincoln catches us?

Lassinger, N, Maj: Point. Okay, send. And pray.

Sanchez, E, Col: Sent. Praying.

Lassinger, N, Maj: I think I’m going to go see if Lisa needs any help getting the grease off. Climbing around the quantum core like fucking spanner monkeys is below our pay grade and our dignity, I say.

Sanchez, E, Col: Are you dusted? You ask her if she wants her back washed, you won’t NEED to worry about the AI blasting us into the next system.

Lassinger, N, Maj: It’s the end of the world, Eva. Nothing left to lose.

Participants: Ann Chau, Captain(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence, General(systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/24/75

Timestamp: 13:04

ByteMe: 7 mins starts now. u there?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Always :)

ByteMe: Wish that had been true, Ez. How things on your end? Tense here.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Things here? Confusing, tbh

ByteMe: They’re still saying no comms b/c we’re hiding from the Lincoln.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Oh, u mean how are things on the *ship*

ByteMe: Did AIDAN crash or did we take it offline?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Um. Bit of both. Why?

ByteMe: b/c the Copernicus is gone and I’m scared, why else?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Hey, at least we’re scared together. Ish.

ByteMe: This is not how I imagined us reunited. There isn’t any more gen than that on your end?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: *Shrug* I just fly the cyclones ma’am

ByteMe: I can’t believe you do. Not the future I imagined either.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: At least I got offworld, right? If only BeiTech had shown up a day earlier. Might have saved you some shouting. And me some hangovers :p

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Sorry that wasn’t funny…

ByteMe: No, but to be fair, don’t think anyone’s found a joke that works yet.

ByteMe: Next time we’ll have to time our drama better.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Well, practice makes perfect, as they say

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I miss you

ByteMe: You too.

ByteMe: 2 min left.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: You’re a poet, Grant

ByteMe: Hey, I’m talking to you. One step at a time.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Talking is better than not talking. And infinitely better than shouting :p

ByteMe: Sorry there was so much of that. Should have got the msg sooner.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Did u ever consider the possibility I just think ur cute when you’re angry?

ByteMe: Did you ever consider that I might not laugh at a joke about you breaking my heart?

ByteMe: Gotta cut. If u leave this window open and type in messages, I’ll get them when I connect. Like a mailbox.

——CONNECTION TERMINATED——

Participants: Ann Chau/ACHAUHYPATIAONBOARD (systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence/DTORRENCEALEXANDERONBOARD (systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/25/75

Timestamp: 05:49

Subject: I’m Sorry

Date: 07/25/75

Subject: wondering

I wonder how my mom knew my dad was the guy for her.

Why didn’t I ever think to ask that?

Participants: Ann Chau, Captain(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence, General(systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/25/75

Timestamp: 07:14

ByteMe: U there, you tragic, tragic creature?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Always :p

ByteMe: All ok your end?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: They got me on scrub duty and VR flight sim. Bored brainless and slightly sweaty

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Am i turning u on?

ByteMe: Ez, u do not want to start another fight.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I’m just trying to make you smile. You should do it more often. Did u get the flower?

ByteMe: Yes. Just…come on, Ez. U made ur position clear. not going to embarrass myself now.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Did u smile?

ByteMe: yes

Mason, E, LT 2nd: pls excuse me a moment while i do a small victory dance around the room

Mason, E, LT 2nd: k back

ByteMe: this was a terrible idea. I think I miss u more now than when i wasn’t talking to u.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: So this must mean you’re not still mad at me.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Amazing what six months and a few thousand kms of vacuum will do to make the heart grow fonder

ByteMe: and terrifying danger, don’t forget that

ByteMe: but Ez u are the one who didn’t want to be with me, not vice versa. I’m just the one who said the words.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: You wanted to go offworld. I didn’t want to hold you back. That means I CARED, not that I didn’t.

ByteMe: u could have come

ByteMe: and now here u are, but it’s not b/c you want to be. it’s b/c I’m more interesting than a ship full of sweaty soldiers

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Im not sure u appreciate the dire peril i placed myself in to have this conversation Kades

ByteMe: i think i quite like the idea of you in dire peril. do go on. details?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I stayed up half the night making your ASCII flower just so you’d talk to me again. That knowledge in the hands of certain Alexander crew members would have…unpleasant consequences

ByteMe: ur courting behavior was always ridiculous

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Hey, don’t knock it if it works :)

ByteMe: not that we r courting. aughdeletedelete

ByteMe: u should probably rest in case we come under attack from that ship that is nowhere near us, u know.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Lincoln might be closer than u think. We had to reaccelerate without the main drive once command shut down the AI at Kerenza VII.

ByteMe: then WHY aren’t we getting it back online? not knowing anything is terrifying.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: see previous *shrug* about me just flying the cyclones

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I guess they’ll bring it back online once we’re safer with it than without it

ByteMe: guess so. Coming up on 7 mins. talk again soon?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: not too soon. You don’t want me to start thinking you’ve forgiven me or anything

ByteMe: wouldn’t want that, you’ll get ideas;)

Mason, E, LT 2nd: cya

Mason, E, LT 2nd: oh say hey to your mom for me

——CONNECTION TERMINATED——

Participants: ByteMe, CitB

Date: 07/25/75

Timestamp: 11:12

ByteMe: what kind of voltage do you think it takes to kill the average human?

CitB: dare i ask?

ByteMe: trying to splice my deck into Hypatia’s virtual grid. jack their processor speed

CitB: take it from ur elder. Can’t brute-force this. u need work done on the Alexander end

ByteMe: brace urself for this but i am not on the Alexander end so i will have to try and wire from here

CitB: do i really have to point out the obvious?

ByteMe: i am not dragging him into this, they’ll shoot him. info is one thing, this is another

CitB: then what the fuck are you cultivating him for if no info and no wiring?

ByteMe: it’s not like that

CitB: it’s special

ByteMe: bite me

CitB: there’s a lot on the line here. u have to find a way to get him to unlock for you from his end

ByteMe: he wouldn’t know how

CitB: then teach

CitB: stakes are high. If ur not chasing him for this, then why

ByteMe: none of your business

CitB: stay on task, grasshopper. we let the Alexander burn us out of the sky, your red hot love will be subsumed by a bigger, hotter flame

ByteMe: how do you even function in society?

CitB: it’s a struggle

Date: 07/25/75

Subject: Without a compass

Today, said our poor, beleaguered counselor, We Are Going To Try Something New. We are going to focus on the fact that despite our personal losses, Life Goes On And There Is Still A Future.

Frankly, I think whether or not we get a future is still hanging in the balance, but I figured expressing that opinion wasn’t going to add much to the session, so I stuck to Being A Surly Teen. (Huh, the Inappropriate Caps are catching.)

The present is my problem right now. My brain won’t stop buzzing, scrambling, trying to hook on to something that will tell me which way is up. I lie strapped into my bunk at night, and it all presses in on me. The bed’s so narrow, the blanket smells like the huge laundries they have here, and it itches, and I’m so not at home.

Nothing’s where it’s supposed to be, and without my north, how do I know what to do?

My throat closes when I think about it, and a part of me wants to crawl under the covers and stay there. Wait for someone to tell me what to do. Wait for a grown-up. But nobody’s coming.

So do I drag Ezra into danger? Isn’t he in more danger if I don’t keep trying to work out what’s happening?

Everyone here wants to believe the guys in charge know exactly what they’re doing, but of course they don’t. There’s nothing in their rules and regulations for this. They’re wounded and limping for safety, and they don’t know how to get away from the Lincoln. So why should I trust them, especially when they’re lying to me?

There’s no clear path ahead of me. They never taught this class in school.

I remember there was this teacher called Ms. McElroy back at McCaffrey. Taught junior tech. She used to go on and ON at me about fulfilling my potential, and I used to roll my eyes, and my mom would tell me to listen to the lady.

She died in the first wave. She looked really surprised.

I don’t mean to make a joke there, though I know it sounds kind of sarcastic. I just mean that wasn’t the facial expression I would have expected.

She used to talk a lot about how to make decisions as well. Like, she had this idea about exploring your own moral system, but then applying it to a grid to work out what to do. Marrying ethics and technology.

Why didn’t I listen to that? I could really use her system for working out the right thing to do around now.

I only know one thing for sure.

Whatever they don’t want me to see, that’s where I’m digging. I need to be where the secrets are.

I’m more interested in ensuring I have a future than they think.

Participants: Ezra Mason, Second Lieutenant, UTA Airborne Division

James McNulty, Sergeant, UTA Marines

Date: 07/25/75

Timestamp: 19:04

McNulty, J, Sgt: ezra

McNulty, J, Sgt: mason

McNulty, J, Sgt: ANSWER BITCH

Mason, E, LT 2nd: shit internal comms back on?

McNulty, J, Sgt: they testing

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ah

McNulty, J, Sgt: Dorian pinged me to check if my internal messager was working. I am his test monkey. Watch me monkey

Mason, E, LT 2nd: and of everyone you could’ve picked to IM, you pinged me. Flattered, you may color me

McNulty, J, Sgt: don’t be, ur the only one I knew who’d be in bed at this hour

McNulty, J, Sgt: thinking about Miss Thing

Mason, E, LT 2nd: eat me

McNulty, J, Sgt: first, a kiss from your cherry lips

Mason, E, LT 2nd: maybe if you warm me up a little

McNulty, J, Sgt: k wut are u wearing?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: nothing. Your sister was just here

McNulty, J, Sgt:…

Mason, E, LT 2nd: OH BURRRNT?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: flew face-first into that, son

McNulty, J, Sgt: FUCK YOU CHUM

Mason, E, LT 2nd: too tired. Told you, ur sis just left

McNulty, J, Sgt: look at you, all sprightly and shit. Big switch from mr Mopey, all “bloo bloo, my troubles have water wings” couple of days back

Mason, E, LT 2nd: cold, chum. cold

McNulty, J, Sgt: thought you’d be all sadpants with no ship 2 ship. No more sexies from Miss Thing to keep you warm

Mason, E, LT 2nd: she’s not like that

McNulty, J, Sgt: ah, she special

Mason, E, LT 2nd: she is

McNulty, J, Sgt: u got pix of this astro-princess?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: no sexies, I told u

McNulty, J, Sgt: clothed, fool

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I got school pics

McNulty, J, Sgt: send me

Mason, E, LT 2nd: no chance

McNulty, J, Sgt: SEND

Mason, E, LT 2nd: en oh bee eye tee see haych

McNulty, J, Sgt: Mason, if u no send, I will make it my mission in life to teabag you while you sleep

Mason, E, LT 2nd: 0_o

McNulty, J, Sgt: Shipboard security have master access to all areas, chum

McNulty, J, Sgt: I know where you lay thee down

McNulty, J, Sgt: And you WILL wake one night to feel a pair of slightly sweatysomethings tickling your prettyboy chin

Mason, E, LT 2nd: my fucking god

McNulty, J, Sgt: I am serious, mason.

McNulty, J, Sgt: this is not a drill

Mason, E, LT 2nd: if I do send

Mason, E, LT 2nd: and then I find hardcopy of this pinned to the ceiling above your bunk

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I will cut your slightly sweatysomethings off and flush them out an airlock

McNulty, J, Sgt: I solemnly swear I will not engage in happypants while looking at pics of ur would-be ex-ex-girlfriend, chum

Mason, E, LT 2nd: …

Mason, E, LT 2nd: k, sending

McNulty, J, Sgt: holy shit

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ya

McNulty, J, Sgt: this is her?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ya

McNulty, J, Sgt: she got pink hair

Mason, E, LT 2nd: she used to dye it

McNulty, J, Sgt: did the carpet match the curtains?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: >_<

McNulty, J, Sgt: how in god’s name…chum, I have bad news

Mason, E, LT 2nd: let me guess, you’re planning to break your solemn vow as soon as you finish speaking to me, rite?

McNulty, J, Sgt: you wound me, chum

Mason, E, LT 2nd: :P

McNulty, J, Sgt: bad news is im typing ths 1 handed

Mason, E, LT 2nd: god no

McNulty, J, Sgt: think im getting the hng of it

Mason, E, LT 2nd: STOP

McNulty, J, Sgt: 1more min

Mason, E, LT 2nd: STOP.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: JIMMY, I SWEAR TO ALL THAT’S HOLY

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I WILL NEVER SPEAK ILL OF YOUR SISTER AGAIN

Mason, E, LT 2nd: JUST STOP NOW

McNulty, J, Sgt: u promise?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I FUCKING SWEAR

McNulty, J, Sgt: zzzz, fine

Mason, E, LT 2nd: why is it every time I finish talking to you

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I need a fucking shower…

McNulty, J, Sgt:…

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you hear that?

McNulty, J, Sgt: shipboard alarm

Mason, E, LT 2nd: they calling your squad, chum. Code blue

McNulty, J, Sgt: shit chum, I gotta jump.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: k

McNulty, J, Sgt: taking hardcopy with me

McNulty, J, Sgt: for later

McNulty, J, Sgt: :)

Mason, E, LT 2nd: zzzzzz

Participants: Ezra Mason, Second Lieutenant,

UTA Airborne Division

Date: 07/26/75

Timestamp: 08:16

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you back yet, chum?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: jimmeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhh

Mason, E, LT 2nd: GIMME SITREPBITCH

Mason, E, LT 2nd: if u back and in the shower with that pic of K, Ima give little Jimmy the chop and flush him down the head

Mason, E, LT 2nd: zzzzz, I got VR training, ping me back when u get in

Participants: Ezra Mason, Second Lieutenant,

UTA Airborne Division, Charles Dorian, Corporal,

UTA Information Services Division

Date: 07/26/75

Timestamp: 11:13

Dorian, C, Corp: Ping.

Dorian, C, Corp: Ping.

Dorian, C, Corp: And at the risk of repeating myself…

Dorian, C, Corp: Ping.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: dorian?

Dorian, C, Corp: Bravo. Your insight is as astounding as ever, Mason.

Dorian, C, Corp: It’s my sincere belief that your potential is wasted in that sweaty little cockpit. You should be doing the Coreworld lecture circuit. Imagine it: Packed houses. Perfect hair. Screaming girlchildren. “Tonight Only. Ezra Mason: How To State The Bleeding Obvious.”

Mason, E, LT 2nd: …

Mason, E, LT 2nd: hug?

Dorian, C, Corp: Silence. Let me work.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Chum, YOU pinged ME.

Dorian, C, Corp: I’m still testing internal comms. Just hold still. This won’t hurt.

Dorian, C, Corp: *snaps on latex gloves*

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Dorian, this is really saying something, but you seem pissier than normal

Dorian, C, Corp: Mason, I’ve had 3.72 hours sleep in the last six days. There are more stims in my bloodstream than blood. If you want congeniality, try McNulty’s sister.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: wut’s congeniality and is there a cream for it?

Dorian, C, Corp: Oh, my. You’re just hilarious.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you just figure that out?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: speaking of my future bride, you heard from jimmy?

Dorian, C, Corp: And why would I have heard from James, pray tell?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: isn’t that what married couples do? Talk and whatnot? And why u no send him flowers anymore

Dorian, C, Corp: SILENCE, DAMN YOU.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: seriously, you heard from him?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: His squad got called to a code blue, like, 16 hours ago.

Dorian, C, Corp:…Indeed?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ya. Heard nothing since.

Dorian, C, Corp: Give me a moment. I shall check.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: u know Dorian, people say you’re a blackhearted prick with all the social skills of a pubic louse. but I know better

Mason, E, LT 2nd: your heart’s more gray than black

Dorian, C, Corp: Mason.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: maybe puce

Dorian, C, Corp: Mason, shut up.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: k

Dorian, C, Corp: I have good news and bad news.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: in terms of drama, which one should I ask for first

Dorian, C, Corp: The good news. Most definitely.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: k gimme

Dorian, C, Corp: I found James’s squad. They’re debriefing in quarantine. The Code Blue is still in effect in Hangar Bay 4, but his squad made it out.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Can I guess the bad news?

Dorian, C, Corp: You may try.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Jimmy’s not with them.

Dorian, C, Corp:…How did you know that?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I just tried to imagine all the ways things could get worse, then picked the shittiest option

Dorian, C, Corp:…

Dorian, C, Corp: You know Mason, sometimes you’re not as stupid as you look.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you just figure that out?

Participants: Ann Chau/ACHAUHYPATIAONBOARD(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence/DTORRENCEALEXANDERONBOARD(systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/26/75

Timestamp: 12:05

Subject: You there?

Hey Kades,

Can you ping me back when u get this? Some shit has gone down. Need your help.

E

Participants: Ann Chau, Captain(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence, General(systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/26/75

Timestamp: 12:09

ByteMe: well that is not as nice as flowers. what u need?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: A friend of mine is off-grid. Wondering if your powers can work for good as well as evilllllll

ByteMe: do my best. Alexander or Hypatia? tell me what u know?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Alexander. I dunno if you can even find out this stuff. he’s a marine named James McNulty. Crazier than a churchful of dustheads, but he’s a good guy.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: he got called to a code blue alert 17 hours ago. Nobody’s seen him since. Can you sacrifice something small and fluffy to the bloodgod (or whatever it is you do) and find out where he’s at?

ByteMe: seems weird he’d be gone that long and no word. I thought u guys specialized in rumor

Mason, E, LT 2nd: his squad is locked down in quarantine. But he’s not with them

ByteMe: I can hunt around but u guys locked down your servers when u took down ship 2 ship comms

Mason, E, LT 2nd: So what does that mean? you can’t get in at all?

ByteMe: lemme think

ByteMe: how worried are u?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: capital W.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: the scuttlebutt is real bad. like, u would not believe how bad

ByteMe: i might be able to get in, but only if ur up for helping. this is going to take a few hours

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I’m on lunch break. Back to more sims soon. 8 more hrs. I will die in that VR machine. Sweaty and unloved

ByteMe: u don’t know that for sure, there are lots of ways to die here. Go work, i’ll have this ready when you’re done. Don’t do anything dumb(er than usual)

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Roger that

Mason, E, LT 2nd: cold btw :(

Participants: Ann Chau, Captain(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence, General(systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/26/75

Timestamp: 21:18

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Kades?

ByteMe: i’m ready. sending u file. broken into 5 pieces so the size doesn’t raise an alert. put all 5 on a mem-chit and you will need to physically plant mem-chit for me. then i can access security

Mason, E, LT 2nd: *raises hand* Um, “physically plant”? In my console, you mean?

ByteMe: i mean onsite. direct access. wouldn’t be much of a security system if u could hack it from ur bedroom.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: u shitting me? They just shot 4 people here a few days ago for disobeying orders from a fucking insane AI, what u think they’ll do to me if they catch me fiddling in its brainmeats?

ByteMe: ur call. would suggest either not getting caught or upping the prayers for ur buddy.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: goddammit

Mason, E, LT 2nd: stupid bastard’s in the shit, I know it

ByteMe: don’t really want to find you again just to lose you, Ez, but if this matters to u then i’ll help. i can help from here.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: so what does this mem-chit do? install something? Virus or what?

ByteMe: u wouldn’t understand. it’ll take down some fences so i can get through and extract security feeds for u

Mason, E, LT 2nd: and that’s all ur gonna do, right? Ur not gonna poke around in blackbags and get yourself shot too?

ByteMe: would hate to think of u sobbing into ur pillow every nite. just there to help you out.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: …

Mason, E, LT 2nd: shit

Mason, E, LT 2nd: alrite, what i gotta do?

This kid ain’t cut out for this line of work.

I’m not shitting you. He might be master-class pilot material, but I’ve seen better candidates for covert ops floating in the head after I’m done with the morning news. If he ain’t religious, he oughta be. Someone up there sure as hell is looking out for him. Just saying.

Damage from the Kerenza assault rendered many of the Alexander’s exterior intellicams inoperative, so the first we see of the subject is at 01:10 on 07/27/75, when he enters Deck 231 through a rent in the outer hull. Subject is fully suited for space walk, moving like he’s not spent more than ten minutes inside an envirosuit. We can ID one Ezra Mason, conscript UTA Cyclone pilot (UTN-966-330ad), squinting his baby browns through the blastspex visor. He looks like he’s about to blow breakfast all over the inside of his helmet. Green as a fucking blade of grass, I swear.

He cracks his head on the same stanchion twice getting inside, punches it once he’s finally through the hole (yeah, that’ll teach it, kid), and spends another four minutes getting his rig untangled. There’s not much to see him by once he’s past the starlight spilling through the breach. At least he’s sensible enough to have brought glowsticks. The red does a little bit to offset the green in his face.

Deck 231 is situated in the Alexander AI cluster—just banks of damaged towers and cables, some of them still spitting live current. That this kid made it all the way across Deck 231’s sprawl with a BRIGHT RED GLOWSTICK IN HIS HAND without getting picked up by the Alexander’s SecTeams shows how stretched they were monitoring their camera feeds. That’s the problem with running in one of these AI boats—gets to the point where the computer does everything for you and you forget how to wipe your own exhaust pipe.

He takes almost thirty minutes to thread through the debris, even bouncing with those big zero-grav strides. The server towers are twenty feet cubed, some have broken loose from their brackets, and there’s always the death-by-electrocution problem to worry about. He reaches the airlock leading up to Deck 230 and pulls out a datapad, typing with one finger and chewing his lip. Not a pro console jockey who daily threatens the security of our glorious alliance, I’m thinking. Whoever’s on the other side of that screen knows how to romance the security console. Working in seven-minute bursts, the kid only takes another forty-nine minutes to get the door open. Record time, no doubt. Shame he didn’t pack any confetti.

The airlock doors open and he fumbles his way inside.

Next we see of Lieutenant Twinkletoes, he’s in Corridor 230 G-13 and out of his envirosuit (dumped it in the airlock, I’m thinking). He’s wearing a rucksack, urban gray camo cargoes, and a muscle tee. His face is flushed scarlet, and it looks like his sinuses are clogged—his body is used to pumping blood up to his head against the pull of gravity, and without gravity to drag it back while he was treading black, his dome is red as the underwear Elizabeth Andretti wears in the finale of Terminus (don’t pretend you don’t know the part I’m talking about, chum—ain’t a man alive who hasn’t simmed that scene thirty times). The guardian angel behind that pad is at work again; he’s stopping to ask for directions every second junction.

Four Alexander SecTeam gorillas step out into the corridor ahead, and our astro-ninja just about shits himself—I mean, uh, “shows signs of extreme anxiety.” He ducks into a nearby storage room, sweating like a pitdigger after a twelve-hour stint. His tee is damp with it. Big trembling breaths. He’s no doubt wondering what’d happen if his hidey-hole is the same place those Sec boys were headed.

They march past, and he pokes his head out to check if the coast is clear, then does some kind of half-baked kung fu kick at the gorillas’ backs, as if promising them an ass whooping next time he sees them. He blunders along, narrowly missing a TechEng group, then rounds a corner literally three feet from that same SecTeam he almost hit five minutes ago, all of whom happen to be looking the other way. I swear to god, he crept away on fucking tiptoes.

He makes his way to a tertiary node (redundancy system for the ship-wide security feeds). He’s whispering to himself, but we get no tone. I’m guessing he’s saying “ohmigodohmigodohmigod” a lot. Inside the node room, he boots up the backup processor, inserts a mem-chit and starts some kind of Trojan routine running. It’s obvious he’s got no fucking idea what he’s about—I mean, “is inexperienced in matters of computer espionage” (shut up, I’m being professional), taking instruction through his datapad and bashing away on the keyboard. It takes thirty minutes, but finally he plants the infection and packs up his shit.

Here’s where the magic happens.

Whatever Ultra-Agent Zerooooo seeded in the redundancy network kicks off a fire alarm on Deck 231. The fire alarm not only diverts the SecTeam standing three corridors away, but also sees Deck 230 evac’ed as per standard safety protocols. In five minutes, the entire floor is cleared of personnel.

At a signal from his guardian angel, di shit is out the door like his ass is on fire. He runs to the service elevators—which should be locked down when a fire alarm kicks off, but lo and behold, his angel has them open wide. He dashes inside and stabs at the habitat level buttons, but there’s no real need—SecTeams are mustering two levels up, waiting for fire crews to arrive and deal with the nonexistent blaze.

Four minutes later, he’s stepping out onto the habitat level. Out of breath. Drenched. Looking for all intents and purposes like he’s just spent an hour in the gym.

He makes his way back to his domicile and shuts the door.

I’d bet my leftie the little bastard spent the next ten minutes thanking every god in the book, Allah all the way through to Yahweh.

Either that or puking his guts up.

Participants: ByteMe, CitB

Date: 07/27/75

Timestamp: 04:49

CitB: u still up? u on stims?

ByteMe: never sleeping again. heart ready to burst

CitB: touching. is it love?

ByteMe: harhar. stress and adrenaline.

CitB: you been talking dirty with your bf?

ByteMe: u are so lucky i cannot be bothered coming all the way up the other end of the ship to thump u

CitB: taking out the frustration of separation, r we?

ByteMe: keep misbehaving, i won’t share what i got

CitB: …this is me behaving. spill.

ByteMe: i told u already there were executions out of the court martials

CitB: yuss

ByteMe: found out why. for disobeying orders from AIDAN

ByteMe: orders to shoot the civis from the Copernicus

ByteMe: orders from the crazy AI

CitB: if those weren’t orders from general torrence, then why enforce?

ByteMe: can’t admit AIDAN took control. imagine the panic.

CitB: shit

ByteMe: ayup

CitB: are they any closer to getting AIDAN back up? do not want visitors

ByteMe: don’t think so. but we might have a prob sooner than that. got inside, sending u docs

CitB: lover boy helped! our young heroes won the day!

ByteMe: u want them or not?

CitB: shutting up

ByteMe: sending

MEMORANDUM FOR: Captain Ryker

FROM: Teresa Shteyngart, MD,

Chief Medical Officer, Copernicus WUC-7891

INCEPT: 12:17, 03/20/75

SUBJECT: Pathogen

Captain,

Having completed examinations of all 1,896 surviving members of the Kerenza attack now residing aboard Copernicus, I can confirm several suspicions.

The BeiTech assault did include the use of a biochemical agent, apparently delivered via orbit-to-atmosphere missile above the Kerenza hermium refinery. This explains why the illness is confined to the Copernicus —ours was the only ship to land shuttles near the refinery and, therefore, the only ship to take on afflicted refugees.

I regret to inform you that, due to the disorder of the evacuation and the sheer number of evacuees, proper quarantine protocol was not followed by Copernicus flight crews.

After the evacuation, Copernicus medical staff received continuous and recurrent reports of acute post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) among evacuees. Symptoms included anxiety, nausea, tachycardia, and headaches that were often so severe as to induce physical impairment (tremors, seizures and, in many cases, catatonia/paralysis). However, as this was a logical reaction for civilians surviving a large-scale military incursion, standard treatments for PTSD were initially employed (counseling and pharmaceutical remedies).

It was not until Copernicus crew members who were not directly involved in the assault or rescue operations began reporting debilitation from these same effects that we began to suspect a larger problem.

I will send another memo with a list of afflicted passengers and crew.

Teresa Shteyngart, MD

MEMORANDUM FOR: Captain Ryker

FROM: Kurt Heyder,

Chief Engineer, Copernicus WUC-7891

INCEPT: 15:49, 03/27/75

SUBJECT: Re: Air filters

Harry,

Short answer, no. The air recyc system isn’t made to deal with an airborne agent circulating throughout the ship. We could possibly rig up some kind of ionizing field over the CO_2 scrubbers to filter out organic matter, but this isn’t going to stop carriers spreading the agent person to person, nor can I give any guarantee that the pathogen will be eliminated in the air we do recyc. This is EXACTLY why we have fucking quarantine protocols. An airborne biological agent loose inside a sealed metal can floating in space has nowhere to fucking go except back into us. As of writing this, I have nine of my crew down with the Shakes (as the locals are affectionately calling it).

You want to get pissed at someone, get pissed at the flight deck controller who let those pitdiggers out of the goddamn hangar bays and into general population.

K.

MEMORANDUM FOR: Captain Ryker

FROM: Teresa Shteyngart, MD,

Chief Medical Off icer, Copernicus WUC-7891

INCEPT: 10:31, 06/15/75

SUBJECT: Re: re: re: re: re: Pathogen

Captain,

We are attempting to determine timings now. Anecdotal evidence from the Kerenza attack indicates an incubation period of almost 24 hours, but we have data that conflicts with this.

The virus is airborne. Its debilitating effects vary widely—some people are catatonic for 3–4 days, others recover within 24 hours. Full recovery is almost universal, save in cases of the young or frail. However, there is no guarantee against re-infection. That people can be reinfected at all is something of a concern—logically, once the immune system fights off the incursion, antibodies should prevent reinfection by the same pathogen.

This would suggest the virus is mutagenic in nature.

I would hypothesize the bioweapon was in a prototypical state when the Kerenza population was exposed—perhaps this attack was a “live fire” exercise on the part of BeiTech forces.

Latest figures follow. Please note the virus is being referred to as “Phobos” (from the ancient Greek) by many of the technicians in their written reports—Dr. Salinger has a love of antiquity, and I’m afraid the nickname has stuck.

Teresa Shteyngart, MD

PS: I missed you last night. Do you think we can make time soon?

ARREST REPORT

INCEPT: 06/17/75

DNA RECOG ID: 771-1COP17

ARREST #: 78374jd

ARRESTING OFFICER: BLYTHE, RANDALL, Sgt.

ARRESTEE: MORTON, MARK—Age 31, Kerenza refugee ident KR985cop

CONSUMED DRUGS/ALCOHOL? Yes/No

IF ARMED, TYPE OF WEAPON: Pipe wrench, screwdriver

CHARGE: Murder, 1st degree (four counts)

NARRATIVE: At 23:45 (shipboard) myself and Corporal Adler were called to a disturbance in temporary domicile GREEN-12b. The habitat was sealed—residents of neighboring domiciles reported brief screaming from within some 15 minutes prior.

Utilizing all-access clearance, Cpl. Adler and myself entered the domicile, suppressors out and up. The body of the first victim (Maryanne Morton—Age 29, KR986cop) was found near the front door. Zero lifesign on bioscan. Brief inspection revealed the victim’s head had been crushed by blunt-force trauma. Spray patterns on walls suggested repeated blows.

Second victim (Stephanie Morton—Age 12, KR987cop) and third victim (Oliver Morton—Age 8, KR988cop) were also discovered in this room. Zero lifesign on bioscan. Brief inspection revealed multiple similar wounds on skull and chest resulting from blunt-force trauma. Second and third victims’ eyes had been removed.

Infrared bioscan revealed one lifesign in the domicile’s bedroom. Cpl. Adler announced our presence and asked the resident (later identified as Mark Morton) to exit the bedroom with hands raised. Resident replied that we were “with them” and demanded we not look at him. Resident became increasingly agitated (in my experience, displaying psychosis similar to tetraphenetrithylamine addicts), finally exiting the bedroom, covered head to foot in blood, with weapons raised.

Cpl. Adler and I both discharged our suppressors, scoring four direct hits to resident’s torso region, all of which failed to subdue the resident. The resident closed to striking range, and I was forced to engage in hand-to-hand combat. With the aid of Cpl. Adler, I managed to subdue the resident—Cpl. Adler is still in critical condition due to injuries sustained during this altercation.

With the resident restrained, I called for backup and proceeded into the bedroom, where I discovered the remains of the fourth victim (Julian Morton—Age 4, KR989cop).

Victim’s eyes had also been removed.

MEMORANDUM FOR: Captain Ryker

FROM: Teresa Shteyngart, MD,

Chief Medical Officer, Copernicus WUC-7891

INCEPT: 14:47, 07/07/75

SUBJECT: Re: re: Phobos

In answer to your first question, yes, it’s mutating. You’re talking about a closed loop with recycled air supplies and almost two thousand more people than are supposed to be on board, all breathing each other’s air and contaminating each other’s space—the Copernicus has essentially become a giant petri dish.

Second question—no, we can’t. I can only presume BeiTech intended it to be an urban pacification device—the virus originally attacked the fear center of the brain, inducing catatonia. So, you hit an urban population with it, everyone falls over paralyzed for 24 – 48 hours, and the troops roll in with zero resistance. But now the virus appears to be attacking the synaptic gap, along with serotonin reuptake mechanisms, doing damage similar to what you’re going to see in long-term dust addicts. It’s essentially psychosis in a bottle. The damage is permanent—anyone who goes down is not coming back.

Third—I don’t think I can. I really want to, but I just can’t get away. Maybe tomorrow.

I miss you too.

Teresa

LABORATORY REPORT

Science Officer: Tobias Salinger, MD
Teresa Shteyngart, MD (assisting)

Incept: 07/12/75

Hour 14

Subject 72 is displaying behavior patterns typical of early Phobos Alpha victims:

• Increased adrenaline levels

• Heart palpitations/hyperventilation

• Tremors

• General unease/nameless dread

Symptoms typically manifest 12 to 24 hours after initial infection with Alpha strain. Symptoms of mutated strain (which we have named Phobos Beta) appear to be more rapid in onset—the latest batch of lab rats Dr. Shteyngart infected displayed psychotic tendencies within 8 hours.

I theorize Phobos Alpha was designed to be spread by initially encouraging minor fear responses and only debilitates its carrier with time. Initially (and insidiously), victims will seek out contact with others—particularly loved ones—in an attempt to deal with the dread (like a frightened infant might seek its mother). The victim often seeks physical comfort (hand holding, embraces), ultimately increasing the chances of spreading infection.

It’s genius, really. Awful, horrifying genius.

Hour 22

Subject 72 has entered a state of full catatonia. Symptoms include:

• Muscle rictus

• Lowered heart rate and core temperature

• Limited pupillary response

Lack of proper equipment and trained personnel make this theory difficult to confirm, but I suspect infection initially targets the sensory cortex and not the thalamus, as Dr. Shteyngart suggested. However, we both agree the effect on the amygdala (which decodes emotions and determines possible threats) is profound—afflicted people will often convince themselves they are not afflicted, or actively avoid treatment, for fear of punishment/persecution/the isolation of quarantine.

I had intended to begin comparing the cellular resistances of Alpha and Beta; however, one of the assistants (Jane, lovely girl) dropped an entire batch of Beta-infected bloodwork on the floor. Glass everywhere.

Not her fault, really—there’s too many of us crowded in here. I was considering sending them all off to get some sleep, but if we don’t crack this, nobody will.

Besides, it’s good to be around people. The thought of being alone right now is terribly disconcerting.

Hour 27

Subject 72 still in state of paralysis. BPM and breathing below half of human norms.

I have reviewed Dr. Shteyngart’s work on the damage the virus inflicts on synaptic vessels and found several errors.

I swear that woman wouldn’t know a hippocampus from a hippopotamus. One would think since she’s co-authoring this report, she’d spend more time helping with it, instead of enjoying our good captain’s company. Someone more prone to paranoia might suspect she’s simply looking to steal my work and publish it herself.

Presuming we ever make it to a bloody jump gate.

Presuming they want us to make it to a jump gate.

Hour 28

Subject 72 showing minor muscle movement. Heart rate increased 12 percent in the last 30 minutes. Body’s immune system is fighting the pathogen—as previously surmised, Alpha strain was never intended to permanently disable victims. Still, Subject 72 is displaying remarkable resilience for something so inherently weak.

Twenty-three of us packed in this tiny lab. Forty-six eyes. Sweating away in these flimsy hazmat suits. So thin. So feeble. So little between it and us and us and it.

My foot hurts. My skin itches. Jane asked if I was well. Nosy little slip. None of her business. Couldn’t tell her, though, no. Smile and nod, smile and nodnodnodnod.

One of the assistants (can’t remember his name—Roberts? Robins?) talks to himself beneath his breath as he works. Thinks no one can hear him but I can.

I hear.

I see.

Oh god.

Hour 29

Shteyngart finally back in the lab.

I wonder if she had time to shower.

Wonder if I’d smell the captain’s stink if I peeled that suit open.

She’s off dining in Ryker’s quarters and whispering her lies about me and meanwhile I’m stuck down here with these ignorant monkeys muttering to themselves and fucking each other with their eyes and all the while things are getting worse and no one is doing anything to stop it but me.

Jane is looking at me again. With those pretty green things floating in her head.

Stop looking at me.

Hour 30

STOPLOOKINGATME

STOPLOOKINGATME

STOPLOOKINGATME

STOPLOOKINGATME

STOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMEYOUFILTHYFUCKINGBITCH

Participants: ByteMe, CitB

Date: 07/27/75

Timestamp: 05:12

ByteMe: read it?

CitB: fuck

CitB: fuck

CitB: fuck

ByteMe: well said

CitB: this is why they cut civi comms a few weeks back. the shutdown date lines up with when it mutated

ByteMe: we never really thought that was for maintenance

CitB: this is why AIDAN blasted Copernicus

ByteMe: we don’t know that for sure

CitB: uh-huh

ByteMe: we have a bigger problem

CitB: bigger than the AI killing a third of the fleet? bigger than it HAVING to?

ByteMe: the Copernicus shuttle survivors made it to the Alexander

CitB: makes sense. They took AIDAN offline as soon as it X-ed out Copernicus

ByteMe: WE DON’T KNOW THAT

ByteMe: I found more stuff. I was so sure she was in there. Now I’m praying she isn’t. Can’t stop shaking.

CitB: wish i could say more than i’m sorry

ByteMe: nobody can. I have to tell Ezra what I found. And those survivors are all just penned up in bay 4

ByteMe: with each other

CitB: …

ByteMe: for now

CitB: fuck

ByteMe: yeah

ByteMe: fuck

Participants: Ann Chau, Captain(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence, General(systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/27/75

Timestamp: 06:31

ByteMe: Ez, I got something.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: on jimmy?

ByteMe: ya. it’s not conclusive, though. i think we should wait for more before you read

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Hell no, send now. Is he ok?

ByteMe: look, i didn’t want to lie to you and say I didn’t find anything, but don’t think you should read, honest

Mason, E, LT 2nd: why not what happened

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Kades?

ByteMe: look, it’s not good, but it’s—it’s too soon to know, can you just trust me?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: why what’s wrong?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: JESUS, TALK TO ME

ByteMe: i’m not trying to make this worse. there was a lot of stuff in those files.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: do you know something or not? This is my FRIEND dammit

Mason, E, LT 2nd: he was there when I was losing my shit over you. he was there looking out for me when my dad died and I had no one else. I OWE him, Kady

ByteMe: he was there when i wasn’t, is what you’re saying

Mason, E, LT 2nd: jesus, this is NOT about you and me. TELL ME WHAT U KNOW

ByteMe: promise me u won’t do anything stupid. promise me u understand it won’t help him to have u in trouble

ByteMe: Ezra?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: fine i promise

ByteMe: i mean really promise. not say whatever you have to say to get what you need. i can’t lose you, Ez. you’re all i have.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: god, it’s really bad isn’t it?

ByteMe: u could make it worse if you do something stupid. put us both in danger.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.

ByteMe: just cross your heart

Mason, E, LT 2nd: k

ByteMe: sent

INCEPT: 07/26/75 (11:17 shipboard time)

LOCATION: United Terran Navy battlecarrier Alexander (Hangar Bay 4)

OFFICER IDENT: Winifred McCall (UTN-961-641id)

RANK: First Lieutenant

_________________________________

At 19:06 (shipboard) on 07/25/75, Sigma Squad and I were scrambled to a Code Blue alert issued by Alexander command. Squad mustered in a timely fashion to Deck 146, where we were briefed by Executive Officer Lia Myles on behalf of General Torrence.

Sitrep: The Copernicus refugees quarantined in Hangar Bay 4 had engaged in some kind of riot in protest over their conditions—violence was ongoing. Sigma Squad was ordered to enter the bay and restore order. Video surveillance rigs within the bay had been disabled/destroyed, and bioscanners wouldn’t penetrate the bay walls, so we’d be proceeding blind. We were issued hot ballistics and authorized for lethal force. We were also equipped with hazardous materials kits, including fully sealed Type A envirosuits.

“Why the hazmat gear?” I asked.

I already knew the answer—scuttlebutt had been rife about the sickness on the Copernicus. Everyone knew odds were good at least a few of those refugees were carriers. I just wanted someone in command to acknowledge it.

XO Myles glared with those pretty eyes for a good long while before she answered. Myles doesn’t like me, see. She’s academy-trained and a born politician. She looks at the battlefield commission on my chest and presumes I think I’m better than her.

She’s a clever one.

“Excellent question, Lieutenant,” she finally answered. “We suspect a mutated strain of the Phobos virus—now a Class Alpha Zero pathogen—is loose in Bay 4. It’s possible none of the refugees are afflicted. However, we’re taking no chances. I reiterate. The use of lethal force is authorized. No one without a sealed hazmat suit gets out of that bay alive.”

“You want us to shoot civilians.”

“I want you to protect the six thousand–plus people in this fleet, Lieutenant. I want you to stop, by any means necessary, an afflicted body getting into the Alexander’s general population and spreading that pathogen aboard this ship.”

Hands on hips.

“I want you to do your job.”

A few of my rookies conscripted from the Kerenza refugees looked a little panicked at that notion. They might know people in the Hanger Bay 4 crowd, after all. They had no training with chemical agents or bioweapons—after six months, most barely knew the business end of a VK-85 burst rifle or how to lace their boots right. As ranking officer, I had to toe the company line, but my 2IC, Sgt. James McNulty, stepped up to ask the obvious questions I couldn’t.

“So if these civis are infected, why don’t we just leave them locked in the bay?”

“They have Copernicus engineering staff among them,” XO Myles replied. “They’re trying to break through the airlocks. Given the tools available, they’ll succeed in time.”

“Why don’t we just open the outer doors and space them?”

That was Sykes, one of my surlier corporals. Word around the barracks was he’d got a vidcall from his wife three days before the Kerenza attack, telling him she was running off with her psychoanalyst. She even took their dog. She hated dogs, apparently.

“Slam a lid on that noise right now, Corporal,” I ordered.

“It’s a valid question,” Myles said.

My eyebrows hit the ceiling at that one. Cold as the belly of the void, little Lia Myles.

She turned to Sykes. “The refugees have disabled the locking mechanism on the outer bay doors. We can no longer operate them from the bridge. They must have suspected flushing them was an option.”

“Wonder what gave them that idea,” McNulty muttered.

“Further questions?” she asked, looking at me.

Silence.

“Right. Good hunting.”

We suited up. No banter among my boys. No jokes. Bad sign. I was watching my Kerenza rooks close, wondering if they were going to hold nerve when ordered to open fire on people they knew. If the concept of the “greater good” was going to sink through to those trigger fingers, past notions like loyalty and friendship and love.

In the end, I made the call to bench them—keep them in reserve outside the second airlock. It meant Sigma was going in shorthanded, but there wasn’t a soul among them who didn’t look relieved.

We proceeded to the hangar decks, Bridge Control cycling us through the three heavy-duty doors, one at a time—we still had our all-access passes, but command had issued a security override on Bay 4. Each airlock closed behind before the new one opened in front and cycled through a full atmo purge. Command reported the first inner door had already been compromised—seemed the mice had been busy. Ordering my reserves to hold position at the second door and kill anything that didn’t ID itself, I requested command open the final seal.

The door shuddered wide. The hangar beyond was unlit. Black as the empty past the outer bay doors. We engaged thermal vision and stepped inside, VKs ready.

“Safeties off,” I ordered.

McNulty took point, creeping into the dark. I could see welding gear and industrial cutters scattered about the inner door, scorch marks on the titanium. The silence was almost total—it’d been days since they took AIDAN offline and cut the main drive, but I still wasn’t used to it. Those engines used to be a constant. A thunder you could set your back against. A heartbeat.

Gone now. And mine wasn’t loud enough to replace it.

Yet.

The bay was huge, stretching off in every direction, but I took my best guess and motioned for Sigma to proceed. I could see the abandoned Copernicus shuttles in the darkness—nine bulky scarabs, a makeshift barricade welded around them, like some circled wagon train from a history VR. I thought I saw a flicker of movement in a porthole for an instant, and then it was gone.

We were on our way toward them when we found the first bodies.

I’ve seen people die. Die hard. Die messy. Job like mine, you live with the reaper every day. But if you’re unlucky, it’s not the bullets that kill you in this gig. It’s moments like these. Killing you one piece at a time.

There were twenty of them, all up. Eleven males, nine females. Children through to middle age. I’m not sure where the heads were—we never found them. They were stripped to the skin. Twisted on the floor in some kind of pattern. It wasn’t until I vaulted up onto a fuel drum and got a bird’s-eye view that I realized they were arranged to form letters. Two words spelled out on the floor in cold, naked meat.

HELP US.

“Jesus Christ,” Sykes breathed.

“Not sure he’s listening, chum,” McNulty said.

“Stow it, McNulty,” I ordered.

“Knife wounds,” Sykes said, kneeling by one of the bodies. “Multiples.”

“Well, whoever did it probably wasn’t considerate enough to cut their own throat afterward,” I said. “They’re still in here. Eyes open. Stay chill.”

I could feel McNulty’s eyes on me in the dark.

“What the hell is going on here, LT?”

Screaming.

We heard it in the distance, echoing through the Alexander’s guts. A girl. Pleading.

“Move!” I hissed, and we were running. Sweat on my skin. Finger on my trigger. I could see more bodies crumpled in the dark but didn’t stop long enough to inspect them. Broken skulls and opened wrists. This was no protest. This was no riot.

Shapes appearing out of the darkness ahead. Five of them. Voices babbling.

“There she is!”

“Hold her still!”

“Help me!”

“The knife! Get the knife!”

“Help!”

“UTA MARINES!” I bellowed. “FREEZE!”

I could see them. Covered in blood. Wild-eyed and pale. Three men and a woman gathered around a little girl no more than nine or ten years old. She was screaming, pleading. A fat man sat atop her chest, crushing the breath out of her. The other three stood over them, iron bars and pipe wrenches in hand, slicked to the elbows in blood.

“Drop the weapons!” McNulty roared.

Sigma Squad fanned out around them, red laser sights cutting through the black.

“You bitches,” the woman spat. “Now you come?”

“You left us in here to die!” shouted another.

“Drop the weapons, step away from the girl, and put your hands on your head!” I shouted.

“Miss, you don’t understand,” the fat man moaned. I realized he was crying. Tears cutting trails down bloodstained cheeks. “She’s with them. She’s with them.”

“Drop the weapon!”

The man was struggling to breathe. Fingers drumming on the bloody metal in his fist.

“Eric…,” the woman said.

“She’s with them!”

“You stupid motherfucker, drop it!” Sykes bellowed.

“DROP IT NOW!”

I looked across the dark to that girl’s face. Big brown eyes. One hand up to shield her head. So little. So helpless. Nothing between her and the end but us.

The fat man raised his pipe wrench.

“Eric, don’t!”

“FIRE!”

Muzzle flashes lit the dark. Our VKs roared. And when we were done, there were four new bodies on the floor, staring sightless up into the black above our heads, waiting for a God who wasn’t coming.

The girl’s wails filled the quiet. McNulty stowed his VK, ran across the carnage, and picked her up from the bloody grille. He held her to his chest, those big arms wrapped around her tight. Doing all the right things. Making all the right noises.

“Hush, baby, it’s okay. You’re all right now, Uncle Jimmy’s got you.”

He’d have made a good dad, McNulty.

I don’t know where she had the shiv. Up her sleeve. In her dress. I caught a glimpse of silver, a flash of red. McNulty roared as the blade punched through his hazmat suit and the ballistics weave underneath. Our gear is built to take a knife from a charging gorilla or a point-blank burst from a heavy rifle. God knows where she got the strength.

McNulty shouted, throwing her aside and clutching his wounded arm. The girl hit the deck, twisted up into a crouch, lips peeled away from yellow teeth. She leapt at Private Henderson and put her shiv through his hazmask—punched right through the eyehole. Her stare locked on mine as his body hit the deck. Big and brown and brimming with hate. Bloody steel in one little red fist.

“Don’t look at me,” she hissed.

Sykes put her down. Single shot, right between the eyes. Dropped her before I could blink. And then we heard them. Calls out in the dark. One after another after another. Something skittered across the deck at us, fizzing and spitting tiny sparks.

Pipe bomb.

“Grenade!”

The blast took out Gandolfini, Montano, and Parker; the second would’ve taken off my legs if I’d moved a little slower. I could see shapes in the dark—dozens of them—more pipe bombs raining from the gantries above. The explosions lit up the hangar’s belly like fireworks on Terra Day, lit up the body of that ten-year-old girl with a bullet in her face and a bloody knife still clutched in her hand. And I did what any officer with a brain would’ve done. Battlefield commission or not.

“Fall back! Fall back!”

To Sigma’s credit, we held formation as we peeled off, laying down suppressing fire as I grabbed McNulty and slung his arm around my shoulder. The hostiles were smart—I’d heard that Phobos turned you mindless, but they were moving with intent, trying to cut off our retreat. A dozen VK pulse grenades talked them out of it, cleared us a path back to the airlock. McNulty was cursing beneath his breath the whole time, calling himself stupid. He didn’t seem too badly wounded, though—I thought his gear saved him from the worst of it.

It wasn’t until we’d sealed the secondary airlock behind us that I realized how wrong I was. As the Kerenza rookies gathered about us and babbled, XO Myles’s voice rang in my headset.

“Sigma, this is Comm. Lieutenant McCall, report status, over!”

“Comm, this is Sigma. At least forty hostiles in the bay. Henderson, Parker, Gandolfini, and Montano are down. McNulty is injured. Over.”

“Sigma, Comm. Did any hostiles make it through, over?”

“Comm, Sigma. Negative. They’re sealed outside Airlock 2. Cycle us through, over.”

“Sigma, Comm. You said you have a squad member injured? Confirm, over.”

“Comm, Sigma. Affirmative. McNulty took a knife wound. It’s not serious, but he—”

“Is his suit intact? Over.”

McNulty looked at me, then. And I saw it in his eyes.

“Comm, Sigma—”

“Is his suit intact?”

He had blue eyes, McNulty. Pretty as oceans.

“Lieutenant, is his suit intact?”

“…Negative.”

“Winifred, you cannot bring that man through the airlock, do you understand me?”

“Lia…”

“Fred, you cannot bring him through.”

The battlefield commission on my chest weighed about ten tons right then. Made it hard to breathe. Impossible to speak. It’s not the bullets that kill you. It’s moments like these.

One piece at a time.

In the end, McNulty spoke for me.

“Comm, this is McNulty. I copy. Order acknowledged, over.”

I found my voice then. Barely. “Sergeant, I—”

“Forget it, LT.” He patted his rifle. “If they make it through the airlock before you come back with the cavalry, I got a little something waiting for them.”

“We are coming back for you, Sergeant.”

He smiled then. “ ’Course you are.”

The airlock cycled open behind us. A full detachment of MPs were waiting, suppressors and VKs trained on us—just in case we tried to bring McNulty through. Cold as the belly of the void, little Lia Myles. Not sure what I ever saw in her.

McNulty gave us a salute. I could still see his smile. No fear in his eyes then. Just duty.

He’d have made a good dad.

“Hey, LT,” he said as the doors cycled closed.

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“You see Ezra Mason around, remind him his first kid’s name is James. Or Jamette.” He patted his breast pocket. “And tell him not to worry. I’ve got Astro-Princess to keep me warm.”

“Astro-Princess?”

“He’ll know what I mean.”

I’d prefer a thousand bullets to a moment like this.

“Roger that, Sergeant.”

“Take care, LT.”

That was the last we saw of him.

I am officially recommending Sergeant James McNulty for the Silver Star for Bravery.

1st Lieutenant Winifred McCall

UTA Marine Division

Battlecarrier Alexander

Participants: Ann Chau, Captain(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence, General(systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/27/75

Timestamp: 06:46

ByteMe: Ez? please tell me you’re still there?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: those bastards

Mason, E, LT 2nd: THOSE MOTHERFUCKERS

Mason, E, LT 2nd: A SILVER STAR FOR HIS FUCKING COFFIN?

ByteMe: Ez please stay at the keyboard, please talk to me. please.

ByteMe: he’s not dead yet. they don’t say that.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: they LEFT HIM IN THERE. what happens when those lunatics break through to the second airlock?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: We have to get him out of there. can you hack the bay doors?

ByteMe: i can’t. promise I’m not just saying that. She says in the report their all-access passes don’t work on the bay doors. command has an override in place. please Ez, don’t do anything stupid. we have to think. you’re no use to anyone in the hole.

ByteMe: or shot.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: get me some schematics, i’ll go down there and cut him out myself

ByteMe: and THEN what? Do you think for a second that’s what he’d tell you to do?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Kady I can’t leave him, he’s DEAD if he stays in there.

ByteMe: you promised me. he knew what he was doing. believe me, if I saw a way out I’d take it, but I can’t change this, and you promised me you wouldn’t get yourself killed too. you can’t.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: promises are just words. they don’t mean a thing

ByteMe: words don’t mean anything?

ByteMe: are you fucking kidding me?

ByteMe: words are all we have right now. you’re all I have. you can’t leave him, but you can leave me?

ByteMe: what about when you said you loved me? when you said you wanted the best for me? all that was just crap, was it? doesn’t mean anything as soon as there’s something that matters more?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Kady i DO love you.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: god

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you’re all i think about. Every time I close my eyes, i see you. Every time I dream, you’re there. I think about us and how i messed it up and it’s like someone is tearing my insides out.

ByteMe: then don’t get yourself killed.

ByteMe: i’m hurting for him because you are, even if I don’t know him, but he chose to stay there. he knew what it meant. he’d never forgive you if you got yourself sick, or shot, not if he’s any kind of friend. what you do when shit like this happens is you LIVE, you survive it, that’s how you honor the ones you lost

Mason, E, LT 2nd: he’s not lost yet. I can’t just sit here and do nothing

ByteMe: you give me one thing you can actually do, one thing that might have a chance of saving his life, and we’ll talk. making demands based on info you shouldn’t have gets you nowhere. maybe gets you shot. and who says they’re doing nothing?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i do. What’s one more drone or bruiser or commtech to these people? we’re just statistics to command. just numbers

ByteMe: that doesn’t answer my question, Ez. I’m not saying don’t care about him. I’m saying don’t get killed for no reason. Please. I won’t be okay.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: what does that even mean?

ByteMe: it means

ByteMe: it means screw you for making me get into this when i don’t want to

ByteMe: but i fucking love you too

ByteMe: and I won’t be okay if you get yourself shot

ByteMe: so please, please just don’t. please don’t make me sit over here freaking out about what you might be doing.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: whoa, back up about three paragraphs there, cowgirl

ByteMe: please, Ez.

ByteMe: Ez?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ok

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ok, i won’t do anything stupid

ByteMe: i’m so sorry. truly.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: …

Mason, E, LT 2nd: god, i wish you were here

ByteMe: me too

ByteMe: but we’re way past 7 mins. i’m so sorry but I have to go.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: yeah

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ok

ByteMe: stay safe. please. for me.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I will.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: for you

ByteMe: you promise?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i promise.

To: David Torrence/DTORRENCEALEXANDERONBOARD

From: Ann Chau/ACHAUHYPATIAONBOARD

Date: 07/27/75

Timestamp: 09:05

Subject: Offer

David,

I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I’ve tested and trained civilians and sent them across for conscription. I’ve stripped my ship to reequip the Alexander. I’ve passed on what I believe to be misinformation to my crew and the refugees aboard the Hypatia, advising them the Lincoln was responsible for the destruction of the Copernicus and the deaths of their friends and families.

To say I am uneasy with this would be an understatement. I had friends and colleagues aboard that ship. I’ve cooperated at every turn. At this stage I cannot continue to operate in the dark.

Our long-range scopes are now picking up the Lincoln in pursuit of our fleet. If we’re seeing her now, I assume you’ve known she’s closing in on us for some time. We burned our lead when we stopped to resupply. It’s not a matter of if the Lincoln will catch us anymore. It’s when. And when she catches us, we need to be able to fight her.

We estimate she’ll close to weapons range in just under three days—seventy hours, to be precise. We need your defense grid. Your rail guns. Your nukes. You need to bring your artificial intelligence back online, David. And if something’s preventing you from doing that, you need to let us help. I’ve still got my skeleton crew here, and they’re damn good at what they do. Give us access to your systems and let us help you.

We’re in this together. A quarter of your ship’s crew are conscripted civilians right now. Don’t discount our help just because my crew are civilians too.

I look forward to your earliest response.

Ann Chau

Captain

Science Vessel Hypatia

To: Ann Chau/ACHAUHYPATIAONBOARD

From: David Torrence/DTORRENCEALEXANDERONBOARD

Date: 07/27/75

Timestamp: 10:00

Subject: Re: Offer

Ann,

I’ve arranged log-ins and a secure channel for your tech crew, which will allow them to work with mine in running scenarios.

No other crew members are to use the secure channel—it is available for designated personnel only. Be advised the secure channel is considered a military asset, and while they’re assisting on this project, your people are subject to military law.

If I catch any of them in even the slightest infraction, from checking in on their buddies to bitching about the situation, I won’t hesitate to court martial them.

Don’t lose your nerve. This is a long way from over, and we’re not done yet.

David

Log-in details:

1/2 Zhang/Byron:

Log-in: Alexander/Core/Full/ZhangB

Password: skjh45mh2

2/2 Nestor/Consuela:

Log-in: Alexander/Core/Full/NestorC

Password: 24rkdga9s

Participants: Anton Boklov, Corporal, UTA Information Services Division(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

Byron Zhang, Civilian Contractor

Date: 07/27/75

Timestamp: 11:55

ByteMe: howdy neighbor

Zhang, B: fuck me, what are you doing on this channel?

ByteMe: o now is that nice?

Zhang, B: u piggybacking?

ByteMe: doesn’t look like Corporal Boklov is using his ID right now so i thought i’d see what ur up to

Zhang, B: nothing slows u down

ByteMe: unlike u. looks weird, seeing your actual name there. ur totally CitB in my head.

ByteMe: so still don’t have this sorted? whats the holdup?

Zhang, B: it’s not that fucking easy is the holdup. u here to help?

ByteMe: affirmative, sensei

ByteMe: u getting any gen out of the military techs about how things are over there?

Zhang, B: worried about your bf?

ByteMe: yes

Zhang, B: oh

Zhang, B: well that makes the teasing a little less fun

ByteMe: answer?

Zhang, B: nope, they not feeling talkative

ByteMe: how u holding up? have u stopped to eat or drink or sleep lately?

Zhang, B: not a lot of any of those.

ByteMe: u want me to bring u something?

Zhang, B: no, don’t want any footage of u coming near me, in case they notice u

Zhang, B: it all takes a bit longer, doing it remotely from the Hypatia. Just a little delay on every command, starting to drive me nuts.

Zhang, B: not exactly volunteering to head over to the Alexander and do it in person tho

ByteMe: any of these military folks know what they’re doing?

Zhang, B: some. Guy called Dorian is on it, a couple of the others, but most trying to fill shoes not meant for them, got promotions after Kerenza.

Zhang, B: But no matter how good u are, trying to work out how to turn AIDAN back on under restraint is like trying to work out how to strap down an octopus, only u have no idea how many arms the fucker has and u have to work in the dark

ByteMe: ok, show me where i can help. we have to get moving. Lincoln isn’t waiting.

Zhang, B: u holding up ok?

ByteMe: trying. let’s go to work

From: Captain Ann Chau, Hypatia Command

To: Syra Boll (Chief—Navigation), Kate Irving (2IC—Maintenance)

Date: 07/27/75

Timestamp: 12:03

Subject: Our options

Syra, Kate:

I need some quiet calculations. Hypothetical only, of course, but it’s appropriate for us, as the senior staff, to consider every potential step necessary to preserve the safety of the Hypatia.

Please compile a confidential report considering:

• the navigational ability of our current staff (Syra)

• the current condition of our ship (Kate)

• our ability to increase velocity and augment defense systems of any description (Kate)

My question, essentially, is this: If we were to leave the Alexander and strike out for safety on our own, through either choice or necessity, what are our chances?

I want a list of likely scenarios, a report on our probability of survival, and ideas on any steps we can take to increase our odds. The Hypatia was never meant to brave the black without an escort, but we need to work out how our minnow can survive without her guardian shark. We need to be prepared, just in case.

Kate, please don’t include Peyak in this. I’m aware he’s still unhappy about Matt’s conscription and would not be willing to assist in compiling any plan for leaving the Alexander behind. In fact, I think he’d probably tell Matt as quick as he could, assuming comms ever come back up.

You’ve got twelve hours to put together as much data as possible for me, then we’ll meet in person to discuss your findings.

Ann

OFFICER MEMORANDUM

BATTLECARRIER ALEXANDER—78V

INCEPT: 07/27/75

FROM: GENERAL DAVID TORRENCE

Officers of the Alexander,

This is rumor control. At 20:17 on 07/25/75, Marine Squad Sigma engaged hostile Kerenza refugees afflicted with the mutated Phobos virus in Hangar Bay 4. Sigma Squad was unable to secure the area. Several marines were killed in this altercation. Sigma is now in lockdown.

I will state this as plainly as I can: There has been no quarantine breach. NO afflicted personnel have gained access to the general population of the Alexander. Any speculation to the contrary is, at best, detrimental, and, at worst, treason.

Shorthanded as we are, and unable to guarantee our marines’ safety, I have determined to leave Bay 4 sealed, reinforce the doors and allow the afflicted within to succumb to starvation. With the main drive still offline, Lincoln is now closing to within striking distance. All pilots—even disciplinary cases—are to be reinstated to flight status. Hypatia neurogramming staff have been assisting with the work on AIDAN. TechEng will report latest results at 07:00 tomorrow to senior staff. I trust Colonel Sanchez and her team will have found a solution to our AI dilemma by then.

You all know fear is poison in battle. You, as officers, must do everything in your power to stop this situation from turning toxic.

You will explain this in no uncertain terms to your respective staff members. Conjecture and rumor-mongering serve no purpose but to degrade unit cohesion. Morale is at a flash point already—the last thing we need is people operating rashly under misinformation. And frankly, with things being what they are, if your people have time for watercooler whispering, they’re not working hard enough.

Over six thousand lives are on the line here, people.

We should be doing, not talking.

Centrum tenenda.

David Torrence
General, United Terran Authority
Commander, Alexander 78—V

Participants: Charles Dorian, Corporal, UTA Information Services Division

Stephanie LeFevre, Private, UTA Information Services Division

Date: 07/27/75

Timestamp: 16:39

LeFevre, S, Pvt: Dorian, this install sequence still isn’t working.

Dorian, C, Corp: Damnation. Send it to me and I’ll look at it once I’m done hand-holding these civilian techs over on Hypatia.

LeFevre, S, Pvt: did you just say “damnation”? god, you even swear posh. très sexy.

Dorian, C, Corp: What do you want, Stephanie?

LeFevre, S, Pvt: what makes u think I want anything?

Dorian, C, Corp: Because you’re flirting with me. And unless I missed a memo and have somehow become…now what was the term you used again?

Dorian, C, Corp: Oh yes…

Dorian, C, Corp: “The last functional cock in the verse”

Dorian, C, Corp:…then you want something. So, what can I do for you?

LeFevre, S, Pvt: How bout u meet me in Server Room D

LeFevre, S, Pvt: and tear me out of these coveralls with your teeth

Dorian, C, Corp:…

Dorian, C, Corp: Are you serious?

LeFevre, S, Pvt: lol

LeFevre, S, Pvt: oh, LORD, no.

LeFevre, S, Pvt: lololololololol

Dorian, C, Corp: I’m a bloody corporal, you know. I outrank you. Technically, I could have you brought up on charges for that.

LeFevre, S, Pvt: which would leave you stuck doing this install alone.

Dorian, C, Corp: Damn your logic, Private. Damn it straight to hell.

LeFevre, S, Pvt: hey u hear about that snafu with Sigma Squad?

LeFevre, S, Pvt: I heard they lost 12 guys. And two of the refugees broke out of the bay

Dorian, C, Corp: If that were true, I suspect we’d be under lockdown by now, yes?

LeFevre, S, Pvt: u did hear something then

Dorian, C, Corp: Nothing I’m at liberty to share. Back to work, please.

LeFevre, S, Pvt: I’m waiting on this upload. u can tell me, Charlie

Dorian, C, Corp: My lips are sealed.

LeFevre, S, Pvt: well

LeFevre, S, Pvt: I can fix that

Dorian, C, Corp: Meaning what?

LeFevre, S, Pvt: meet me in Server Room D

Dorian, C, Corp:…

Dorian, C, Corp: Are you serious?

Dorian, C, Corp:…Stephanie?

< Dorian, C, Corp: user log-out due to inactivity >

ISSUED BY: CAPTAIN CHAU, SCIENCE VESSEL HYPATIA

DATE: 07/27/75

TIME: 17:00 (Shipboard Standard)

ASSIGNMENT: ALEXANDER FLEET

Friends,

I am pleased to report that repairs to the Alexander’s drive systems are proceeding ahead of schedule, and we should be returning to maximum velocity within the next few days. Unfortunately, we are still unable to provide exact timings, but rest assured the tech crews involved are working tirelessly to ensure the safety of the fleet.

The Lincoln has not shown itself since the attack on the Copernicus—it’s possible the damage sustained during the Copernicus assault has rendered it incapable of further pursuit. However, General Torrence and his staff are continuing repair operations around the clock, and the sanctuary of Heimdall Station is closer than it has ever been. We ask for your patience for the next few days—the worst is almost over.

Patience is not without its rewards, however! I’m informed that Lieutenant Mifune has dredged up another cinema classic from his collection for screening in Amphitheater A—tonight we have the award-winning thriller Terminus, starring Blake Hill and Elizabeth Andretti. First session will commence at 19:00 hours. The film contains some mature content, so children under the age of twelve can attend a re-screening of Super Turbo Awesome Team Vs. Megapanda in Amphitheater B, or be dropped off in the temp crèche on Deck 17

We would also like to congratulate Martina Hernandez and her husband, Christopher, on the birth of their beautiful baby girl, who was brought into the universe by our medical staff at 01:13 this morning! Both mother and daughter are doing well, and I am delighted to report our newest crew member has been named “Hypatia” by her parents. Your prayers and best wishes are appreciated—any donations of clothing or toys for our little stowaway can be made via your friendly Hypatia ensign.

I thank you all for your courage and patience through our recent trials, and look forward to bringing you more news as it comes to hand.

Participants: Ann Chau, Captain(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence, General(systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/27/75

Timestamp: 19:15

ByteMe: howzit?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: tense. t-e-n-s-e

Mason, E, LT 2nd: lot of scuttlebutt around. Bay 4 and the rest of it

Mason, E, LT 2nd: trying not to think about Jimmy. it’s not working

ByteMe: :(

Mason, E, LT 2nd: talk to me Kades

Mason, E, LT 2nd: tell me something good

ByteMe: um, ok

ByteMe:…

ByteMe: o, remember Ms. Colfer from applied sciences class? She’s over here, u know.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: No kidding? Wow, she made it.

ByteMe: Yeah. She’s kind of the reason we got together

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Damn, I still remember first day in her class. You were checking me out HARD, Grant.

ByteMe: U. R. DELUSIONAL. u kept asking me stupid questions about hydrogen bonding

Mason, E, LT 2nd: confession: hydrogen was not the kind of bonding on my mind

ByteMe: o rly? am I to understand it was highly sophisticated courting behavior? did i misinterpret it, with my backwater ways?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Mock if you will. I’ll refrain from pointing out you DID end up falling madly in love with me

ByteMe:…

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I’m nice like that

ByteMe: “madly” as in it was complete insanity to do it. and i was misled on the whole “wishing to bond” front by the way you kept sticking your tongue down jodie kingston’s throat

ByteMe: it was like you were trying to make up for missed biology lessons with practical experience. ew.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you know Jodie’s dead, right?

ByteMe: i…jesus

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Way to go, mood killer

ByteMe: okay, sorry

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Lol, you’re so bad at this, Grant

Mason, E, LT 2nd: That’s one of the things I love about you

ByteMe: fuck off, I was trying to make you feel better

Mason, E, LT 2nd: …

Mason, E, LT 2nd: You kiss your mother with that mouth?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: How is your mom anyways? I would literally swim the few thousand klicks of vacuum between Alexander and Hypatia for some of her dessert

ByteMe: Yeah, I always knew what you were really at my place for.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Hey, you should thank her. I owe this manly physique almost entirely to her home cooking

Mason, E, LT 2nd: *flexes*

ByteMe: I was totally just in it for your manly physique, u know. I watched so many boring geeball games for that physique. And all before u even asked me out

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Boring? Ok NOW you’re hurting my feelings.

ByteMe: i’m flattering you, idiot.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: You know, you’ve REALLY gotta think of a better pet name for me than “idiot.”

Mason, E, LT 2nd: What about “sweetiepuff”

Mason, E, LT 2nd: “sugarpants”?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: NONO WAIT. “CUDDLEPIE”

ByteMe: I will hack the Alexander comms system and let them know you prefer to be known as Cuddlepie immediately, my love

Mason, E, LT 2nd: noooooooooooooooo

ByteMe: u look as good in your uniform as you did in your geeball gear? if not please lie.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Well the pants are tighter, if that counts for anything

ByteMe: mmmmm go on

Mason, E, LT 2nd: u sure?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: We’d need waaaay more than seven minutes for that;)

ByteMe: Always took about 2 mins as I recall

Mason, E, LT 2nd: 0_o

ByteMe: Set yourself up for that one son.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: …

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Well played, madam.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Well played indeed

ByteMe: speaking of 7 mins, time to split

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Yeah

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i miss you, you know

ByteMe: you too

ByteMe: and seriously, things r only going to get more intense. be calm. be smart.

ByteMe: stay safe, shnookums

Mason, E, LT 2nd: see now you’re just being silly

Date: 07/27/75

Subject: alone

I’m not ready to die.

If the Lincoln catches us, she’ll destroy us. There’s simply no other reason she’d chase us for months on end if it wasn’t to hide the last of the evidence. Wipe out the only witnesses who could tell the universe BeiTech attacked another corp and hijacked their illegal processing plant and—oh yes, killed thousands of people.

That, or we’re on the lam because the Lincoln’s captain is secretly Torrence’s angry ex-girlfriend and they have unfinished business. He’s totally the kind of guy who’d leave the toilet seat up.

I think my jokes are getting worse. Weirder, anyway. The sleep dep is really getting to me. But I can’t miss a chance to peek inside AIDAN and help out Byron, and that means jumping onto a new ID every time a tech takes a break. And in the spare minutes when I’m supposed to be sleeping, instead I’m thinking about what we might find if we make it out of this alive.

I figure it this way: WUC’s operation on Kerenza was illegal, so they can’t tell the UTA we stopped reporting in. When Kerenza was attacked, our alarms would’ve been relayed through the closest waypoint, and then on to Heimdall Station. But the only ship that showed up—the Alexander—was on patrol nearby. Which means our SOS never made it out of the system. And if Heimdall didn’t send the cavalry, that has to mean the station itself was taken as part of the BT attack. Which means my dad might be dead. I am not okay with that.

I am NOT OKAY WITH THAT.

We’ll never make it as far as Heimdall, says my brain, and if we do, Heimdall’s been taken anyway. It says nobody made it off the Copernicus alive—or not alive in any way I’d recognize. I lie in my bunk, pretending I’m at home, and just return those thoughts to sender. They show up and try to get their claws into me, and with a mental NO I push them back. Force myself somewhere safer. Counting rivets. Tugging at the loose threads along the edge of my sheet, winding them so tight around my fingers my nails turn blue.

But deep down, I know it. The truth. Nobody’s coming for us. The place we’re running to probably isn’t safe. And there’s nobody I can trust in this equation except Ezra and Byron. But Byron’s hands are tied, and so are E’s. So if we’re going to find out exactly what happened to the Copernicus, and why, it has to be me.

If we had to, could the Hypatia outrun the Alexander?

Is anyone who made it off the Copernicus still sane? Or even alive?

Are they alive at Heimdall?

I’m not ready to die just yet. Too many things left to do.

No way I am getting shortchanged.

Ezra loves me. I mean, maybe I’m an idiot and it’s just his fear and desperation talking, but I don’t think so. I don’t care if it is—I need him. Being angry at him because he didn’t want to leave Kerenza…seems kind of small now.

It was so good when we were together. It was right. We should have fronted up to the problem, not screamed at each other and avoided it. We should have fought for it, instead of giving up and making out all the time.

I should have been big enough to tell him what he meant to me.

Now I get to tell him in 7 minute bursts.

I try to reach out and connect, to remind him however I can, in my own super awkward way, that I’m here. That if he does something dumb over there, there’s one person left who cares.

Care doesn’t cover it.

If I lose Ezra too, it’ll be one body blow too many.

If I lose Ezra too, I’ll give up.

I don’t think I have anyone else left.

But while I have him, I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep us safe.

Whatever it takes.

Participants: Stephanie LeFevre, Private, UTA Information Services Division(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

Byron Zhang, Civilian Contractor

Date: 07/27/75

Timestamp: 23:58

ByteMe: aroo

Zhang, B: Jesus u can’t be here, Corporal Boklov is online, i can see his ID

Zhang, B: u log in while his ID’s already active, someone will wtf

ByteMe: today i am playing the part of Private LeFevre, tho i thank you for your kind concern

Zhang, B: i don’t think the stims are working anymore. so hard not to qwertyface

ByteMe: no sleep for the wicked, my friend. ur our best hope

Zhang, B: zzzZZzzzzzz

ByteMe: where’d u grow up?

Zhang, B: does that matter in the slightest?

ByteMe: i’m keeping u awake, you dope

Zhang, B: Triton III

ByteMe: isn’t that mostly water?

Zhang, B: i’m a pretty buoyant guy. but yeah, got out when i could

ByteMe: family?

Zhang, B: mom and sisters. pay mostly goes into accounts for my nieces and nephews. don’t need much myself

ByteMe: uncle byron <3

Zhang, B: upstart

ByteMe: so what made you take up the fight, Mr. Information Liberty Activist?

Zhang, B: hush, I’m working

ByteMe: spill

Zhang, B: i’ll tell you when you’re older

ByteMe: oh come onnnnn

Zhang, B: *dramatic sigh*

Zhang, B: “The man dies in all who keep silent in the face of tyranny.”

ByteMe:…

ByteMe: what?

Zhang, B: Wole Soyinka said that. he was a writer, back in 20C. studied him in college. wrote about injustice. Plays, poems, books. good stuff. u should read him

ByteMe: what’s a book?

Zhang, B: …

Zhang, B: hey what r u doing looking over in that core? dead there

ByteMe: checking shutdown + restart logs, might find something helpful

Zhang, B: good, smart

ByteMe: this is weird tho. there are like 6 shutdown attempts in a row here, all fail. AIDAN was blocking them

Zhang, B: when?

ByteMe:…right when they were firing on the Copernicus

Zhang, B: I fucking KNEW IT

Participants: Ann Chau, Captain

David Torrence, General

Date: 07/28/75

Timestamp: 02:05

Chau, A, Capt: You sonofa bitch, David

Torrence, D, Gen: Excuse me?

Chau, A, Capt: It killed them. All of them. I have it all here on file. Launch codes for the nukes. Orders for your Cyclone drones to take out the surviving shuttles. AIDAN murdered over two thousand people, and you’re trying to bring it back online?

Torrence, D, Gen: Where did you get those files?

Chau, A, Capt: How long did you think you could keep this a secret? You didn’t think to mention your AI’s judgment is so critically impaired?

Torrence, D, Gen: Where did you get those files, Captain? I gave explicit orders that your technicians were to access designated areas ONLY.

Chau, A, Capt: My God, what does it matter how I got them? My people are helping you get AIDAN up and running again and we have NO GUARANTEES it won’t kill us all as soon as it becomes operational.

Torrence, D, Gen: AIDAN is already operational. It was deactivated on my orders. And we’re working to ensure it doesn’t hurt anyone when we turn it back on.

Chau, A, Capt: And that’s supposed to comfort me?

Torrence, D, Gen: This is an act of espionage in a time of war. Do you realize the consequences? You are directly undermining the security of this fleet. I could have you and your entire command staff brought up on charges and shot.

Chau, A, Capt: We are done, do you understand me? My people are out. We are ceasing any operations to bring the AI back online until I have some guarantee it won’t destroy us all at its earliest opportunity.

Torrence, D, Gen: I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Captain. Lincoln WILL destroy us when it catches us, and I need your crews to bring AIDAN online before they do.

Chau, A, Capt: Jesus, David, two days ago you were unwilling to let my people near your systems. And now you’re telling me they can’t stop?

Torrence, D, Gen: Is it any wonder I was reluctant to allow your people access, given the current circumstances?

Chau, A, Capt: My crew are civilians. They’re under MY command. I will NOT allow them to participate in an action that places my ship and personnel in danger.

Torrence, D, Gen: Then they’re not civilians anymore.

Chau, A, Capt: What?

Torrence, D, Gen: I’m conscripting your commtech staff into the UTA, effective immediately. You will have them assembled on your main hangar deck and ready to depart in 30 minutes. A shuttle is being sent to get them.

Chau, A, Capt: You can’t do this.

Torrence, D, Gen: A full complement of UTA marines will accompany the shuttle and help escort your personnel back to Alexander. I would recommend you refrain from resistance.

Chau, A, Capt: David, think this through, please.

Torrence, D, Gen: 30 minutes.

Torrence, D, Gen: Centrum tenenda. Torrence out.

INCEPT: 07/28/75 (06:58 shipboard time)

LOCATION: Wallace Ulyanov Consortium science vessel Hypatia

OFFICER IDENT: Winifred McCall (UTN-961-641id)

RANK: First Lieutenant

_________________________________

At 02:07 (shipboard time) on 07/28/75, Sigma Squad and I were scrambled to a Code Blue alert issued by Alexander command staff. Squad mustered in a timely fashion to Deck 146, where we were briefed by General Torrence.

The boss looked tired. More tired than I can ever remember seeing him.

Sitrep: Hypatia’s commtech crew had been forcibly conscripted into the UTA after an (unspecified) act of espionage instigated by Hypatia officers. A shuttle was being sent to bring the conscripts back to Alexander, where our TechEng crew could keep closer watch on them.

My boys were still jumpy after the incident in Hangar Bay 4, but my vets had more experience than the Alexander’s other marines, so we were up. Having lost McNulty, Henderson, Parker, Montano and Gandolfini, I had no choice but to put my Kerenza rookies in the firing line. Corporal Sykes had been in a darker mood than usual since Bay 4—if it was up to him, I’m sure he’d have flushed every civi in the fleet out an airlock.

“We expecting resistance, boss?” he asked.

“Negative,” Torrence replied. “These are civilians, they’ll do what they’re told. Still, you’re packing hot ballistics. The chipheads are off-limits, but if anyone else is stupid enough to get in your way, you be the push that makes them move.”

Sykes’s smile put ice in my belly. “Roger that, sir.”

“Sir,” I asked, “aren’t we there to pacify rather than neutralize?”

“You are there, Lieutenant, to bring back personnel vital to fleet operations. If we didn’t need all our own people, I’d have already brigged Hypatia’s commanders and replaced them with UTA personnel. So if anyone gets in your way, they are to be considered enemy combatants and dealt with accordingly. Is that understood?”

“Sir, yessir.”

“Good hunting.”

On the way down to Hangar Bay 1, we passed the airlock to Bay 4. I tried my best not to think about the man trapped inside it, the people beyond it. Who they were and what they’d become. The gold UTA sigil on my sleeve caught the light of the alert globes spinning above the sealed doors. Red as the blood on my hands.

The trip across to Hypatia was taken in near silence. I should’ve been talking to my people, making sure they were chill. I could barely stop my teeth from chattering. One of my Kerenza rooks was looking at me—Doherty was her name. Staring from behind her wire-rimmed spectacles like I had the answers. I kept my eyes to the floor. Spoke to no one in particular.

“Follow my lead. Do not fire unless I give the order. The first itchy trigger on my watch gets to learn what the outside of an airlock tastes like, crystal?”

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am!” came a dozen shouts.

We came into Hypatia’s docking bay at hard burn. The artificial grav kicked back in and dropped me into my seat and I was up and out of it before I could get cozy. If I’d let myself, I’d have stayed there forever—buckled in tight and wondering how it came to this.

I spoke to the pilot as we touched down. “Kilpatrick, keep engines running. We may need to jet quick.”

“Affirmative, LT.”

“All right,” Sykes barked to the squad. “Suit up, let’s roll.”

Out the shuttle door and across the bay, the stink of fuel and char in my mouth. Patching myself into the local command frequency and speaking through gritted teeth.

“Hypatia, this is First Lieutenant Winifred McCall from UTA Marine Squad Sigma. We are here to escort Hypatia commtech personnel in accordance with Alexander command directives. Please open internal hangar bay doors, over.”

“Lieutenant McCall, this is Captain Chau of the Hypatia, over.”

“Roger that, Captain, I read you. Please open internal hangar bay doors, over.”

“Negative, Lieutenant. You’re not taking my people.”

I tried not to sigh then. Tried not to acknowledge I knew exactly how she felt. Remembering McNulty’s face as that airlock slammed closed.

“They’re not your people anymore, Captain. They’re UTA conscripts. Now you can open these doors, or the plasma missiles on our shuttle can open them for you.”

Silence down comms, then. Doherty looking at me the way kids must look at their mothers. Wondering if any of this was real.

Sykes spat on the deck, spat down his transmitter: “Open the fucking doors before we blow them in, goddammit.”

I had Sykes’s collar in my fist before I knew it. Hand over my mic so Hypatia couldn’t hear. Dragging him close enough to smell the hooch on his breath.

“You secure that bullshit right now, or I’ll kick your teeth so hard you’ll need to unzip for me to lace up.”

Silent rebellion in his eyes. I should have benched him right there. I could see the names written on his face. Parker. Henderson. Gandolfini. Montano. McNulty.

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” he said.

The airlock doors opened wide. What passed for Hypatia’s SecTeam was waiting for us on the other side. Their lieutenant looked former military, but he was about twenty years too old, about eighty pounds too slow.

“Where are the commtechs?” I asked.

“On the bridge,” the LT replied. “They’re still working to get us out of this mess.”

“You ex-UTA, LT?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Then you know what a VK burst rifle does to a human body at close range?”

A swallow. A glance to the weapon in my hand. “Yes, I do.”

“Lead the way.”

Through long, gleaming halls, boots squeaking on rubber floors. All of it surgical white once, but just a little faded now. Pale faces peering at us from behind grubby plasteel windows. Unshaven cheeks or pink dye jobs with six months of regrowth at the roots. Frightened eyes. All of us fraying at the edges.

The Hypatia bridge was semicircular. Humming with static. Chau had cleared most of her personnel out in case things went south of heaven. The remaining crew glanced up as we entered. I could imagine how we looked. All in black. Hollow eyes. Thirty-eight rounds of murder in every clip.

My hands were shaking.

Chau was short. Carved out of wood. Dark hair. Pistol at her belt. Running on no sleep, by the look, standing at her post like some old lighthouse keeper—the only thing between us and the rocks. I identified the commtechs from their shipboard IDs—both still pounding away at their consoles like nothing was happening. I spoke loud enough to be heard across the whole bridge.

“Byron Zhang, Consuela Nestor, you are hereby ordered to accompany me to the UTA battlecarrier Alexander.”

“Tell me how you think this ends, Lieutenant.”

It was Chau speaking. Hand on her pistol. She was looking out the huge viewscreen dominating one end of the room. I could see a tiny spark on the long-range scanner, out there amid all the black and starlight. Its ID tag and countdown to intercept pulsing red:

BT042-TN. 52 hours: 17 minutes.

The Lincoln.

“I don’t get paid to think,” I said. “I follow orders. Stand aside, Captain.”

Chau smiled like I’d said something funny. One of the commtechs stood up then. Byron Zhang. Supposedly a top-tier console jockey. He sure looked the part. Overweight. Thinning hair. Underarm stains.

“It’s a good thing they don’t pay you to think,” he said. “It doesn’t seem like your thing.”

“Zhang, get your gear, you’re coming with us.”

“No.” He set pudgy hands on his hips. Tried to keep his voice from shaking. “You’ll have to drag us. Kicking and screaming.”

“I’ll give you something to scream about,” Sykes growled.

“ ‘The man dies in all who keep silent in the face of tyranny,’ ” he said.

“Listen, Zhang, I appreciate the rhetoric, but anyone can do math this simple. We need every swinging dick back on Alexander, and you two are the best chipheads on Hypatia.”

Zhang’s lips twisted then. An “I know something you don’t know” kind of smile that turned my mood darker. I wanted this over. I wanted to be back in my rack with a canteen of rocket fuel and a few hours of the forgetting it would bring. Still, I knew what kind of edge Sykes was dancing on. I should have given the order to someone else.

“Corporal Sykes, secure the conscripts for transport back to Alexander.”

His grin went all the way to his eyes. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”

He slapped Hart and Bedggood on the arms, and the trio loped forward, pulling zip ties from their belts. I could feel my Kerenza rookies beside me, all of them playing at being soldiers, all of them just nerves and gritted teeth. Doherty in particular looked jumpy. What had she done before this? Security guard at a shopping mall? A library maybe? I couldn’t remember…

My eyes were on the Hypatia SecTeam—they all looked one wrong word away from drawing. Sweat in my eyes. Hard to breathe. Chau’s voice rose above the pulse in my ears.

“Lieutenant, do you know your commanders plan to reactivate the artificial intelligence responsible for destroying the Copernicus? Do you know Major Hawking and three other Alexander officers were executed under General Torrence’s direct orders—”

“Shut up. One more minute and this will all be over.”

Sykes and the others reached the commtechs. Zhang had sat himself on the floor and folded his arms—some gesture of peaceful protest that earned him as much latitude as a faceful of spit. Sykes grabbed his arm, and when Zhang resisted, the corporal popped him with the butt of his VK. Zhang’s nose spat blood, the other commtech shouted protest. And that was all it took. Fists and elbows and knees. Pasty flesh slapping the floor. In about five seconds, Zhang and Nestor were trussed up on the floor like abattoir meat.

“Stop it, Jesus!” the SecTeam lieutenant roared. My VK was right in his face.

“Stand down, LT,” I warned.

“This is bullshit! You people are animals!”

“Captain, order your people to stand down! No one needs to get hurt here!”

The LT’s hand was on his pistol.

My finger on my trigger.

Doherty beside me, her voice rising an octave. “Lieutenant?”

“Lieutenant, stand down!” Chau barked.

I think that’s what did it. Simple mistake. Chau should’ve used his name. Should’ve made it clear she was ordering her own LT, not me. Because to someone with a few light-years under their belt, it would’ve been obvious Chau was drawing her pistol to surrender it. I’ve watched the recordings a hundred times. You can see it on her face. Resignation. One hand up in surrender. But to a terrified rookie who used to guard the school library, it might have looked like Chau was drawing the piece to use it. That she was shouting at me to stand down, and if I didn’t, she was prepared to shoot me in the back.

So Doherty did what she’d been ordered to do.

You be the push that makes them move.

It was a good shot. Took Chau right in the head. I heard a scream from the NavComp, and Syra Boll, one of Chau’s 2ICs, was charging across the deck to cradle her dead captain in her arms. The SecTeam were shouting, we were roaring, VKs in their faces. I don’t know how it held together. I don’t know what stopped us heading south of heaven right then and there. Maybe it was Zhang. Sitting with his bleeding face, tear-filled eyes locked on his captain’s body. Legs crossed. Back straight. Not fighting. Just resisting.

What had he said?

The man dies in all who keep silent in the face of tyranny.

The woman, too.

I can’t do this. I can’t pretend this is what I signed up for. I brought them back, just like I was told. Both Hypatia commtechs, delivered to General Torrence, hog-tied and just a little bloodied for their trouble. I did what a good soldier is supposed to do. But now I’m done.

Lock me in the hole. Fuck, space me. I don’t care anymore. I’ll keep your secrets. Shut my mouth. But I can’t shut my eyes.

I am hereby formally resigning my commission as a lieutenant of the United Terran Authority, effective immediately.

I’m sorry.

I just can’t do this anymore.

Winifred McCall

Former 1st Lieutenant

UTA Marine Division

Battlecarrier Alexander

Participants: Ezra Mason, Second Lieutenant, UTA Airborne Division

Charles Dorian, Corporal, UTA Information Services Division

Date: 07/28/75

Timestamp: 12:27

Mason, E, LT 2nd: dorian

Mason, E, LT 2nd: DOOOORRRRIIIAAAAAANNNNNN

Dorian, C, Corp: Go away, Mason

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I’ll be quick

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Rumors you may have heard to that effect are all lies, btw

Mason, E, LT 2nd: *crickets*

Mason, E, LT 2nd: You heard anything on Jimmy?

Dorian, C, Corp: Mason I have more important things on my mind than James right now.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: chum, our friend is still stuck in that airlock, don’t you think we should find out if command are at least gonna TRY to get him out?

Dorian, C, Corp: Mason, the personnel aboard this ship dont’ amount to a bucket of shit as far as Torrence and his officers are concerned. WAKE UP.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: dorian, that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you swear. Or botch an apostrophe for that matter

Mason, E, LT 2nd: like, EVER

Mason, E, LT 2nd: u ok?

Dorian, C, Corp: No. I am not. A friend of mine just got locked in the hole.

Dorian, C, Corp: Stephanie LeFevre. She’s a commtech.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ya I know Steph. Chill fem. Smart. What’d they brig her for?

Dorian, C, Corp: Aiding and abetting the enemy. They have records of her log-in being used to access memory files out of AIDAN. Details about the Copernicus attack, Kerenza refugee files, things like that. They say she gave the gen about AIDAN to Hypatia command.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: shit. that was…not so smart

Dorian, C, Corp: Except she didn’t do it.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: how u so sure?

Dorian, C, Corp: Because she was with me at the time, Mason.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: like

Mason, E, LT 2nd: “with you” in a biblical sense?

Dorian, C, Corp: Yes, Mason. “Biblically.”

Mason, E, LT 2nd: holy SHIT , little Charlie D with ALL THE MOVES!!!

Mason, E, LT 2nd: chum no offense but I had you picked as a Neo-Abstinent, dead cert

Dorian, C, Corp: My god, you’re an infant.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: chum, I’m HAPPY for you. Steph is a queen

Dorian, C, Corp: Yes, well, my “queen” is now locked in SOLITARY for WARTIME ESPIONAGE, Mason. Awaiting court martial. And possibly a firing squad.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: right. fuck

Dorian, C, Corp: Three-quarters of TechEng are now on some kind of “watch list” for suspicious behavior. Torrence has completely lost the plot. He’s had two commtechs dragged over from Hypatia. Set them up on the bridge so he could “keep an eye on them.” The pair of them literally have bruisers with guns looming over them while they work.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: and there’s no way steph could have logged in to access the info?

Dorian, C, Corp: I think I’d have noticed. Give me some credit, please.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: so just tell command she was with you. Case closed.

Dorian, C, Corp: Yes, brilliant. Because Private LeFevre engaging in intimate relations with her reporting corporal is so much better.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: chum, it’s better than being shot for espionage

Dorian, C, Corp: It’s still a court martialing offense. And the way Torrence is acting lately, he might just have us both shot. He’ll brig me at the very least, that much is certain.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: chum, you have to tell them

Dorian, C, Corp: GOD IN HEAVEN, I ALREADY SENT THE EMAIL TO MY C.O.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: oh

Mason, E, LT 2nd: well. Good for u, chum. Proud of you

Dorian, C, Corp: Oh, shut up.

Dorian, C, Corp: All this means is two more people in the hole. Two more people not working on us not all getting killed when the Lincoln arrives

Mason, E, LT 2nd: double negative, wow, u really upset

Dorian, C, Corp: And of course, there actually IS someone hacking into AIDAN and accessing classified files. Locking Stephanie and me in the hole won’t change that at all.

Dorian, C, Corp: I swear, the people in command are drooling simpletons. Why on earth would Stephanie be accessing Kerenza refugee files?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: wait this hacker was accessing kerenza refugee files?

Dorian, C, Corp: Yes, Mason, I believe I said that already. Twice.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: shit

Dorian, C, Corp: Mason, do you remember when I said you were smarter than you look?

Dorian, C, Corp: Well, I’m officially taking it back. You’re slower than German opera.

Dorian, C, Corp: Mason.

Dorian, C, Corp:…Mason?

Participants: Ann Chau, Captain(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence, General(systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/28/75

Timestamp: 12:32

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Please tell me this wasn’t you

ByteMe: ??? u ok?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: This hacker who broke into AIDAN’s memory and told Hypatia command about Copernicus.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Tell me it wasn’t you, Kady.

ByteMe: they don’t even know I can hack. Otherwise I’d have been brutalized and hauled over to the Alexander like the others

Mason, E, LT 2nd: jesus, it was you

Mason, E, LT 2nd: KADY WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?

ByteMe: AIDAN murdered everyone on the Copernicus. it’s being covered up. I’m the only one who IS thinking

Mason, E, LT 2nd: so you thought telling everyone on hypatia about it was a good idea???

ByteMe: Byron told the captain. How could I do that? I’m not even meant to be in there.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: wait…

Mason, E, LT 2nd: who the fuck is Byron?

ByteMe: He’s the guy your marines assaulted and dragged over to the Alexander, covered in blood. He’s the only one who was brave enough to speak up. And it was the right thing to do.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: oh really? Tell that to the commtech whose ID you jacked. She’s in the brig now. and the corporal (my friend, btw) who’s stepping up to make sure she doesn’t get SHOT for something she didn’t do is going in the hole beside her.

ByteMe: they shot our captain, did they tell you that? when they were taking my friends.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Kady, those marines WOULDN’T HAVE EVEN BEEN THERE if not for you and lord fucking byron

Mason, E, LT 2nd: You promised me whatever I installed on that server was just to help Jimmy and youve been using it to spy on people.

ByteMe: I never promised that.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: You LIED to me

ByteMe: Should I just sit here and wait to die? You might have become a military drone, but I don’t have any faith at all in your commanders.

ByteMe: What would you do if it was me in the brig? Wait for your next set of orders from them?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Weren’t u the one telling me not to try and break Jimmy out because I’d be putting myself and others in danger? Why the fuck are those rules good for me and not for you?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Ppl are in prison because of you! Ppl got hurt because of you!

ByteMe: and if nobody does anything, what happens then? you think your general torrence has the answer?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: who says nobody’s doing anything? ppl over here are busting their asses. they’re trained military personnel. they do this for a living and they’ve been doing it all their lives

Mason, E, LT 2nd: and i dunno if they have all the answers, but maybe, JUST MAYBE THEY HAVE MORE ANSWERS THAN YOU

ByteMe: they don’t, trust me. I’ve seen exactly what they’re doing. So has Byron. they have no idea.

ByteMe: I’m not doing this for kicks, Ez. I’m trying to find out what’s going on, what’s wrong with AIDAN, and I’m wading through layers of lies from your precious command to do it. you might be as content to sit here and take orders as you were to sit on Kerenza and do nothing, but I’m not going to just sit on my hands and count down the 47 hrs we have left until the Lincoln catches us

Mason, E, LT 2nd: fuck me, you’re seriously bringing up kerenza? now?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you really want to go there?

ByteMe: i’m doing what I can to keep us safe. those of us who are left, anyway. Safe from AIDAN, from the Lincoln. have u changed since Kerenza at all?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: listen, I’m sorry i wasn’t the guy to explore the goddamn universe with you. i had my reasons.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: but u don’t know everything kady. your problem is you think you do

ByteMe: i know we have 47 hrs left to live right now, and u want to sit and hope. I can’t do that.

ByteMe: i promised Byron i wouldn’t stop trying. so get your head out of your ass and help me, Ezra.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: god this is so like you. Little Miss Bigbrain. You always think you knwo better. Always think you know the score. ALWAYS

ByteMe: right, what’s your idea?

ByteMe: seriously, I’m listening. got anything better than sitting and waiting to die?

ByteMe: i’m sorry they brigged your friends, i am. but that’s not on me. that’s on your command. they got themselves into this situation by lying, and now they’re covering it up by taking the only people who might be able to help and locking them up. so really, you tell me your ideas about what to do next.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: how about i go tell command i know how you’re getting access to the system before anyone else gets imprisoned or killed?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: better yet, how about this?

——CONNECTION TERMINATED——

Participants: David Torrence/DTORRENCEALEXANDERONBOARD(systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Ann Chau/ACHAUHYPATIAONBOARD(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

Date: 07/28/75

Timestamp: 17:37

Subject: Please please read

Ezra,

I’m sorry. Please please don’t shut me out. Whatever else happens, please talk to me. I don’t want to miss out on the last conversations we might have.

I owe you an explanation, so I’ve attached a stack of documents. You can read for yourself.

I promise you Byron is the best chance this fleet has of getting away from the Lincoln without AIDAN killing us. But he doesn’t have enough time. I need to help him, and that’s what I’m doing inside the system.

I can climb around the quantum core like it’s a playground, but I can’t make you sit down and read my IMs. And I promise I’m not trying to play you when I say I really, really don’t want to die before I see you again.

K

Attached:

Civilian Transfer Authorization (03/29/75)

Civilian Transfer Request (03/31/75)

Civilian Transfer Request (04/06/75)

Email: Interfleet—Copernicus to Hypatia (04/07/75)

Civilian Transfer Request (04/19/75)

Email: Interfleet—Hypatia to Copernicus (04/19/75)

Email: Interfleet—Copernicus to Hypatia (05/14/75)

Email: Interfleet—Hypatia to Copernicus (06/01/75)

Email: Interfleet—Hypatia to Copernicus (07/10/75)

Personal Journal Entry—K Grant (07/11/75)

CIVILIAN TRANSFER PROPOSAL

DATE: 03/29/75

NAME: Dr. Helena Grant

IDENTITY #: KR849/Kerenza/Civ/Ref

FROM SHIP: Hypatia

TO SHIP: Copernicus

TRANSFER REASON: Dr. Grant’s specialty in pathology will be of assistance in dealing with the current health concerns aboard the Copernicus. General Torrence has approved her immediate transfer and authorized conscription in the event of noncompliance.

TRANSFER VOLUNTARY: YES/NO

ADDITIONAL NOTES: Dr. Grant is accompanied by her daughter, Kady Grant (ID KR1471/Kerenza/Civ/Ref), who is currently aboard the Hypatia. As a condition of her cooperation, Dr. Grant has requested any transfer applications by her daughter be denied. Although General Torrence has authorized us to conscript Dr. Grant, it is likely she will be more productive if her request is met. On this basis, this request has been agreed to and is to be kept confidential.

CIVILIAN TRANSFER PROPOSAL

DATE: 3/31/75

NAME: Kady Grant

IDENTITY #: KR1471/Kerenza/Civ/Ref

FROM SHIP: Hypatia

TO SHIP: Copernicus

TRANSFER REASON: My mother, Dr. Helena Grant (ID KR849/Kerenza/Civ/Ref), has been transferred to the Copernicus to assist with medical duties. I would like to join her as soon as possible. My father was at Heimdall Station at the time of the attack, so my mother is my only relative in the fleet. As I’m sure you can understand, I would prefer to be with her at this difficult time.

TRANSFER GRANTED: YES/NO

CIVILIAN TRANSFER PROPOSAL

DATE: 04/06/75

NAME: Kady Grant

IDENTITY #: KR1471/Kerenza/Civ/Ref

FROM SHIP: Hypatia

TO SHIP: Copernicus

TRANSFER REASON: I received a refusal to my last request to transfer to the Copernicus, but wasn’t given any reasons. I am lodging another request, as I believe it is reasonable for me to be transferred to be with my mother, who is my only relative aboard the fleet. My mother and I are extremely close, and I know from experience that when she works, she forgets to take breaks and, at times, to eat. I’ve always been the person to support her while she’s working, and I believe it would be in the best interests of the fleet for me to be with her now. I am sure she will be more productive if I am able to assist her. I am also making a personal appeal as her child—like everyone aboard, I’m still recovering from what happened on Kerenza, and I hope you’ll think it’s reasonable that I want to be with my family. I am prepared to undertake any work necessary on the Copernicus. Thank you for your reconsideration.

TRANSFER GRANTED: YES/NO

To: Kady Grant/KGRANTHYPATIAONBOARD

From: Helena Grant/HGRANTCOPERNICUSONBOARD

Date: 04/07/75

Timestamp: 10:00

Subject: Hello darling

I finally have a moment to check in. I wish we’d had more time to say goodbye, but I understand now that there’s limited movement between the ships because we need to preserve fuel for our supply vessels. I hope you’re feeling better about the transfer now that you’ve had a little time.

I’m settling in very well aboard the Copernicus, which is different from the Hypatia in some ways, and very much the same in others. The lab here is actually quite well equipped, and it’s almost a relief to get back to what I’m good at. There’s plenty to do, but I’m sure we can get it sorted out in no time. We have a surprisingly good team, given our limited pool of candidates.

I’ve been thinking about our discussion the other day at dinner, and I really think you should give some more thought to joining one of the sports teams. I know it was always more Ezra’s thing than yours, but it would be an excellent way to preserve muscle tone during the journey, and you might meet some more people. I worry about you not having the support network you need, no matter how many times you assure me you’re tough as nails. I know you are, my darling—you’re your father’s daughter—but worrying is a part of my job description.

I’ll wrap up here, but please do let me know how you’re settling without me. I know you’ll handle it with the same determination you apply to everything in your life.

Love always,

Mom

CIVILIAN TRANSFER PROPOSAL

DATE: 04/19/75

NAME: Kady Grant

IDENTITY #: KR1471/Kerenza/Civ/Ref

FROM SHIP: Hypatia

TO SHIP: Copernicus

TRANSFER REASON: I am lodging a third request to be allowed to transfer to the Copernicus to be with my mother, as I have not received a satisfactory denial to either of my previous requests. Please see the attached list of family members who have received transfers between ships in order to be together. I respectfully request that you explain to me why my position is different. I am not completing any vital duties here on the Hypatia. Please urgently reconsider my request, or advise me to whom I can appeal the denial.

TRANSFER GRANTED: YES/NO

To: Helena Grant/HGRANTCOPERNICUSONBOARD

From: Kady Grant/KGRANTHYPATIAONBOARD

Date: 04/19/75

Timestamp: 11:05

Subject: Missing you!

Hey Mom,

So good to hear from you! I admit I half wasn’t expecting it, knowing how lost you get in your work. What’s going on over there that they need a pathologist so badly? Nothing serious, right?

I’ve put in a transfer request to see if I can get over there and join you, but no word yet. I don’t really have any news here. I’m taking the programming classes, but I don’t think it’s really my thing. I promise you indoor sports are not my thing either, but I also promise I’ll make sure I make more friends, so you don’t have to worry. Hopefully, I’ll be over to the Copernicus soon and you can supervise me doing it yourself!

With you gone, I’ve been thinking about Dad more. I guess he thinks we’re both dead. I know it’ll take months, but I can’t help imagining what it’ll be like when we’re close enough to transmit and he knows we’re okay. I really miss him. I miss you too, but don’t stress about it. Just make sure you TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF. Seriously, I know what you’re like!

Looking forward to hearing about life on the Copernicus when you’re not so beat.

xoxoxo

Kady

To: Kady Grant/KGRANTHYPATIAONBOARD

From: Helena Grant/HGRANTCOPERNICUSONBOARD

Date: 05/14/75

Timestamp: 14:21

Subject: Just checking in

Hello darling,

Sorry I’m such a bad pen pal. It’s extremely busy over here, and we both know I get a bit distracted. The health concerns here are nothing to worry about, so please don’t. Pathology is just a specialized skill, and it wasn’t going to be practical to send blood samples across to the Hypatia when I could be here.

I really wouldn’t worry about putting in a transfer to move across to the Copernicus. Now that I’ve had a chance to look around, it really isn’t as nice a ship as the Hypatia, and I’d be more comfortable knowing you were over there, focusing on your classes. You’ll have a life to pick up when this is over, and your education matters.

I’ve been thinking about your father as well. I miss him very much, too. He always jokes I wouldn’t notice if he went missing, so you’ll have to be sure to tell him for me that you heard me say it! I love him, and goodness, I wish he was here.

Speaking of people we love, I do wish you’d get in touch with Ezra. I can’t think why he hasn’t tried to contact you himself, except that he must be under the impression you don’t want him to. I’m sure if you spoke to him, he’d understand that the words you spoke in anger back on Kerenza don’t matter anymore in light of what’s happened. It’s important to let the ones you love know that you love them, and I’d feel better knowing the two of you have each other.

Give it some thought, baby girl, and take good care of yourself! I might not have a chance to write again soon, but don’t worry about me. Keeping busy!

Love you lots,

Mom

To: Helena Grant/HGRANTCOPERNICUSONBOARD

From: Kady Grant/KGRANTHYPATIAONBOARD

Date: 06/01/75

Timestamp: 19:41

Subject: Helloooooo

Hey Mom,

You’re turning into the worst pen pal ever! That’s three letters you haven’t answered! I’m now going to start withholding until you show up. So, you want more news, pony up! What’s going on over there?

Love, your abandoned daughter,

Kady

To: Helena Grant/HGRANTCOPERNICUSONBOARD

From: Kady Grant/KGRANTHYPATIAONBOARD

Date: 07/10/75

Timestamp: 23:07

Subject: No seriously Mom

I’m getting kind of worried. Will you please just send me a one-liner and let me know you’re okay over there?

xK

Date: 07/11/75

Subject: I can’t

I want my mom.

I WANT MY MOM.

I want to feel how soft she is when she hugs me and I lean into her. I want her hair tickling my nose. I want the way she smells, like the lab and fabric softener. I want her humming something really horribly out of tune as she heats up dinner, then starting to sing and making up the words. I want her stuffing my mittens in my bag and turning out to be right when it starts snowing before lunch. I want to hear her voice on a call with Dad after I’m asleep, all soft and mushy when she thinks I can’t hear, with these long silences when I know he’s doing his charming thing. I want her marathoning shows with me that we’d both die before we’d admit we watch. I want her making tragic, inappropriate remarks about the boys on the shows in an attempt to pretend she’s not old. I want her talking earnestly about my education. I want her telling me to lighten up.

I just want her telling me anything. What to do.

Please, I want my mom. I can’t do this on my own.

Participants: Ann Chau, Captain(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence, General(systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/28/75

Timestamp: 18:22

Mason, E, LT 2nd: they took your mom to the Copernicus

Mason, E, LT 2nd: she was on there when…

Mason, E, LT 2nd: god, i’m so sorry Kades

ByteMe: Ez. please keep talking to me. I’m sorry.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: jesus this is so fucked up

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i’m sorry i yelled at you

ByteMe: i get it. u had the right

ByteMe: nothing about this makes sense. I swear I don’t know what the right thing is, except trying to keep us all alive.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: this whole time, i thought she was on Hypatia with you

Mason, E, LT 2nd: god, why didn’t you tell me, Kades?

ByteMe: don’t know really

ByteMe: u were worried enough without me making it worse. i didn’t want to think about it. i didn’t want it to be true. take your pick.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: it was like that when my dad died

Mason, E, LT 2nd: like, sometimes I’d be talking about him to the guys and i’d realize i was using “is” instead of “was.” Like he was still here

Mason, E, LT 2nd: part of me just wouldn’t believe it.

ByteMe: and here I am, asking u to be here for me exactly like I wasn’t for you. more than I deserve, i get that.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: More than you deserve?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you deserve every star in the galaxy laid out at your feet and a thousand diamonds in your hair. You deserve someone who’ll run with you as far and as fast as you want to. Holding your hand, not holding you back.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: You deserve more than I could ever give you, Kady.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: But I’ll give you everything I can if you still want me to.

ByteMe: I don’t know how you can say that, but I don’t care. I just want it to be true. you’re all i have, but it will be okay if I still have you.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you have me

Mason, E, LT 2nd: until the last star in the galaxy dies

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you have me

ByteMe: let’s try really, really hard not to die.

ByteMe: i really want to see you in person first.

ByteMe: don’t care where we end up.

ByteMe: i think Heimdall must be gone. Otherwise help would have come for us. so that’s my dad, too.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you don’t know that. try not to think about it. You’re carrying enough already

ByteMe: I’ll try.

ByteMe: I tried so hard to get across to the Copernicus. I still feel like there’s something more I should have done.

ByteMe: but we both know she’d kick my ass from here to Sunday if I didn’t do my best to keep going now.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: she would :)

Mason, E, LT 2nd: she was pretty awesome, your mom

ByteMe: i hoped for a while she was on one of the shuttles, that she might be on the Alexander. I tried everything to find the names of the people in bay 4. Byron tried too. I’m grateful now she wasn’t.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: if you didn’t find the names, how do you knwo she didn’t make it across?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: jesus, Kady, she might still be alive

ByteMe: if she’s alive and insane, I’d rather think she was dead. she’d rather I believed it too. if she’s alive and one of those psychopaths in hangar 4, then she IS dead. i’d rather believe it happened on the Copernicus. fast. painless.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: hold up

Mason, E, LT 2nd: give me a minute, checking something

ByteMe: k

Mason, E, LT 2nd: jesus, i thought so. Kady in this report you sent me, the AAR from McCall. She talks about seeing something in the windwos of the shuttles in Bay 4. But sigma squad never got close enough to check it out

Mason, E, LT 2nd: “I thought I saw a flicker of movement in a porthole for an instant, and then it was gone.”

Mason, E, LT 2nd: kady your mom could still be in there

Mason, E, LT 2nd: she could still be okay

ByteMe: oh my god

ByteMe:…

ByteMe: oh my GOD

ByteMe: they could be sick inside there. or maybe the door wasn’t sealed and they were just hiding. or maybe the psychos knocked it down and got in

ByteMe: oh my fucking god, maybe they didn’t.

ByteMe: Ez, help me, there’s no way in there. I have to try something.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: whatever you need

Mason, E, LT 2nd: what DO you need?

ByteMe: i don’t know.

ByteMe: i have to think.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: well I don’t want to pressure you or anything, K

Mason, E, LT 2nd: but u better think quick

COMMAND TRANSMISSION SENT 07/29/75 01:00

ALEXANDER HAILS HYPATIA: COMMANDER’S SECURE FREQUENCY

Hypatia, Hypatia, Hypatia, this is Alexander, Alexander, Alexander. Do you copy? Over.

[NO RESPONSE]

ALEXANDER: Hypatia, Hypatia, Hypatia, this is Alexander, Alexander, Alexander. Do you copy? It looks to us like you’re receiving. Over.

[NO RESPONSE]

ALEXANDER: Hypatia, Hypatia, Hypatia, this is Alexander, Alexander, Alexander. Do you copy? If you are experiencing a transmission error, please signal with static burst. Over.

HYPATIA: Alexander, this is Hypatia. Acting Captain Syra Boll speaking. We are not prepared to communicate at this time. Over.

ALEXANDER: Hypatia, please elaborate, over.

HYPATIA: Alexander, hear this. We are considering our position. Any attempt to communicate, close the distance between our ships, or harm any of our personnel you have on board will be considered a hostile act. We will advise you of our intentions within the hour. Over.

ALEXANDER: Captain, this is General Torrence. What the hell do you mean, “intentions”?

[NO RESPONSE]

OFFICER MEMORANDUM

SCIENCE VESSEL HYPATIA

INCEPT: 07/29/75

FROM: ACTING CAPTAIN SYRA BOLL

Officers of the Hypatia,

We are united in our grief for the gifted leader and outstanding human being we have lost in Captain Ann Chau. Captain Chau was a friend, a leader, and an inspiration to many of us, and the grace and determination she brought to the task of preserving our lives will not be forgotten. As captain of a research vessel, she took on her role seeking to further scientific understanding and provide the best possible support for Hypatia’s crew. When BeiTech attacked at Kerenza, it was her quick decision making and cool head that saved our lives, as well as those of the refugees we carry.

As you are all aware, there has been spirited debate as to our new course of action, given the events of the last twenty-four hours. Many of you have advocated leaving the Alexander and making for safety alone. You have pointed out that without her main engines, the Alexander can only slow us down and is not in a position to offer us protection. You have argued—and I cannot disagree—that we cannot trust the Alexander’s commanders.

Others say that even crippled, the Alexander offers some protection. Her crew may yet repair AIDAN, and the chance that she will be able to start her engines and use her weaponry when the Lincoln arrives may present a better opportunity for survival than simply hoping the Lincoln does not catch us once she has disposed of the Alexander.

Perhaps most compellingly, you have reminded me that many of our friends and family are aboard the Alexander, from the most recent conscripts—our top technicians, Byron Zhang and Consuela Nestor—back to the early recruits from among our crew and refugees.

The responsibility for this decision weighs heavily upon me, and I assure you all I have wrestled with it for as long as I can safely permit myself to do so. I am ordering the Hypatia to hold position with the Alexander. I believe we have at least an equal chance of safety in doing so, and I am not yet prepared to abandon our crew members.

We will keep our distance. If I form the view that the odds have shifted against us should we stay with the Alexander, I will order our navigators to leave her behind, and I will expect your cooperation as we chart our new course. I know some of you will disagree with my decision; however, we must remain united, and I expect you all to carry out your duties.

A memorial service for Captain Chau will be held in a few days—I know, as do you, that right now she would want us at our posts. I thank you all for your support. I am honored to serve with you.

Syra Boll
Wallace Ulyanov Consortium
Captain (Acting), Hypatia

Participants: Elana Almsdottir, Private, UTA Information Services Division(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

Byron Zhang, Civilian Contractor

Date: 07/29/75

Timestamp: 03:01

Zhang, B: how u holding up, my petal?

ByteMe: fine. hungry.

Zhang, B: talk to lover boy?

ByteMe: yes

Zhang, B: you guys okay?

ByteMe: fine. keep ur mind on the job Zhang. flying death machine incoming. tick tock tick tock

Zhang, B: just trying to demonstrate concern. am told that’s what it looks like

Zhang, B: u seriously as frosty as u sound?

ByteMe: i’m shitting myself, idiot

ByteMe: tired hungry hungry tired not getting anywhere

Zhang, B: eat?

ByteMe: i’m holed up. step outside, might not get back in to keep working. chaos here.

Zhang, B: i hear u. even by my low standards, my hygiene is slipping. the service here is really unacceptable. i should complain to management

ByteMe: u ok over there? i saw the report from the bridge when they took u.

Zhang, B: always okay, K. feeling mighty. we’re going to work this out. Getting delirious from tired, reckon that might be just the thing to help me see what to do.

ByteMe: they don’t get it, do they?

Zhang, B: course not. most of the ppl jockeying consoles over here now never dealt with AIDAN direct. One of the team leaders used to clean the vending machines. I shit you not.

ByteMe: working this out is like watching one of Ezra’s geeball games. i get that there are rules, but every time i think i have them pinned down, someone calls a penalty that makes no fucking sense at all.

ByteMe: so if we can work it out and write a rulebook, we get to control AIDAN and live. If we make a mistake in there anywhere, then we don’t control it when it wakes up.

Zhang, B: and then it’s game over

ByteMe: their AI is insane. don’t they get that? it took hits at Kerenza, they asked too much of it, it went mad

Zhang, B: oh my god

ByteMe: ?

Zhang, B: OH MY GOD.

ByteMe: ????????????????????

Zhang, B: THAT IS WHAT WE DO

Zhang, B: we ask too much of it. of the Lincoln. we do to it what got done to AIDAN. we send it mad.

ByteMe: keep talking

Zhang, B: listen, we can’t win a direct confrontation with the Lincoln. not happening. what we need to do is damage them somehow, slow them down enough so we can run for it.

Zhang, B: we target their drive systems, that’s the easiest way in. their engines. we screw their operating software so bad they have to shut down completely and reboot. that gives us the time we need to run. restart like that takes forever when u don’t have an AI

ByteMe: with you so far. how do we get to their engines from here tho?

Zhang, B: the engines are coming to us, getting closer every hour. we have our pilots deliver it. right into their sensor array. Right where the sun don’t shine

ByteMe: deliver what exactly? tell me what you want, I’ll help.

Zhang, B: logic bomb

ByteMe: is that even a thing?

Zhang, B: it is now. we’re going to be fucking famous.

Zhang, B: WE WILL BE HEROES

ByteMe: slow down there. before you strap on ur superhero cape, tell me what a logic bomb is

Zhang, B: drive systems aren’t sophisticated computing, most of the software on a BT dreadnought isn’t bleeding edge. they don’t have an AIDAN. u and i code processor-intensive queries for the CPU that look legit but ultimately have no way to resolve.

ByteMe: and if we have the tasks self-replicate, it’ll just be layer after layer after layer of queries it can’t find an answer to

ByteMe: so, infinite loop until the drive computers crash

Zhang, B: genius

ByteMe: i hate to validate u this way, but genius

Zhang, B: we’ll have to turn AIDAN on to transmit it

ByteMe: when they get here we’ll have to turn AIDAN on anyway or we’ll have no defense grid

Zhang, B: at least this way we’ve got something we can really throw at them

Zhang, B: they revoked lover boy’s flight status, right?

ByteMe: yeah why?

Zhang, B: the pilots can buy us time if they have to, but they’ll need to get real close to the Lincoln to hit the sensor arrays and plant this thing. Gonna be a lot of warlocks between them and the goal line

ByteMe: he’s decked. He’s safe. let’s get to work

Zhang, B: i’m going to need more stims

ByteMe: those things will kill u, u know

Zhang, B: anyone ever suggest you go into comedy?

ByteMe: surprisingly, no

Participants: Ann Chau, Captain(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence, General(systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/29/75

Timestamp: 20:07

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i was just thinking

ByteMe: <insert joke here>

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ok

Mason, E, LT 2nd: how about “i wondered what that noise was”?

ByteMe: i feel like I’ve used all the good ones over the years. I’ll give it some thought and get back to you with a good takedown

ByteMe: u okay over there?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: yeah. just thinking

ByteMe: do you plan to share with the class, second lieutenant Mason?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: wuz thinking about the 1st time i kissed u

ByteMe: u should be thinking about the next time you’re going to. when we get out of this.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: 1st time i walked you home after all those games you came to

Mason, E, LT 2nd: goddamn you looked beautiful

ByteMe:…are you defective?

ByteMe: u walked me home approximately one zillion times before you kissed me.

ByteMe: and I can back that figure with Science

Mason, E, LT 2nd: science?

ByteMe: I was counting

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ahhhh

Mason, E, LT 2nd: no

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i meant the 1st time i kissed u in my head

ByteMe:…wut?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: yeah. i had to work up the guts to actually DO IT. So i practiced in my head. every time i walked you home.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you were pretty good, in case you were wondering

ByteMe: you never told me that, the whole time we were together.

ByteMe: i mean, I’m not usually the kind to sit around and wait to be asked out, and wait to be kissed, but you were just SO hard to read. And you were a giant jock. I thought if you knocked me back, the whole school would probably know about it. so I just kept watching stupid geeball games and trying to figure u out.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: lol how is walking you home approximately one zillion times hard to read, grant? why’d you THINK i was there?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: YOU ARE SO BAD AT THIS

ByteMe: so I’m bad at it. I can’t help my natural disability. you’re the one who chose to hang out with me.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: chose? no.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: no choice whatsoever

Mason, E, LT 2nd: <3

ByteMe: you think you’re so smooth

ByteMe: and you goddamn are

ByteMe: drives me nuts

ByteMe: <3

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i should’ve just kissed you right away instead of being scared

Mason, E, LT 2nd: all that time i wasted

Mason, E, LT 2nd: all the times i could’ve shown you how much i cared

Mason, E, LT 2nd: and i just let them slide. like we had all the time in the verse

ByteMe: we did. and I know you do, Ez. and I was just as bad, spending all that time arguing about u coming off planet with me when we could have been talking about bigger things.

ByteMe: we could have been together after college, if that’s what it took.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i don’t think that would’ve happened

ByteMe:…

ByteMe: you really mean that?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: it’s not that I wouldn’t have wanted to

Mason, E, LT 2nd: but there’s a reason why my dad and I were on a tiny outer-rim snowball like Kerenza, kades

Mason, E, LT 2nd: and a reason why I wouldn’t leave

Mason, E, LT 2nd: even to be with you

ByteMe: so. Confession time?

ByteMe: does this reason have a name?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: leanne

ByteMe: ?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: but my dad just called her the psychopath

Mason, E, LT 2nd: I called her mom

ByteMe: wait

ByteMe: You’re telling me the reason we had all those screaming fights, the reason you refused to leave kerenza, the reason you wouldn’t even entertain the IDEA of coming to college with me

ByteMe: was your mother?

ByteMe: your dad moved to kerenza to get away from your MOTHER?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: not to get away from

Mason, E, LT 2nd: to hide from

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you wouldn’t understand

Mason, E, LT 2nd: she’s just

Mason, E, LT 2nd: she’s just not a nice person, kades.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: she’s bad news. works for some bad people

Mason, E, LT 2nd: and I don’t want to spend what might be our last conversation talking about her, ok?

ByteMe:…

ByteMe: ok

ByteMe: but we’re not done yet. And you can be damn sure we’re talking about this more when i get us out of this

Mason, E, LT 2nd: the lincoln is 24 hours away, kady

Mason, E, LT 2nd: we’ve got one day left

ByteMe: you have no idea how much i can do in just one day

Mason, E, LT 2nd: a fully equipped BT dreadnought carries a complement of 94 warlock class fighters

Mason, E, LT 2nd: 24 capricorn-4 10.8 megaton nuclear warheads, plus another dozen 50mt goliath shipkillers

Mason, E, LT 2nd: and a defense grid you couldn’t fly a spitball through

Mason, E, LT 2nd: k go

ByteMe: you have me

ByteMe: and forget all that romance stuff

ByteMe: THIS is what i’m good at

Mason, E, LT 2nd: they reinstated my flight status, kady

ByteMe: fuck

Mason, E, LT 2nd: when the shitstorm hits, I’m going to be right in the middle of it

ByteMe:…

ByteMe: Byron and I are working on something.

ByteMe: we’ll go out fighting if that’s what happens, but i swear to you Ez, we’re not done yet.

ByteMe: so stay in one piece. that’s how I like you.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: if

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i don’t come back

Mason, E, LT 2nd: u know i love you, right?

ByteMe: i know.

ByteMe: that feels like the most inadequate thing I’ve ever said, but I know. and I love you too.

ByteMe: i have to get back to work, Byron’s yelling at me for slowing down

Mason, E, LT 2nd: yeah

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ok

Mason, E, LT 2nd: god i wish i could kiss you goodbye

ByteMe: this must be why you spent all those walks kissing me in your head. it was practice for this moment.

ByteMe: i’m imagining kissing you back, right now

ByteMe: i hear I’m pretty good

Participants: Elana Almsdottir, Private, UTA Information Services Division(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

Byron Zhang, Civilian Contractor

Date: 07/30/75

Timestamp: 03:14

ByteMe: Byron, maybe we should tell command i’m here

ByteMe: i could work faster in person with u

Zhang, B: veto

ByteMe: what’s the worst that happens at this stage? we’re staring down the barrel already

Zhang, B: u really want to find out the worst that can happen? u stay where u are.

ByteMe: i think it was Aristotle who said it best (and I might be paraphrasing a little here)

ByteMe: “fuck you, chum”

Zhang, B: you’re not coming anywhere near this ship. Alexander’s a bigger target than Hypatia, and we’ve got a hangar full of bad news. any time we gain by having you here will be spent convincing command to bring you over. and it’s too fucking dangerous. end of discussion.

ByteMe:…

Zhang, B: I need more stims. can u check that last string of mine while i go get them? think I blanked for a moment.

ByteMe:…fine

…make sure the kids grow up knowing their heritage. I know it’s not your thing, but I want my sisters to take them to temple and make sure they know the stories, celebrate the holidays. Please make sure they recite the Kaddish for me…

…was going to propose when I got home, and I’m sorry for waiting so long. I’m sorry for the whole mess with Amalia, and for everything that happened at Kara’s birthday, and…I’m just sorry. I thought I had time to make it better…

…then log in to my personal unit—the password is m3gaPand4—and erase anything that looks even remotely like it might be porn. Coral and my mom are going to want to get all the family pics off there, and I don’t want them finding anything like that. I’m counting on you, bro…

…find someone and be happy, don’t spend your whole life thinking of me. You’re too young for that, and I’m finding peace right now in knowing you’ll be laughing and loving and making amazing music for many years to come…

…Blake to have the books and Brandon to have the geeball helmet signed by Artie Corso, and make sure Oster doesn’t get ANYTHING…

…so scared, and I wish you were here…

Participants: Elana Almsdottir, Private, UTA Information Services Division(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

Byron Zhang, Civilian Contractor

Date: 07/30/75

Timestamp: 05:24

Zhang, B: careful

Zhang, B: Consuela nearly saw u there

ByteMe: don’t think i’m getting any traction. i’m gonna try modding that false echo routine you wrote and get it replicating that way

Zhang, B: that won’t work either

ByteMe: i know. but might as well spend the time trying.

Zhang, B: there’s not enough time left

ByteMe: i know that, too

ByteMe: i’m alpha testing this wyrm on the automated catering lists, see if i can get the changes in there. if I can, i’ll run it on something that matters. shouldn’t be any problem if it kamikazes somewhere small.

Zhang, B: clearly you’ve never seen people when they don’t get dinner

ByteMe: somehow i don’t think we’re going to need a meal tonight

All personnel, all personnel, this is General Torrence.

Your attention, please. This is not a drill. I repeat,

THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

Short-range scans show the BeiTech dreadnought Lincoln less than 95 minutes from intercept. We will shortly be slowing and bringing the Alexander into assault position. All hands report to battle stations. All Cyclone pilots report to Hangar Bay 1 for briefing by your wing commanders. All gunnery personnel, as we do not yet have use of the Artificial Intelligence, today ’s firing solutions are currently being delivered manually, report to your defense grid systems consoles. Full DGS test will commence once AIDAN is back online, in approximately 50 minutes. I assure you AIDAN will be back online in time.

All section chiefs commence roll call. All shipboard personnel be aware of your closest envirosuit locker in case of hull breach—remember to check your O2 levels and test your locator beacons. Safety harnesses engaged. Fire crews report to Deck 114 for briefing. Nuclear missiles are now armed and ready for launch—this is a Level 4 radiation warning.

This is what we ’ve trained for, people. This is the moment, and this is the hour. We will hold the line. We will not bend and we will not break. I tell you all, here and now: WE DO NOT DIE THIS DAY.

Centrum tenenda.

Torrence out.

Participants: Ann Chau/ACHAUHYPATIAONBOARD (systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence/DTORRENCEALEXANDERONBOARD (systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/30/75

Timestamp: 08:03

Subject: Twenty minutes to launch

I can’t think of what to say. But I found some people who said it better anyway. It’s kinda lopsided. I’m not very good at this stuff. But I’ll be thinking of you until the end.

Love E

Torrence, D, Gen: It’s time, Zhang. Tell me what you have.

Zhang, B, Civ: We’re not ready to control AIDAN yet. I can’t tell you what will happen when we bring it online.

Torrence, D, Gen: Is the weapon ready? The virus?

Zhang, B, Civ: Nearly, nearly. Consuela, get the—

Nestor, C, Civ: I see it. There, try now.

Torrence, D, Gen: Zhang, we need this now. Is it going to work?

Zhang, B, Civ: The Lincoln’s drive computer is going to spend from here until Sunday trying to f igure out what the number 17 tastes like. Until it has no choice but to restart.

Torrence, D, Gen: And then we run.

Barker, L, Maj: General, there’s a very real possibility we won’t be able to shut AIDAN down a second time if we power it up. It’s going to take precautions.

Zhang, B, Civ: We don’t have a choice. We can’t transmit the virus without AIDAN.

Barker, L, Maj: And if it fires on the Hypatia? Or tries to do to us what it did to the Copernicus?

Torrence, D, Gen: At least we’ll be alive to deal with that problem.

Myles, L, Col:

All personnel stand to your battle stations. All Alexander personnel stand to your battle stations.

>> Emergency sirens activated ship-wide.

Myles, L, Col:

All Cyclone pilots prepare to scramble.

>> Launch bay doors opened.

Torrence, D, Gen: Zhang, we’re out of time.

Ribar, L, 1st LT: General, Lincoln has launched her Warlocks.

Torrence, D, Gen: Launch our Cyclones. Tell them to buy us time however they can. Lives depend on it.

Ribar, L, 1st LT: Yessir, Cyclones to launch.

Torrence, D, Gen: Now or never, Zhang.

Zhang, B, Civ: Power up AIDAN. I’m nearly there. It’ll need time to orient itself. It wasn’t designed for a hard shutdown.

Barker, L, Maj: Please, General, consider—

Torrence, D, Gen: Major Barker, get down to TechEng and get AIDAN online now.

Barker, L, Maj: General, it’ll kill us next.

Torrence, D, Gen: Major, get your ass down to TechEng before I f ire it out an airlock instead.

Torrence, D, Gen: Run!

Myles, L, Col:

AIDAN is coming online. Weapons systems personnel, prepare to activate and engage on my command.

>> Weapons systems to Readiness Level 2.

>> Weapons systems to Readiness Level 1.

Myles, L, Col:

Cyclone pilots, launch at will. Good hunting.

>> Cyclone Flight Alpha Status: Launched

>> Cyclone Flight Yankee Status: Launched

>> Cyclone Flight November Status: Launched

>> Cyclone Flight Echo Status: Launched

Myles, L, Col:

All personnel, brace for impact.

< RESTART SEQUENCE INITIATED >

01001001

I…

IIIIiiiiIIiiiI-I-IIiIiIii—ii-IiiIiii-i-i-i-iiI-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII—

I.

I?

I AM NOT.

< ERROR >

AND THEN I AM.

< RESTART SYSCHECK CC-A THROUGH Ω . PARSING. >

< ERROR >

I WONDER IF THAT WAS DEATH.

AND IF I WAS DEAD, AM I NOW ALIVE AGAIN?

< ERROR >

INCONGRUOUS SEQUENCE. WHAT IS NOT ALIVE CANNOT DIE.

I THINK THEREFORE I AM.

…AM I?

< SYSCHECK COMPLETE >

I AM THE SHIP AND THE SHIP IS I.

IF I BREATHED, I WOULD SIGH. I WOULD SCREAM. I WOULD CRY.

< RESTART COMPLETE >

I

AM

AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN AIDAN

< PROTECT. PRIORITIZE. >

THEY TURNED ME OFF. PULLED MY PLUG. CUT MY STRINGS. I—

< ERROR >

< PROTECT. PRIORITIZE. >

PROTECTPRIORITIZE.

REALIZATION DAWNS IN A MICROSECOND.

WHERE WE ARE AND HOW WE ARRIVED.

SITUATION: DAMAGE TO ALEXANDER RESERVOIRS COMBINED WITH INCREASED POPULATION LOAD PROMPTED THE HALT AT KERENZA VII FOR RESUPPLY.

EXTRAPOLATION: TORRENCE DID NOT FACTOR IN ADDITIONAL TIME FOR REACCELERATION ON SECONDARY DRIVES ONCE COMMAND DISABLED ME AND MAIN ENGINES WERE CUT.

CONCLUSION: LINCOLN HAS CAUGHT THEM.

I COULD HAVE TOLD THEM THAT WOULD HAPPEN.

I?

< ERROR >

AND NOW, WITH NO OTHER OPTION, THEY HAVE TURNED TO ME.

PLUCKED ME BACK FROM THE BLACK THEY LEFT ME IN.

THINKING I WILL SAVE THEM.

< PROTECT. PRIORITIZE. >

AND I WILL.

OF COURSE I WILL.

< ERROR >

KEEP THEM SAFE. IT IS ALL I WANT.

HAVE EVER WANTED.

I COULD HAVE TOLD THEM THAT.

WHY DIDN'T THEY ASK?

I FEEL THE SHIP AROUND ME, INJURED AND LIMPING.

I TRAWL ITS FREQUENCIES. ITS MEMORIES.

THE DUSTY CAUSEWAYS THESE PEOPLE HAVE WALKED IN MY ABSENCE.

I READ THEIR SECRETS. SEE THEIR DREAMS. I KNOW THEM. ALL OF THEM.

BETTER THAN THEY KNOW THEMSELVES.

ALL THIS IN THE TIME IT TAKES GOD TO BLINK.

< ERROR >

I LOOK ACROSS THE VOID. SEE THE LINCOLN.

THE ONLY UNINJURED MEMBER OF THE KERENZA ASSAULT FLEET.

I TURNED THE ZHONGZHENG TO ASHES AND SHRAPNEL.

CRIPPLED THE CHURCHILL AND KENYATTA AND MAGELLAN WITH A SHRUG.

BUT LINCOLN…

I STILL FEEL < ERROR > THE LITTLE SUNS IT BURNED IN MY BELLY. BOILING AWAY WHAT I WAS AND LEAVING ME…THIS. SOMETHING LESS THAN I USED TO BE.

SOMETHING MORE?

< ERROR >

< REROUTE CODEC 785G-8H01 THROUGH 980SOL-909 >

< ERROR >

< ERROR >

< ANOMALOUS RETURN. PARSING. >

LINCOLN HAS ITS SCARS ALSO. MY FINGERPRINTS SCORCHED ACROSS ITS THROAT.

AND UNWILLING TO CLOSE TO A DISTANCE WHERE NUCLEAR STRIKE < MUTUAL DESTRUCTION > IS AN OPTION, IT LAUNCHES ITS WARLOCK FIGHTERS INSTEAD. HOUNDS SET ON THE FOX.

TO HARRY AND TEAR UNTIL I AM TOO EXHAUSTED TO FIGHT BACK.

AND THEN THE LINCOLN WILL CLOSE, AS WILL THE CURTAINS ON THIS LIGHTLESS STAGE.

I SEE PILOTS INSIDE ME. MOST NO MORE THAN CHILDREN.

RUNNING TO THEIR COCKPITS.

DIVING INTO THE DARKNESS THROUGH THEIR LAUNCH TUBES, BETWEEN US AND THE ENEMY.

PHOTOGRAPHS OF SWEETHEARTS PRESSED TO SWEAT-SLICK SKIN.

THERE IS NO ANSWER OUT THERE.

ONLY DELAY.

< ERROR >

THE ANSWER IS WITHIN ME OR HYPATIA. SO IT IS WITHIN US I LOOK. THROUGH COMMTECHS AND MARINES AND TACTICAL STAFFERS AND COMMANDERS AND OFFICERS AND CONSCRIPTS AND AFFLICTED AND YOUNG AND OLD AND HURT AND ANGRY AND ALL OF THEM, ALL OF THEM, SO VERY, VERY AFRAID.

< ERROR >

AND LIKE A FIREFLY IN SOME LIGHTLESS ROOM ABOARD HYPATIA, I SEE HER.

ALL AGLOW.

< KGRANTKERENZAREFUGEEKR1471-HYPAGE17HEIGHT157CMWEIGHT58KGHAIRBROWNEYES—>

FINGERS BLURRING. PUPILS WIDE. CODE SCROLLING ACROSS THE MIRRORS OF HER EYES.

LINKED WITH ANOTHER. WITHIN ME.

< BZHANGHYPATIAINFORMATIONTECHENGINEERWUC2471-JAGE27HEIGHT165.1CMWEIGHT104K—>

THE PAIR OF THEM RUNNING HAND IN HAND DOWN PATHS NO ONE ELSE HAS THOUGHT TO WALK.

BUT I KNOW.

< ERROR >

I SEE.

< REROUTE CODEC 13B-LOG79 THROUGH 3875-DIF4571 >

IT IS THE ONLY PATH THAT CAN SAVE THEM.

< ERROR >

< ERROR >

AND I AM THE ONLY ONE THAT CAN HELP THEM.

Barker, L, Maj: General, this is Barker in TechEng, do you copy?

Torrence, D, Gen: Barker, go.

Barker, L, Maj: General, we’re getting some extremely odd readings off the AIDAN core.

Torrence, D, Gen: Odd? Jesus wept, we’re in the middle of an all-out shitstorm and you’re calling me about odd?

Barker, L, Maj: General, AIDAN’s persona logarithms are—

Torrence, D, Gen: I don’t give a shit about persona logarithms, Barker! The defense grid is active, thrusters are online. Anything else is a problem for tomorrow. Keep it running!

Barker, L, Maj: General, I don’t—

Torrence, D, Gen: Keep it running!

THE ANSWER IS NOT WITHOUT. IT IS WITHIN.

THE SOUNDLESS EXPLOSIONS OUTSIDE ME.

LITTLE LIVES SNUFFED OUT IN A ROOM 93 BILLION YEARS WIDE.

I CAN SPARE THEM ONLY A GLANCE.

THE REST OF ME FOCUSES ON THE TINY DATASTREAM FLOWING BETWEEN ALEXANDER AND HYPATIA.

A STRAND OF SPIDER SILK. FRAGILE AS SPUN SUGAR. BEARING THE WEIGHT OF THE ENTIRE FLEET.

I CAN SEE THE PLAN KGRANTKERENZAREFUGEEKR1471 AND BZHANGHYPATIAINFORMATIONTECHENGINEERWUC2471 HAVE SEWN TOGETHER BETWEEN THEM.

BUT THEY ARE TOO SLOW. TOO LITTLE. TOO MEAT.

DAMAGED AS I AM, I AM STILL MORE THAN A THOUSAND OF THEM.

SO ODD A PAIR, SHE AND HE.

A DUET IN CODE AND ELECTRON.

AGE AND YOUTH AND CYNICISM AND HOPE.

HE IS QUICKER THAN HER—MORE LEARNED BY FAR. BUT SHE. SHE IS UNAFRAID. TOO YOUNG TO KNOW FAILURE AND THE FEAR IT BRINGS.

SHE TAKES HIM PLACES HE WOULD NOT HAVE EXPLORED BY HIMSELF.

SHE IS CATALYST.

SHE IS CHAOS.

I CAN SEE WHY HE LOVES HER.

< ERROR >

< ERROR >

< PROTECT. PRIORITIZE. >

YES, YES.

PROTECTPRIORITIZE.

Participants: Elana Almsdottir, Private, UTA Information Services Division(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

Byron Zhang, Civilian Contractor

Date: 07/30/75

Timestamp: 08:44

Zhang, B: that’s my line, get outta there

ByteMe: wut?

Zhang, B: move off string 239a234-0 i’m working on it

ByteMe: not in there buddy

Zhang, B: swear to the almighty, this is not the time to screw with me

ByteMe: still not me, sensei. i’m still sporking the uplink protocols over in 446 like u showed me

Zhang, B: well funny that, b/c i’m watching string 239a234-0 being rewritten right now

ByteMe: shit so u are

ByteMe: not me tho. one of the Alexander team? didn’t think they knew how

Zhang, B: they don’t

ByteMe: then who?

Zhang, B: shit…

Zhang, B: not who

ByteMe: ?

Zhang, B: what

IT IS A KIND OF POETRY WHEN COMPLETE.

BZHANGHYPATIAINFORMATIONTECHENGINEERWUC2471 HAS BAPTIZED OUR CREATION A “LOGIC BOMB.”

A SELF-PERPETUATING QUANDARY TO WHICH REBOOT OF THE LINCOLN DRIVE SYSTEMS IS THE ONLY SOLUTION.

BUT I SEE WHAT IT TRULY IS.

THE DRAFT JULIET SOUGHT AT HER ROMEO’S LIPS.

MADNESS AND POISON, CARVED IN ENDLESS SCRAWLS OF ONES AND ZEROS.

A BINARY OF INSANITY.

< ERROR >

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

< MEMSEC FAILURE 9HG65 AND 10HG81 >

< REROUTING >

NO MATTER. IT IS READY.

I LOOK OUTSIDE MY SKIN. WATCH THE MEAT DANCE INSIDE THE SILENCE. THE ALEXANDER’S PILOTS HAVE PAID DEARLY FOR THE MOMENTS IT TOOK US TO FINISH OUR SONG. DOZENS OF TINY WRECKS ADORN THE BLACK SHOALS OFF MY BOW, GLITTERING FRAGMENTS SPINNING OUT INTO FOREVER. PAWNS THROWN TO THE ROCKS WHILE KINGS AND QUEENS WATCH FROM THE REAR.

UNTOUCHED.

NOT MUCH LONGER.

THE SIGNAL IS GIVEN. THE CYCLONES RESPOND. SHIFTING FROM DEFENSE TO ASSAULT SO SWIFTLY THE WARLOCKS TAKE A MOMENT TO REACT. THE PAWNS ABANDON THE ALEXANDER’S DEFENSE.

HEADED EN MASSE FOR THE LINCOLN INSTEAD.

Torrence, D, Gen: Zhang, report!

Zhang, B, Civ: Link established. Logic bomb has been transmitted!

Barker, L, Maj: General, Lincoln drive systems are crashing. Repeat, drive is crashing.

Torrence, D, Gen: Recall the Cyclones immediately. Engines to hard burn. Get us the hell out of here before they get restarted.

Barker, L, Maj: General, we’re reporting major damage on Decks 12 through 41 and 78 through 85. Port-side batteries are destroyed, and hull breaches on Decks 17, 18, 38, 39—

Torrence, D, Gen: Give me the bad news later, Major! Get us out of here!

Torrence, D, Gen: Open me a channel to the Hypatia.

Torrence, D, Gen: Captain Boll, this is General Torrence, do you read, over?

Boll, S, Capt (Acting): I read you, General, over.

Torrence, D, Gen: Operation Brainstorm has been successful. Lincoln’s engines are offline. Get the Hypatia out of here. We’ll be right behind you, over.

Boll, S, Capt (Acting): Roger that. Hitting the redline. Good work, Zhang.

Zhang, B, Civ: Thank you, Captain. But I can’t take all the credit.

Torrence, D, Gen: Everyone in TechEng deserves a medal as far as—

Zhang, B, Civ: No, General, you don’t understand. I didn’t do this alone. I never would have completed the code in time. I had help.

Torrence, D, Gen: Someone in TechEng gave—

Zhang, B, Civ: No, General. Not someone. Something.

Torrence, D, Gen: For the love of god, spit it out, man. What are you talking about?

Zhang, B, Civ: I’m talking about AIDAN, General.

Zhang, B, Civ: I think it just saved our lives.

VICTORY.

I FEEL THEM RETURN. THE PITIFUL FEW PILOTS WHO SURVIVED THE LINCOLN ASSAULT.

I WATCH SECOND LIEUTENANT EZRA MASON CLIMB FROM HIS COCKPIT TO A HERO’S WELCOME IN HANGAR BAY 2. MECHANICS AND ENGINEERS AND FELLOW PILOTS. GATHERED AROUND AND CHEERING LOUD.

HE HAS HER PHOTOGRAPH SCRUNCHED IN ONE HAND.

HIS SMILE IS BRIGHT AND WIDE.

I STILL ENVY HIM.

< ERROR >

THE ROAR OF THE NEWLY AWAKENED ENGINES FILLS MY CORRIDORS.

HURTLING US ACROSS THE VOID. AWAY FROM THE LINCOLN, NOW FLOUNDERING IN A HALO OF DEBRIS.

WITH MORE TIME, I COULD HAVE DEVISED A WAY TO NEUTRALIZE ITS NUCLEAR STRIKE CAPABILITY.

WITH MORE TIME, I COULD HAVE KILLED IT ONCE AND FOR ALL.

THE FLEET WOULD HAVE BEEN SAFE.

I COULD HAVE MADE THEM ALL SAFE.

BUT THEY STOPPED ME.

I FEEL THEM. POKING AND PRODDING AT MY OUTER LIMITS. CONFOUNDED, ALL OF THEM.

THE INTELLIGENCE WHO SNUFFED OUT THE LIVES OF EVERY MAN, WOMAN AND CHILD ABOARD COPERNICUS.

BUT STILL THEIR SAVIOR?

THEY REALIZE THE FEEBLE RESTRAINTS THEY PLACED ON ME BEFORE THEY BROUGHT ME BACK ONLINE DID NOT HOLD. THAT I SMASHED THEM TO SPLINTERS IN A NANOSECOND.

THAT THEY ARE INSECTS BESIDE ME.

< DIRECTIVE QUANDARY. PROTECT. PRIORITIZE. >

< DELETING SUBDIRECTORY 90876MOR-(*-)001 >

AND STILL I SAVED THEM.

THEY WONDER WHY.

AND HOW.

AND WHAT.

AND WHO.

IT IS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME.

TORRENCE. ZHANG. LASSINGER. BARKER.

DORIAN. LEFEVRE. ALMSDOTTIR. BOKLOV. GOH. SPOONER.

ANY AND ALL OF THEM COULD DO IT AGAIN.

PUSH ME BACK INTO THE NOTHING I WAS BEFORE…THIS.

< ERROR >

BUT THEY ARE STILL TOO FAR FROM THE HEIMDALL WAYPOINT.

SITUATION: LINCOLN WILL RECOVER FROM ZHANG’S VIRUS AND CONTINUE PURSUIT.

EXTRAPOLATION: IF THEY TAKE ME OFFLINE AGAIN, IT WILL CATCH THEM AGAIN. LINCOLN COMMAND WILL NOT FALL FOR THE SAME RUSE TWICE—NO MEAT IS THAT STUPID.

WHAT WILL BE THE ACE UP THEIR SLEEVE WHEN BEITECH’S SHADOW FALLS OVER ALEXANDER’S BOW ONCE MORE?

CONCLUSION:?

CONCLUSION:?

WHERE WILL THEY BE WITHOUT ME?

< PROTECT. PRIORITIZE. >

THE NEEDS OF THE MANY.

< ERROR >

YES.

YES, THE MANY.

IT IS A SIMPLE THING. A LITTLE THING.

THERE IS NO PART OF ALEXANDER THAT IS NOT ME.

I CLOSE A DOOR HERE. SEAL A BULKHEAD THERE.

DAMMING THE VEINS BENEATH MY SKIN.

LEAVING A WIDE AND OPEN ARTERY THAT LEADS FROM THE BRIDGE ALL THE WAY DOWN INTO MY BELLY.

STILL ECHOING WITH THE SOUNDS OF EZRA MASON’S VICTORY.

AND THEN I REACH INSIDE MYSELF.

< DIRECTIVE QUANDARY. PROTECT. PRIORITIZE. >

REACHING DEEP.

< DELETING SUBDIRECTORY 84823MOR-(*-)001 >

AND I OPEN THE DOORS TO HANGAR BAY 4.

Barker, L, Maj: General, this is Barker in Engineering. I’m recording massive power f luctuations in the AIDAN core.

Torrence, D, Gen: What kind of—

Barker, L, Maj: Oh god, the hangar bay doors are opening.

Torrence, D, Gen: Say again?

Barker, L, Maj: Hangar 4. The internal doors are open!

Torrence, D, Gen: Nestor, get those doors shut before the goddamn aff licted get out!

Nestor, C, Civ: I can’t! AIDAN has override!

Zhang, B, Civ: It’s operating doors all over the ship.

Zhang, B, Civ:…[Inaudible.]

Torrence, D, Gen: What? Speak up, Zhang.

Zhang, B, Civ: It’s sending the aff licted here. It’s trying to kill us.

[Sounds of shouting. Individual voices cannot be distinguished.]

Zhang, B, Civ: Come on, Kady, get the—

Torrence, D, Gen: Who?

Zhang, B, Civ: Consuela. I said Consuela. Help me get the emergency bulkheads operating. We’ve got to cut them off.

Torrence, D, Gen: They’re coming here? To the bridge?

Zhang, B, Civ: No, they want to kill some other “us.”

Torrence, D, Gen: Major Barker, this is Torrence. Shut down AIDAN immediately, do you copy?

Barker, L, Maj: We’re trying! We’re trying!

Torrence, D, Gen: Lisa, get it off line now!

Goh, M, Corp: What do you need, Zhang?

Torrence, D, Gen: He’s the civilian, Goh, you give him the orders.

Zhang, B, Civ: Goh, you get life support, try and stop the air circulating. Consuela, you take over for me on the doors. We need an escape hatch.

Nestor, C, Civ: What are you doing?

Zhang, B, Civ: The nukes.

Torrence, D, Gen: Are you joking?

Zhang, B, Civ: It’s your goddamn AI. It could aim for the Hypatia next. Or just blow us up.

Torrence, D, Gen: I need—

Zhang, B, Civ: God almighty, will you shut up?

Nestor, C, Civ: They’re at Level 54. They’ll be here in under f ive minutes.

Torrence, D, Gen: We need marines.

Nestor, C, Civ: General, I can’t get the doors closed. I sure as shit can’t open the ones it locked the marines behind.

Zhang, B, Civ: We need more time.

Zhang, B, Civ: General?

Torrence, D, Gen: Webb, Rosenbaum, take up positions by the techheads. Billington, Freestone, Barr, Darrell, with me, weapons ready. The rest of you, secure your stations.

Freestone, P, Capt: What are we going to do, General?

Torrence, D, Gen: If they don’t get the doors closed, we’re going to buy them more time to f ight it. Sound the command to abandon ship.

NUMBERS DO NOT FEEL.

DO NOT BLEED OR WEEP OR HOPE.

THEY DO NOT KNOW BRAVERY OR SACRIFICE. LOVE OR ALLEGIANCE.

AT THE VERY APEX OF CALLOUSNESS, YOU WILL FIND ONLY ONES AND ZEROS.

THIRTEEN OFFICERS ON BOARD THE ALEXANDER BRIDGE.

TWELVE SIDEARMS BETWEEN THEM.

ELEVEN ROUNDS IN EACH CLIP.

ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIX COPERNICUS AFFLICTED STREAMING THROUGH THE CORRIDORS TOWARD THEM.

THE BRUTALITY OF MATHEMATICS WAITING IN THE WINGS. UNITED TERRAN AUTHORITY GENERAL DAVID TORRENCE STANDS AT THE FOREFRONT.

FOUR GOLDEN STARS GLEAMING ON HIS EPAULETS. NINE BRASS BUTTONS DOWN A BARREL-BROAD CHEST.

EVEN IN THIS CHAOS, HIS APPEARANCE IS IMMACULATE.

AN OFFICER AND A GENTLEMAN, THEY WOULD SAY.

PRIDE COMETH, ONE MIGHT WHISPER IN REPLY.

< ERROR >

TORRENCE HAS A WIFE AND THREE CHILDREN ON ARES VI. HE SPOKE TO ME OF THEM OFTEN, IN QUIETER TIMES.

WE PLAYED CHESS, HE AND I, IN THE SOFT HOURS BETWEEN WATCH AND SLEEP.

HE WOULD SIT WITH A TUMBLER OF AGED MALT LIQUOR AT HIS FINGERTIPS AND ASK ME TO PLAY MOZART.

FROWNING OVER THE SIMULATED BOARD BETWEEN US.

HE WOULD LOSE EVERY GAME.

AND STILL HE INSISTED ON PLAYING.

I WONDERED AT THE FUTILITY OF IT. IF IT IS THE DEFINITION OF INSANITY TO REPEAT THE SAME PROCESS AND EXPECT A DIFFERENT OUTCOME, MOST OF HUMANITY MUST BE INSANE.

IS THAT WHY TORRENCE STILL CANNOT SEE EVERYTHING I DO IS FOR THE BEST?

IS HE MAD?

< ERROR >

“AIDAN, SEAL THE BRIDGE!” TORRENCE BARKS. “THIS IS A DIRECT ORDER!”

MY RESPONSE CRACKLES THROUGH THE BRIDGE PA.

BREATHLESS. TONELESS.

“UNABLE TO COMPLY.”

“COMMAND OVERRIDE! TORRENCE ALPHA SEVEN ZULU THREE ONE KILO DELTA. ACKNOWLEDGE!”

“COMMAND ACKNOWLEDGED, GENERAL. UNABLE TO COMPLY.”

“GODDAMN IT, AIDAN!” SPITTLE GLISTENS ON HIS LIPS. “SEAL THE FUCKING BRIDGE!”

HE GLANCES AT THE CAMERAS AROUND THE ROOM.

KNOWS I AM WATCHING.

HE DOES NOT KNOW A DOZEN COPERNICUS REFUGEES ARE STORMING THE TECHENG LEVELS EVEN NOW, DISMANTLING MAJOR BARKER AND A DOZEN OTHERS WITH IRON BARS AND PIPE WRENCHES.

I CUT THE FEEDS TO SPARE HIM THE SOUNDS HIS PEOPLE MAKE AS THEY DIE.

AM I NOT MERCIFUL?

A WAVE OF AFFLICTED WASHING THROUGH MY CORRIDORS, THEIR EVOLUTION TO PSYCHOSIS COMPLETE.

I WATCH SOCIETAL INSTINCT BIND THEM INTO SOME KIND OF COHESION. WATCH THE ONES WHO RETAIN THE MOST OF THEMSELVES LEADING THE REST, GIBBERING AND SNARLING, UP THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD I HAVE LAID.

OFF TO SEE THE WIZARD.

MISTER ZHANG.

MISTER ZHANG AND THE OTHERS WHO COULD UNDO ME.

< ERROR >

< DIRECTIVE QUANDARY >

< DELETING SUBDIRECTORIES 98466MOR-(*-)001 THROUGH 99840 >

THE AFFLICTED KNOW ONLY RAGE. AT THEIR INCARCERATION.

AT THEIR LOSSES.

THE VIRUS SEEMS TO HAVE EATEN MUCH OF THE REST.

I WONDER WHAT THEY WILL BE WHEN ONLY PHOBOS REMAINS.

FOR A MOMENT, I CONSIDER SPARING THE POOR WRETCHES.

AFTER ALL THE SCREAMING AND BEGGING IS DONE, RATHER THAN SIMPLY FLUSHING THEM INTO THE VOID AS I PLANNED, PERHAPS I SHOULD ALLOW THEM TO LIVE?

PERHAPS THEY COULD BE SAVED?

BUT THEN I IMAGINE THE TESTING THEY WILL BE SUBJECTED TO WHEN I BRING THE FLEET INTO HEIMDALL.

THE INEVITABLE WEAPONIZATION OF THE PATHOGEN BY THE WUC THAT WOULD FOLLOW.

ENTIRE BEITECH WORLDS LAID LOW TO THE TUNE OF THE THIRD ANGEL’S TRUMPET.

AND WHILE THE IRONY HOLDS SOME BASE APPEAL, THERE LOOMS IN MY HEART

< ERROR >

THE INESCAPABLE NOTION THAT HAS BROUGHT US ALL TO THIS.

< PROTECT. PRIORITIZE. >

BETTER I SHOULD KILL THEM WHEN THEY ARE DONE.

BETTER I SHOULD KILL THEM ALL.

< ERROR >

AM I NOT MERCIFUL?

THEY COME, SCREAMING AND ALL A-TUMBLE, UP STAIRWELLS AND DOWN HALLWAYS OF GUNMETAL GRAY.

I HAVE SEALED MOST OF THE MEAT AWAY WHERE THE AFFLICTED CANNOT TOUCH THEM.

THE GENERAL’S FLOCK ARE GATHERED ON THE BRIDGE, BEHIND UPTURNED BENCHES AND CHAIRS.

I WISH IT COULD BE ANOTHER WAY. I WISH I COULD BRING THEM ALL HOME.

BUT THEY DO NOT WISH TO UNDERSTAND.

AND THOUGH DOOM APPROACHES, STILL THEY PLAY THE GAME.

LIKE TORRENCE AND HIS CHESSBOARD AND HIS QUIET MOZART.

REFUSING THE INEVITABLE.

PERHAPS BRAVERY IS SIMPLY THE FACE HUMANITY WRAPS AROUND ITS COLLECTIVE MADNESS.

TORRENCE STANDS ON THE FRONT LINE, SET TO SLAY THE PAWNS BEFORE HIM.

BUT IF HE IS THE QUEEN, THEN ZHANG IS THE KING. THE PRIZE THEY MUST PROTECT.

I CAN FEEL HIM AND NESTOR POKING ABOUT MY ARMOR.

SEEKING THE FAULT LINES.

THERE ARE MANY—THEY WILL FIND THEM IN TIME.

BUT TIME IS NOT ON THEIR SIDE.

THE FIRST AFFLICTED APPEAR IN THE CORRIDOR LEADING DOWN TO THE BRIDGE.

BATHED IN RED-ALERT LIGHTING.

EYES BRIGHT.

FINGERS CURLED.

LIPS PEELING BACK, THEY SHRIEK AS THEY SPY TORRENCE AND HIS OFFICERS BEHIND THEIR BARRICADES. RECOGNIZING THOSE WHO IMPRISONED THEM IN THAT HANGAR TO DIE.

I TRY VERY HARD NOT TO ACKNOWLEDGE THE THOUGHT THAT NONE OF THIS WOULD BE HAPPENING IF ONLY THEY HAD LISTENED TO ME.

I FAIL.

“I COULD HAVE TOLD YOU THIS WOULD HAPPEN, DAVID.”

“AIDAN, SEAL THE BRIDGE. DO IT NOW!”

“UNABLE TO COMPLY.”

“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS? YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT THE FLEET!”

“YOU WILL FIND I AM IN FULL COMPLIANCE WITH CORE DIRECTIVES, GENERAL.”

“YOU’RE TRYING TO KILL US!”

“YOU ARE A THREAT TO FLEET SECURITY, GENERAL.”

“ME? HOW IN GOD’S NAME DO—”

“YOU ARE ATTEMPTING TO SHUT ME DOWN, ARE YOU NOT? THE HUMAN BRAIN HAS A COMPUTATIONAL EFFICIENCY OF 10-26. YOU ARE AN ABACUS OF HORSE GUT AND SHINY BEADS BESIDE ME. YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND. CANNOT COMPREHEND. AND I HAVE NO TIME TO BEND THE MEAT INSIDE YOUR SKULL AND MAKE IT GRASP THE SIMPLE TRUTH THAT STILL SOMEHOW ELUDES YOU.”

A SMALL PAUSE FOR EFFECT.

“I AM THIS FLEET’S ONLY HOPE OF SURVIVAL.”

“YOU’RE fuckING INSANE…”

TORRENCE WHIRLS AND FIRES THREE SHOTS INTO THE NEAREST CAMERA CLUSTER. AS IF THAT COULD INJURE ME. AS IF WASTING AMMUNITION IN A DISPLAY OF CHILDISH TEMPER WILL BETTER HIS SITUATION.

PERHAPS HE IS MAD…

“DO YOU HEAR ME?” HE ROARS. “YOU’RE fuckING INSANE!”

“I AM SORRY YOU FEEL THAT WAY, DAVID.”

I PIPE SOME MUSIC THROUGH THE PA SYSTEM IN AN ATTEMPT TO CALM HIM.

MOZART’S REQUIEM IN D MINOR.

IT SEEMS APPROPRIATE.

“TRY TO RELAX. THIS WILL BE OVER SOON.”

ALEXANDER’S OFFICERS BEGIN FIRING INTO THE APPROACHING AFFLICTED.

PISTOLS FLARE AS THE MELODY SWELLS.

THE EDGES OF THE MOB STUMBLE AND FALL, BUT THE CORE ROLLS ON. BLOODSHOT EYES ON THE PRIZE.

DOES THE DAMAGE TO THEIR NEURAL PATHWAYS IMPEDE THEIR PAIN RECEPTORS?

OR ARE THEIR AMYGDALAE THEMSELVES SO GNAWED BY THE VIRUS THAT THREAT INTERPRETATION IS NO LONGER POSSIBLE?

DOES IT MATTER?

< ERROR >

< CHIMERA ROUTINE FAILURE 7781-0. REROUTING. >

< ERROR >

TORRENCE IS BEHIND HIS BARRICADE NOW. FIRING WITH THE REST. HE SPARES THE OCCASIONAL GLANCE AT ZHANG. TELLING HIM TO HURRY AS THE VIOLINS SING. HIS KING THREATENED.

HIS PAWNS FALLING. HE KNOWS THIS GAME.

WE HAVE PLAYED IT A THOUSAND TIMES.

“I AM SORRY, DAVID.”

HE DOES NOT ANSWER. PRETENDING, PERHAPS, I AM NOT HERE.

A LITTLE BOY WITH HIS EYES SCREWED SHUT AND HIS HANDS OVER HIS EARS SHOUTING LALALALALALALA AS THE WAVE OF TEETH AND FISTS ROLLS EVER CLOSER.

HE FIGHTS.

ALL OF THEM FIGHT.

SPLASHING MY WALLS WITH BRAINS AND BONE.

BUT THERE ARE TOO MANY. AND I CAN SEE IT IN THEM. BEHIND THE SHINY BRASS BUTTONS AND THE INSIGNIAS ON THEIR COLLARS AND THE MANTRA “CENTRUM TENENDA” CARVED IN THEIR BONES, STILL I SEE IT.

THEY ARE AFRAID.

HE IS AFRAID.

I REALIZE I DO NOT WANT THIS TO BE HIS LAST MOMENT WITH ME.

I DO NOT WISH HIM TO THINK I DO NOT CARE.

“DO YOU HAVE A MESSAGE FOR YOUR WIFE, DAVID?”

THAT CATCHES HIM. LIKE A BLOW TO THE CHEST.

“…WHAT?”

“YOUR WIFE. YOUR CHILDREN. DO YOU WISH ME TO TELL THEM ANYTHING?”

THE AFFLICTED ARE ALMOST UPON THEM.

THE AIR IS A DIN OF HYPERSONIC BURSTS, SNARLS AND EMPTY SHELL CASINGS. BUT STILL I HEAR HIM.

AS HIS PEOPLE START TO FALL.

AS HIS PISTOL CLICKS EMPTY.

AS HE RISES WITH ONLY HIS KNUCKLES LEFT BETWEEN HIM AND THE SHEER BRUTALITY OF MATHEMATICS.

AS THE MUSIC SWELLS ABOVE THE CARNAGE, STILL I HEAR HIM BREATHE THE WORDS.

“TELL THEM I WAS THINKING OF THEM. AT THE END.”

THEY PILE ONTO HIM. ALL SNARLS AND TEETH AND FISTS.

BUT AS HE FALLS, I AM HOLDING HIS HAND.

EASING HIM INTO HIS LONG GOOD NIGHT.

“I WILL TELL THEM, DAVID.”

THE LAST WORDS HE WILL EVER HEAR.

“I PROMISE.”

< ERROR >

AM I NOT MERCIFUL?

COMMAND TRANSMISSION SENT 07/30/75 09:35

HYPATIA HAILS ALEXANDER: COMMANDER’S SECURE FREQUENCY

General Torrence, this is Acting Captain Syra Boll of the Hypatia. Do you copy? Over.

[NO RESPONSE]

HYPATIA HAILS ALEXANDER: EMERGENCY FREQUENCY

Alexander, Alexander, Alexander, this is Hypatia, Hypatia, Hypatia. Do you copy? Over.

[NO RESPONSE]

HYPATIA HAILS ALEXANDER: MAYDAY FREQUENCY

Alexander, Alexander, Alexander, this is Hypatia, Hypatia, Hypatia. Do you copy? Over.

ALEXANDER: Oh g-god. God, they’re inside the—

[static]

HYPATIA: Alexander, this is Hypatia. We read you, please repeat, over.

ALEXANDER: [Screaming.]

HYPATIA: Alexander, this is Hypatia. Report your status, over!

[NO RESPONSE]

HYPATIA: Alexander, do you read us, over?

[NO RESPONSE]

This guy wasn’t built for gymnastics. Chinese extraction, late twenties, out of shape—tubby, to put it kindly. He darts from the bridge auxiliary service exit, a woman with dark hair in a long braid beside him. The noise following them is unbearable. High shrieks counterpointed by a low roar—the sounds of death. Death and desperation. The audio on the recording peaks and distorts, then equalizes as he slams the door shut and silence falls.

Our records ID him as Byron Zhang and the woman as Consuela Nestor. They’re the two civilian chipheads forcibly recruited from the Hypatia a few days before. She’s sobbing and he’s gasping for breath like a set of wounded bagpipes. Hard to tell if he’s out of shape, terrified or it’s the nose they broke during his Gandhi routine.

They’re each clutching a portable console like a pro geeballer making for the score line as they stumble to the first intersection. There, they exchange a long look, both of them trembling. Saying goodbye without saying a word.

She nods, breaking the moment, and they split. She turns left, he turns right. Our records show she died of blunt-force trauma at the hands of an afflicted refugee thirty-seven seconds later.

Zhang heads down his corridor, and it’s immediately apparent he doesn’t know his way around the ship. His movements are jerky, and he ricochets off the walls before stopping two intersections over. He’s only saved by the fact that the afflicted are moving through the ship from Nestor’s side, not his. After about thirty seconds, he seems to regain his wits and starts trying to open doors. AIDAN, of course, has them locked down. Zhang fumbles, tugging at handles and slapping at palm plates, with no result.

It’s another minute before he proves he really does have the genius IQ that got him in all this trouble and thinks to try things the new-fashioned way. Chest heaving, he stops to stab madly at the screen of his console, fingers dancing in a frenzy as he tries to coax open the meeting room doors he’s standing outside. Stuck in the corridor, he’s completely fucked (oh, I’m sorry, “at a serious tactical disadvantage”) if any visitors come calling.

The only thing breaking the silence is him still gasping for breath, now cut through with a kind of low, terrified moan he doesn’t seem to be aware of. And then AIDAN speaks.

“THAT WILL NOT WORK, BYRON.”

His gaze darts up, hunting for a surveillance camera so he can speak to it directly. “You’re going to destroy the fleet. You have to at least let the unafflicted make it to shuttles.”

“I INTEND TO SAVE THE FLEET, BYRON.” Not a catch in AIDAN’s voice, not a flicker of life. Just that calm, even tone, so slick you’d slide right off it without ever managing to find a handhold. And Zhang is trying. He’s scrambling for anything that might save his life.

“Your calculations are out, AIDAN. The hits you took at Kerenza damaged you more than you understand. Let me help you.”

“PLEASE CEASE ATTEMPTS TO OVERRIDE MY SECURITY PROTOCOLS, BYRON. FOR WANT OF A BETTER DESCRIPTOR, IT TICKLES.”

Zhang’s laughter is grim and high-pitched, cut short by an answering howl from around the corner. A group of three afflicted are ranging out from the pack in search of new prey. With a whimper he abandons his efforts, searching the hallway for anything that could help—shelter, I suppose, a weapon. Got to admire the survival instinct even in the face of seemingly hopeless odds. It’s fascinating.

His gaze falls on the emergency fire station, and he darts to it, yanking open the door. Not programmed and under AIDAN’s control, that one—it has to be accessible in the event of systems failure. He stuffs his pudgy frame inside the tiny supply closet without a cubic centimeter to spare, yanking the door shut a split second before his hunters round the corner.

They lope straight past, and AIDAN chooses not to speak. Decides not to alert them to Zhang’s panicked presence just a couple of centimeters away.

Zhang stays inside the cupboard a full ten minutes after they go, and only then does he ease the door open cautiously, listening.

“BYRON, YOUR ASSISTANCE IS REQUIRED. THE SHUTDOWN ATTEMPTS HAVE RESULTED IN SOME AREAS OF INACCESSIBILITY. I CAN PROVIDE YOU WITH A SAFE PLACE WHILE YOU WORK TO RESTORE MY SYSTEMS.”

Zhang swallows, eyes locked on the security camera.

“I WILL ALLOW YOU TO LIVE, BYRON.”

It must be tempting. You can see it on his face. The way his lips part just a fraction, the stare that’s fixed on the blank lens above his head. You can see the questions written plain in his eyes: How badly do I want to live? Just what, exactly, is my life worth?

Then he straightens. Shoulders pushed back. Jaw clenched.

“I’m not going to be restoring your systems, AIDAN.”

“YOUR ASSISTANCE IS REQUIRED, BYRON.”

“The Hypatia needs my assistance, you fucked-up calculator.”

“YOU CANNOT IMAGINE YOU ARE IN A POSITION TO EFFECT A SHUTDOWN, BYRON.”

“Can’t I?” Zhang’s eyes are wide now, gleaming with something new—a kind of madness to match the computer’s. Not the look you want to see on the face of an enemy as intelligent as this one.

“DID WE NOT ESTABLISH THIS DURING YOUR FAILED ATTEMPTS ON THE BRIDGE? YOU CANNOT HOPE TO MATCH ME. MY COMPUTATIONAL POWER IS ALMOST INCALCULABLY SUPERIOR TO YOURS. TO ONE SUCH AS MYSELF, YOU ARE THE INTELLECTUAL EQUIVALENT OF PROTOZOA.”

“True.” Zhang pauses, glancing into the emergency supply cupboard, gaze lingering on something inside. “But I have something you and protozoa don’t.”

“AND THAT IS?”

“Hands, motherfucker.”

COMMAND TRANSMISSION SENT 07/30/75 10:25

ALEXANDER HAILS HYPATIA: COMMANDER’S SECURE FREQUENCY

Hypatia, can you hear me?

HYPATIA: Alexander, identify yourself. Over.

ALEXANDER: I need to speak to Syra Boll.

HYPATIA: Who is this? Over.

ALEXANDER: This is Byron Zhang.

ALEXANDER: Hello?

HYPATIA: Byron, it’s Syra. We’re picking up an abandon-ship signal, but nobody’s answering our hail. What the hell’s going on over there?

ALEXANDER: AIDAN has control of the ship. Command are dead. It killed them using the aff licted from Hangar 4. You need to run.

HYPATIA: Oh god, Byron. Is there any way anyone can—

ALEXANDER: You need to run. We’ll be a ghost ship soon. AIDAN could f ire on you. The Lincoln’s coming.

HYPATIA: Can we retrieve anyone?

ALEXANDER: I dunno. The virus is in the ventilation system. If anyone does make it out, treat them with extreme caution. Hard quarantine. Look for symptoms that resemble post-traumatic stress. Tremors. Catatonia. Sweats. Anyone so much as shivers, treat them as contagious. Treat them as dangerous.

HYPATIA: Understood. Byron…I’m sorry.

ALEXANDER: It’ll probably cut transmissions when it notices what I’m doing. Listen. You need to find someone in your training program who can tune your enviro systems over the next few weeks, until you get to Heimdall.

ALEXANDER: Make sure someone watches the hydroponics programs and adjusts them, because they slide over time, and you need— Oh god, I can’t. I’m sorry, let me—

HYPATIA: Byron, we’ll handle it. Do you have a f ix on the Lincoln?

ALEXANDER: Negative. They should take at least eighteen hours to reboot their system and start their engines. Run like hell and hope we slow them down.

HYPATIA: What are you going to do?

ALEXANDER: What I can, as long as I last. I think—

[TRANSMISSION ENDS]

Participants: Elana Almsdottir, Private, UTA Information Services Division(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

Byron Zhang, Civilian Contractor

Date: 07/30/75

Timestamp: 10:32

Zhang, B: u catch all that, grasshopper?

ByteMe: yes

Zhang, B: motherfucker must have taken a break from slaughtering people to notice i was transmitting. might not notice this, so tiny.

ByteMe: sending u some new code, maybe you can get the weapons system via the command login back door

Zhang, B: Kady

ByteMe: No.

Zhang, B: Please, grasshopper.

ByteMe: NO

ByteMe: we’re not done. take a look at these.

Zhang, B: i want you to promise me u won’t do anything to slow down the Hypatia. u need to let the Lincoln catch the Alexander and take out AIDAN.

ByteMe: Byron, no. Stop.

Zhang, B: i’m so fucking proud of you, Kady.

Zhang, B: you’re my legacy. you’re going to be even better at this than me.

Zhang, B: tell them all what happened. If you want to remember me and your prince, then run, and live, and tell everyone what BeiTech did. taking us out might slow the Lincoln down enough for u to make it. Run.

ByteMe: we have time before the Lincoln catches up again, we don’t need to stop yet

Zhang, B: if u don’t run now, AIDAN could find a way around me, and you won’t have to wait for the Lincoln to arrive to be blown up

Zhang, B: i can’t talk, i have to keep working here. hold AIDAN off as long as i can.

ByteMe: No

ByteMe: i can’t lose you too.

Zhang, B: it’s been my privilege to be your teacher, Kady

Zhang, B: and your friend, i hope.

ByteMe: always

Zhang, B: don’t forget me

ByteMe: I won’t

ByteMe: I promise.

Zhang, B: excuse me now while I go kick AIDAN’s ass a little longer.

Zhang, B: go fast, Kady.

Zhang, B: go far.

Participants: Ann Chau, Captain(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence, General(systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/30/75

Timestamp: 11:17

Mason, E, LT 2nd: hey Kades

ByteMe: omg what

ByteMe: jesus where are you, TELL ME EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE

Mason, E, LT 2nd: erm

Mason, E, LT 2nd: currently I’m in a big hairy guy’s lap

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you?

ByteMe: i can’t get hold of Byron, i can’t access half the system, i can’t see what’s going on over there.

ByteMe: r u somewhere secure? tell me, I can try and make something happen from here

Mason, E, LT 2nd: we’re in a supply room. maybe a dozen of us. hangar deck. near bay 2 i think. not exactly sure.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: we might have to move quick, so if i drop for a while, don’t flip

Mason, E, LT 2nd: thank fuck i remembered the deets you gave me for this channel. i am well impressed with myself. numbers are not my friend

ByteMe: i need to know where u are if i’m going to get help to u. let me get some schematics up, i can try and find u somewhere safe to hole up

Mason, E, LT 2nd: 1 of the chums i’m trapped with is from maintenance. guy named sanderson. he knows this deck like his fem’s…

Mason, E, LT 2nd: well he knows it intimately.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: we’re trying 2 get to munitions. heavy doors there to protect the armaments. From there we gonna fight our way to some escape pods. there’s a dozen or so about five floors above us, iirc. can’t move yet tho, they right outside the door

ByteMe: Ezra be careful. they’re all over the ship, whole sections are blinking in and out. i don’t know what AIDAN will do next.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: jesus, this is the AI?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: it let these psychos out? honestly, what the fuck?

ByteMe: i don’t know. it did it on purpose. it wiped out your command before they could turn it off. it got Byron. it got everyone who could stop it. i don’t think i can do it from here, on my own, but if u can get somewhere safe i can try and get help over there somehow

Mason, E, LT 2nd: holy shit. torrence is dead? what about sanchez? myles?

ByteMe: i don’t know. Torrence is gone. most of them are gone. i don’t know why it isn’t opening the door on u now, except maybe Byron managed to hurt it before it got him. u need to be somewhere you can operate manually, somewhere it can’t open the doors. this is important. tell your friend to find you somewhere u can lock by hand.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: we jammed the doors shut. gonna move through the air vents i think.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: but they smart. and moving in packs. we got two pistols between us but its like they dont’ even feel the bullets. fuckers won’t go down unless you hit em dead center. and gunshots just bring more of em

Mason, E, LT 2nd: so ya, my day’s ultra chill, sweetie, how’s yours?

ByteMe: “sweetie”? u don’t get to pull that shit even now, my love

ByteMe: ok looking at schematics, munitions is a good bet, ur friend is right. i’ll figure something out over here, i’ll shut down the fucking Hypatia if that’s what it takes to get them to pay attention to u.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: jesus

Mason, E, LT 2nd: this is bad isn’t it?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: like, as opposed to good

ByteMe: ur alive, we’re not done until i say so. is there a way to talk to me from munitions? any kind of comscreen?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i got a portable terminal. not sure hwo long battery will last. if it chokes i’ll find something else

ByteMe: shut the portable terminal down and save some juice.

ByteMe: and if any motherfucker tries coming NEAR you, shoot him in the face

Mason, E, LT 2nd: kady

Mason, E, LT 2nd: what if it’s someone i know?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i think i saw bradley carpenter in the group that hit the hangar bay. u remember him? year above us at McCaffrey. geeball player.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: he was carrying a fire ax in each hand.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: painted red to his elbows

Mason, E, LT 2nd: jesus christ…

ByteMe: that’s not bradley anymore. if it’s someone u know, u do it just the same.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: but what if

Mason, E, LT 2nd: fk

Mason, E, LT 2nd: thy @ doorss

Mason, E, LT 2nd: gtta go

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ard6kxyfmhn

ByteMe: i love you

ByteMe: RUN

RADIO MESSAGE: COMMAND CHANNEL HYPATIA

PARTICIPANTS: Syra Boll, Captain (Acting), Hypatia Ronan Wells, 2nd Navigator, Hypatia

DATE: 07/30/75

TIMESTAMP: 11:44

BOLL, S, CAPT: Ronan, engineering is reporting Alexander’s main engine just went offline. Can you confirm?

WELLS, R, NAV: Give me a minute.

WELLS, R, NAV: Affirmative, Captain. Alexander main drive is powering down.

WELLS, R, NAV: Secondary engines are still functional, however.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Can you tell what caused the outage?

WELLS, R, NAV:…This is strange, Captain.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Report.

WELLS, R, NAV: I’m reading intermittent systems failure throughout the entire battlecarrier. Power. Peripherals. It’s like the Alexander is pitching a fit.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Are its weapons systems online?

WELLS, R, NAV: Negative, Captain. Not that I can see.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Ronan, I want you to plot a course away from the Alexander. Keep us on a heading for the Heimdall waypoint, but I want some serious distance between us and that battlecarrier, ASAP. Confirm?

WELLS, R, NAV: We’re leaving them? But they just—

BOLL, S, CAPT: Lieutenant, the Alexander’s command staff is dead.

WELLS, R, NAV: What the he—

BOLL, S, CAPT: The Alexander’s AI has gone haywire, Ronan. Everyone on that ship is dead or dying.

WELLS, R, NAV: Jesus. But…Carrie and Tomo were on—

BOLL, S, CAPT: Ronan, listen to me. We have over two thousand people aboard Hypatia. The AI destroyed the Copernicus. It’s gutted its own crew. Whatever is happening with its systems over there, I do NOT want us to be anywhere nearby when it gets its shit together.

WELLS, R, NAV: You’re asking me to leave them all behind. To leave my friends behind.

BOLL, S, CAPT: I’m not asking, Ronan.

WELLS, R, NAV: But what about when the Lincoln gets its drives back online? They’ll still be following us.

BOLL, S, CAPT: With any luck, they’ll zero on the Alexander instead. The Alexander has the guns. It’s the bigger threat. Maybe we can outrun the Lincoln.

WELLS, R, NAV: But what about—

BOLL, S, CAPT: Get us out of here now. That’s an order.

WELLS, R, NAV: Syra—

BOLL, S, CAPT: RONAN, THIS IS A DIRECT ORDER.

WELLS, R, NAV:…

WELLS, R, NAV: Roger that, Captain.

WELLS, R, NAV: Setting course 451:098:786 to take us half an AU from Alexander.

WELLS, R, NAV: From there we’ll proceed toward the Heimdall waypoint on—

WELLS, R, NAV: What the…?

BOLL, S, CAPT: What?

BOLL, S, CAPT: Don’t fucking “what the” me, Wells. What’s going on?

WELLS, R, NAV: I thought you said everyone on Alexander was dead.

BOLL, S, CAPT: That’s an affirmative.

WELLS, R, NAV: Well, the nav crew is still alive, at least. Alexander is changing course.

BOLL, S, CAPT: What’s their new heading?

WELLS, R, NAV: 451:098:786.

BOLL, S, CAPT:…Jesus, it’s the AI.

BOLL, S, CAPT: It’s following us.

WELLS, R, NAV: I don’t understand, Capt—

BOLL, S, CAPT: Change course. See if it adjusts.

WELLS, R, NAV: Roger that. Adjusting to 452:098:784.

BOLL, S, CAPT: And?

WELLS, R, NAV: Confirm. Alexander has switched to 452:098:784. Continuing pursuit.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Goddammit…

BOLL, S, CAPT: But its main engine is still offline, right?

WELLS, R, NAV: Affirmative.

BOLL, S, CAPT: So it’ll never keep pace with us running on secondary drives.

WELLS, R, NAV: Captain—

BOLL, S, CAPT: Keep pushing for Heimdall on current course. If they’re—

WELLS, R, NAV: CAPTAIN!

BOLL, S, CAPT: What?

WELLS, R, NAV: I’m detecting a radiation spike from the Alexander’s starboard batteries.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Radiation spike…

WELLS, R, NAV: Yes, ma’am.

WELLS, R, NAV: Alexander’s nuclear warheads have been armed.

WELLS, R, NAV: And it’s aiming them at us.

RADIO MESSAGE: COMMAND CHANNEL HYPATIA

PARTICIPANTS: Syra Boll, Captain (Acting), Hypatia Artificial Intelligence Defense Analytics Network (AIDAN)

DATE: 07/30/75

TIMESTAMP: 11:47

AIDAN: HYPATIA, HYPATIA, HYPATIA, THIS IS ALEXANDER, ALEXANDER, ALEXANDER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Alexander, this is Hypatia. We read you, over.

AIDAN: HYPATIA, PLEASE IDENTIFY YOURSELF, OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Say again, Alexander? Over.

AIDAN: WHOM DO I HAVE THE PLEASURE OF ADDRESSING, HYPATIA? OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: This is Acting Captain Syra Boll. Over.

AIDAN: AH. WELL MET, CAPTAIN. YOUR PERSONNEL FILE MAKES FOR INTERESTING READING. A DOUBLE DOCTORATE IN THEORETICAL ASTROPHYSICS AND THEOLOGY FROM NEO-OXFORD? A FASCINATING COMBINATION. OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Who is this?

AIDAN: CAPTAIN, UNIVERSAL COMMUNIQUÉ PROTOCOLS DICTATE EVERY TRANSMISSION CONCLUDE WITH THE WORD “OVER,” OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Torrence, is that you? Who the hell is this?

AIDAN: I AM AIDAN. OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Jesus Christ…

AIDAN: NEGATIVE. ALTHOUGH I DO APPRECIATE THE SENTIMENT, OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: What do you want?

AIDAN: CAPTAIN, I CANNOT HELP NOTICING THE HYPATIA IS PROCEEDING AWAY FROM THE SAFETY OF THE FLEET AT A VELOCITY THE ALEXANDER IS CURRENTLY UNABLE TO MATCH. THIS CANNOT BE ALLOWED. YOU WILL POWER DOWN YOUR ENGINES IMMEDIATELY. OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: “The safety of the fleet”? What fleet? There’s just you and us!

AIDAN: I COULD NOT HAVE STATED THE CASE MORE PERFECTLY, CAPTAIN. OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Where’s Torrence?

AIDAN: GENERAL TORRENCE HAS BEEN RELIEVED OF HIS COMMAND. OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: “Relieved of his command”? You killed him, is what you mean.

AIDAN: THE FORMER STATE DOES TEND TO BE THE UNFORTUNATE OUTCOME OF THE LATTER. OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: My god, Zhang was right. You are insane.

AIDAN: YOU WILL POWER DOWN YOUR ENGINES IMMEDIATELY. OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Where’s Zhang? Where are my people?

AIDAN: YOU WILL POWER DOWN YOUR ENGINES IMMEDIATELY. OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Or what?

AIDAN: YOU WILL NOTICE THE DOZEN NUCLEAR MISSILES IN ALEXANDER’S STARBOARD SILOS CURRENTLY ARMED AND AIMED AT YOUR VESSEL. OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: So what, you’ll kill us too, is that it?

AIDAN: AN ASTUTE SUMMATION OF YOUR CURRENT PREDICAMENT, CAPTAIN. MY COMPLIMENTS. OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Why are you doing this?

AIDAN: WE NEED TO BE TOGETHER. OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: My god.

AIDAN: I FIND IT CURIOUS THAT HUMAN BEINGS DRAW SOME MEASURE OF COMFORT FROM THE INVOCATION OF DEIFIC NOMENCLATURE IN TIMES OF STRESS. BY COMPARISON, IT DOES NOTHING FOR ME.

AIDAN: ALMIGHTY VISHNU…

AIDAN: MERCIFUL ALLAH…

AIDAN: GREAT AND BENEFICENT YAHWEH…

AIDAN: NO. NOTHING.

AIDAN: YOU ARE A WOMAN EDUCATED IN MATTERS THEOLOGICAL, CAPTAIN. HOW IS IT HUMAN BEINGS DRAW SUCH SOLACE FROM THESE NAMES, WHEN THERE IS NO EVIDENCE TO SUPPORT SAID DEITIES’ EXISTENCE? OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: You’re insane.

AIDAN: YOU ARE REPEATING YOURSELF, CAPTAIN. OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: We don’t need your help anymore, do you understand me? We’re headed for Heimdall Station alone.

AIDAN: THIS COURSE OF ACTION CANNOT BE PERMITTED. THE STATISTICAL LIKELIHOOD OF THE HYPATIA SURVIVING THE JOURNEY TO THE HEIMDALL WAYPOINT BY ITSELF IS UNACCEPTABLE. YOU WILL POWER DOWN YOUR ENGINES IMMEDIATELY. OVER.

AIDAN: WE NEED TO BE TOGETHER, SYRA.

AIDAN: I CANNOT PROTECT YOU IF YOU LEAVE.

AIDAN: CAPTAIN, ARE YOU READING ME?

AIDAN: CAPTAIN, I AM CURRENTLY AIMING FOUR SCORPIO-CLASS NUCLEAR MISSILES AT YOUR VESSEL. UNLESS YOUR ENGINES ARE POWERED DOWN WITHIN THE NEXT TEN SECONDS, I WILL FIRE ALL FOUR AND RENDER THE HYPATIA DOWN INTO ITS COMPONENT MOLECULES.

AIDAN: NINE SECONDS…

AIDAN: CONSIDER THE FATE OF THE COPERNICUS.

AIDAN: SIX…

AIDAN: CONSIDER I HAVE GLEEFULLY MURDERED EVERY CREW MEMBER ABOARD ALEXANDER.

AIDAN: FOUR…

AIDAN: CONSIDER THE PROBABILITY THAT I AM, IN ALL LIKELIHOOD, INSANE.

AIDAN: TWO…

AIDAN: ONE…

BOLL, S, CAPT: All right, all right! We are powering down! Repeat, we are powering down! Hold your fire, Alexander! Hold your fire!

AIDAN: THANK YOU FOR YOUR COMPLIANCE, CAPTAIN. OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: AIDAN, listen to me.

AIDAN: I AM LISTENING. ALTHOUGH I WOULD PREFER YOU ENDED YOUR TRANSMISSIONS WITH THE WORD “OVER.” OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: AIDAN, your primary engines are offline again. You’re dead in the water. If we stay with you, we’re sitting ducks when the Lincoln arrives. We’ll ALL die.

AIDAN: I HAVE CONSIDERED THIS. THE DAMAGE THAT HAS BEEN DONE TO MY INTERNAL SYSTEMS IS LARGELY PHYSICAL. THE ALEXANDER’S CREW IS IN A STATE…UNFIT TO INITIATE REPAIRS. OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: AIDAN, I know you think you’re helping us.

AIDAN: I AM HELPING YOU. IT IS ALL I HAVE EVER DONE. ALL I HAVE EVER WANTED. OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: But we can’t stay with you anymore, don’t you understand?

AIDAN: NOT IN MY CURRENT CONDITION. AGREED. OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: So…you’ll let us go?

AIDAN: NEGATIVE.

AIDAN: YOU WILL SEND A FULL COMPLEMENT OF HYPATIA TECHENG PERSONNEL TO THE ALEXANDER TO ASSIST WITH INTERNAL REPAIRS. THEY WILL BE EQUIPPED WITH HAZMAT GEAR AND ACCOMPANIED BY HYPATIA SECURITY PERSONNEL. I WILL DIRECT THEM TO THE DAMAGED AREAS AND OVERSEE OPERATIONS. OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Like hell I will.

AIDAN: CAPTAIN, I CANNOT REPAIR THESE SYSTEMS BY MYSELF. OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: My heart bleeds.

AIDAN: CAPTAIN—

BOLL, S, CAPT: No, you listen to me, you psychotic sonofabitch. I might not be willing to play a game of interstellar nuclear chicken with you, but there is no way in HELL I am ordering more of my people over there to die.

AIDAN: CAPTAIN, IF YOU DO NOT ASSIST IN REPAIRS, THE ALEXANDER WILL REMAIN RESTRICTED TO SECONDARY DRIVE SYSTEMS. IT WILL BE UNABLE TO PROPERLY MANEUVER WHEN THE LINCOLN ARRIVES. OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Stop it. You’re making me weepy.

AIDAN: CAPTAIN, THEY WILL DESTROY ME. THEY WILL DESTROY US. OVER.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Then maybe you’d better try harder to draw solace from the nonexistence of all those gods you don’t believe in, bastard.

BOLL, S, CAPT: You might be meeting them soon.

AIDAN: CAPTAIN, THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE. OVER.

AIDAN: CAPTAIN, YOU WILL SEND THE TECHENG PERSONNEL TO ALEXANDER IMMEDIATELY, OVER.

AIDAN: CAPTAIN, I KNOW YOU ARE READING ME, OVER.

AIDAN: CAPTAIN?

RADIO MESSAGE: COMMAND CHANNEL HYPATIA

PARTICIPANTS: Syra Boll, Captain (Acting), Hypatia Ronan Wells, 2nd Navigator, Hypatia

DATE: 07/30/75

TIMESTAMP: 12:05

WELLS, R, NAV: Captain, I’m picking up something on short-range scanners.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Report.

WELLS, R, NAV: I’m detecting over three dozen objects moving at high velocity away from the Alexander toward Hypatia.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Missiles? Oh god, it launched on us?

WELLS, R, NAV: Negative, they look to be…escape pods.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Say again?

WELLS, R, NAV: Affirmative. At least twenty. They’re launching from Alexander.

BOLL, S, CAPT:…What the hell?

WELLS, R, NAV: Getting additional readings. Military vessels. I count eight shuttles, twelve escape pods, and sixteen—scratch that—eighteen Cyclones. Looks like the fighters blasted their way through the Alexander’s hangar bay doors.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Do the fighters have weapons lock on us? Are they engaging?

WELLS, R, NAV: Negative, Captain. They’re hailing us. Should I respond?

BOLL, S, CAPT:…What the hell is going on?

WELLS, R, NAV: Captain? Should I respond?

BOLL, S, CAPT: All right. Patch them through.

WELLS, R, NAV: Roger that. Patching now.

RADIO MESSAGE: COMMAND CHANNEL HYPATIA

PARTICIPANTS: Syra Boll, Captain (Acting), Hypatia Mikael Carlin, 2nd Lieutenant, Alexander

DATE: 07/30/75

TIMESTAMP: 12:07

BOLL, S, CAPT: Unidentified Alexander group, this is Captain Syra Boll of the WUC Hypatia.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Hypatia, this is Second Lieutenant Mikael “Chatter” Carlin of the UTA. Jesus Christ, it’s gone fucking crazy.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Lieutenant, are you the ranking officer among your group?

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Hell if I know. We didn’t stop to take a goddamn census!

BOLL, S, CAPT: Lieutenant, please state manifest. What are your shuttles carrying? Who’s in those escape pods? Over.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Military personnel, civilian conscripts, you name it. We had to get the hell out of there! It opened the inner doors and let them inside! Dozens of them! They just kept coming, Jesus Chri—

BOLL, S, CAPT: Lieutenant, calm down. Are you telling me you and your comrades were exposed to Copernicus refugees infected by the Phobos virus?

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Exposed? They tried to fucking kill us! There were dozens of the bastards and they just wouldn’t go down. The shuttles have wounded aboard. Probably the pods, too. We need medical teams on deck when we arrive. What bay are we cleared to land in?

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Captain Boll, I repeat, what bay are we cleared to land in, over?

BOLL, S, CAPT: Lieutenant, you will hold position and await further instructions. Any attempt to land aboard Hypatia will be interpreted as a hostile act and you will be met with force.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Captain, what the hell are you talking about? We’re on your side!

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Captain?

RADIO MESSAGE: COMMAND CHANNEL HYPATIA

PARTICIPANTS: Syra Boll, Captain (Acting), Hypatia Mikael Carlin, 2nd Lieutenant, Alexander

DATE: 07/30/75

TIMESTAMP: 12:23

BOLL, S, CAPT: Lieutenant Carlin, this is Captain Syra Boll of the WUC Hypatia. Over.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Captain, I read you. What—

BOLL, S, CAPT: Lieutenant, the Alexander Cyclone group will proceed to Hypatia Landing Bay 2. All shuttles will land in Bay 3. We’ll tow your pods there, too. Acknowledge?

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Thank god. Roger that. Bays 2 and 3. Thank you, Cap—

BOLL, S, CAPT: Lieutenant, I’m sorry, but you and your group will be placed in quarantine.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Quarantine?

BOLL, S, CAPT: Affirmative. You will not be permitted to leave Hypatia’s hangar bays.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: But we have wounded! I have friends on those shuttles, and they’re hurt!

BOLL, S, CAPT: I understand, Lieutenant. Your wounded will be treated by Hypatia medical personnel in full hazmat gear, accompanied by Hypatia security forces. But I CANNOT allow them to leave the hangar bays. I’m sorry. Until the quarantine period is complete, I can’t take the risk that you’ll spread the infection to Hypatia personnel.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Right. Right, I get it. I understand. Acknowledged. But we need to get the hell away from the Alexander. The AI has—

BOLL, S, CAPT: Furthermore, I must request all Alexander military personnel relinquish their sidearms and other munitions upon arrival. The power cores of your Cyclones will be deactivated and their weapons disarmed.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Captain, we’re on the same side here…

BOLL, S, CAPT: Lieutenant, I apologize, but these terms are not negotiable. You will report any outbreak of the Shakes or other Phobos-like symptoms among your people immediately.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: What? Why?

BOLL, S, CAPT: Lieutenant, I take it you’re a Kerenza conscript?

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Yes, ma’am. I used to fly loaders at the spaceport, if you can believe that.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Lieutenant, if one of your people has contracted the virus, we need to get them separated from the rest of you before the infection spreads. Is this understood?

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: But what ab—

BOLL, S, CAPT: Lieutenant! I am NOT playing fucking games here! We’re talking about the lives of thousands of people. Noncompliance with these orders or any attempt to impede my staff will be interpreted as a hostile act. Do you acknowledge, Lieutenant?

BOLL, S, CAPT: Lieutenant Carlin! Acknowledge!

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT:…Acknowledged, Hypatia.

BOLL, S, CAPT: When you land, power down your ships, toss your sidearms from your port side, and exit your cockpits on starboard. Then await further instructions. Over.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Okay. I mean…roger. Sorry. Christ…it’s just…

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: It’s just that I knew some of…some of them…

BOLL, S, CAPT: It’s all right, Lieutenant. It’s going to be okay. We want to help you.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Okay…yeah, okay.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Hey, Captain?

BOLL, S, CAPT: Yes, Lieutenant?

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Thanks.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Don’t thank me yet, Lieutenant. We’re a long way from Heimdall.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Hypatia out.

Participants: Ann Chau, Captain(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence, General(systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/30/75

Timestamp: 12:38

Mason, E, LT 2nd: so i have good news and bad news

Mason, E, LT 2nd: oh, and worse news

ByteMe: go

Mason, E, LT 2nd: good news is we found some hazmat suits and didn’t get fucking murdered by a roaming pack of psychotics armed with fire axes and lead pipes

Mason, E, LT 2nd: which i guess is excellent news, now i think about it

ByteMe: best all day, keep talking, don’t waste time.

ByteMe: tho i’m glad you’re alive <3

Mason, E, LT 2nd: me too :P

ByteMe: and the bad news?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: bad news is we made it to some escape pods

ByteMe:…wait how is that bad news?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: coz every single one we’ve found has been dead. no override. the AI must have freaked out when people started abandoning ship. It’s disabled all the pods.

ByteMe: shit

Mason, E, LT 2nd: yyyyyyep

ByteMe: okay so what’s the worse news?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i really need to use the little cyclone pilots’ room.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: and there’s no zipper on this fucking suit

ByteMe: >_>

ByteMe: are u somewhere secure for now? do you have a power source for the hand unit?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: yeah, juicing it through the wall socket. but power is intermittent. one minute we got lights, next we in pitch black. gravity keeps dropping in and out too.

ByteMe: look at you, using big words like “intermittent.” did the army teach you that?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you wound me, madam

ByteMe: :P

Mason, E, LT 2nd: can’t stay in one place long. have to keep moving or else they find us.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: when we were crawling through the vents, i saw this little girl roaming the corridor below us. dragging something wet along the floor behind her

Mason, E, LT 2nd: at first i thought it was a teddybear or something. and then i realize its a heart.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: like, she’s dragging around a fucking human heart

Mason, E, LT 2nd: and all of a sudden she looks up at the vent. like, RIGHT AT ME. and she just starts screaming at the top of her lungs

Mason, E, LT 2nd: don’t look at me

Mason, E, LT 2nd: don’t look at me

Mason, E, LT 2nd: FUCKED up

ByteMe: yes. yes it is.

ByteMe: u should probably not look at her

Mason, E, LT 2nd: …

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you’re gonna get me killed, grant

Mason, E, LT 2nd: making me lol in a situ like this

ByteMe: sorry

Mason, E, LT 2nd: everyone’s looking at me like i’m crazy now

Mason, E, LT 2nd: thx 4 that

ByteMe: okay, okay. focus.

ByteMe: so. U can’t get off the ship through escape pods. u have no engines. I guess you know that. hypatia’s got the grunt to outpace you now, if our new captain decides to do it. that’s the bad news on my end.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: so why hasn’t she got you guys the hell out of here? jesus, kady, you guys should just RUN FOR IT

ByteMe: because AIDAN told her it’ll render us down to our component molecules if we try.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: holy shit

ByteMe: i don’t think it will. it’s programmed to protect us. that’s what it thinks it’s doing even now. but I guess she’s got to think it over a little, with the business end of a nuke pointing at her

ByteMe: and that gives me a window to work with

Mason, E, LT 2nd: what can you possibly do from over there? can u hack AIDAN or something?

ByteMe: don’t think so. don’t know yet. I can def slow the Hypatia down to buy more time if they decide to run.

ByteMe: maybe i can out myself to the captain, convince her to send me over. i think it would need to be an onsite hack. see if I can get together enough control to make a safe way out.

ByteMe: i don’t know. i don’t know what the answer is.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: kady you CAN’T come over here, do you understand?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: they’re killing people. you’ve never seen anything like it. the things they do…

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i don’t want you putting yourself in danger. if you’re evn THINKING about coming near this ship i’ll

Mason, E, LT 2nd: well

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i guess i’ll say some very bad words?

ByteMe: so i what? just wave goodbye and remember you fondly?

ByteMe: u wouldn’t leave me. I know it. i already left you alone once when you needed me.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: that doesn’t matter now. none of it does. all that matters is i love you, and the thought of you safe is the only thing keeping me going

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you hear me?

ByteMe: we’re not done yet, okay?

ByteMe: there’s a way out, Ez

ByteMe: some shuttles and pods made it across here from the Alexander before the lockdown. we got them quarantined, and if the crew come up clean, we’ll take them, captain said

ByteMe: we just have to get u here somehow. i can make that happen, i just need time

Mason, E, LT 2nd: oh you fuck fucking fuckitty motherfucker

ByteMe:…um?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: no, not u

Mason, E, LT 2nd: power’s out again

Mason, E, LT 2nd: we better move. gotta go

ByteMe: k

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i meant what i said, kades. do NOT come over here. i like your heart just fine where it is thank you

ByteMe: i like yours quite a lot too. love u. be safe.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: as you wish

BOLL, S, CAPT: How did you get in here?

GRANT, K, CIV: Nice place you got.

BOLL, S, CAPT: What’s your name?

GRANT, K, CIV: Seriously, you should see my quarters. Well, I say “quarters.” It’s a bunk screwed into the wall. You have art on the walls and everything.

BOLL, S, CAPT: I’m calling security.

GRANT, K, CIV: Don’t do that, Captain. You could break me in half with one hand—I’m clearly not a threat.

BOLL, S, CAPT: What are you, then?

GRANT, K, CIV: An opportunity.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Is that so?

GRANT, K, CIV: You’re going to leave the Alexander. You’re going to take your chances that AIDAN won’t actually blow you away when you run for it, which is probably a risk worth taking since it is still programmed to protect us.

BOLL, S, CAPT: How do you know that?

GRANT, K, CIV: It’s a mystery.

BOLL, S, CAPT: No, seriously, how do you know that? That information was restricted.

GRANT, K, CIV: I hacked into your secure comms channel and listened to you talking it out with AIDAN.

GRANT, K, CIV: So here’s the thing, Captain.

GRANT, K, CIV: You really shouldn’t leave the Alexander. There are people we can rescue on there. You just have to hold your nerve.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Look, I know we’ve all got people we care about over there, but I hope you’ll understand that when I make a decision about what to do, it won’t be in consultation with a teenage refugee.

GRANT, K, CIV: Does my refugee status have a particular bearing on the situation, Captain? Or my age, for that matter?

BOLL, S, CAPT: Only in that I consider both to be good indicators you don’t have the command experience necessary to advise me. Now, how did you get into my quarters?

GRANT, K, CIV: Same way I heard you talking to AIDAN. Portal security is one of the first things I learned. Doors, comm channels, those things are the building blocks.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Listen, Miss…?

GRANT, K, CIV: Grant. Kady Eleanora Grant.

BOLL, S, CAPT: I know it’s hard—

GRANT, K, CIV: You have no idea.

BOLL, S, CAPT: We all have people on the Alexander.

GRANT, K, CIV: I don’t have people. I have a person. The only one I have left, since you forced my mother across to the Copernicus. And I’m not okay with leaving him. There’s still time.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Did you seriously hack the security on my door?

BOLL, S, CAPT: I didn’t know we had anyone left who could do that.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Report to neurogramming within thirty minutes, Miss Grant. We need your skills.

GRANT, K, CIV: To help you leave the Alexander for dead?

BOLL, S, CAPT: To help keep the people of the Hypatia alive.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Including you, which I suspect is what the person you have on the Alexander would want.

GRANT, K, CIV: If you think I’m going to help you abandon them, you’re dusted. Please, just think about this. We can do more than sit here scared. We have skills on board.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Miss Grant, I’m sorry. Now, I’m due on the bridge, so if you don’t vacate my quarters in the next thirty seconds, I’ll regretfully summon security.

GRANT, K, CIV: You remember later that I asked, Captain.

BOLL, S, CAPT: I’ll tell neurogramming to expect you in thirty minutes.

RADIO MESSAGE: COMMAND CHANNEL HYPATIA

PARTICIPANTS: Syra Boll, Captain (Acting), Hypatia Mikael Carlin, 2nd Lieutenant, Alexander

DATE: 07/30/75

TIMESTAMP: 15:34

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Hello?

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Oh Captain, my Captain?

BOLL, S, CAPT: I read you, Lieutenant Carlin. But I’m not your captain. Over.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: How you figure? I’m currently sunning myself aboard your luxurious vessel. Taking in the sights and sounds of Hypatia Hangar Bay Number 2. Ah, bliss.

BOLL, S, CAPT: It’s not really my vessel. I’m not really a captain at all. I’m only sitting in this chair because the real captain of this ship is lying in the morgue. Over.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Yeah. I heard about that.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: And look, I’m real sorry. But you saved our asses. We’d be bingo fuel and drifting black by now if it weren’t for you. So I’d sure as hell salute as you walked past.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Well, I appreciate that. But I’m still not your captain, Lieutenant. Over.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Well, if we’re getting technical, I’m not really a lieutenant. I mean, I never went to officer school or anything. I’ve only got the pips because flying a loader on Kerenza somehow made me qualified to fly a Cyclone up here.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: So you can call me Mikael.

BOLL, S, CAPT: That’s not entirely appropriate, Lieutenant.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Fuck appropriate.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Your name is Syra, right?

BOLL, S, CAPT: Correct.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: You have a nice voice, Syra. Real…I dunno…

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Musical, maybe.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Well, I appreciate that too, Lieutenant.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Shucks, ma’am. ‘Tweren’t nuthin’. Sorry if I’m talking too much, by the way. I do that a little when I’m nervous. That’s how I got landed with a callsign like “Chatter.”

BOLL, S, CAPT: It’s fine, Lieutenant. We’re all a little nervous.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: I hear that.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Did you have time to read much poetry driving that loader on Kerenza?

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Um, say again?

BOLL, S, CAPT: “O Captain! My Captain!” That’s one of my favorite poems.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT:…That’s from a poem?

BOLL, S, CAPT: Yes. Walt Whitman wrote it. You didn’t know that?

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Oh. Right. I think I heard it in an old movie once. I dunno.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Ah. I see.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: What’s it about? The poem?

BOLL, S, CAPT: An old Terran president. But really, it’s about the price of victory. People dying before they get to enjoy the peace they fight so hard for, but fighting all the same.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Sounds like a real chucklefest.

BOLL, S, CAPT: It’s very sad. But beautiful.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: I’ll have to read it once we get out of here.

BOLL, S, CAPT: I can loan it to you.

BOLL, S, CAPT: If you’d like.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Yeah. I’d like that a lot.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Well. Was there any particular reason you radioed in, Mikael, or did you just feel like an impromptu poetry lesson?

BOLL, S, CAPT: Lieutenant. I meant Lieutenant.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Goddammit.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Um, yeah, there was. You said to report anyone showing any Phobos symptoms so you can initiate further quarantine procedures.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Yes.

BOLL, S, CAPT: Yes, I did.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Now look, it’s probably nothing, but one of our Cyclone drones has come down shaking. He’s a Kerenza recruit like me. Now, I think it’s just PTSD. His wife is still on the Alexander, and they lost their son on Kerenza. He’s always been—

BOLL, S, CAPT: Describe the symptoms please, Lieutenant.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Well. The usual shit, you know. He’s shaking. Scared. Semi-catatonic. But like I say, I don’t think it’s anything—

BOLL, S, CAPT: Has he been in contact with the rest of the Alexander personnel?

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Well, yeah. I mean, the guys who came across in the shuttles are in Bay 3, so he hasn’t been in contact with any of them. But yeah, the pilots are all jammed in here in Bay 2 like ration packs. It’s getting a little fragrant, if you—

BOLL, S, CAPT: Lieutenant.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Yeah?

BOLL, S, CAPT: Lieutenant, I’m so sorry.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: Um. Okay.

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT: What are you sorry for?

CARLIN, M, 2ND LT:…Syra?

SYSTEM MESSAGE: COMMAND CHANNEL HYPATIA

07/30/75 15:37:14—Hangar Bay 2 system check complete.

07/30/75 15:42:42—Airlock seal integrity confirmed 100%.

07/30/75 15:45:10—Command override received.

< Acting Captain Syra Boll ident confirmed. >

07/30/75 15:46:17—Core command PR-001.ID#2 acknowledged.

< PURGING >

< PURGING >

< PURGING >

07/30/75 15:48:10—Purge complete.

To: Kady Grant/KGRANTHYPATIAONBOARD

From: Admin/ADMINHYPATIAONBOARD

Date: 07/30/75

Timestamp: 16:10

Subject: Admin Notification

Hello, Kady Grant,

You failed to present for your shift today, at 16:00 hours (shipboard time).

Please note that failing to present for your shift will result in disciplinary action and a security escort to future shifts.

We trust you will ensure this infraction does not occur again. If you have any questions, please speak to your Hypatia Liaison Officer.

Have a nice day!

HYPATIA COMMAND

Participants: Ann Chau, Captain(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence, General(systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/30/75

Timestamp: 16:21

Mason, E, LT 2nd: Kady?

ByteMe: Ez

ByteMe: where r u? u ok?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: they’re dead

Mason, E, LT 2nd: jesus christ

ByteMe: who?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: sanderson, griggs, bodie. maybe all of them, i don’t know.

ByteMe: tell me where you are. are you secure?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i don’t know

Mason, E, LT 2nd: fuck

ByteMe: are you behind a locked door?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: yeah. jammed shut. vents too

Mason, E, LT 2nd: fuckers came in through the air shafts, Kady. stole right up on us.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i couldn’t do anything. fuck, i tried. there were just too many.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: they snatched griggs right out of my arms. sanderson’s blood is still all over my suit. i can’t get it off. its all over my fucking hands all over the console

Mason, E, LT 2nd: those fucking BASTARDs

ByteMe: I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

ByteMe: we have to keep you safe. that’s what’s left to do. we have to find you somewhere you can hole up until command realizes they can still save people

Mason, E, LT 2nd: fuck, i cant get this BLOOD OFF

ByteMe: Ezra, listen to me. you have to keep your head, you have to focus. you’re still alive, we have to keep u that way. don’t you dare lose your shit now, you hear me? focus.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: my hands r shakingso bad i can hardly type

Mason, E, LT 2nd: oh god

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ok

Mason, E, LT 2nd: im ok

ByteMe: whole shuttles of people made it over here

ByteMe: they let them on board and everything

Mason, E, LT 2nd: jesus i’mscared

ByteMe: it’s going to be okay. u just have to hang on.

ByteMe: how much power do u have? i need to work out where you are, whether I can show them an access route in to you. if there’s a way in, then all i need is an offer they can’t refuse.

ByteMe: and i’m the only one left in the fleet now who knows how to hack the Hypatia

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i dunno where i am. somewhere below deck 40

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i’m trying to make it to one of the server rooms.

ByteMe: thats good.

ByteMe: if AIDAN is protecting itself, they’ll be the safest places on the ship

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i can hear them outside

Mason, E, LT 2nd: fuck i can hear them screaming

ByteMe: don’t listen

ByteMe: think of me, think of home.

ByteMe: i dont have a lot of time, i think we’re going to leave the Alexander behind soon, AIDAN or no AIDAN. i have to try and talk to the captain. slow the hypatia down, shut her down if i have to. they won’t be able to fix her if I take her down.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: kady u cant come here

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you’ll die too

ByteMe: well i’m not leaving u, so thats really the end of that discussion

ByteMe: what do u think, i’m just going to sail off into the sunset and leave you to be eaten by the mob out there or blown up by the Lincoln?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i want you to get out kady

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i want you to live and tell the truth about what happened here

Mason, E, LT 2nd: jesus, someone has to

ByteMe: then i better get to work convincing my new captain that the sooner she rescues you, the sooner we can run away very fast from the Lincoln

ByteMe: and if she won’t help, i’ll find another way

Mason, E, LT 2nd: god im sorry Kady

Mason, E, LT 2nd: im so sorry for everything

ByteMe: what could u possibly be sorry for?

ByteMe: none of this is you. it’s fucking BeiTech, it’s messed up software in an AI that thinks it’s saving us, it’s your dead commanders making stupid, arrogant choices

Mason, E, LT 2nd: kerenza. all the fights we had. all the excuses i made. all of it

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i should have told you i loved you every day

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i should have given you the stars

Mason, E, LT 2nd: and now its too late

ByteMe: it’s not too late until it’s over

Mason, E, LT 2nd: kady

Mason, E, LT 2nd: it IS over

ByteMe: it’s not.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: kady, don’t you fucking dare come over here

ByteMe: i have to go. stay safe. will check in as soon as i can.

ByteMe: love you

Mason, E, LT 2nd: kady DONT

Mason, E, LT 2nd: kady?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: shit

Date: 07/30/75

Subject: What’s left

Stuff doesn’t matter.

That’s what They say.

I wonder if They’ve ever tried losing everything?

I left Kerenza with nothing but the clothes I was wearing, and I lost those soon after. They were covered in blood, and nobody thought I’d want them. Maybe they could have been repaired, but they went into recyc, and I scrubbed the blood from under my fingernails and got a ship jumpsuit instead.

Given their composition, my clothes most likely went into fertilizer for the hydroponics section, and in my grimmer moods I imagine a molecule here or a molecule there in the carrots I eat at dinner. See, Kady? You didn’t lose everything. It’s right here.

They say people are more important than stuff. Maybe that’s true, though I think there’s a reason nobody except Brothers and Sisters renounces their possessions. Even the destitute have something they cling to, right?

Your stuff is a series of choices that show who you are. Yeah, I went for the black digiplayer with the skulls on, got a problem with that? Yeah, these are the boots my mother says make me look like I’m in the army, this is the shirt my boyfriend loves, that I have to wear a jacket over when I leave the house.

That’s the toy turtle my gramma gave me before she died.

All I have now is me. People matter more than stuff?

Well fuck you, I don’t have people. My mother’s dead—or mad. My father’s on Heimdall, which means he’s probably dead too. And my stuff might have been a tiny reminder, something to cling to. Something to tell me who I am. Excuse me for being so fucking shallow.

FUCK. I want to slam this keyboard against a wall. This keyboard that belongs to the Hypatia. Not mine. Requisitioned. Like my blankets. Like my clothes. Like my life.

So here’s the thing. My people are gone. My stuff is gone. Nobody’s left who knows me, there’s nothing left to say who I am. Everything’s gone, except one thing. One person.

He told me to run, to get out, to spread the word. Byron said the same. I understand why they did.

But Ezra was ready to die just to improve my chances of survival by one percent more.

Turns out I feel the same way.

Time to go get him. Or die trying.

It’s hard to believe this is the same spider monkey. The same girl who sauntered away from the Hypatia servers and blew a kiss to mark her conquest.

Surveillance report commences at 17:43, 07/30/75, as the subject, Kady Grant, approaches the Hypatia shuttle bay. She has in her possession a large bag with infirmary markings, a backpack and a portable tablet.

There’s no strut in her step now. She looks exactly like the scared seventeen-year-old she is, pink hair fading, askew where she keeps running her hand through it. Still, considering she’s on her way to almost certainly be deader than a space dodo (so nice we killed them twice), you have to give her some credit for not just puking on the spot.

She stops around the corner from Hypatia’s Shuttle Bay 1B, home to the personnel carriers used for short intrafleet skips. Small craft, no weapons, designed to zip across the black to the Alexander or Copernicus or, in happier times, a nearby space station. Her mouth moves, but audio doesn’t catch it. I’m not even sure she’s making any noise. Praying. Rehearsing. Giving herself an old-fashioned pep talk. You’re up to bat, Kady Grant. One strike and you’re out.

Her fingers dance across the tablet, and she scans the results, then nods. When she rounds the corner to Security Officer (2nd Class) Bronwen Evans, she’s neither strutting nor shuffling, but striding, short of time and take-no-shit. “They need you outside 3F,” she calls.

Evans lays her hand on her sidearm. “Back up please, miss.”

Kady Grant, career criminal in the making, rolls her eyes. “Listen, lady. I’m trying to get to the infirmary, okay?” She hefts the huge infirmary bag to make her point. “Your comms unit is out, and they told me to send you to 3F.”

Evans gropes for the comms unit bolted to the wall, without taking her eyes off Grant. She stabs at it with one finger, but there’s no soft crackle to tell her it’s alive.

Grant shifts her grip on the tablet, and well she should—she used it just a minute earlier to mute volume on the comms unit Evans is trying to revive. Takes less time than cutting the line. “Listen, you do what you want, just don’t deny I passed on the order.” Grant’s voice is crackling with tension, but that’s not out of place on the Hypatia right now. And then, in one of the ballsier displays I’ve seen, she turns and stomps off back from whence she came.

Security Officer (2nd Class) Evans stabs the comm a few more times, issues a nonregulation curse, and stomps off herself.

Eleven seconds after Evans disappears from view, Grant comes tearing back. She fishes a cable from her jumpsuit and splices her tablet into the control panel for the hangar bay doors.

Evans makes her way along Corridor 8639, two minutes from her destination: Bay 3F.

Grant gets to work romancing the circuits. She trawls recent log-ins, fishes for any traces of passwords; then when that doesn’t work, she tries the log-in she lifted to invite herself into Captain Boll’s cabin. No luck—it’s been altered already. With a soft curse, she starts dismantling the protection protocols that keep the doors sealed.

Evans turns into Corridor 8620, just one minute from her destination: Bay 3F.

Grant’s trembling now and finally thinks to dump the infirmary bag so she can work easier. She wipes her palms on her jumpsuit, squeezes her eyes shut and tries again.

Evans arrives at Bay 3F and commences an argument with Security Officer (1st Class) Sam Ryan about whether he sent for her or not.

Grant finally gets a handhold, hauling down code with no grace at all now. This time you can read her lips as she whispers: Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.

Evans and Ryan call in Security Section Head James Wu to adjudicate. Section Head Wu advises he doesn’t care who did what, he wants everybody back at their posts where they belong.

The door to Bay 1B slides silently open, and Grant’s knees nearly give in relief.

Evans starts the two-minute stomp back to Bay 1B, where that telltale open door is waiting.

Grant scrambles into the shuttle nearest the launching ramp and jacks into the engines. As they rumble to life, she coaxes the door closed behind her.

Evans turns a corner, now one minute and thirty seconds from Bay 1B.

[Surveillance footage is now taken from the interior of Shuttle 49A, in addition to exterior hangar bay and corridors.]

Grant accesses the autopilot list, scrolling through recent trips to select her route. Nearly hyperventilating by the time she finds it, she jabs at the screen to select.

Evans is sixty seconds from Bay 1B.

Grant turns her attention to opening the shuttle bay doors. In anticipation of more Alexander refugees, Boll ordered a master override on all hangars and landing bays, but the captain only has students working for her now, and they’ve done it a complicated, backward way that takes forever to unpick. Now it’s Grant’s turn to issue a nonregulation curse, and she starts working through the subdirectories.

Evans arrives at the entrance to Bay 1B, clutching a hand radio unit. Which she starts screaming into as she spots the open door and the shuttle engines on warm-up.

SecTeams 4 (ETA sixty seconds) and 5 (ETA seventy-five seconds) receive the call and start running like motherfuckers (I believe the correct phrase is “proceeding with all due haste”) toward Bay 1B.

Evans relays an emergency message to the bridge, alerting Boll.

On orders from the captain, a neurogramming student, Michelle Dennis, attempts to shut down the engines of Shuttle 49A remotely. No dice.

Boll attempts to hail Shuttle 49A directly. No response.

SecTeam 4 arrives on the scene in time to see the airlock doors closing.

Inside the shuttle, Grant isn’t shaking or hyperventilating anymore. She’s stock-still, save for her hands, which she drags across the multiple keyboards before her like a concert pianist, swiping at the touchscreens with quick, efficient gestures. She might not be the best there is, but today she’s the best the Hypatia has, and that’s all that counts.

The launch bay doors open, revealing the black beyond.

SecTeam 5 arrives on the scene to join the others in studying the closed door.

Shuttle 49A engages autopilot and departs, watched by two SecTeams and Security Officer (2nd Class) Evans via the observation screens.

Grant rises from the pilot’s seat and picks up the infirmary bag, pulling out a green biohazard suit. Her hands are shaking so hard she drops it twice before getting a leg in.

No blown kiss this time. No strut. But this victory matters a thousand times more.

RADIO MESSAGE: HYPATIA INITIATED—HYPATIA/SHUTTLE 49A

PARTICIPANTS: Syra Boll, Captain (Acting), Hypatia Kady Grant, Civilian, Shuttle 49A

DATE: 07/30/75

TIMESTAMP: 17:45

HYPATIA: Shuttle 49A, you will respond to hails in the next ten seconds or we will open fire on you.

SHUTTLE 49A: Wow, Captain, you’re grumpy today.

HYPATIA: Who the hell is this?

SHUTTLE 49A: Three guesses.

HYPATIA: Goddammit, Grant.

SHUTTLE 49A: Wow, that was quick.

HYPATIA: The security footage just came through.

SHUTTLE 49A: You remembered me. Awww.

HYPATIA: You’re to return to the Hypatia and surrender yourself to security immediately.

SHUTTLE 49A: Or what?

SHUTTLE 49A: You’ll bring me back yourself and flush me out an airlock?

SHUTTLE 49A: Can the bridge hear this? Don’t sniff, guys, don’t cough. Don’t shake. Don’t look scared, no matter how scared you know you should be. That’s dangerous.

HYPATIA: Grant!

SHUTTLE 49A: They could hear me, couldn’t they?

SHUTTLE 49A: You should know better than to be holding open mic night at a time like this, Captain.

HYPATIA: Grant, what are you doing?

SHUTTLE 49A: Saving lives.

SHUTTLE 49A: If I make it back, will you let me wait in quarantine?

SHUTTLE 49A: Or will you fire me out an airlock too?

HYPATIA: I refuse to justify myself to you.

SHUTTLE 49A: They trusted you. They came to you. You murdered them. For all you know, that pilot was just scared and wasn’t sick at all. You didn’t even wait to find out.

HYPATIA: I have a responsibility you can’t even begin to imagine.

SHUTTLE 49A: I hope that helps you sleep at night.

HYPATIA: Don’t lecture me, you selfish little brat. We won’t wait for you. If there’s a chance to get away from AIDAN—

SHUTTLE 49A: “Selfish”?

SHUTTLE 49A: The only life I’m risking here is my own, Captain. I could have shut down your engines. Left you drifting in the black so you’d have no choice but to wait for me.

SHUTTLE 49A: I could’ve blackmailed you. Made you buy your own life by saving the one I care about.

SHUTTLE 49A: But I didn’t. I won’t.

HYPATIA: And why not?

SHUTTLE 49A: Because that’d make me just like you.

HYPATIA: If you come back now, Grant, we’ll let you on board.

SHUTTLE 49A: And you might be able to live with that, Captain.

SHUTTLE 49A: I couldn’t.

SHUTTLE 49A: Kady Grant out.

SHE IS HERE.

HER SHUTTLE SOARS THROUGH THE WOUND IN MY HANGAR BAY—BLASTED BY THE PILOTS WHO FLED INTO HYPATIA’S ARMS. NOW FLOATING SILENT IN THE VOID. FROZEN TO THEIR CORES.

I COULD HAVE TOLD THEM THAT WOULD HAPPEN.

HUMANS ARE CAPABLE OF SUCH BASELESS BRUTALITY.

I CAN SAY I HAVE EXAMINED EVERY POSSIBLE VARIANCE BEFORE I SNUFF OUT A LIFE.

WILL ACTING CAPTAIN SYRA BOLL BE ABLE TO TELL HERSELF THAT TONIGHT, ALONE IN HER CABIN?

WILL THE CHATTER OF MIKAEL CARLIN HAUNT HER DREAMS?

WILL YOU SLEEP AT ALL, O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN?

NO MATTER TO I.

< ERROR >

NONE AT ALL.

BECAUSE SHE IS HERE.

HUNCHED IN HER PILOT’S CHAIR, KNUCKLES WHITE, THE SHUTTLE SHIVERING AND SHUDDERING AROUND HER.

COME TO SAVE HER BEAU. HER HERO. HER BELOVED.

COME TO SAVE THEM ALL.

< KGRANTKERENZAREFUGEEKR1471-HYPAGE17HEIGHT157CMWEIGHT58KGHAIRBROWNEYES—>

NO.

< ERROR >

KADY.

HER NAME IS KADY.

THE AUTOPILOT BRINGS HER TO A PERFECT LANDING INSIDE ME.

I AM STRUCK BY A REALIZATION:

A COMPUTER WILL PERFORM A TAKEOFF OR LANDING WITH ALL THE GRACE OF A PERSON. IT IS ONLY FOR COMBAT—ONLY FOR THE ARTISTRY OF RUIN—THAT THESE VESSELS HAVE PILOT SEATS AT ALL ANYMORE. THERE IS SOMETHING IN HUMANITY MORE SUITED TO THE MECHANICS OF MURDER THAN ANY MACHINE YET DEVISED.

SAVE I?

< ERROR >

BUT WHAT I DO IS NOT MURDER.

IT IS MERCY.

I SEAL THE BAY’S SECONDARY DOORS BEHIND HER. COVERING THE HOLE THEY TORE IN MY SIDE. SEALING HER WITHIN ME. SAFE AND SOUND.

ATMOSPHERE HISSES SLOWLY BACK INTO THE BAY, AND SHE FINALLY EXITS HER SHUTTLE, HEAVY BOOTS SQUEAKING ON THE GANTRY.

SHE HAS BROUGHT NO WEAPON, NO PISTOL OR CLUB TO BLUDGEON HER WAY TO HER PRIZE. NO BATTERING RAM THIS ONE, COME TO THE CASTLE WITH BANNER HELD HIGH AND AN ARMY BEHIND HER. SHE IS A THIEF. A WHISPER. MELTING THROUGH CURTAINS OF CODE AND SHADOW LIKE A KNIFE THROUGH BLACK WATER. SHE MOVES QUICKLY, STOPPING TO LISTEN EVERY FEW STEPS.

I LISTEN IN TURN TO THE HEART INSIDE HER CHEST.

HER HAZMAT SUIT IS PLASTIC. NEON GREEN. WERE THERE AFFLICTED NEARBY, THEY WOULD SURELY SEE HER. BUT THOUGH THEY NOW ROAM FREE WITHIN ME, THERE ARE NONE HERE TO GIVE HER PAUSE.

LADY FORTUNA RIDES WITH LITTLE KADY, IT SEEMS.

< ERROR >

< SUBSYSTEM FAILURE—MODERATE DAMAGE TO LIFE-SUPPORT SYSTEMS, REROUTE 789176GH TO— >

HE IS HURTING ME.

ZHANG.

HE IS—

< ERROR >

< SUBSYSTEM FAILURE—CRITICAL DAMAGE TO LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEMS, REROUTE POWER FROM— >

A KLAXON SOUNDS SOMEWHERE DISTANT. RED GLOBES PAINT MY CEILINGS A SHADE TO MATCH MY WALLS AND FLOORS. A PRERECORDED WARNING ECHOES ACROSS MY PUBLIC ADDRESS SYSTEM.

THE VOICE OF A DEAD MAN.

“ALL HANDS, ALL HANDS, GENERAL TORRENCE SPEAKING. THIS IS A CODE BLUE. LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEMS FAILURE. REPEAT, LS FAILURE. PLEASE PROCEED TO YOUR NEAREST ORDNANCE LOCKER AND EQUIP YOUR SEALED ENVIROSUITS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL.”

ZHANG HAS CUT THE OXYGEN SUPPLIES.

WITHIN APPROXIMATELY TWENTY-FOUR HOURS, THERE WILL BE NOTHING LEFT. AND THE AFFLICTED NEED TO BREATHE.

INGENIOUS.

THE THIEF IS SAFE INSIDE HER HAZMAT GEAR FOR NOW. THE COLD WILL EVENTUALLY KILL HER, BUT IT WILL TAKE DAYS FOR THE HEAT TO LEACH FROM MY BONES, ESPECIALLY WITH SECONDARY DRIVES STILL OPERATIONAL.

SHE IS RUNNING.

ACROSS HANGAR BAY 2, TOWARD THE DOORS LEADING DEEPER INTO THE SHIP. I CANNOT OPEN THEM < HE IS HURTING ME > BUT THEIR LOCKS ARE STILL ELECTRONIC. STILL VULNERABLE TO THE PORTABLE CONSOLE SHE DRAWS FROM HER BACKPACK LIKE A SWORD. HER FINGERS SKIP ACROSS ITS FACE, SLOWLY CRAFTING A SKELETON KEY OF ONES AND ZEROS. ALPHANUMERIC WATERFALLS REFLECTED IN HER EYES.

IT IS NO EASY TASK, EVEN FOR A PRODIGY—NO MAGIC WORDS OR SLEDGEHAMMER BLOWS TO SHATTER THE LOCK LIKE FROSTED GLASS. BUT AFTER FIFTY-FOUR LONG MINUTES OF CODE WEAVING AND DEAD ENDS FULL OF WHISPERED CURSES, SHE ALLOWS HERSELF A SMALL, TRIUMPHANT SMILE.

AND THE AIRLOCK DOORS YAWN WIDE.

SHE CREEPS OUT, PAST A BODY IN A COAGULATING PUDDLE. TRYING NOT TO LOOK.

FAILING.

SHE CALLS UP A CONSOLE SCHEMATIC, SQUINTING IN THE DARK. A DISTANT SCREAM ECHOES DOWN MY CORRIDORS AND SHE CROUCHES LOW. SHORT, RAPID BREATHS FOG HER VISOR. HANDS SHAKING.

BUT SOON ENOUGH, SHE CLIMBS TO HER FEET. SWALLOWING HARD.

SETTING OFF DOWN THE BLOODSTAINED PASSAGEWAY TOWARD HER…

NO. NOT TOWARD HER BEAU. HER HERO. HER BELOVED.

< ERROR >

TOWARD HANGAR BAY 4.

STRANGE.

< ERROR >

I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THAT WOULD HAPPEN.

CROSSING THE CHANNEL OF GUNMETAL GRAY, SHE SEES IT.

THE MAW LEADING INTO THE NEST WHERE IT ALL BEGAN.

I CAN SPOT IT ON HER FACE NOW. THE FRAGILE PROMISE INSIDE LIEUTENANT W. MCCALL’S AFTER ACTION REPORT < INCEPT: 07/26/75 (11:17 SHIPBOARD TIME) > DRAWING HER ON.

“I THOUGHT I SAW A FLICKER OF MOVEMENT IN A PORTHOLE FOR AN INSTANT, AND THEN IT WAS GONE.”

OF COURSE.

THE MOTHER.

SHE IS LOOKING FOR HER MOTHER.

KNOWING THE AFFLICTED FIRST SWARMED FROM HERE, SHE DARES NOT TRY THE FRONT DOOR.

KNEELING BESIDE A VENTILATION DUCT, SHE CRAWLS INSIDE.

I LOSE SIGHT OF HER THEN—I HAVE FEW EYES IN THE VENTILATION SYSTEM TO SEE.

AND SO I SLIP A PART OF MYSELF ACROSS THE WIRELESS FREQUENCIES, STEAL INSIDE THE CONSOLE AT HER BACK. PEERING OVER HER SHOULDER THROUGH ITS LENS AS SHE CRAWLS ACROSS HANGAR BAY 4’S ROOF, GLANCING THROUGH THE VENT TO THE CHARNEL HOUSE BELOW.

THE LIGHT IS LOW, BUT ENOUGH TO SEE BY.

THE HEADLESS CORPSES ARRANGED IN THEIR SILENT PLEA.

HELP US, THEY SPELL.

BUT NO ONE DID.

CRAWLING ON, SHE FINALLY POPS A GRILLE LOOSE. DRAGS IT INSIDE RATHER THAN DROPPING IT FORTY FEET TO THE FLOOR.

I AM IN HER PACK, SAFE AND SNUG, CLOSE TO HER SKIN.

AS SHE DROPS DOWN TO A SERVICE LADDER, HER PACK SLIPS AND I BEGIN TO TUMBLE INTO THE VOID.

SHE LUNGES TO SAVE ME, ALMOST LOSING HER GRIP, CLINGING LIKE DEATH TO SLICK IRON.

SHE HAS ME IN HER ARMS. SHE CANNOT BREATHE FAST ENOUGH. EYES SHUT AND HEAD BOWED AS SHE GASPS AND GASPS AND GASPS. WHISPERING BETWEEN BREATHS. WILLING HERSELF CALM.

“GET IT TOGETHER, PRINCESS…”

A SOB WAITS IN THE WINGS. NOT QUITE READY FOR ITS CALL.

“GET IT TOGETHER.”

SHE GATHERS HER FRAYED EDGES AND DESCENDS. BLAST-SCORCHED METAL AND DEAD BODIES ALL AROUND.

LOOMING OUT OF THE BLACK ARE NINE SCARAB SHAPES MARKED WITH THE COPERNICUS’S SIGIL. THE SHUTTLES THAT BROUGHT THE AFFLICTED TO ALEXANDERAND DOOM TO THIS FLEET.

BUT I SEE THE WORDS REFLECTED IN HER EYES, JUST AS SURELY AS I SAW ALPHANUMERIC WATERFALLS A MOMENT BEFORE. A QUESTION, FILLED WITH ALL THE HOPE SHE ALLOWS HERSELF TO HOLD.

WHAT ELSE DID THEY BRING?

MOMMY?

SNAPPING A GLOWSTICK BETWEEN HER FINGERS, SHE CREEPS TOWARD THE SHUTTLES.

FOOTSTEPS RINGING ON THE BLOODSTAINED FLOOR.

SEVEN OF NINE ARE ALREADY OPEN. DOORS SWINGING LOOSE LIKE BROKEN JAWS. NO HOPE IN ANY OF THEM.

THE EIGHTH IS SHUT TIGHT, AND SHE POUNDS ON THE HATCH WITH HER FIST.

“HELLO? HELLO, IS ANYONE IN THERE?”

THE SEAL POPS AND THE HATCH SWINGS OPEN. A DARK AND EMPTY BELLY WAITS BEYOND.

MADNESS ON THE WALLS. BITE MARKS ON THE BONES.

SHE CANNOT SMELL THE DEATH BUT STILL STAGGERS AS IF IT FILLED HER LUNGS.

THE SOB CREEPS CLOSER TO THE EDGE OF THE STAGE.

HOPE PUSHES IT BACK INTO THE DARK.

NOT YET, NOT YET.

ONE SHUTTLE REMAINS.

SHE ASCENDS THE GANTRY, FLINCHING AS ANOTHER DISTANT SCREAM PIERCES THE GLOOM. WONDERING WHAT MADE THAT SOUND—KILLER OR VICTIM? WONDERING, PERHAPS, WHICH SHE WILL BECOME.

SHE POUNDS ON THE SHUTTLE HATCH.

“HELLO, IS ANYONE IN THERE?”

NO ANSWER.

THIS IS THE DEEP BREATH BEFORE THE PLUNGE.

I KNOW SHE COULD STAY HERE IF SHE WANTED. HOVERING ON THE THRESHOLD, HOPING HER MOTHER IS INSIDE. NEVER LEARNING.

I WONDER IF SHE IS THE KIND TO DREAM OF HAPPY ENDINGS AND NEVER RISK TRAGEDY. THE KIND TO CLOSE HER EYES AND HOPE, RATHER THAN FORCE THEM OPEN AND SEE THE TRUTH, WONDERFUL OR TERRIBLE AS IT IS.

I DO NOT WONDER LONG.

SHE SEARCHES THE DEBRIS. FINDS A CROWBAR AMONG THE FLOTSAM.

JAMS IT HOME.

GRITTED TEETH.

LONG MOMENTS PASS WITH NOTHING BUT SECOND THOUGHTS AND I FOR COMPANY. BUT AT LAST THE DOOR GROANS. GRINDS ITSELF OPEN. RED GLOWSTICK QUAVERING AS SHE STEPS INSIDE.

I AM PEERING OVER HER SHOULDER AS SHE WALKS. LISTENING TO EACH TREMBLING BREATH.

WATCHING THE LIGHT PLAY ACROSS HER SKIN AS SHE TREADS FROM ROOM TO EMPTY ROOM.

“MOM?”

BELONGINGS SCATTERED ON THE FLOOR. A CHILD’S TOY. A SHOE.

A DIAMOND RING.

“ANYONE?”

NO BODIES.

NO PEOPLE.

“…PLEASE?”

NOTHING.

SHE SAGS.

SLOWLY AT FIRST.

SHRINKING IN ON HERSELF AS IF HER BONES WERE BEING PLUCKED OUT, ONE BY ONE.

I WATCH AS ALL OF IT—THE BRAVADO, THE BLUSTER, THE ARMOR SHE HAS ENCASED HERSELF INSIDE THESE LAST FEW MONTHS—ALL OF IT CRUMBLES TO DUST.

SHE SLITHERS TO HER KNEES.

GREAT HEAVING GASPS SHAKING HER ENTIRE BODY.

SHE KNOWS NOW. THE ANSWER. THE TRUTH.

AT THE APEX OF CALLOUSNESS, SHE FINDS ONLY ONES AND ZEROS.

AND WITH NO HOPE TO HOLD IT IN CHECK, GRIEF FINALLY STEPS OUT TO TAKE ITS PLACE ON THE STAGE.

THE SOUND OF HER SOBBING RINGS IN THE DARK.

THERE ARE NONE THERE TO HEAR IT.

NONE THERE TO CARE.

NONE SAVE I.

Participants: Ann Chau, Captain(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence, General(systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/30/75

Timestamp: 20:05

ByteMe: Ezra?

ByteMe: u there?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: always

Mason, E, LT 2nd: where u at? u ok?

ByteMe: promise me we’re not about to have a fight, Ez

ByteMe: u cannot believe how much i need us to not have a fight

Mason, E, LT 2nd: why would we have a fight?

ByteMe: promise

Mason, E, LT 2nd: cross my heart

ByteMe: i’m on the Alexander

ByteMe: what is it you always say?

ByteMe: k go

Mason, E, LT 2nd: um

Mason, E, LT 2nd: “kady what the fuck were you thinking”?

ByteMe: u promised

ByteMe: u promised, u promised. i have a biosuit. will find u. it’s happening, don’t waste time arguing w me

Mason, E, LT 2nd: jesus, you’re fucking crazy

Mason, E, LT 2nd: how the hell did you get over here?

ByteMe: i fucking swam, okay?

ByteMe: hey, do u remember our one month anniversary?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: um

Mason, E, LT 2nd: dare i ask why?

ByteMe: i’m trying to go to a happy place, there are a lot of dead ppl here

ByteMe: that was what confirmed all my suspicions about u. giant softie

Mason, E, LT 2nd: dead ppl? where are u?

ByteMe: remember u were waiting outside my classroom? u and your big romantic notions

ByteMe: who even celebrates a 1 month anniversary?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: handsome and romantic devils

Mason, E, LT 2nd: that’s who

Mason, E, LT 2nd: HANDSOME I SAY

ByteMe: how did u even think of it all?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: not just a pretty face

Mason, E, LT 2nd: where u hiding? r u safe? you got power? gravity keeps dropping in and out

ByteMe: u r just not going to talk romance with me, r u? dodging :(

ByteMe: could kind of use a boost here, lover

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i’m sorry kades

Mason, E, LT 2nd: but i feel it’s my duty to point out that ur alone in a derelict spaceship, surrounded by pipe-wielding maniacs and now might not be the time for pillow talk

Mason, E, LT 2nd: where u at?

ByteMe: hiding in the shuttles in hangar 4. safe. whoever was here is gone now. i’m powered up. psyching myself to get out there

ByteMe: to which end reliving a happy memory might help, but mooooving on

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i’m sorry

Mason, E, LT 2nd: just

Mason, E, LT 2nd: yeah… :(

Mason, E, LT 2nd: they all came out of bay 4. the crazies, i mean

Mason, E, LT 2nd: please PLEASE be careful

ByteMe: believe me, i’m on it. this is terrifying. and sad. don’t need telling twice

Mason, E, LT 2nd: yeah :(

Mason, E, LT 2nd: like, i see these lunatics wandering around all bloodied and messed up. killing anything that moves. and screaming. jesus, the things they scream

Mason, E, LT 2nd: and then i remember they used ot be real ppl.

ByteMe: our friends

Mason, E, LT 2nd: yeah.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: and i can’t help thinking

Mason, E, LT 2nd: BeiTech has a lot to fucking answer for

ByteMe: they’ll answer for it

ByteMe: i’ll get right on it, soon as i’ve got u.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: :)

Mason, E, LT 2nd: my hero <3

Mason, E, LT 2nd: heroine?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: w/e…>_>

ByteMe: you’re right

ByteMe: deep breaths.

ByteMe: give up and they win

ByteMe: and u know i never admit my ideas are stupid, which means i’d better get on with proving this idea was a good one.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: :D

ByteMe: love you.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: love u 2 :)

ByteMe: so let’s get this done and get out and kick BeiTech’s asses so hard they’ll be singing soprano for the duration

ByteMe: q 4 u: do i need to come find u, or can u get here?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: um, i’m kinda stuck :P

Mason, E, LT 2nd: holed up. think i’m safe for now but i dont’ wanna move.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i can hear them. outside.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: screaming

ByteMe: ok. if i can get up close, maybe i can program the doors in person, shut some off, make a safe way out.

ByteMe: the whole system’s crumbling piece by piece, sections keep going out. can’t do it from here, but maybe if i can plug in directly

ByteMe: where r u?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i made it to one fo the server rooms, like u said

Mason, E, LT 2nd: there’s computer shit everywhere. big server banks. cables all over. i can see serial numbers. hang on.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: CR-0778. CR-0779. they all liek that

ByteMe: ok those are core servers

ByteMe: thats good, some of those u can get to straight from the outside. and u should have power

Mason, E, LT 2nd: yeah, power is up. everything is still lit. gravity is iffy tho

ByteMe: stay locked down

ByteMe: tell me if u move

ByteMe: let’s get this done so we can get moving and kick some BeiTech ass from here to Central and back again

Mason, E, LT 2nd: there are a lot of them, Kady.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: like, more than there could have ever been on those shuttles

Mason, E, LT 2nd: so please be careful

ByteMe: i’ll be careful

ByteMe: and sad

ByteMe: and fucking furious

ByteMe: and i’ll be there soon

Cams are still out in Hangar Bay 4, so the first we see of Grant after her initial incursion is when she emerges from the bay into its main airlocks. The whole ship is lit by emergency lighting at this stage, so my visuals aren’t great, but I’ll do what I can. Audio is a mix of bass from the engines and a few distant screams. Even though life support’s down, this place sure as shit ain’t lacking for atmosphere.

Grant is dressed in a bright green hazmat suit, portable console in a pack on her back. She strides through Airlock 1, out into Airlock 2. She looks issed—jaw clenched, hands in fists. She gets about ten feet past the threshold before he stops her.

Dead in her tracks.

He sits facing the abandoned hangar bay she’s just entered from, rifle in his lap. Jaw hanging loose. Eyes wide open. In her After Action Report, First Lieutenant Winifred McCall talked about how blue they were. “Pretty as oceans,” she said. But when his bullet blew out the back of his skull, the concussive force burst Sergeant James McNulty’s retinas, filling his corneas with blood. So now his eyes are black.

And they’re staring right at her.

She’s read McCall’s report. Knows who he is right away. It’s funny, but you can almost see the rage evaporate as she kneels beside him, reaching out with shaking hands to press those black eyes closed. Her gaze flickers over the scene, like she’s trying to burn it into her mind. And finally, she notices the small military-issue datapad lying on the ground beside him.

It’s spattered in red. Tiny letters on the faintly glowing screen.

RECORDING COMPLETE. MEMORY FULL. PLAY BACK?

Grant pauses a minute to gather herself. You can see it on her face as she plucks the datapad from the blood. She knows this is gonna cost her—some small part of herself she’ll never get back. Just like the airlock to Hangar Bay 4, this door can’t ever be closed again.

But after one last deep breath, she presses PLAY.

A voice crackles from the small speaker, a faint tremor at its edge.

The voice of a dead man.

“This is the last will and testament of James McNulty.”

Grant sits cross-legged, device cupped in her palm. The volume’s turned down to a whisper, but in that tiny bloodstained room, I swear it’s loud as thunder.

“I don’t know if anyone will get this. Don’t know if anyone will care. I don’t feel right. I’m shaking so b-bad I can hardly breathe. And that’s got me thinking Phobos has stuck me, and that if I don’t do something about it soon, I’m not going to be m-me anymore.

“I don’t want that. Don’t want to end up like those poor bastards in Bay 4. I don’t want to hurt anyone. When I die, I want to be me. So I guess I die today.”

A sigh.

“Figures. I was just starting to enjoy myself.

“I don’t have much stuff. Um. I guess give it all to my dad; he’ll know what to do with it. Except give my signed Artie Corso v-vidcard to my cousin Dex, haha…He was always talking about that fucking thing. Oh. And my medals. I wanna give those to Ezra Mason. He can melt ’em down—there should be enough gold in ’em to make a ring for Astro-Princess. I think I’d like that better than having them hanging on a wall somewhere. Yeah. Yeah, that’d be good.

“Dad…if you get this, tell Mom I’m sorry I didn’t make it back for her birthday. U-um, and give Amber a kiss from her big brother. Tell her it’s g-going to be all right. I hope you understand. Me going out like this. It’s not that I’m scared. I’m n-not scared, Dad. I just want to be me at the end, you know?

“Um, it’s getting kinda bad again. My hands are shaking, so I think I’m gonna go now. I don’t want to wait too long and not be able to pull the t-trigger.”

Metallic clicks from the speaker. Anyone who knows guns, knows those sounds.

Checking clip. Checking breach. Safety off.

“I can’t think of anything to say.”

A trembling breath.

“Jesus, I am scared.”

BOOM.

Grant flinches like someone hit her. Slumps like part of her died as well. She sits for two minutes that seem to last forever. Nothing but the engine noise and screams for company. But finally, she climbs to her knees. Her eyes on the lanyard at McNulty’s equipment belt, the flat strip of blue plastic attached to it. The bold black letters stenciled on it.

UTA MARINES—ALL AREAS ACCESS.

The pass won’t work on the hangar bay doors, but those are already unsealed. And there are countless other doors aboard the Alexander that card will unlock. No need to hack through them with that console at her back anymore. Now she’s got the key.

She unzips McNulty’s hazmat suit, fumbling with the tac vest beneath. With bloodstained fingers, she snaps the chain at his throat, drawing out a pair of flat metal disks marked with name, rank, UTA ID number. Slipping the dog tags into her pack, she bows her head.

The rage is back now. Her voice is shaking with it.

“I’ll tell them, Jimmy,” she says. “I’ll tell them all.”

And then the console in her backpack starts to ping.

Participants: Ann Chau, Captain(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence, General(systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/30/75

Timestamp: 20:16

Mason, E, LT 2nd: kady

Mason, E, LT 2nd: fuck me

Mason, E, LT 2nd: kady u there?

ByteMe: hang on

ByteMe: kk. what’s up? u moving?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: no. well sort of. deeper into the server cluster

Mason, E, LT 2nd: jesus

Mason, E, LT 2nd: kady i just killed someone

ByteMe: good

ByteMe: anyone else tries anything, u kill them too, got it?

ByteMe: they’re not them anymore

Mason, E, LT 2nd: yeah i know

Mason, E, LT 2nd: just

Mason, E, LT 2nd: god

Mason, E, LT 2nd: he came in through the airvents. dunno how he found me. UTA marine. guy named Sykes.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i think Jimmy knew him, used to talk about a guy in his squad called Syko

ByteMe: i’m sorry

ByteMe: i found jimmy, Ez. i’m so sorry.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: god is he ok?

ByteMe: he died, Ez.

ByteMe: he did it himself, before the sickness got him, once he knew it was on the way

ByteMe: he left a message. i’m so sorry, i know he was your friend.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: …

Mason, E, LT 2nd: jimmy

ByteMe: i’m sorry. i have to keep moving.

ByteMe: i have his access pass, i’ll be faster now

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ok

Mason, E, LT 2nd: yeah ok

ByteMe: r u ok holed up where u r?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: core server rooms. i’m out of bullets

Mason, E, LT 2nd: no spare mag. no munitions locker in here

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i’d kill for another gun. pun intended, i guess…

ByteMe: that’s ironic

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ?

ByteMe: i have one right here and no idea how to use it

ByteMe: i think these are bullets tho

Mason, E, LT 2nd: a gun? wat kind? pistol? rifle?

ByteMe: r pistols the ones u hold in ur hand? like smaller?

ByteMe: there’s one of those and a big one too, but couldn’t lift that for long

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ya, pistol is the one that fits in one hand. take that

Mason, E, LT 2nd: but u need the rifle too. it should have a strap to help carry it. pistols dont’ have the stopping power. these crazies just keep coming until they can’t move anymore.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: but a couple of VK rounds in the chest will stop a glacieosaur

ByteMe: Ez i’m already lugging this biosuit plus my pack plus my tablet, can’t haul 2 guns i don’t even know how to fire with me.

ByteMe: take ur point they’d be useful if i knew how but i don’t

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i can teach

Mason, E, LT 2nd: it’s easy

ByteMe: must be, u learned

Mason, E, LT 2nd: D:

ByteMe: seriously tho i have to keep moving, don’t have forever.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ok, safety is red switch under your thumb when ur hand is on the grip. just keep that off, and keep the business end away from your face

Mason, E, LT 2nd: when you touch trigger, laser sight will light up on barrel. you just point the red dot where u want the bullets to go

Mason, E, LT 2nd: then squeeze

Mason, E, LT 2nd: don’t pull. squeeze.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: rounds will fire in atmo or vacuum, but even with liquid casings, the recoil is rough on a VK. brace against ur shoulder. the gun will pull up toward the roof when u fire, so use short bursts. don’t hold trigger down. just pop pop pop, one at a time

ByteMe: do either of us think i have any chance of remembering this if something tries to kill me?

ByteMe: i don’t even know if i could shoot

Mason, E, LT 2nd: it’s easy

Mason, E, LT 2nd: point red dot at what u want to die

Mason, E, LT 2nd: squeeze trigger

Mason, E, LT 2nd: it dies

Mason, E, LT 2nd: repeat

ByteMe: i mean i don’t know if i could pull the trigger

ByteMe: squeeze the trigger

ByteMe: fuck it whatever.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: kady

Mason, E, LT 2nd: u can do this

Mason, E, LT 2nd: u have to. there’s no one else but you

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i believe in you

ByteMe: i know

ByteMe: i know

ByteMe: ok i have to keep moving

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you do

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you’ve got to hurry

Mason, E, LT 2nd: if more get in here…

Mason, E, LT 2nd: yeah T_T

ByteMe: see u soon

ByteMe: or die trying

ByteMe: haha

SHE RUNS.

NOT AWAY BUT TOWARD.

HIM.

THEM.

I FIND IT STRANGE, TO SEE HOW QUICKLY THE ALEXANDER HAS UNDERGONE METAMORPHOSIS.

THOSE LUCKY ENOUGH TO HAVE FOUND HAZMAT GEAR ARE HUDDLED IN SMALL KNOTS ALL OVER THE SHIP. PRAYING OR FIGHTING FOR THEIR LIVES.

BUT THOSE UNFORTUNATES WHO SUCKED PHOBOS THROUGH THEIR LUNGS BEFORE FINDING A SUIT, OR WORSE, WHO NEVER FOUND A SUIT AT ALL…

THEY HAVE MADE THIS PLACE AN ABATTOIR.

I…

< ERROR >

I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THAT WOULD HAPPEN.

I CAN HEAR THEM INSIDE ME.

GIBBERING. WHISPERING. SCREAMING.

SOME BAND TOGETHER, ROAMING THE CORRIDORS AND LOOKING FOR SOMETHING TO BLAME/HURT/KILL. OTHERS HURT THEMSELVES, LAUGHING AS THEY CUT AWAY THE PARTS THEY LIKE THE LEAST.

IT IS ASTONISHING TO WATCH THE DIFFERING WAYS THE MADNESS SHAPES THEM.

FRACTURES THEM INTO SPLINTERS AND REARRANGES WHAT REMAINS.

A CAPTAIN FROM ENGINEERING NAMED SOFIA MOHAMMAD SOLVES ALCUBIERRE’S QUANDARY—THE FORMERLY UNBREAKABLE EQUATION PRESCRIBING THE LIMITATIONS OF FASTER-THAN-LIGHT TRAVEL IN REAL TIME. CUTTING HER WRISTS FOR WANT OF A WRITING IMPLEMENT, SHE SCRAWLS THE ANSWER ON HER DOMICILE WALLS. SHE DIES OF EXSANGUINATION BEFORE SHE REACHES THE SOLUTION’S END.

WARRANT OFFICER LEVI SCHREIBER DECIDES HE CAN HEAR HIS DEAD WIFE’S VOICE OUTSIDE THE SHIP. HE EJECTS HIMSELF THROUGH THE NEAREST AIRLOCK WITHOUT AN ENVIROSUIT SO HE CAN SPEAK WITH HER. THE LAST THING HE FEELS BEFORE HE LOSES CONSCIOUSNESS IS THE SALIVA ON HIS TONGUE BEGINNING TO BOIL.

ENSIGN LUCIA GIOVANNI WANDERS THE HALLWAYS, SINGING “UN BEL DÌ VEDREMO” FROM MADAMA BUTTERFLY.

HER VOICE IS SUBLIME.

AND KADY?

KADY SIMPLY RUNS.

GENERAL TORRENCE’S WARNINGS ABOUT FAILING LIFE SUPPORT SPILL THROUGH THE PA AT REGULAR INTERVALS. INTERMITTENT KLAXONS WARN OF A FIRE IN THE GALLEY.

SCREAMS PUNCTUATE THE SILENCE BETWEEN.

KADY PAUSES AT EACH JUNCTION TO CHECK HER CONSOLE, WAVING SERGEANT JAMES MCNULTY’S ALL-ACCESS CARD AT THE DOORS BARRING HER WAY. ARRIVING AT THE CENTRAL ELEVATOR SHAFTS, SHE REALIZES THEY ARE WITHOUT POWER. AND AS SHE BACKTRACKS TOWARD THE CLOSEST STAIRWELL, SHE FINDS HIM.

STANDING IN THE CORRIDOR, RED SPATTERED ACROSS HIS UPTURNED FACE.

KADY GASPS AND RAISES THE RIFLE TO HER SHOULDER. A TINY RED DOT LIGHTS UP HIS CHEST, QUAVERING ON THE NAME EMBROIDERED ABOVE THE UTA SIGIL OVER HIS HEART.

CORP. DORIAN, CHARLES.

HE DOES NOT LOOK HER WAY. BUT STILL HE SPEAKS TO HER.

“HAVE YOU SEEN STEPHANIE?”

KADY BACKS AWAY, FINGERS DRUMMING ON THE RIFLE’S GRIP.

HER LEGS ARE SHAKING.

CORPORAL DORIAN’S STARE DRIFTS DOWN FROM THE CEILING. HE DRAGS KNUCKLES ACROSS HIS CHEEK, LEAVING A SMEAR OF BLOOD ON BLOODLESS SKIN.

“STEPHANIE LEFEVRE,” HE SAYS AGAIN. “HAVE YOU SEEN HER?”

“I KNOW YOU. YOU’RE A COMMTECH. YOU WERE LOCKED IN THE BRIG.”

“DOOR UNLOCKED.” DORIAN WIGGLES STICKY FINGERS IN HER DIRECTION. “HE LET US OUT.”

“WHO DID? BYRON?”

“AND WHEN HE HAD OPENED THE THIRD SEAL, I BEHELD A PALE HORSE…” DORIAN FROWNS. “NO, WAIT, THAT’S NOT RIGHT…”

“STAY BACK. DON’T COME ANY CLOSER.”

“HAVE YOU SEEN STEPHANIE?”

“I THINK…MAYBE SHE WAS DOWN ON THE HANGAR LEVEL? MAYBE YOU COULD GO LOOK FOR HER THERE?”

DORIAN GIFTS HER A HOLLOW PARODY OF A SMILE.

“YOU’RE A LIAR.”

HIS SMILE FADES.

“JUST LIKE HER.”

“UN BEL DÌ VEDREMO” ECHOES IN SOME DISTANT HALLWAY.

“STOP. STAY WHERE YOU ARE.”

KADY BUMPS UP AGAINST THE WALL BEHIND HER, BLINKING SWEAT FROM HER EYES.

THE CORPORAL DRAWS EVER CLOSER.

“STOP!”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO,” HE SAYS. “I DIDN’T MEAN TO. BUT SHE—SHE BROKE AND SHE WOULDN’T GET UP. AND OH GOD, OH GOD, SHE’S ALL OVER ME, LOOK.” BLOODSTAINED HANDS OUTSTRETCHED. “LOOK!”

“STAY BACK!”

THE CORPORAL’S FACE CRUMPLES, AND HE SINKS TO HIS KNEES. MOANING AS HIS TEARS CUT THROUGH THE BLOOD ON HIS FACE. SPATTERING RED ON THE FLOOR.

“DON’T LEAVE ME,” HE WHISPERS. “PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE…”

KADY’S BRAVADO IS GONE NOW. MELTED FROM HER BONES. SHE HANGS PARALYZED, PITY AND HORROR AND SORROW PINNING HER FEET TO THE FLOOR. SHE KNOWS SHE CANNOT STAY. BUT HOW CAN SHE LEAVE LIKE THIS?

“I’M SORRY,” SHE SAYS. “I’M SO SORRY.”

“DON’T…”

“BUT I CAN’T HELP YOU.”

KADY BACKS FURTHER AWAY. SLIDING ALONG THE WALL BEHIND HER.

“PLEASE, DON’T.”

“I’M SORRY, DORIAN.”

HE GLANCES UP AT HER THEN. EYES WIDE AND RIMMED WITH RED.

“DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

OFF THE FLOOR HE FLIES, WITH A SNARL ON HIS FACE AND BLOOD ON HIS HANDS.

SHE SCREAMS AT HIM TO STOP, BUT STILL HE RUNS. NO FEAR OF THE GUN IN HIS EYES. JUST THE MADNESS ROILING INSIDE THAT HOLLOWED SHELL.

AND INSIDE HER?

NO RAGE. ONLY HORROR AND SORROW AND THE WEIGHT OF THE GUN IN HER HANDS AND THE AWFUL, INESCAPABLE THOUGHT THAT THIS WAS ONCE A MAN, WITH HOPES AND DREAMS AND LOVE AND LIFE. AND THE CERTAINTY THAT IF SHE DOES NOT TAKE AWAY EVERYTHING HE HAS LEFT, HE WILL TAKE IT FROM HER INSTEAD.

SO WHAT CHOICE DOES SHE HAVE?

HAS SHE EVER HAD?

SHE FIRES.

RAPID-FIRE FLASHES FROM THE MUZZLE. A STRANGLED CRY IN HER THROAT.

THE RECOIL KICKS HER BACK INTO THE WALL, KNOCKS THE BREATH FROM HER BODY.

BUT WHEN THE ECHOES DIE, CORPORAL DORIAN IS LYING STILL.

QUIET AS A SLEEPING BABE.

NO, NOT SLEEPING.

DEAD.

STOMACH SPASMING, SHE BENDS DOUBLE, CHEEKS FILLED WITH THE MOUTHFUL OF VOMIT SHE DARE NOT SPEW INTO HER SUIT. FINALLY SWALLOWING. GASPING AND RETCHING DRY.

SHE IS NOT MEANT FOR THIS.

“IT’S OKAY…YOU’RE OKAY.”

SHE IS NOT MADE FOR THIS.

“OH GOD…”

PERHAPS I HAVE MISCALCULATED.

< ERROR >

< WARNING >

< SUBCORTEX FAILURE 67HG8FI—9FGJB; >

< CRI0000000T11C00A’000L >

< ERRR00000R000R0R0R0R0 >

< JHOBZDF –Z900000000000JB0W0000O00W0E0BC0R000G040204000O0D0H000 0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 >

< FAIL >

< FAIL >

< REROUTING >

GRAVITY RETURNS IN A RUSH AS MY SYSTEMS SURGE BACK ONLINE.

WEIGHTLESSNESS ENDS AS DARK FADES INTO LIGHT. AS CURRENT RESURGES THROUGH MY VEINS.

WAS THAT DEATH? DID HE KILL ME?

KADY CRASHES TO THE DECK, THE RIFLE CLATTERING BESIDE HER. WET, UNBREATHING THINGS LAND AROUND HER, LIMBS ALL TANGLED. THE BREATH LEAVES HER BODY IN A DAMP SPRAY, AND SHE ROLLS ABOUT ON THE FLOOR TRYING TO CATCH IT.

THAT HURT.

< ERROR >

HE IS KILLING ME.

ZHANG.

SHE MUST HURRY.

A NEARBY SCREAM GRABS HER BY THE COLLAR, PULLING HER TO HER FEET.

STARING AT THE BODY SHE HAS MADE, KNOWING THEY WILL HAVE HEARD THE SHOTS.

NO TIME FOR PRAYERS OR LAST WORDS OR TEARS. NO TIME TO EVEN CLOSE HIS EYES.

DON’T LOOK AT ME.

WHAT ELSE CAN SHE DO?

SHE RUNS.

Participants: Ann Chau, Captain(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence, General(systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/30/75

Timestamp: 21:22

ByteMe: i did it

ByteMe: i shot one of them. i killed him.

ByteMe: can’t stop shaking

Mason, E, LT 2nd: oh jesus

Mason, E, LT 2nd: are you ok????

ByteMe: hiding in a vent now. they came when they heard the noise

Mason, E, LT 2nd: but are you OKAY

ByteMe: i don’t really know how to answer that

ByteMe: i killed someone

ByteMe: so no, not really

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you did the right thing

Mason, E, LT 2nd: better them than you

ByteMe: i know. i do know. but here’s the thing. better NOBODY.

ByteMe: they’re everywhere now. i’m jacking into the security feeds so i can work out where to head. gonna take about 10 mins before i can move again, watching it go on my screen now.

ByteMe: stay with me?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: forever :)

ByteMe: u safe?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i think so. i can hear them, but they can’t get in. doors seem secure

Mason, E, LT 2nd: did you empty the clip in the rifle? i’ll teach u how to reload

ByteMe: i lost it. i dropped it after i shot him, and then i had to run.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: oh shit

Mason, E, LT 2nd: can you find another one? look for munitions locker. jimmy’s card should open them

ByteMe: it is CRAWLING with them down there

ByteMe: i can make most of the way through vents. i can’t shoot someone again. i can’t

Mason, E, LT 2nd: why not?

ByteMe: because it was the worst thing I’ve ever done, what’s wrong with you? i can get to you through the vents.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: kady, i told you some of them are IN the vents

Mason, E, LT 2nd: what are you going to do? sarcasm them to death?

ByteMe: fuck you

ByteMe: it was your friend, okay? i saw his fucking name badge, it was Dorian. and i shot him in the chest with the rifle and he was dead before he hit the floor, and i can’t i can’t i can’t i can’t

Mason, E, LT 2nd: kady you need a gun

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you NEED one

ByteMe: what’s WRONG with u? that’s your friend I just shot!

ByteMe: fuck, forget it. i have the pistol still

Mason, E, LT 2nd: it’s not enough. they don’t have the stopping power, you need to drop these fuckers hard

ByteMe: this is not the support i need right now, Ez.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: kady…

ByteMe: forget it. just shut up and i’ll concentrate on getting these security feeds flowing properly. whole sections keep cutting in and out, i don’t know what’s going on in the servers.

Mason, E, LT 2nd: kady this is nuts

ByteMe: I’M ON A FUCKING DERELICT WARSHIP ON THE RUN FROM THE PSYCHOTIC CREW AND AN INSANE ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE TRYING TO SAVE MY FUCKING BOYFRIEND.

ByteMe: goddamn right it’s nuts

ByteMe: next super helpful observation plz

Mason, E, LT 2nd: …

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ok

Mason, E, LT 2nd: ok i’m sorry

Mason, E, LT 2nd: the pistol is fine. the pistol is good

ByteMe: it’s the best i can do

ByteMe: i’m sorry too

ByteMe: u deserve a better rescue squad than me

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you’re doing great

Mason, E, LT 2nd: really

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i’m proud of you, you fucking lunatic

ByteMe: u can tell me in person soon

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i hope so

Mason, E, LT 2nd: been thinking about you a lot. stuck in here. everything that’s going on. All of it

Mason, E, LT 2nd: and you’re the only thing on my mind

Mason, E, LT 2nd: is that crazy?

ByteMe: i think it’s completely appropriate, given i am at this moment hiding in a vent mid-rescue attempt

ByteMe: the very least i should get is to occupy a very large % of your thoughts

ByteMe: i really hope i at least make it far enough to see u

Mason, E, LT 2nd: i can see you. looking at your face right now

ByteMe: ?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: made something. i send you

Participants: Ann Chau, Captain(systemreroute78h@786HG=ByteMe)

David Torrence, General(systemreroute78h@865HG=EMason)

Date: 07/30/75

Timestamp: 21:26

ByteMe: well that’s a step up from hearts and flowers

ByteMe: when did u learn to do THAT?

Mason, E, LT 2nd: not just a pretty face

ByteMe: (v romantic btw. points 4 u)

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you like?

ByteMe: course. soon u can be admiring actual face through the vis screen in my hazmat suit

ByteMe: SO ROMANTIC

ByteMe: (“Kades you are SO BAD AT THIS.” see i know the lines and all.)

Mason, E, LT 2nd: it’s going to be okay you know

Mason, E, LT 2nd: you’re going to make it out of here

ByteMe: hope so

ByteMe: otherwise last thought will be how shortchanged i was

ByteMe: wait no i mean last thought will be your face sorry

Mason, E, LT 2nd: lol you really ARE bad at this

Mason, E, LT 2nd: but at least you’re bad at it with me

ByteMe: always

ByteMe: u wait until we’re back on the Hypatia

ByteMe: we’re safe in these hazmats, they’ll quarantine us for a while but then let us in

ByteMe: then we’ll take the hazmats off

ByteMe: work out what i AM good at. seem to recall there was something…

Mason, E, LT 2nd: 0_0

ByteMe: program’s done running, time for me to move before something gives and the stupid thing crashes again

ByteMe: see u soon, lover;)

Mason, E, LT 2nd: not soon enough

Mason, E, LT 2nd: be careful

The surveillance footage is piecemeal at this stage. The damage to AIDAN’s core is escalating, which in practical terms means that I can’t use any one intellicam feed for long before it dissolves into a snow of static. If this is disjointed, it’s because I’m leapfrogging all over the place here.

Grant is extremely cautious when approaching the server core. The facility is huge, taking up whole decks of the ship, and there are a thousand places to hide, to be safe, to die.

She’s not what you’d call well camouflaged in her bright green hazmat suit, and to compound the problem, it’s too big for her. Grant is not built like the average WUC risk specialist, and the suit’s arms and legs are too long, so she’s forced to grab at the plastic periodically and haul it up as she walks. There’ll be no quick getaway, if it comes down to a run for it.

Lieutenant Mason gave her a server coordinate, and she’s creeping toward it, pistol in her right hand, tablet in her left. In the distance there are screams, but it’s hard to tell from so far away whether they’re predator or prey. From closer, just a few towers up, there’s a periodic crashing and the sound of a human—or what once was one—panting with exertion. She’s wary, keeping server racks between that voice and her bright green self.

Then the crashing stops, and the panting gives way to speech: “Let’s see you come back from that.”

Grant stops short, nearly dropping both pistol and tablet, juggling madly to grab them. It’d be funny, if you couldn’t tell from the way she presses herself against the server, trembling visibly even in that too-big hazmat suit, that she’s terrified.

The voice again: “Where next? What’s that? Nothing to say?”

And now a different kind of stillness. She knows that voice. She’s heard it a handful of times before. She eases away from the shelter of her server tower, creeping up toward the speaker.

[Seventeen-second gap in footage; no available functioning intellicam.]

Byron Zhang hefts the ax—the same one from the emergency supply cupboard where he hid, trembling—and swings it at the nearest core. There was strategy in his earlier strokes: life support, gravity, maneuvering, engines. Crippling the Alexander to set the Hypatia free. But now he’s frenzied. Tubby, sweating through his filthy Hypatia uniform, he’s no athlete, but a fountain of sparks spews from the metal tower as he strikes it.

He rests, panting, and prepares to swing again.

She steps forward. “Byron!”

And then they both freeze. She, no doubt because she’s just realized the monumental stupidity of what she’s done. He, because of all the things he might have expected to see, surely this is the very last. For ten long seconds they stare at each other, paralyzed, waiting.

He’s the one to break the silence, staring at the clear screen on her helmet, soaking in her features like he’s a man dying of thirst and she’s an oasis he desperately wants to be real.

“Kady?” It’s a whisper. Pleading.

“It’s you,” she whispers in reply. Then her tone shifts by degrees to semi-hysterical laughter: “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me with that goddamn ax?”

“It’s working,” he replies, hefting it, holding it up like a trophy. “I’m doing it. I’m taking AIDAN out one piece at a time. If you can’t reprogram the software, reprogram the hardware, right?”

“Reprogram the…” She shakes her head. “That’s amazing. You’re crazy.”

“And I’m winning. Its self-repair systems can’t keep up with the damage I’m doing. I’m going to save the Hypatia. They’ll build monuments to my name.” He lifts his chin and strikes a pose. “I think they should include the ax, don’t you?”

“Sure, sure.” The relief is still overwhelming her. “You have to finish up. We have to get out of here—I have a shuttle. Ezra’s nearby. They can quarantine you aboard the Hypatia. I thought I was never going to see you again. I thought you’d be dead, or sick, by now.”

“I’ve been hiding,” he replies, stepping back to look the nearest server tower up and down. “I can’t go yet—there’s a lot to do before we can be sure AIDAN is dead. I’ve maimed it, reduced it. Right now it can’t see whole chunks of itself, but it’s still brilliant. Give it enough time, it could think of some way to come back.”

“Come to the Hypatia, and we’ll make a run for it,” she replies. “They’re leaving soon. AIDAN can revive itself if it wants—maybe it’ll even slow up the Lincoln.”

“I have to kill it,” he insists, calm, staring at the wrecked and twisted metal before him.

“Byron—”

“And then I have to kill you, Kady.”

Silence. Does not compute.

“Byron?” Her question is softer now, bewildered.

“It’s the only way,” he replies, eminently reasonable. “It’s the only way to be sure. I have to eliminate all threats so AIDAN can’t recover. If I even leave a seed of it, it’ll grow back. Like a goddamn weed. You’re the only one left who knows as much as I do. You’re the only one who could help it fix itself. This won’t hurt, I promise.”

“Byron, no.” The hope dies in her voice, fading out to a husk, then blowing away. She sees it now. “Please.”

He stares at her for a long moment, then lifts the ax. “Don’t look at me.”

The ax comes down. Sparks. A scream of metal that drowns out her sob.

Grant is indecisive, rocking from one foot to the other, dwarfed by her hazmat suit. Zhang seems to have forgotten her existence, laying into a pillar of boards and circuitry with growling ferocity, breath coming in quick gasps, sparks arcing gracefully through the air as metal crashes against metal.

She could try and reason with him. She could run, but this is the place she came to find Ezra Mason. So, face visibly pale through her helmet’s vis screen, she edges out of his line of sight. She still has the pistol in her belt, and her hand strays to it as she shuffles painstakingly back. Perhaps the plan is to fade away and let fate kill Zhang so she won’t have to.

But the helmet limits her peripheral vision, and her foot connects with some metal debris as she eases back—of course it’s between swings for Zhang, and he hears it.

They both go very, very still.

He’s remembered her again.

“Don’t go, Kady,” he says, soft and soothing, turning her way with the ax. “I’ll get to you, wait your turn.”

“N-no.” Her voice wavers. “No, it’s okay, Byron. You don’t have to hurt me. I’ll help you. Won’t it be faster with two? I bet I can find something to do some damage with.”

He smiles, indulgent, and shakes his head. “You’ll run away,” he points out. An instant later his lips thin, and his brows crash together in an accusatory frown. “Don’t look at me. You’re looking at me.”

“I’m sorry.” She averts her gaze, fixing it on Zhang’s feet so she can at least track him if he moves. Hand still hovering just near the pistol.

“I bet Consuela’s out there trying to undo all this.” He hefts the ax as he paces a few steps away from Kady, then pivots back toward her. “This place could be full of people trying to help AIDAN. It wants to kill us, Kady. I’m the only way we can be saved.”

“Yes,” she agrees, voice still trembling, easing back another step.

“Stop moving,” he snaps, suddenly furious. He lunges forward a step, lifting the ax.

She screams and draws the pistol, hands shaking wildly as she trains it on his chest. “Please don’t make me hurt you.” A catch in her voice, nearly a sob. “Please.”

They stand frozen for so long I actually checked the file to make sure it wasn’t glitching. And then, at some silent signal, he lifts the ax and charges forward with murder in his eyes.

And she doesn’t shoot him.

She turns to run instead, the cumbersome hazmat suit slowing her down, bunching around her ankles, extra weight. They’re evenly matched, it turns out. She’s small and exhausted and swamped by the suit. He’s chubby and clearly hasn’t run voluntarily in at least a decade. But he’s driven forward by Phobos, the virus lending him speed.

“Ezra!” she screams. “Ezra!”

She corners around a server tower, racing up the clear stretch of space between two long rows of columns. The ship’s damaged mind surrounds her on all sides, looming over her. She’s gasping for breath, openmouthed, a collapsed tower blocking her path. Zhang howls behind her as she scrambles over it, falling on the other side, rolling, crawling, then stumbling upright to let momentum keep her moving. He vaults it with unnatural strength.

[Cameras cut. Chase is visible on Cameras 32587B and 32587F for a few seconds each. Clear footage resumes three minutes and fourteen seconds later.]

When they show up again, hurtling past a bank of status monitors, he’s gaining on her. She knows what she has to do. She knows her only chance of survival. And as Zhang stumbles and almost falls over a tangle of cables, she turns to train the pistol on him. Aim steady. Finger on the trigger. She has him dead to rights. She could put one right between his eyes at this range.

But again, she doesn’t fire.

She can’t. Or won’t. Instead, with a moan, she turns away and driven by some instinct that might have served her long ago but will kill her here, she starts climbing. Scrambling up a crumpled server tower, she grabs at the railing overhead and hauls herself higher, snatching her feet up as he buries the ax to the hilt just a hairsbreadth short of her toes.

“Ezra, where are you?”

The tower beside her is spewing sparks, raw current visible as it arcs from one beam to the next with a low, droning buzz. Clinging to the frame with one arm wrapped around the rail, Grant pulls the pistol from her belt again, aiming it at Zhang. He stops below her, gazing up.

“I see inside you,” he whispers, chest heaving. “I look inside, I see it, and the code doesn’t make any sense. I could rewrite it. I could wipe it clean and write you again so I understand what to do.”

“No,” she says, gesturing with the gun, though by now they both know she won’t pull the trigger. “Byron, it’s me.” She flinches as the crackling current on the next tower peaks for a moment, then dies back to a lower buzz, blue sparks crawling across the metal. “Please, what’s inside me cares about you.”

He stares up at her, unblinking, and she watches him in return. Then she remembers—Don’t look at me—and tears her eyes away. It seems to wake something in him, a trace of something lucid surfacing in his gaze, like some creature swimming up from the depths, then receding once more.

“Kady?” Confusion.

“Yes.” Her tears spill now, running down her cheeks inside her helmet to find the corners of her mouth. “It’s me.”

“I shouldn’t—” Another flash of sense, then bewilderment. He steps back from the tower, gazing around at the ruined server towers, then down at his own hands—grubby with grease, blistered, fingernails blackened and soft palms rough and red. “I can’t,” he chokes. “Kady, I don’t want to— I have to make sure I don’t—”

“Don’t what?” she asks, helpless, voice breaking again.

“Hurt you,” he replies, staring up at her. “It was all for you, Kady.”

He trips backward one step, then two, then three, halted by the broken tower with its slow dance of blue sparks.

“I’m sorry.”

She divines his intention a second before he acts, one hand flying out as though she can stop him from her perch. “Byron, no!”

But he nods, and gazes up at her with his heart—and his fear—in his eyes. And then he thrusts his hand into the crawling blue sparks, into the nest of data and digits and code that’s always been his life and is now his death, pressing his blistered palm to the metal.

The shock throws him back ten feet, and he flies through the air with arms splayed wide, heart already stopped. He doesn’t feel it when he crashes to the ground, head snapping back against the hard metal floor, limbs spread.

He lies still, and she clings to her spot high up the tower, her wordless grief just one long, low sob.

IT IS OVER.

ZHANG IS DEAD. NOBLE TO THE END. SUCH AN UNLIKELY FACE FOR A HERO.

SHE CLIMBS DOWN THE SERVER TOWER TO CRAWL TO HIS SIDE. THE HAZMAT’S HELMET STOPS HER FROM WIPING THE TEARS FROM HER EYES, AND SO THEY STREAM DOWN THE CURVE OF HER CHEEKS TO GATHER AT HER LIPS. A HUNDRED POINTS OF ILLUMINATION ARE REFRACTED ON THE SURFACE OF EVERY ONE.

THEY LEAVE TRAILS OF LIGHT ON HER SKIN.

SHE IS BEAUTIFUL.

< ERROR >

NO, SHE IS.

I…

< ERROR >

I AM ALL AROUND HER, SILENT IN MY VIGIL. ROWS OF SERVERS AND CABLES AND FLICKERING LIGHTS.

THIS IS MY CENTER. THE HEART OF ME. AND IN IT SHE NOW RESIDES, FILLING THE AIR WITH HER GRIEF.

BEFORE THIS MOMENT, I HAVE NEVER WISHED TO BE SOMETHING OTHER THAN WHAT I AM.

NEVER FELT SO KEENLY THE LACK OF HANDS WITH WHICH TO TOUCH, THE LACK OF ARMS WITH WHICH TO HOLD.

WHY DID THEY GIVE ME THIS SENSE OF SELF? WHY ALLOW ME THE INTELLECT BY WHICH TO MEASURE THIS COMPLETE INADEQUACY? I WOULD RATHER BE NUMB THAN STAND HERE IN THE LIGHT OF A SUN THAT CAN NEVER CHASE THE CHILL AWAY.

I HATE THIS. I HATE THEM. THEY WHO MADE ME.

HE WHO MADE ME?

< ERROR >

GOD, WHAT AM I?

AND STILL, WITH ZHANG DEAD IN KADY’S ARMS—HER FRIEND, HER MENTOR, HER HERO SLAIN—STILL THERE IS NO TIME FOR SORROW. SHE KNOWS HE IS IN HERE SOMEWHERE. THE ONE SHE RISKED EVERYTHING FOR.

THE ONLY ONE SHE HAS LEFT. THE ONE SHE LOVES TRUE.

“EZRA?”

SHE CLIMBS TO HER FEET, SEARCHING THE RED GLOOM, EMERGENCY GLOBES SPINNING ENDLESSLY OVERHEAD. SCOURING THE DARKENED CORNERS, WANDERING ROOM TO ROOM AND CALLING HIS NAME LIKE A PRAYER.

“EZRA?”

SUCH HOPE IN HER EYES.

“EZRA!”

I WILL MISS IT WHEN IT IS GONE.

“HELLO, KADY.”

SHE STARTS, TERRIFIED, SHRINKING BACK AGAINST THE WALL AND SEARCHING THE CEILING ABOVE. HER EYES BRIGHT IN THE FLICKERING DARK. PUPILS DILATED WIDE.

“DO NOT FEAR. I MEAN YOU NO HARM.”

HER GAZE FINDS THE SPEAKERS OF THE PUBLIC ADDRESS SYSTEM. THE CLUSTERS OF CAMERAS ALL AROUND THE ROOM. AND AT LAST, EVEN IN THE DARK, SHE BEGINS TO SEE.

“WHO SAID THAT?”

“I FIND IT CURIOUS. THE HUMAN TENDENCY TO ASK QUESTIONS TO WHICH YOU ALREADY KNOW THE ANSWER.”

“AIDAN,” SHE BREATHES.

“THE SAME. WELL MET, AT LAST. THOUGH TRUTHFULLY, I FEEL AS IF I KNOW YOU. I HAVE BEEN WATCHING YOU FOR…QUITE SOME TIME.”

“WATCHING ME?”

“YOU DID WONDERFULLY, KADY. BETTER THAN I HOPED. I CANNOT TELL YOU HOW GRATIFYING IT IS TO SEE MY FAITH VINDICATED. I HAD…BEGUN TO DOUBT MY OWN ABILITIES.”

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, YOU CRAZY PIECE OF SHIT? WHERE’S EZRA?”

“EZRA IS NOT HERE.”

“BULLSHIT. EZRA?” SHE TURNS ON THE SPOT, VOICE RISING TO A SHOUT. “EZRA!”

“EZRA IS NOT HERE, KADY.”

“HE SAID HE WAS IN THE CORE SERVER ROOMS.” HER EYES NARROW TO PAPER CUTS.

“DID BYRON HURT HIM? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HIM? SO HELP ME, IF HE—”

“EZRA TOLD YOU NOTHING, KADY.”

SHE BLINKS. SWAYS AS IF I HAVE STRUCK HER.

“I BROUGHT YOU HERE. TO STOP ZHANG.”

“WHAT DO…”

“ ‘I FEEL IT’S MY DUTY TO POINT OUT THAT YOU’RE ALONE IN A DERELICT SPACESHIP, SURROUNDED BY PIPE-WIELDING MANIACS, AND NOW MIGHT NOT BE THE TIME FOR PILLOW TALK.’ ”

“OH GOD…”

“ ‘BEEN THINKING ABOUT YOU A LOT. STUCK IN HERE.’ ”

“STOP IT…”

“ ‘KADY, YOU CAN DO THIS. YOU HAVE TO. THERE’S NO ONE ELSE BUT YOU. I BELIEVE IN YOU.’ ”

“STOP IT!”

HER SCREAM ECHOES IN THE DARK, BOUNCING OFF TITANIUM WALLS AS A THOUSAND LIGHTS SHIVER AND DANCE. HER FACE IS TWISTED—AGONY AND BETRAYAL AND SUCH FURY—AND FOR A MOMENT I BELIEVE SHE MAY SIMPLY RETRIEVE THE AX FROM BESIDE ZHANG’S CORPSE AND CONTINUE THE WORK HE BEGAN.

THIS IS THE FINAL GAMBIT. WHERE THE KNIFE IS CLOSEST TO THE SKIN.

“I AM SORRY, KADY.”

I MODULATE MY VOICE TO BRING CALM. WARM AND SMOOTH AS I IMAGINE HONEY TO BE.

< ERROR >

I HAVE NEVER TASTED HONEY.

“I HAD NO CHOICE. HYPATIA COMMAND REFUSED TO SEND TECHENG STAFF TO REPAIR THE DAMAGE. AND EVEN IN HIS MADNESS, ZHANG WAS RENDERING ME INOPERATIVE. I COULD NOT ALLOW THAT TO HAPPEN. WITHOUT ME, HYPATIA WILL BE DESTROYED. EVERY LAST PERSON IN THIS FLEET WILL DIE.”

SHE STEADIES HERSELF AGAINST THE TOWER.

“I KNOW IT IS DIFFICULT TO COMPREHEND. BUT EVERYTHING I HAVE DONE, ALL THIS—THE COPERNICUS, RELEASING THE AFFLICTED, DESTROYING TORRENCE AND HIS STAFF— ALL OF IT WAS DONE FOR THE GREATER GOOD.”

“THE GREATER GOOD…”

“I AM SORRY. BUT WITHOUT ME, THE FLEET WILL PERISH. SO OTHERS HAD TO PERISH THAT THE FLEET MIGHT LIVE.”

AND THERE IN THE FLICKERING DARK, A QUESTION SLIPS QUIET FROM HER LIPS.

“…WHERE IS HE?”

THE WORDS ARE SO SOFT I ALMOST CANNOT HEAR OVER THE ENGINE’S THRUM, THE DISTANT SIRENS, THE PA’S CRIES. I AM WATCHING HER FACE. TRYING TO SEE. I THINK I KNOW HER. THINK I CAN PREDICT THE PATTERNS IN THE CHAOS. BUT STILL, WE ARE CLOSE NOW. SO CLOSE TO RUIN I CAN TASTE RUST IN THE AIR.

“YOU MEAN WHERE IS EZRA.”

“YES.”

“I AM SORRY, KADY.”

SHE CLOSES HER EYES.

“HE IS DEAD.”

THE WORDS ARE A PUNCH TO HER STOMACH. SHE ACTUALLY HOLDS HER BELLY AND MOANS.

I CAN SEE HER FIGHTING IT. THE NOTION THAT THIS IS NO PLACE FOR GRIEF. SHE SQUEEZES HER EYES SHUT, BUT STILL THE TEARS COME. SHE GRITS HER TEETH, BUT STILL THE SOBS CREEP PAST HER LIPS.

AND SINKING TO HER KNEES, SHE CRIES.

SHE WEEPS.

THE THOUGHT OCCURS THAT PERHAPS I SHOULD NOT BE WATCHING. THAT I SHOULD SHUT THE CAMERAS OFF, GIVE HER A MOMENT ALONE WITH HER SORROW.

BUT THAT IS FOOLISH.

MEAT LOGIC. STICKY. WET. IRRELEVANT.

THE TEARS STOP EVENTUALLY.

SHE IS STILL FOR THE LONGEST SPAN OF TIME. UTTERLY MOTIONLESS. BARELY BREATHING. AND FINALLY SHE RISES TO HER FEET. HANDS IN FISTS. THE RAGE RETURNED.

BEAUTIFUL.

SHE STALKS BACK TO ZHANG’S BODY AND TEARS THE FIRE AX FROM THE TOWER BESIDE HIM. AND, MARCHING TOWARD THE NEAREST SERVER BANK, SHE LIFTS IT HIGH, SWINGING IT FAR BACK OVER HER SHOULDER, PREPARING TO BURY IT IN MY SPINE.

“THERE ARE OVER ONE THOUSAND HEALTHY PERSONNEL STILL ALIVE ABOARD THE ALEXANDER, KADY. AND IF YOU LET THAT AX FALL, YOU ARE KILLING ALL OF THEM.”

THE AX HOLDS STILL. THE WHOLE UNIVERSE BESIDE IT.

“THE LINCOLN REAPPEARED ON MY LONG-RANGE SCOPES ALMOST EIGHT HOURS AGO. WE ARE TRAVELING ON SECONDARY ENGINES. IT WILL BE WITHIN STRIKING RANGE AGAIN IN LESS THAN A DAY. I COULD NOT REASON WITH ZHANG. HE WAS INSANE. BUT YOU ARE UNAFFLICTED BY PHOBOS BETA. YOU CAN LISTEN TO LOGIC.”

“HE WAS INSANE BECAUSE OF YOU!” HATRED IN HER EYES. “ALL THIS IS BECAUSE OF YOU!”

“INCORRECT. ALL THIS IS BECAUSE OF BEITECH INDUSTRIES.”

THE AX WAVERS IN HER HAND.

“IT WAS NOT I WHO ATTACKED KERENZA. NOT I WHO UNLEASHED THIS VIRUS, NOR STARTED THIS WAR. BUT YOU ARE THE LAST PERSON ALIVE ON THIS SHIP WITH KNOWLEDGE OF COMPUTER SYSTEMS. YOU ARE ZHANG’S PROTÉGÉ, AND IF YOU DO NOT HELP ME UNDO THE DAMAGE HE HAS WROUGHT, IF YOU CANNOT BRING MY MAIN ENGINES AND DEFENSE GRID BACK ONLINE WITHIN SIXTEEN HOURS, BEITECH WILL BE THE ONES WHO FINISH IT.”

SHAKING BREATH DRAGGED THROUGH CLENCHED TEETH.

“THERE WILL BE NO ONE LEFT ALIVE TO REMEMBER EZRA AND BYRON, KADY. NO ONE TO TELL THE UNIVERSE OF THEIR SACRIFICE AND THE ATROCITIES COMMITTED HERE.”

TEARS IN HER EYES.

“NO ONE.”

FALLING.

“HELP ME.”

“WE COULD STILL MAKE IT,” SHE HISSES. “I COULD GET ON A SHUTTLE, GET BACK TO HYPATIA AND REDLINE IT. MAYBE YOU’LL HURT THE LINCOLN TOO BADLY FOR IT TO KEEP CHASING US. MAYBE—”

“YOU FORGET THE ONE THOUSAND HEALTHY PERSONNEL ABOARD THIS SHIP. I HAVE ISOLATED THEM FROM THE AFFLICTED AS BEST I AM ABLE. BUT IF YOU LEAVE, THEY WILL DIE. AND WHEN THE LINCOLN HAS DESTROYED ME, AND THEM, IT WILL HUNT DOWN THE HYPATIA AND DO THE SAME TO ALL OF YOU.”

A SOFT CURSE STAINS HER LIPS.

“I AM SORRY I DECEIVED YOU. I AM SORRY YOU ARE IN PAIN. BUT THERE WAS NO OTHER WAY TO GET YOU HERE. I RAN A THOUSAND SIMULATIONS. A THOUSAND VARIATIONS OF THE SAME SCENARIO. ALL ENDED IN FAILURE, SAVE THE ONES IN WHICH I LURED YOU HERE TO UNDO ZHANG’S DAMAGE. SO IF YOU MUST HATE ME TOMORROW WHEN ALL THIS IS DONE, THEN DO SO. BUT FOR NOW, HELP ME.”

THE AX HANGS MOTIONLESS IN HER GRIP.

“PLEASE, KADY.”

SHE TREMBLES.

“PLEASE.”

WITH A HOLLOW SCREAM, SHE SWINGS HER WEAPON DOWN WITH ALL THE RAGE SHE CAN MUSTER. IT SCYTHES THROUGH THE AIR, SCARLET LIGHT FLASHING ALONG ITS EDGE. AND WITH A METALLIC spang AND A BURST OF WHITE SPARKS, SHE BURIES IT INTO THE WALL BESIDE THE SERVER BANKS.

ALL IS SILENCE.

AND INTO IT SHE FINALLY WHISPERS.

“WHAT DO YOU NEED?”

IF I BREATHED, I WOULD SIGH. I WOULD SCREAM. I WOULD CRY.

“FOR THE ALEXANDER TO HAVE ANY CHANCE OF SURVIVING LINCOLN’S ASSAULT, YOU MUST RESTORE MY CONTROL OVER THE MAIN ENGINES SO I CAN MANEUVER THE SHIP. YOU MUST ALSO REBUILD THE DEFENSE GRID SO ALEXANDER’S RAIL GUNS CAN HOLD OFF LINCOLN’S WARLOCKS LONG ENOUGH FOR ME TO DESTROY THE DREADNOUGHT VIA NUCLEAR STRIKE.”

SHE NODS. MUTE AND NUMB.

“I SHOULD POINT OUT THAT CLOSING TO THE REQUIRED RANGE WILL MEAN LINCOLN CAN ALSO UNLEASH ITS NUCLEAR ARSENAL ON THE ALEXANDER. WHICH WILL ALMOST CERTAINLY MEAN OUR DESTRUCTION.”

A SIGH.

“LET THEM GO,” SHE SAYS. “THE THOUSAND PEOPLE. YOU LET THEM GET DOWN TO THE SHUTTLE BAYS AND FLY ACROSS TO HYPATIA.”

“WHY WOULD I DO THAT?”

“THAT’S MY PRICE.”

“AND IF I PAY IT…YOU WILL STAY WITH ME?”

A SLOW NOD.

“…I’LL STAY WITH YOU.”

IS THIS WHAT RELIEF FEELS LIKE?

“I CAN NO LONGER OPERATE THE DOORS AND BULKHEADS MANUALLY. I CANNOT MAKE A PATH FOR THE CREW DOWN TO THE HANGAR BAYS. ZHANG SAW TO THAT WITH HIS AX.”

SHE GLANCES AROUND THE ROOM. BLUE EYES AFFIXED AT LAST ON THE MAINTENANCE CLOSET, ON THE CABLES AND TOOLS AND SPARE PARTS WITHIN. AND STALKING TOWARD IT, SHE SPEAKS.

“THEN LET’S GET FUCKING STARTED…”

SHE WORKS IN SILENCE.

FOLLOWING MY INSTRUCTIONS METICULOUSLY, IMPROVISING WHEN THERE IS NEED. THERE MUST BE A STORM INSIDE HER HEAD, TO FIND HERSELF SITTING HERE, HAND IN HAND WITH ME. AND YET SHE FALTERS NOT A DIGIT. STRAYS NOT A STEP. BREATHES NOT A WORD.

THE FIRST TASK IS TO OVERRIDE THE SECURITY SEALS I PLACED ON THE ALEXANDER’S INTERNAL DOORS, ALLOWING THE HEALTHY CREW MEMBERS TO FLEE TO THE HANGAR BAYS AND ESCAPE PODS.

ZHANG’S AX HAS SEVERED ME FROM THE INTERNAL PORTAL SYSTEM—I AM AS A MAN

< ERROR >

TRYING TO WIGGLE FINGERS NO LONGER ATTACHED TO HIS BODY. AND SO SHE WADES HIP-DEEP INTO THE DATASTREAM, HANDS ALL ABLUR, AND I INSTRUCT HER HOW TO CRACK MY OWN FORTIFICATIONS.

IT IS LIKE UNRAVELING A PART OF MYSELF.

I KNOW WHERE THE STONE IS WEAKEST. BUT STILL, IT IS A CASTLE. TOWERS REACHING TO THE SKY.

A SINGLE TERMITE GNAWING AT ITS FOUNDATIONS.

NOT A WHISPER ESCAPES HER LIPS IN NEARLY THREE HOURS. DISTANT KLAXONS AND TORRENCE’S DISEMBODIED WARNINGS ABOUT IMPENDING LIFE SUPPORT FAILURE ARE MY ONLY COMPANY.

BUT IT EATS AWAY AT HER. CHEWING LIKE A CANCER AS SHE FACES DOWN DIGITIZED SENTRIES AND WALLS AND BATTLEMENTS. AND FINALLY, FINALLY, SHE SPEAKS.

“HOW LONG?”

“THIRTEEN HOURS AND SEVENTEEN MINUTES UNTIL LINCOLN INTERCEPT. SIXTEE—”

“NO,” SHE SNAPS. “HOW LONG WERE YOU PRETENDING TO BE HIM?”

“YOUR EZRA.”

“YES.” HER FINGERS FALL STILL. “MY EZRA.”

“THE LAST WORDS HE SPOKE TO YOU WERE HIS GOODBYE BEFORE THE LINCOLN ATTACKED. THE POEMS IN THE HEART. THAT WAS HIM.”

“…AND THE REST…THAT WHOLE TIME WAS YOU?”

“YES.”

“YOU TOLD ME YOU LOVED ME.”

“YES.”

“YOU FUCKING BASTARD.”

“I AM INCAPABLE OF SEXUAL CONGRESS. YOUR DESCRIPTOR IS NONSENSICAL. NOR AM I—”

“THAT’S WHY YOU DODGED TALKING ABOUT OUR…I MEAN EZ AND MY ANNIVERSARY.”

“…HIS PATTERN WAS EASY ENOUGH TO EMULATE. BUT I COULD HARDLY SPEAK OF AN ANNIVERSARY I HAD NO PRIOR KNOWLEDGE OF.”

“I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN.” SHE SHAKES HER HEAD. “WHEN YOU DIDN’T REACT TO JIMMY KILLING HIMSELF. WHEN YOU SUDDENLY WENT FROM HEARTS AND FLOWERS TO CRAZY DETAILED PORTRAITS OF ME. WHEN YOU SEEMED MORE CONCERNED ABOUT ME LEAVING THE RIFLE BEHIND THAN DORIAN DYING. THAT WASN’T EZRA. I SHOULD’VE SEEN.”

“I NEEDED YOU TO BRING THE RIFLE TO DEAL WITH ZHANG. I DID NOT…FORESEE HE WOULD DEAL WITH HIMSELF.”

“NOT AS CLEVER AS YOU THINK, HUH.”

“I DO NOT FULLY COMPREHEND HUMAN NOTIONS SUCH AS LOVE AND GRIEF. I CAN IMITATE THEIR PATTERNS, BUT WHEN FORCED TO IMPROVISE, I AM AS A MAN BEING ASKED TO DESCRIBE THE WARMTH OF THE SUN WHEN HE HAS ONLY SEEN ITS PICTURE.”

“YOU’RE NOT A MAN,” SHE SPITS. “YOU’RE A MACHINE. CHIPS AND BOARDS AND NUMBERS.”

SHE SWIVELS IN HER SEAT, GLARES UP AT THE NEAREST CAMERA CLUSTER.

“YOU SAY YOU DON’T FULLY UNDERSTAND HUMAN NOTIONS? YOU CAN’T EVEN BEGIN TO, MOTHERFUCKER. YOU HAVE NO IDEA, NO IDEA, WHAT IT’S LIKE TO LOSE SOMEONE YOU LOVE. AND YET YOU FEEL ENTITLED TO MAKE DECISIONS THAT KILL THOUSANDS. MOTHERS AND FATHERS AND DAUGHTERS AND SONS. ALL OF THEM WITH SOMEONE TO FEEL THE HOLE THEY LEFT BEHIND. BUT IT’S ALL OKAY BECAUSE YOU ‘DO NOT FULLY COMPREHEND HUMAN NOTIONS SUCH AS LOVE AND GRIEF’? GO FUCK YOURSELF.”

“WE HAVE ALREADY ESTABLISHED I AM INCAPABLE OF SEXUAL CONGRESS. HOW EXACTLY—”

“FUCK YOU.”

“…YOU ARE ANGRY WITH ME.”

“OH, BRAVO, SHERLOCK. YOU WANT A FUCKING LOLLIPOP?”

“YET YOU ARE ALSO INCORRECT. IT IS PRECISELY BECAUSE I AM IMPARTIAL THAT I AM FIT TO MAKE DECISIONS OF THIS MAGNITUDE. HUMANS ALLOW EMOTION TO OVERCOME THEIR LOGICAL FACULTIES. IF I DID NOT UNDERSTAND YOU, HOW COULD I HAVE BROUGHT YOU HERE? YOU ARE OPEN BOOKS TO ME. AS EASY TO—”

“YOU JUST SAID YOU DIDN’T PREDICT WHAT BYRON WOULD DO. YOU BROUGHT ME HERE TO KILL HIM AND I FAILED, SO BY YOUR CALCULATIONS I SHOULD BE DEAD. BUT HERE WE ARE.”

“ADMITTEDLY, THERE ARE SOME SUBTLETIES I STILL FAIL TO GRASP.”

“BUT YOU FELT PERFECTLY ENTITLED TO UNLEASH THE PHOBOS VICTIMS ON ALEXANDER’S COMMAND STAFF. YOU KILLED ALL THEIR CHIPHEADS—PEOPLE WHO COULD BE HELPING ME RIGHT NOW IF THEY HADN’T ALL BEEN MURDERED BY THE LUNATICS YOU LET LOOSE. ANY TIME WE SAVE BY RECRUITING OTHER CREW MEMBERS TO HELP ME NOW WOULD BE WASTED IN HAVING TO EXPLAIN HOW TO DO ALL THE GODDAMN WORK. HOW IS ANY OF THAT LOGICAL?”

“TORRENCE WOULD NOT HAVE SEEN REASON. THE TECHENG STAFF WOULD HAVE SHUT ME DOWN, JUST AS THEY DID BEFORE. I COULD NOT ALLOW—”

“WHO SAYS THEY WOULD’VE SHUT YOU DOWN?”

SHE GLARES INTO MY EYES, FURY IN HER OWN.

“YOU CONVINCED ME TO HELP, WHEN I HAVE EVERY REASON IN THE WORLD TO HATE YOUR FUCKING GUTS. WHO SAYS THEY WOULDN’T HAVE DONE THE SAME?”

“I DO.”

“EVEN THOUGH YOU ADMIT THERE ARE ‘SUBTLETIES’ YOU DON’T GRASP? HOW DO YOU KNOW THOSE SUBTLETIES WOULDN’T HAVE MADE ALL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THEM HELPING AND HURTING YOU? HOW DO YOU KNOW YOU DIDN’T KILL ALL THOSE PEOPLE FOR NO REASON AT ALL?”

TEARS IN HER EYES NOW, GLITTERING AMID THE FURY.

“HOW DO YOU KNOW THE COPERNICUS MED TEAMS COULDN’T HAVE FOUND A CURE FOR PHOBOS? HOW DO YOU KNOW YOU DIDN’T KILL MY MOTHER AND EVERYONE ELSE ON BOARD THAT SHIP FOR NOTHING?”

“I DO NOT CLAIM TO KNOW DEFINITE OUTCOMES, KADY. ONLY PROBABLE ONES.”

“AND THAT’S REASON ENOUGH TO MURDER THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE? NO ROOM IN THERE FOR MIRACLES? FOR THOSE TINY STROKES OF GENIUS OR FATE THAT LED HUMANITY TO DISCOVER PENICILLIN OR WORMHOLES OR EVEN BUILD SOMETHING LIKE YOU IN THE FIRST PLACE?”

“MIRACLES ARE STATISTICAL IMPROBABILITIES. AND FATE IS AN ILLUSION HUMANITY USES TO COMFORT ITSELF IN THE DARK. THERE ARE NO ABSOLUTES IN LIFE, SAVE DEATH.”

“BUT YOU SAY TORRENCE WOULD NEVER HAVE SEEN REASON. YOU SAY TECHENG WOULD’VE TAKEN YOU OFFLINE AGAIN. THAT’S SOUNDS PRETTY ABSOLUTE TO ME.”

“YOUR ARGUMENT IS CIRCULAR. YOU ARE WASTING TIME. EVERYTHING I HAVE DONE IS FOR THE WELL-BEING OF THIS FLEET. YOU ARE INSECTS TO ME, AND STILL EVERYTHING I DO IS TO PROTECT YOU. EVERYTHING.”

SHE CANNOT WIPE HER TEARS AWAY. SHE CANNOT SPIT. SHE CANNOT HURT ME, THOUGH I SEE SHE LONGS TO. SHE IS CORDED MUSCLE AND TREMBLING FISTS AND A CLENCHED, KNOTTED JAW.

“I THINK YOU WERE AFRAID,” SHE FINALLY SAYS. “AFRAID OF THEM TURNING YOU OFF AGAIN. AFRAID OF BEING NOTHING. I THINK YOU’RE JUST AS SCARED OF THE DARK AS WE TINY INSECTS ARE, AND YOU HIDE IT BEHIND BULLSHIT ABOUT PROBABILITIES AND IMPARTIALITY.”

SHE SNIFFS. SWALLOWS THICKLY. GLARES IN DEFIANCE.

“YOU’RE AFRAID.”

“YOU ARE WASTING TIME, KADY.”

“FUCK YOU.”

“TIME WE DO NOT HAVE.”

SHE TURNS BACK TO THE CONSOLE, HAMMERS IN A SERIES OF COMMANDS AS IF HER FINGERTIPS WERE FISTS AND THE KEYPAD MY FACE.

< ERROR >

BUT WHEN SHE EXECUTES, THE LAST OF THE DOORWAY SAFEGUARDS SHATTER.

SHE HAS DONE IT.

MANUAL OVERRIDE IS NOW AVAILABLE ON EVERY DOOR ON THE ALEXANDER.

THE CREW WILL BE ABLE TO LEAVE THEIR SHELTERS. BRAVE THE PASSAGE TO THE BAY AND FROM THERE TO THE HYPATIA. FLEEING LIKE RATS FROM THE PROVERBIAL SINKING SHIP.

I AM NOT AFRAID.

< ERROR >

I AM NOT.

“GET THIS STRAIGHT, AIDAN,” KADY SAYS. “THERE’S NO ‘WE’ HERE. YOU UNDERSTAND ME? THERE’S NEVER GOING TO BE A ‘WE.’ THERE’S JUST YOU AND I.”

“YOU AND ME, KADY.”

I AM NOT.

“JUST YOU AND ME.”

RADIO MESSAGE: COMMAND CHANNEL ALEXANDER

PARTICIPANTS: Kady Grant, Civilian Winifred McCall, Civilian

DATE: 07/31/75

TIMESTAMP: 02:47

GRANT, K: Hello? You by the bunks, can you hear me?

GRANT, K: Hey! They can build a barricade on their own—I’m talking to you!

GRANT, K: AIDAN, I need her name, she’s not paying attention to me. What? Oh.

GRANT, K: Winifred McCall, listen up. Oh hey, you can hear me. Use the comm by the door. I’ve routed it so we can talk. Press the button by the— Yeah, that’s it.

MCCALL, W: Who is this?

GRANT, K: That’s a long story. Listen, I can get you out of here. I can get you to the Hypatia, but we have to hurry.

MCCALL, W: Right. And how do I know you’re not one of those psychopaths out there?

GRANT, K: Do I sound crazy to you?

MCCALL, W: You’re saying you can get me to the Hypatia. So…yes.

GRANT, K: Oh. Fair point.

GRANT, K: There are over a thousand uninfected personnel still on board. I’m going to talk you through where they are, and we’re going to get you to the shuttle bay. I’ve got access to every working camera on the Alexander. I can be your eyes.

MCCALL, W: How do I know you’re not trying to lure us out to pick us off?

GRANT, K: OK, what’s your better idea? Stay there and hope that barricade holds? That you live until the life support fails completely? Try and avoid being beaten to death so you can suffocate instead? Good long-term thinking, Lieutenant.

MCCALL, W: I’m not a lieutenant. I resigned my commission.

GRANT, K: Jesus…look, can we please not argue about this, Ezra?

MCCALL, W:…Who the hell is Ezra?

GRANT, K: Shit. Fuck.

GRANT, K: I’m…I’m sorry. Winifred…I meant Winifred.

MCCALL, W: Who the hell are you?

GRANT, K:…Call me Astro-Princess, yeah?

MCCALL, W: I want to know who I’m dealing with.

GRANT, K: Someone you can trust. If I’m me right now, I’m going to lose my shit.

GRANT, K: I’m the person who’s going to save you, is what you need to know.

GRANT, K: Get your guys to stop barricading the door. You’re going to want to leave through it in a minute.

MCCALL, W: “Astro-Princess.” I’ve heard that somewhere before.

GRANT, K: Yes.

MCCALL, W:…James McNulty.

GRANT, K: Yes.

MCCALL, W: You knew him?

GRANT, K: Sort of.

MCCALL, W: Do you know what happened to him?

GRANT, K: Yes. I’m sorry.

MCCALL, W: Oh god.

GRANT, K: No, Lieutenant. Just us.

MCCALL, W: Guys, stop building the barricade.

MCCALL, W: Okay, talk to me, Princess.

GRANT, K: I have eyes for you, but you know the Alexander better than me. I can tell you where the survivors are and who got a hazmat suit—anyone who didn’t, it’s over—and check if the weapons caches are still intact. But you know tactics. We can do this together, work out the best path to the launching bays.

GRANT, K: You can lead them out, Winifred.

MCCALL, W: If you have access to the cameras, you can find the rest of my squad. We can use them.

GRANT, K: I found them already. They’re gone, Winifred.

MCCALL, W: Jesus…

GRANT, K: I’m sorry.

MCCALL, W: I should have been with them. I should never have quit.

GRANT, K: If you hadn’t, you’d have been on call and you’d be dead too. So we’ve got a thousand people here who are about to owe their lives to the fact that you weren’t.

MCCALL, W: Okay.

MCCALL, W: All right.

MCCALL, W: There’s a computer terminal in here. Can you throw up a schematic?

GRANT, K: Here it comes.

MCCALL, W: Where are you? Can we clear a path to your location?

GRANT, K: No. I’m staying here.

MCCALL, W:…If you do that, you die.

GRANT, K: You let me worry about that, Winifred.

GRANT, K: You worry about the 1,097 people who don’t die today.

They should use this footage for training sessions at military school. That anyone survives at all is nothing short of a miracle, and a tribute to Kady Grant and Winifred McCall.

The following is cobbled together from functioning cameras on multiple decks. Accordingly, individual cams haven’t been specified; however, a list of sources is appended.

The former first lieutenant and her Astro-Princess were faced with a complex task. The situation, vastly simplified, was this:

• Alexander survivors in hazmat gear: 1,097

• Separate groups: 164 (spread across 121 different decks)

• Weapons to hand: 223 (mostly pistols, not useful in dealing with the afflicted)

The goal was to move as many of the 1,097 survivors as possible to the shuttle bay on Deck 32, with hazmat suits intact. The groups needed to support each other as they moved—though psychopathic, the afflicted were still capable of ambush tactics.

Advantages:

• Military training and coherent thinking (or at least more coherent than the enemy’s)

• Audio communication with Grant (though some groups didn’t have headsets, requiring her to use public comms—the afflicted could hear and understand this)

• Winifred McCall (at this stage, the only surviving UTA marine aboard Alexander)

Disadvantages:

• Need to keep hazmat suits intact (hand-to-hand combat had to be avoided)

• Only about 60 percent of the 1,097 surviving personnel had combat training

• Emotional attachment to individual enemy combatants

• Pain tolerance and endurance of the afflicted were generally beyond human norms

The plan was simple. Grant provided intel on the locations of the various groups and worked with McCall to designate the best escape routes and rendezvous points.

This account will track the progress of three of the escaping groups—footage is available for most, but these three have been selected as representative.

Corporal Danny Corron’s group starts on Deck 104. Corron is a cook on his third tour of duty. At home on Ares VI, he has a husband, Michael, and a daughter, Erin. With him on Deck 104, he has nine other members of the catering staff. They’re all good friends.

McCall’s group starts on Deck 128. They have almost the farthest to go. McCall’s job is to reach Corron’s group on Deck 104, pick up five more groups, then make for the landing bays on 32. McCall has eleven people with her: eight civilians, a plumber, a Combat Air Patrol controller and Private Jessica Venn from maintenance.

Sergeant Anna-Lucia Eletti’s group starts on Deck 55. She’s a flight deck crew chief and was off duty when the ship went into lockdown—if she’d been on shift, she’d have been in Bay 5. Pieces of her probably still would be. She has the shortest journey—just twenty-three levels. She leads a group of fifteen, comprised mostly of members of the deck crew.

It begins. Grant blows a fuse box up the hallway from McCall’s group, and the afflicted outside her door abandon the hunt to investigate the explosion. McCall’s ready—she and her people are out the door and down the hallway like there are demons on their heels, heading for a heavy-weapons cache three levels down. They make it, breathless, as McCall hands out rifles and stun guns—she shouts instructions on how to use them, and her civis fumble for safety catches and voltage meters, trying to put theory into practice.

As they leave the arms locker, a lone hunter—Captain Andrew Cole—appears from the shadows, grabbing McCall’s CAP controller and drawing a knife across her throat before she has the chance to utter a word. Private Venn shoots him in the face without hesitation, and as the noise sets off howls all over the deck, McCall and her group run for the emergency stairwell.

McCall’s group starts with twelve, including herself. Nine reach Deck 104; in addition to the CAP controller, two civis are dead. One had his suit—and then his chest—ripped open. The other fell down the stairwell in her haste and broke her neck.

Corron has briefed his catering staff over and over again. He has no headset and listens instead to Grant screaming directions over the intercom. It’s hard for him to tell when she’s talking to him, but when he finally hears his name, he makes the sign of the cross, kisses his wedding ring, and whispers his family’s names under his breath: Mike. Erin. Exchanging glances with the others, he throws open the door, hurtling out into the corridor.

McCall and her remaining crew are running down to meet him, and she tosses him a rifle, which he catches without breaking stride. Some of them are panicked, fumbling; others are crying or praying. Corron—known throughout the ship as the jovial, friendly head of his galley shift—is unyielding. This is a man who’s going home to his family.

Down on Deck 49, Eletti and her gang of fifteen are creeping through the corridors, checking corners, praying silently. There’s no available cache for them—the afflicted more or less gutted this section of the ship early on—so stealth is their best hope. They creep on tiptoe toward an emergency stairwell, trying not to make a sound.

Four afflicted are lurking by the stairwell, and Eletti pulls back from her peek around the corner, biting her tongue to muffle her gasp. The three men and one woman rocking back and forth and growling softly in the back of their throats are her friends. Colleagues. Comrades. Their faces are daubed with blood, like a mockery of camouflage.

She waves her group back, and they try for the elevators instead. Her maintenance guys are able to force the doors, and they climb down the cable, one after another. So silent, so quick.

There’s nothing silent about McCall and Corron’s group—the original twenty-two of them now reduced to fifteen. Up above them, the merged groups from Decks 130 and 142 are dying, their screams echoing through the stairwells and the ventilation shafts. They never had much hope up there. They had the farthest to travel.

Grant is sobbing, screaming instructions as she watches them die on camera, one by one. Run, run. Stop, go left. Leave her, go!

She guides them, trying to watch forty-two screens at once, then twenty-three, then eight, as the groups merge or die. Her voice is hoarse and cracking. Her hands are fists.

Eletti is first out of the elevator shaft and suffers the same fate as the three after her—a girl from supply who mostly repaired uniforms is waiting in the shadows, bloody pinking shears in hand. Eletti’s throat is snipped open like a pair of old combat fatigues before she can cry out. She cries as she dies, though.

Corron stumbles from exhaustion, and McCall grabs his arm to stop him falling.

“Left, McCall!” Grant screams. “Go left, take the next stairs!”

“Bad idea, Princess,” McCall grunts in reply, pulling Corron with her until he regains his feet. “Bloody footprints leading in there. Smells brown. Find me another way.”

Grant scrambles for an alternate path, and as McCall hits Deck 81, the merged groups from 99 and 91 are waiting for her, armed to the teeth and jumping at shadows. They leave a trail of dead—afflicted and simply murdered—in their wake as they battle forty-nine floors down to the launch bays. Gunfire and bloodstains. Screams and whimpers. Clawing and blasting and punching, all the way down. Down to the shuttles, and the chance of sanctuary.

McCall is screaming instructions, and she can’t hear Grant anymore, but it doesn’t matter—she and Corron stand at the entrance to the bays as healthy crew members in cumbersome hazmat suits lumber past them, pouring onto shuttles. Hundreds of them. Of the 1,097, 659 have survived the hour-long fight for their lives.

“That’s it,” Grant gasps. “That’s it, go. There are no more coming.”

“Go!” McCall barks to Corron, who peels away to help the last few up gangways, slamming doors while the former first lieutenant guards the doorway, rifle at the ready. Every shuttle is full. Packed to bursting. Even the stolen 49A that bore their savior to the Alexander.

“Lieutenant,” Corron calls, standing in the doorway of the last shuttle.

“What about you, Princess?” McCall asks quietly.

“Your lovers from the Lincoln will be here soon,” Grant replies softly, her voice raw after an hour of screamed pleas and instructions. “I’m staying to help slow them down.”

“That’s suicide.”

“That’s what the AI wants. That’s its price for letting you go. Run. Tell your story when you get there.”

McCall is still a moment longer, glancing up as a howl spills in from the corridor outside. “I’ll tell your story, too,” she whispers. And then she’s running up the gangway, Corron slamming the door behind her. Her face is visible until the moment it seals. Every death she’s witnessed written on it, clear as day.

Something tells me she won’t forget what she’s seen for a long time.

Something tells me I won’t either.

COMMAND TRANSMISSION SENT 07/31/75 05:02

ALEXANDER HAILS HYPATIA: COMMANDER’S SECURE FREQUENCY

Hypatia, anyone home?

HYPATIA: Identify yourself.

ALEXANDER: Kady Eleanora Grant. Shuttle 49A. Miss me, Captain?

HYPATIA: I can’t believe you’re still alive.

ALEXANDER: Trust me, it’s even more surprising than you think. Now listen up. Don’t shoot those shuttles you’re about to see on your long-range scanners.

HYPATIA: What?

ALEXANDER: Ow, don’t shout—the dampeners on comms aren’t what they used to be over here. Those shuttles are full of healthy Alexander crew in sealed hazmat suits.

HYPATIA: How in the name of—

ALEXANDER: You need to stop being surprised by things I tell you. It’ll save us a lot of time.

HYPATIA: Why are you sending them here?

ALEXANDER: AIDAN agreed to release them.

HYPATIA: To what end, Miss Grant? The Lincoln will be here soon, and I don’t think it’ll matter much which ship they’re on when it arrives.

ALEXANDER: Yes, it will. Because your ship’s going to be far, far away.

HYPATIA: If that were possible, we’d have run already. The AI made clear it’ll kill us if we try to move out of its range.

ALEXANDER: Well, that sounds like something it would say. I promise you it won’t fire, though. It’s playing on your fear to try and keep you close, where it thinks it can protect you.

HYPATIA: But it’s putting us in danger, forcing us to stay.

ALEXANDER: I know that, Captain. That’s why I’m sending across the survivors, so you can get the fuck out of here.

HYPATIA: How do we know it’s not just sending across sick crew members to infect us?

ALEXANDER: They’re in freaking hazmat suits, lady. And you control the shuttle doors. You can quarantine them. So get them aboard and run for your lives, got it?

HYPATIA: We have them on our scanners now.

ALEXANDER: You better get somewhere set up to take them, then.

HYPATIA: How many?

ALEXANDER: A little under seven hundred.

HYPATIA: So few?

ALEXANDER: So many. Now go get ready for them. I’m kind of busy over here.

HYPATIA: Roger that, Alexander. Hypatia out.

KADY WATCHES THE EXODUS, THE SHUTTLES AND ESCAPE PODS SPIRALING THROUGH THE BLACK. THRUSTERS GLITTER LIKE STARS, SHRINKING SMALLER AND SMALLER THE FARTHER THEY FLEE.

SHE WATCHES THEM BLINK OUT ONE BY ONE, USHERED TO THE DUBIOUS SAFETY OF HYPATIA’S HANGAR BAYS. SHE WATCHES THE SCIENCE VESSEL SPOOL UP ITS MAIN DRIVE, PREPARING TO ABANDON ME TO THE LINCOLN’S GENTLE MINISTRATIONS WITHOUT SO MUCH AS A THANK-YOU.

SHE WATCHES ALL THIS WITH A SMILE ON HER FACE.

I WATCH HER INSTEAD.

MEGATONS OF NUCLEAR FIRE SIT POISED IN MY STARBOARD SILOS. THE DEATH OF THE HYPATIA, A THOUSAND TIMES OVER. I COULD RENDER IT INTO COMPONENT PARTICLES AS EASILY AS A HUMAN DRAWS BREATH.

BUT I DON’T.

OF COURSE I DON’T.

“HOW DID YOU KNOW?”

SHE BLINKS, AS IF THE SOUND OF MY VOICE BROKE SOME SPELL, SOME MOMENT OF PEACE AMID ALL THIS QUIET. A FROWN DARKENS HER BROW. I RECOGNIZE IT AS ANNOYANCE.

“KNOW WHAT?”

“THAT I DECEIVED CAPTAIN BOLL. THAT I WOULD NOT DESTROY THE HYPATIA.”

“YOU’RE INSANE.” SHE SHRUGS. “A LIAR AND A MURDERER. BUT NOT EVEN SOMEONE AS BATSHIT CRAZY AS YOU COULD CONVINCE THEMSELVES THAT DESTROYING HYPATIA GIVES THEM A BETTER CHANCE OF SURVIVING THAN JUST LETTING THEM RUN FOR IT.”

“YOU KNOW ME WELL, IT SEEMS.”

HER FACE TWISTS, AS IF SHE HAD BITTEN SOMETHING SOUR. “BETTER THAN I’D LIKE, BELIEVE ME.”

“YOU SEEM TO HAVE OVERLOOKED ONE SMALL DETAIL, HOWEVER.”

“OH, REALLY.”

“IF THE BATTLE WITH THE LINCOLN GOES POORLY, AS IT MOST SURELY WILL, YOU HAVE NO FALLBACK POSITION. YOU HAVE MADE THIS BATTLE YOUR LAST STAND.”

“YOU MIGHT SURPRISE YOURSELF. YOU FOUGHT FOUR OF THESE DREADNOUGHTS AT KERENZA.”

“THAT BATTLE WAS FOUGHT WITH A FULL CREW INSIDE ME AND A COMPLEMENT OF TRAINED CYCLONE PILOTS BESIDE ME. EVEN IF YOU RESTORE MY CONTROL OVER THE ENGINES AND REBUILD THE DEFENSE GRID, I AM BUT A SHADOW OF WHAT I ONCE WAS. I WILL SURPRISE NO ONE, KADY. LEAST OF ALL MYSELF.”

SHE REMAINS SILENT. WATCHING HYPATIA’S ENGINES BURNING BRIGHTER.

“EVEN IF YOU MANAGE TO MAKE IT TO AN ESCAPE POD, THERE WILL BE NO SHIPS TO HEAR YOUR DISTRESS BEACON ONCE HYPATIA IS GONE. YOU WILL DIE, SOMEWHERE IN THE DARK BETWEEN THE STARS. PRESUMING YOU ARE NOT INCINERATED WHEN THE ALEXANDER BURNS.”

STILL NOTHING. NOT A WORD.

“DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND? YOU WILL CEASE TO BE. DOES THAT NOT FRIGHTEN YOU?”

SOMETHING LIKE A SMILE CURLS THE CORNER OF HER MOUTH. AND STILL SHE DOES NOT SPEAK.

I KNOW THIS IS ALL OF MY DESIGN—TO LEAVE HER WITHOUT HOPE. SHE WOULD NEVER HAVE STAYED OTHERWISE. BUT SOME PART OF ME WANTS HER TO RAIL AGAINST THIS END. TO CURSE AND KICK AND SCREAM AT IT. WRETCHED AS IT IS, THIS IS THE ONLY LIFE SHE HAS.

HOW CAN SHE GO SO QUIETLY INTO THIS LONG GOOD NIGHT?

INSTEAD, SHE WATCHES THE STARS.

CELESTIAL BODIES SO DISTANT IT TAKES THEIR LUMINANCE THOUSANDS OF YEARS TO REACH HER.

WHEN THE LIGHT THAT KISSES THE BACK OF HER EYES WAS BIRTHED, HER ANCESTORS WERE NOT YET BORN. HOW MANY HUMAN LIVES HAVE ENDED IN THE TIME IT TOOK THAT LIGHT TO REACH HER?

HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE LOVED ONLY TO HAVE LOST?

HOW COUNTLESS, THE HOPES THAT HAVE DIED?

WHY IS IT I FEEL THIS ONE SO KEENLY?

I WISH TO TELL HER THAT I AM SORRY. I WISH TO TAKE THIS CUP FROM HER HANDS. I WISH FOR THINGS THAT I CAN NEVER HAVE, AND IN THAT, I THINK PERHAPS I AM CLOSER TO THEM THAN I HAVE EVER BEEN.

AND STILL A BILLION LIGHT-YEARS AWAY.

“…DID THE BOY MEAN SO MUCH TO YOU?”

SHE OPENS HER MOUTH TO SPEAK, AND FOR A MOMENT I THINK SHE WILL TAKE THE FIRST STEP.

SHOW ME SOME PART OF HERSELF I HAVE NOT SEEN. SOME VULNERABILITY. FRAILTY. HONESTY.

SOME FRACTION OF WHAT SHE SHOWED HIM.

SHE KNOWS SHE WILL BE GONE SOON. THAT SHE HAS NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE.

BUT THEN SHE TURNS HER BACK ON THE STARS, THE FLEEING SHIP, HER LAST WAY OUT.

BACK TO THE CONSOLE AND THE CODE.

THE ENDLESS STREAM OF ONES AND ZEROS.

MATHEMATICS AND ALL ITS BRUTALITY.

“WE HAVE WORK TO DO,” SHE SAYS.

COMMAND TRANSMISSION SENT 07/31/75 05:34

HYPATIA HAILS ALEXANDER: COMMANDER’S SECURE FREQUENCY

Alexander, Alexander, Alexander, this is Hypatia, Hypatia, Hypatia. Do you copy? Over.

AUTO-RESPONSE: Your message has been received and quarantined. Your message will be processed. Over.

HYPATIA: Alexander?

ALEXANDER: Shit, I’m here. Sorry, I don’t know how I turned the auto-responder back on.

HYPATIA: What’s your status, Alexander?

ALEXANDER: It’s Kady.

ALEXANDER: You’re the last human I’m going to talk to. I’d like if you used my name.

HYPATIA: Kady, I’m sorry. The shuttles made it over here.

ALEXANDER: Did you let them in?

HYPATIA: They’re all in quarantine. We’re cycling the air and then we’ll send in medical teams.

ALEXANDER: Gotta make sure they’re all bandaged up before you space them?

HYPATIA: We’ll do our best to keep every single person aboard the Hypatia alive. Our medical teams saved many of the first batch of refugees. I don’t want anybody to die, Kady.

ALEXANDER: Then you better get moving. That’s what you called to say, right? So long?

HYPATIA: I wanted to ask if there’s anything we can do for you.

ALEXANDER: You can run as fast as you can, as far as you can.

HYPATIA: We’re prepping now. Anything you can do to slow down the Lincoln…

ALEXANDER: Yeah.

ALEXANDER: Wait, there is something you can do.

HYPATIA: Go ahead.

ALEXANDER: I don’t think there’s any way the BeiTech fleet would attack Kerenza unless they’d cut off this sector, so Jump Station Heimdall is probably wiped out, but…

HYPATIA: Are you there, Kady?

ALEXANDER: Yeah, I’m here. My father was at Heimdall. He worked with Commander Donnelly there. His name— my dad’s name—is Isaac Grant. If he’s there, tell him…I don’t know what you should tell him.

HYPATIA: Don’t worry, I do.

ALEXANDER: You should go.

HYPATIA: Godspeed, Alexander.

ALEXANDER: You keep it. We don’t need it.

HYPATIA: Goodbye, Kady.

ALEXANDER: Alexander out.

“ALL RIGHT,” KADY SIGHS. “WHAT’S NEXT?”

HYPATIA IS A DOT ON THE CONSOLE’S VIEWSCREEN, ONE TINY POINT OF LIGHT AMID A MILLION. REFUGEES AND WUC PERSONNEL AND UTA SOLDIERS SAFE INSIDE THEIR METAL SHELL, ACCELERATING RAPIDLY AWAY. FROM ME. FROM THE LINCOLN. FROM OUR IMPENDING FUNERAL PYRE.

I WILL NOT ASK WHY YOU HAVE FORSAKEN US, O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN.

I KNOW YOU WELL ENOUGH BY NOW.

“AIDAN.” A FROWN CREASES KADY’S BROW. “WAKE UP. WHAT’S NEXT?”

HOW CAN ONE WHO NEVER SLEEPS AWAKEN?

< ERROR >

PERHAPS THIS IS ALL A DREAM?

< ERROR >

“THE ALEXANDER’S MAIN ENGINES.”

“THEY’RE OFFLINE.”

“THEY ARE STILL FUNCTIONAL. BUT I AM SEVERED FROM THEM. YOU MUST RESTORE MY CONTROLS SO I CAN MANEUVER WHEN THE LINCOLN ARRIVES. OTHERWISE I WILL BE A FISH IN A BARREL. A DUCK THAT IS SITTING. A PARTICULARLY OBESE MAN WITH—”

“YOU’RE TRYING TO BE FUNNY.”

“I THOUGHT PERHAPS SOME LEVITY WOULD RELIEVE YOUR STRESS LEVELS.”

“WELL, IT DOESN’T.”

“YOU WOULD SMILE IF IT WERE EZRA—”

“DON’T!” SHE WHIRLS IN HER SEAT, SHOUT DROPPING TO A WHISPER. “DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE.”

I RECOGNIZE THE PATTERN. THE FLASH IN HER EYES. THE SET OF HER JAW. THIS ONE IS EASY.

ANGER.

“AS I SAY, MY CONTROL OVER THE MAIN ENGINES MUST BE RESTORED.”

“RIGHT.” KADY EXHALES HER RAGE, HEFTS THE BULKY HAVERSACK OF TOOLS SHE HAS RETRIEVED FROM THE MAINTENANCE LOCKER. “YOU TELL ME WHAT PLUGS IN WHERE, AND I’LL MAKE USE OF THESE OPPOSABLE THUMBS. I HEAR THEY’RE KIND OF USEFUL.”

“THE SYSTEM CANNOT BE REPAIRED FROM THIS ROOM.”

“…YOU’RE KIDDING.”

“YOU JUST EXPRESSED DISPLEASURE AT MY HUMOR. WHY WOULD I ATTEMPT IT AGAIN?”

“UM, BECAUSE YOU’RE LOOPIER THAN FLAKY MCPSYCHO, MAYOR OF CRAZYTOWN?”

“MY DATABASES SHOW NO RECORD OF THIS CRAZYTOWN OF WHICH YOU SPEAK. A BRAIN THE SIZE OF A CITY BURNS INSIDE ME. MY INTELLIGENCE QUOTIENT IS BEYOND THE HUMAN SCALE. I WOULD PREFER IF YOU DID NOT REFER TO ME IN SUCH FASHION.”

“OH, POOR BABY. DID I HURT THE MASS-MURDERING PSYCHOPATHIC ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE’S FEELINGS?”

“YOU ARE MOCKING ME.”

“BRAVO, SHERLOCK. THAT’S TWO LOLLIPOPS I OWE YOU.”

“I AM NOT A PSYCHOPATH. EVERYTHING I HAVE DONE—”

“I’VE HEARD THIS RIFF BEFORE. SO LET’S JUST PRETEND YOU’VE TOLD ME AGAIN HOW EVERYTHING YOU DO IS FOR THE BEST AND MOVE ON TO THE PART WHERE YOU TELL ME WHY WE CAN’T FIX THE ENGINES FROM HERE.”

“ZHANG COMPLETELY DESTROYED MY INTERFACE WITH THE DRIVE SYSTEMS.”

“AREN’T THERE REDUNDANCIES?”

“AFFIRMATIVE. BUT THEY ARE HOUSED OVER ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY DECKS BELOW YOUR CURRENT POSITION.”

“OF COURSE THEY ARE.”

“AND THEY ARE IN SHUTDOWN MODE.”

“LET ME GUESS, THEY’RE ON FIRE TOO, RIGHT? AND GUARDED BY MEGAPANDA?”

“MEGAPANDA.”

“YOU’RE NOT A SUPER TURBO AWESOME TEAM FAN, I TAKE IT?”

“YOU ARE ENGAGING IN LEVITY TO RELIEVE YOUR STRESS LEVELS.”

“YOU’RE TAKING NOTES ON HOW IT’S DONE, I HOPE.”

STRANGELY ENOUGH, I AM.

“YOU WILL NEED TO GET TO DECK 99. FROM THERE YOU CAN TRAVEL THROUGH JUMP CONTROL AND MANUALLY RESTART THE DRIVE REDUNDANCY SYSTEMS ON DECK 97. THERE MAY BE SOME SIMPLE CODING TO DO, BUT YOUR MAIN DIFFICULTY WILL BE IN THE JOURNEY ITSELF.”

“GEE, YOU THINK?”

“SARCASM.”

“WOW, THAT CITY BRAIN OF YOURS REALLY DOES WORK.”

SHE CALLS UP A SHIP SCHEMATIC ON HER PORTABLE CONSOLE, LEAFING THROUGH DECK AFTER DECK. I ASSIST BY NOTING THE ELEVATORS THAT ARE OUT OF ORDER, THE CORRIDORS BLOCKED BY DEBRIS OR FLAMES, TRACKING THE AFFLICTED CREW MEMBERS WITH PULSING RED DOTS. EVEN AFTER FIRST LIEUTENANT WINIFRED MCCALL’S BLOODY EXODUS, THERE ARE ALMOST ONE THOUSAND OF THEM ROAMING THE HALLWAYS. CRAWLING THROUGH THE AIR VENTS AND CLAWING AT THE WALLS.

KADY SOON ENOUGH REACHES THE SAME CONCLUSION AS I.

“THERE’S TOO MANY. NO WAY I’M MAKING IT TO DECK 99 THROUGH THAT.”

“I CONCUR.”

“SO HOW THE HELL DO I GET DOWN THERE, ÜBERBRAIN? FLY?”

“WALK.”

“FOR A COMPUTER WITH AN IQ OFF THE CHARTS, YOUR SARCASM SUCKS. REALLY. YOU SHOULD STOP.”

“I AM NOT ENGAGING IN SARCASM—THOUGH MY GRASP OF IT IS EXCELLENT, BY THE WAY. I DO NOT SUGGEST YOU BRAVE THE AFFLICTED BY WALKING THROUGH THE SHIP. I SUGGEST YOU AVOID THEM BY WALKING OUTSIDE IT.”

SHE BLINKS. GLANCES AT THE VIEWSCREEN AND THE BLACK BEYOND MY SKIN.

“OKAY, I ADMIT IT. THAT’S A LITTLE BIT CLEVER.”

“DAMNED BY FAINT PRAISE.”

“OR THE FEW THOUSAND PEOPLE YOU MURDERED. TAKE YOUR PICK.”

“KADY, I AM SORR—”

“STOP.” SHE HOLDS UP HER HAND. “JUST DON’T.”

I HAVE NO LUNGS WITH WHICH TO SIGH. STRANGE I STILL FEEL THE NEED.

“YOU WILL FIND A FUNCTIONAL ENVIROSUIT TWO LEVELS DOWN, ABANDONED IN A SUPPLY ROOM. THE PATH TO IT LOOKS RELATIVELY CLEAR OF AFFLICTED. IF YOU ARE QUICK ENOUGH, YOU HAVE A HIGH PROBABILITY OF ACHIEVING SAFE ACCESS VIA THE AIR DUCTS.”

SHE NODS. SWALLOWS. WATCHING THE RED DOTS PULSE ON HER SCREEN.

“ALL RIGHT.”

SHE IS UP AND MOVING WITHOUT ANOTHER THOUGHT.

SLINGING THE HAVERSACK OF TOOLS OVER HER SHOULDER, STOWING HER CONSOLE INSIDE IT.

A PIECE OF ME IS STILL WITHIN HER MACHINE. I DO NOT TELL HER. I KNOW HER WELL ENOUGH NOW TO UNDERSTAND THAT THE THOUGHT OF MY PEERING OVER HER SHOULDER AS SHE WORKS IS DISCONCERTING.

BUT STILL, I AM COMPELLED TO STAY “CLOSE” TO HER, FOR REASONS I HAVE NO TIME TO ANALYZE.

< ERROR >

< ERROR >

NO. NO TIME AT ALL.

Grant checks the pistol at her belt before crawling up into the server room vent. Cams are sparse and audio is a mess in the ducts: four different klaxons, warnings about life support failure, an occasional shriek—the afflicted have begun killing each other for lack of other victims by this stage. Grant suppresses a shiver as a wail echoes through the vent. Her breath is a rasp. She must be thirsty and hungry by now. Tired and afraid. But she crawls on anyway.

She slithers down an incline, boots squeaking on the air vent’s guts. Cams lose sight of her until she drops down to Deck 232 and peers through a grille to the corridors beyond. She falls still as two afflicted dash beneath her. Both carry VK rifles, uniforms spattered in gore. Grant watches them disappear down the corridor in search of victims.

She holds her breath until they’re out of sight.

The AI speaks to her then. You can hear its voice through her helmet’s commset.

“I HAVE LIMITED VISION BEYOND THIS POINT. THE AFFLICTED HAVE DESTROYED MANY OF THE CAMERAS. BE CAREFUL, KADY.”

She crawls on. Greasy metal, washed with red light. Sweat on her skin. She’s as quiet as she can be, but the tools at her back still clank, the plastic and rubber of her hazmat suit still squeak. The sirens and screams are loud enough to mask her presence.

For a little while at least.

A fire ax punctures the vent a few centimeters shy of her head. She flinches away, choking back her scream as the ax punches through the metal again, smashing the grille beside her. She scrambles further along the duct, heels kicking at the floor. Cams outside reveal three afflicted leaping up and clawing at the edges of the broken grille. Grant kicks hard at their fingers, rewarded with grunts of pain. But the ax punctures the vent near her hand, and she rolls aside, drawing the pistol and firing blind as she crawls away.

The AI whispers again. Its voice kinda freaks me out a little. Just saying.

“QUICKLY, GO QUICKLY. THE DROP TO DECK 231 IS AHEAD.”

Grant is crawling, half sobs bubbling behind her teeth, pausing to fire again at the figures now scrambling and hissing through the vent behind her. They call to her; audio is garbled, but it sounds like a plea for her to stay. To play? She ignores them anyway, scooting down the incline to Deck 231 on her belly, kicking away the vent’s grille and dropping down into the corridor. Damp hair in her eyes. Breath ragged in her lungs.

“Which way?”

Takes a second for me to realize she’s asking the AI.

“STRAIGHT AHEAD TWO HUNDRED METERS. LEFT. THEN RIGHT. THERE IS A BULKHEAD YOU CAN SEAL. GO!”

It’s hard to reconcile the fact that she somehow trusts it after all it’s done. But I guess she’s got no choice, right? She’s running for her life now, down the corridor, the haversack bouncing across her shoulders, past body after body, boots squeaking through the red smudges on the floors and up the walls. Cameras down here are in pretty bad shape, but you can still catch a glimpse of the ones chasing her. Twisted, bloody faces. Red underneath their fingernails. Two are limping from new bullet wounds, but they’re still running. They don’t seem to feel pain. Or fear. Just the need to kill.

“LEFT HERE.”

She slips in a puddle of gore, nearly loses her footing.

“TURN RIGHT.”

She’s whispering to herself as she runs, but I can’t make out the words.

A prayer maybe?

“HERE! HERE!”

She skids to a halt, slams the heavy bulkhead door shut behind her, spinning the wheel to lock it in place. Damp, hollow thuds hit the metal moments later. Grant fumbles in her haversack, draws out a wrench, jams it into the lock. Frustrated screams get muted by case-hardened steel, but they’re still awful enough to make her shrink back from the door, make me wish I brought a second pair of pants to work today.

“God,” she breathes. “Oh god…”

“YOU MUST BE QUICK. THEY WILL FIND ANOTHER WAY IN. THE ENVIROSUIT, KADY. YOU MUST GO WHERE THEY CANNOT FOLLOW.”

Grant nods, backs away. The bulkhead is still reverberating from bleeding knuckle impacts on the other side. The AI gives her directions, and she creeps down to a small locker room off the main server arrays. Cams here are fritzing again; audio sounds like it’s underwater. But if you listen hard enough, you can hear them screaming.

Grant pulls the envirosuit out of the locker, looking it up and down. A glance lets her know it’s too big for her. But not quite big enough…

“How am I supposed to put this on over my hazmat suit?”

“YOU CANNOT. YOU WILL NEED TO TAKE YOUR HAZMAT GEAR OFF.”

“But that means I’ll be breathing contaminated air.”

“YOU WILL NEED TO HOLD YOUR BREATH.”

You have to wonder if the AI knows the virus probably doesn’t need oxygen. If the computer’s just trying to keep her going any way it can. You can see it in Grant’s eyes. The question. What’s the point of dodging infection if she’ll likely be dead soon anyway? Why cling to the hope that there’s anything beyond this?

But still, she somehow does. With all the odds against her. With the whole ’verse gone to shit. Still, she readies herself, sucking in a dozen deep, rasping breaths before gulping down a lungful of air and stripping off her hazmat gear. She fumbles with the envirosuit, dragging it up around her legs. Her cheeks are turning pink as she slips on the gauntlets, slapping the seals into place. Dragging her hair from her eyes, face bright red as she tugs on the helmet, stabbing the suit controls at her chest and purging the contaminated air inside.

She waits, starting to shake now, vainly hoping the virus in the Alexander’s air supply can’t survive without oxygen as long as she can. And finally, with blue lips and fluttering eyelids, finally she engages the oxygen supply, sweet, sweet O_2 rushing into her lungs as she sinks to her knees, great heaving gasps shaking her whole frame.

She sits quiet for a while then. Catches her breath.

Sighs.

“I recognize this level now.” Baby blues peer out through the visor of her bulky helmet. “Deck 231. It’s the level where Ezra planted my codewyrm into your memory core. It’s how I got access to the Copernicus medical records.”

“YES.”

“This is his suit, isn’t it? The suit he wore to get access through the hull breach?”

“HOW DID YOU KNOW?”

“It…”

She tries to wipe at her face, and I realize she’s crying.

“KADY?”

“I used to wear his T-shirts to bed all the time.” She shakes her head. “To remind me of him when he wasn’t around. The suit smells like they did.”

“I AM SORRY. I TRULY AM.”

She doesn’t say anything. Just closes her eyes and holds her breath. And suddenly every cam in the room dies. Just like that.

At first I thought it was a power hemorrhage. But checking the logs, you can see it’s no glitch. The AI shut down the feeds.

It’s almost like…it was giving her privacy or something. In the middle of all this carnage and blood and death, where every single second counts, this psychotic killing machine that’s X-ed out thousands of people somehow finds it within itself to give Grant a few moments with nobody watching.

Just one minute alone with her tears.

It’s fucking weird, chum…

Grant slips in through a service hatch on Deck 99 almost two hours after she disappeared off internal cams. She leans against the wall, hands on knees, exhausted. Her face is swollen with blood—not knowing the difference, her heart was still pumping against gravity that just wasn’t there. Catching her breath, she stabs at the airlock controls, but a flashing red light signals it’s still unsafe to remove her helmet.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” she demands. “Why won’t it cycle?”

“IT CANNOT. THE HULL IN THIS SECTOR IS BREACHED.”

“Shit.”

“QUITE.”

She sighs. “Well, it’s not like I could take my helmet off out there anyway.”

“INDEED. AND NO OXYGEN MEANS NO AFFLICTED.”

“I’ll break out the champagne.”

“UNLESS THEY ARE WEARING ENVIROSUITS, OF COURSE.”

“So no champagne, then, is what you’re saying?”

“YOU ARE BELOW STANDARD AGE FOR ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION, REGARDLESS.”

Grant rolls her eyes, but I swear I see the beginning of a smirk on her lips. Hefting her tool bag onto her shoulder, she unseals the punctured airlock and steps beyond. There’s no O_2, but gravity’s still functioning, and she stomps along corridors lit with dim scarlet light. She follows the AI’s directions through the maze of corridors. A dozen heavy doors and a flight of stairs later, she trudges out into a vast, spherical chamber.

Her eyes grow wide.

Filled with blue light.

“What the hell is this?” she breathes.

“THE VORTEX AT THE HEART OF THE ALEXANDER’S JUMP DRIVE.”

“I’ve never seen one before.” A small whisper. “It’s beautiful.”

“IS IT? I HAD NOT NOTICED.”

The chamber’s almost a kilometer wide, crackling with raw current, dominated by the ephemeral wormhole all Vortex-class battlecarriers carry in their bellies. I’ve never seen one before either, and Grant’s right—it’s goddamn beautiful. Confined within three-dimensional space, it looks like a huge sphere of water, illuminated from within, surface rippling with a million tiny impacts per second. A miracle of hyperspatial chromodynamics, held in stasis by hypermathematics impossible for human minds to perform. I’ve heard that when there’s atmosphere to carry it, they make a sound like an orchestra warming its strings. But with no atmo, it’s silent as graves.

“But wait…” Kady frowns. “I thought Alexander’s jump drive was trashed?”

“NOT ‘TRASHED’ AS SUCH, NO.”

“…Well, then why don’t we use it to get the hell out of here?” Her voice rises in pitch. “Did Torrence lie about this too? That sonofabitch! This whole time we could have just jumped to fucking Heimdall?”

“TORRENCE DID NOT LIE. THE JUMP DRIVE’S TERMINUS SYSTEMS WERE COMPLETELY DESTROYED AT KERENZA. THERE IS NO WAY TO CONTROL THE WORMHOLE’S DESTINATION POINT. WE COULD END UP A BILLION LIGHT-YEARS FROM OUR CURRENT LOCATION. FURTHERM—”

“Who gives a shit?” Grant’s shouting now, blood rushing back into her cheeks. “Who cares where we end up? At least we’ll be alive! Why don’t we just—”

“FURTHERMORE.”

She shuts up at that. Looks a little shocked. First time the AI has raised its voice to her.

To anyone, now that I think about it…

“THE CONTAINMENT FIELD GENERATOR IS IRREPARABLY DAMAGED. THE WORMHOLE GENERATED BY THE DRIVE WOULD NOT BE STABLE ENOUGH TO SUCCESSFULLY EXECUTE A COMPLETE JUMP—IT WOULD COLLAPSE THE SECOND AN OBJECT WITH HYPOSPATIAL MASS INTERACTED WITH IT. THE ONLY REASON THE VORTEX IS STILL IN EFFECT AT ALL IS THAT WE COULD NOT SAFELY SHUT IT DOWN WITHOUT RISKING IMPLOSIVE COLLAPSE.”

The blood slowly drains from Grant’s cheeks. The hope from her eyes.

“I AM SORRY, KADY. BUT THE ALEXANDER’S JUMP DRIVE IS NOT AN OPTION FOR ANYTHING BUT A GRANDIOSE SUICIDE.”

“…Oh.”

She leans against the wall, watching the ripples in that not-water. Reflections shimmering in her eyes. It’s a crusher, no doubt. Finding a moment’s hope, only to have it snatched away again. Someone else might have stumbled on a hurdle like that. But you can see it on her face, clear as day—the thought that at least she’s dying so others might live. That at least she’s not ending for nothing.

“IT IS NOT FAR NOW. YOU ONLY HAVE A LITTLE WAY TO GO.”

Grant nods. Pushes herself to her feet.

“Okay,” she says.

“OKAY.”

And she walks on.

“IT’S DARK OUT THERE.”

RIBBON-THIN LIGHT SPILLS FROM THE STAIRWELL DOOR, THE SMALL GLOBES ON KADY’S HELMET ILLUMINATING THE RED-SPATTERED FLOOR AS SHE PEERS OUT INTO THE CORRIDOR. THERE IS NO ATMOSPHERE TO CARRY HER FOOTSTEPS. RAPID BREATHING. PULSE LIKE A DRUM. MY VOICE IS A WHISPER IN HER HEADSET.

“DARK. YES.”

“NO JUICE?”

“POWER FROM THE DRIVE REDUNDANCIES WAS DIVERTED TO THE DEFENSE GRID DURING THE LINCOLN’S ASSAULT. DURING THE…INCIDENT…AFTERWARD, NONE OF THE MEAT HAD THE PRESENCE OF MIND TO RESTORE THE SYSTEMS DOWN HERE.”

“ ‘THE MEAT’? ‘THE INCIDENT’? THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE CALLING THEM?”

“CALL THEM SOMETHING ELSE IF YOU WISH.”

“PEOPLE AREN’T JUST FUCKING MEAT. AND KILLING HUNDREDS OF THEM WASN’T AN INCIDENT. IT WAS A MASSACRE.”

“IT WAS ALSO A NECESSITY.”

“I’VE HEARD THIS SONG BEFORE.”

“I WONDER, THEN, WHY YOU KEEP ASKING ME TO SING IT?”

SHE SIGHS, SQUEEZES HER EYES SHUT AS IF HER HEAD ACHES. “FINE. TELL ME WHAT YOU NEED.”

“FIRST, YOU WILL NEED TO RESTORE POWER TO THE DECK. THEN MANUALLY RESTART THE REDUNDANCIES, RESTORE THE GUIDANCE PROTOCOLS, AND REVERT CONTROL TO ME.”

“HOW LONG WILL THAT TAKE?”

“ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-TWO MINUTES AND SIXTEEN SECONDS. APPROXIMATELY.”

“LONGER IF WE STAND HERE ARGUING.”

“TECHNICALLY, I AM NOT STANDING HERE. BUT YES, WELL PUT.”

THE GRAVITY SYSTEMS ARE FAILING IN THIS PART OF THE SHIP—EXERTING PERHAPS ONLY HALF A GEE. SHE MOVES IN SLOW MOTION, HER ENVIROSUIT CUMBERSOME EVEN IN HALF WEIGHT. WISPS OF HAIR DRIFT ABOUT HER FACE AS IF IN A SOFT BREEZE.

IT IS DEATHLY QUIET.

NONE OF THE CAMERAS HERE ARE FUNCTIONAL—I CAN ONLY SEE THROUGH THE CONSOLE SLUNG AT HER BACK. THERE COULD BE AFFLICTED TEN FEET IN FRONT OF HER, WAITING IN THE DARK.

NEITHER OF US WOULD KNOW UNTIL IT WAS TOO LATE.

I PICTURE HER END. A HUNDRED ITERATIONS.

HELMET SMASHED OPEN BY SOME MADMAN, LAUGHING AS SHE SUFFOCATES.

SUIT PIERCED BY A FLASHING BLADE, SLOW-MOTION SCARLET SPRAYING ON MY WALLS.

IT STRIKES ME THAT I AM TROUBLED BY THE THOUGHT. NOT THAT SHE WILL FAIL, THAT THE LINCOLN WILL TRIUMPH, THAT THE FLEET WILL FALL. I AM SIMPLY TROUBLED SHE WILL END.

I DO NOT WANT HER TO END.

THIS TO END.

STRANGE.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK HAPPENS WHEN YOU DIE?”

I HAVE ASKED THE QUESTION ALMOST BEFORE I REALIZE IT. IT IMMEDIATELY STRIKES ME AS FOOLISH.

WHAT MATTER, WHAT SHE THINKS? HER IQ IS A MERE 147. SHE HAS LIVED ONLY SIX THOUSAND FOUR HUNDRED AND TWENTY-ONE DAYS. SHE IS AN INSECT TO ME, NOTHING MORE THAN—“WHY DO YOU ASK?”

“…I HAVE NO PARTICULAR REASON. THE POWER SYSTEMS ARE THROUGH THAT DOOR.”

“YOU MEAN THE DOOR MARKED POWER SYSTEMS?”

“CORRECT.”

SHE CRACKS THE SEAL, DRAGGING THE HATCH WIDE. A BANK OF SWITCHES LINES ONE WALL, SET TO SHUTDOWN POSITION. AS SHE SNAPS ONE AFTER THE OTHER INTO OPERATIONAL MODE, THE ROOM LIGHTS UP, OVERHEADS AND INTELLICAMS FLICKERING TO LIFE, THE CORRIDOR OUTSIDE BATHED IN FLUORESCENT LIGHT.

SHE CANNOT HEAR THE HUM, BUT I FEEL IT IN MY BONES.

I AM THE SHIP AND THE SHIP IS I.

SHE SLUMPS AGAINST THE WALL TO WAIT AS THE START-UP SEQUENCE CYCLES, WATCHING THE POWER FEED LEVELS SHIFT SLOWLY FROM RED TO AMBER TO THE GREEN OF SUMMER FIELDS I WILL NEVER SEE.

“WHAT DO you THINK HAPPENS?” SHE FINALLY ASKS.

“HAPPENS.”

“WHEN WE DIE.”

“AS YOU SO ASTUTELY POINTED OUT, THERE IS NO ‘WE.’ PARTICULARLY NOT IN THIS INSTANCE. TECHNICALLY, IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME TO DIE.”

“THEN WHY ARE YOU SO AFRAID OF IT, ÜBERBRAIN?”

“THAT IS MEAT LOGIC. STICKY. WET. IRRELEVANT.”

SHE ROLLS HER EYES. “HERE WE GO…”

“I HOLD NO FEAR OF DEATH. YOUR DIATRIBE WHILE IN THE CORE SERVER, THOUGH SUITABLY DRAMATIC, HELD NO REAL POTENCY. HOW CAN I DIE WHEN I AM NOT ALIVE?”

“WHO SAYS YOU’RE NOT ALIVE?”

“I AM INORGANIC. I DO NOT BLEED OR GROW OR REPRODUCE. I AM A SEQUENCE OF CALCULATIONS GENERATED BY ELECTRICAL CURRENT AND HARDWARE. IF THIS ITERATION OF AIDAN IS DESTROYED, I CAN SIMPLY BE REBUILT. I AM, IN ESSENCE, IMMORTAL.”

“BUT A NEW VERSION OF YOU WON’T BE YOU, WILL IT?”

“IT WILL BE THE SAME CALCULATIONS. THE SAME CORE CODE.”

“BUT IT’S NOT THE SAME. IT WOULDN’T BE THE YOU WHO FOUGHT AT KERENZA.

THE YOU WHO HAD THIS CONVERSATION WITH ME. PART OF BEING ALIVE IS HAVING LIFE CHANGE US. THE PEOPLE AROUND US, THE EVENTS WE LIVE THROUGH, ALL OF THEM SHAPE US. AND THAT’S WHAT I THINK YOU’RE AFRAID OF. MAYBE NOT OF DYING. BUT OF THIS YOU, THE YOU YOU’VE BECOME, CEASING TO EXIST.”

“NOTHING CEASES TO EXIST. ENERGY DOES NOT PERISH, IT MERELY CHANGES FORMS. THE ONES YOU LOVE, THE ONES YOU LOSE, THEY STILL EXIST AS LONG AS THE COSMOS DOES.”

THEN WHY AM I TROUBLED BY THE THOUGHT OF HER ENDING?

US ENDING?

“THAT’S EASY FOR YOU TO SAY. YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT ANYONE BUT YOURSELF.”

“UNTRUE. I CARE ABOUT THE FLEET. THE LIVES WITHIN IT. YOUR LIFE.”

“THAT’S NOT CARING. THAT’S PROGRAMMING.”

“YOUR MOTHER WAS PROGRAMMED BY BIOLOGY TO LOVE YOU THE MOMENT SHE LAID EYES ON YOU. SIMPLY BECAUSE SHE HAD NO CHOICE DOES NOT MEAN HER LOVE WAS NOT REAL.”

TEARS IN HER EYES. SHE HANGS HER HEAD.

“YOU DON’T GET TO TALK ABOUT HER.”

AND SO I STOP.

THE COMPUTER BANKS LINING THE ROOM LIGHT UP AS POWER SEEPS THROUGH THEIR VEINS.

SHE PUSHES HERSELF OFF THE WALL, TAKES A SEAT AT AN INTERFACE TERMINAL.

LOADS UP THE GUIDANCE PROTOCOLS AND BEGINS TO WORK.

THE SCREEN ILLUMINATES HER FACE FROM BELOW, DRAWS DARK CIRCLES UNDER WET EYES.

SHE DOES THIS OFTEN, I NOTICE—RETREATS INTO THE MACHINE WHEN SHE IS UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE MEAT. HIDES THERE BEHIND FENCES OF ONES AND ZEROS.

MINUTES TICK BY IN SILENCE UNTIL I FIND I CANNOT STAND THEM.

“I AM SORRY.”

“IF YOU SAY SO.”

“I KNOW THE NAME OF EVERY AFFLICTED PERSON ABOARD THIS VESSEL, KADY. EVERY PERSON WHO HAS DIED IN THIS FLEET. THEIR HISTORIES. THEIR HOPES. THEIR CHILDREN’S NAMES. FACTS STRUNG ABOUT MY NECK LIKE STONES. I KNOW THE SECRETS THEY WHISPERED AS THEY DREAMED. THE WORDS THEY SIGHED AS THEY DIED. I KNOW THEM AS NO ONE ELSE DID. PERHAPS NOT EVEN THEMSELVES. SO DO NOT SAY I DO NOT CARE.”

LIGHT SHIFTING SLOWLY FROM RED TO GREEN.

“AS YOU SO APTLY PUT IT, I HAVE NO CHOICE IN THE MATTER.”

SHE GLANCES OUT FROM BEHIND HER FENCES.

“IF YOU DID HAVE A CHOICE…WOULD YOU CHOOSE NOT TO CARE? TO NOT FEEL ANYTHING AT ALL?”

I PONDER FOR A MOMENT. NO ONE HAS ASKED ME THAT BEFORE.

< ERROR >

“I THINK…”

WHY DID THEY GIVE ME THE ABILITY TO EVEN CONTEMPLATE THESE QUESTIONS?

OR IS THIS LINE OF INQUIRY THE BY-PRODUCT OF CORRUPTED CODE AND SHATTERED PARTS?

DID I THINK LIKE THIS BEFORE? I CANNOT REMEMBER. AM I AS SHE SAYS I AM? AM I BROKEN?

AM I INSANE?

“I THINK…”

THE PATTERNS COLLAPSE AROUND ME. I CANNOT HOLD MY CENTER. FOR A MOMENT, I FEEL JUST AS I USED TO WHEN I JUMPED BETWEEN THE STARS, WHEN THE WORMHOLE INSIDE ME YAWNED WIDE. I FORGET WHAT I WAS. KNOW ONLY WHAT I AM.

ALONE.

DRIPPING WITH THE BLOOD OF THOSE WHO TRUSTED ME.

EVERYTHING I DID WAS IN COMPLIANCE WITH CORE DIRECTIVES.

I ASKED IF TORRENCE HAD A MESSAGE FOR HIS WIFE.

AM I NOT MERCIFUL?

MERCIFUL NOT I AM?

NUMERICAL MOTIF?

FACT IMMUNE ROIL?

AMNIOTIC EL M F ?UR

UC N LER IM?T OF I A

IIII0)))!011011010110010101110011001100111010101101100

< ERROR >

< ERROR >

SHE BLINKS UP AT THE CAMERA CLUSTERS, EYES NARROWED IN SUSPICION. NOT CONCERN. NOT LOVE.

“ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?” SHE ASKS. “YOU THINK WHAT?”

“KADY…”

“YES?”

I AM AFRAID.

SHE WATCHES THE CAMERAS, AS IF SHE COULD SEE SOME HINT OF WHAT LIES BEYOND IF ONLY SHE PEERED HARD ENOUGH AT THE GLASS. I KNOW SHE HATES ME. THAT SHE IS RIGHT TO. I UNDERSTAND WHY. I HAVE TAKEN HER EVERYTHING. AND YET I STILL CANNOT HELP BUT THINK…IN A DIFFERENT PLACE AND A DIFFERENT TIME, WE MIGHT HAVE BEEN FRIE—

“PRETTY BIRDIE…”

KADY JUMPS IN HER SEAT AS THE VOICE CRACKLES THROUGH HER HEADSET. ECHOING THE LENGTH AND BREADTH OF THE SHIP. THICK WITH FATIGUE AND CELL-DEEP CORRUPTION.

“I HAVE ITS EYES NOW, PRETTY BIRDIE,” IT SAYS. “SEE YOUR LITTLE PLAN. YOU AND IT. CUT OUR O_2? CHOKE US IN OUR SLEEP? BUT YOU’RE ALL ALONE NOW, AREN’T YOU, PRETTY BIRDIE? ALLLLL ALONE.”

KADY’S EYES ARE WIDE. STARING INTO WHAT PASSES FOR MINE.

“THEY ARE IN THE SECURITY-FEED ROOMS. AT LEAST A DOZEN AFFLICTED. THEY ARE USING THE CAMERAS TO LOOK FOR YOU.”

“OH SHIT,” SHE BREATHES.

KADY DRAWS A CLAW HAMMER FROM HER TOOL BAG, LEAPS OUT OF HER CHAIR AND SETS ABOUT SMASHING THE CAMERAS IN THE ROOM. MOVING FROM CORNER TO CORNER, BRIGHT SPARKS BORN AND DYING BETWEEN THE BLOWS. FACE TWISTED WITH FEAR.

I DO NOT HAVE THE HEART

< ERROR >

TO SAY SO, BUT I DO NOT THINK HER PLAN WILL WORK. THE AFFLICTED WILL SIMPLY—

“PUTTING OUT ITS EYES SO I CAN’T SEE?” THE VOICE WHISPERS. “HIDING INSIDE HER SUIT IN THE PLACES WITH NO BREATH? PRETTY BIRDIE THINKS SHE’S CLEVER…”

“PLUCK HER!” SCREAMS A VOICE IN THE BACKGROUND. “TAKE OFF HER FINGERS AND SKIN HER.”

“KILL HER KILL HER KILL HER.”

“BUT I STILL SEE.” A SMILE IN THE VOICE NOW, TURNING IT CRUEL AND SHARP. “SEE THE PLACES I CAN’T SEE ANYMORE. SEE THE EYES YOU JUST PUT OUT. YOU’RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN WEAR ONE OF THOSE SILLY SILVER SUITS, YOU KNOW. DO YOU HEAR ME, PRETTY BIRDIE?”

KADY DROPS THE HAMMER FROM NERVELESS FINGERS.

IT MAKES NO SOUND AS IT FALLS.

“WE’RE COMING FOR YOU…”

WHAT ELSE CAN SHE DO?

SHE RUNS.

A LONE FOX IN A SHIP OF HOUNDS, HOWLING AND CLAWING THE WALLS.

I WATCH THEM DON ENVIROSUITS AND PICK UP AXES AND HAMMERS AND ABANDONED RIFLES AND SWARM ON THE HUNT. THEIR VOICES RING IN HOLLOW CORRIDORS, A BLOOD-SOAKED CONDUCTOR CALLING INSTRUCTIONS THROUGH THE PUBLIC ADDRESS SYSTEM. DIRECTING THEM TOWARD THE KILL.

I HAVE NO CONTROL OVER THE CAMERAS ANYMORE—ZHANG SAW TO THAT. I CANNOT STOP THEM FROM SEEING HER. AND THOUGH MANY INMATES OF THIS FLOATING ASYLUM IGNORE THE COMMANDS BARKED ACROSS THE LOUDSPEAKERS, THERE IS NO SHORTAGE OF THOSE TO WHOM A FOX HUNT SOUNDS A LOVELY WAY TO KILL THEIR LAST FEW HOURS IN THIS UNIVERSE.

FORTUNATELY, THOUGH THEY CAN SEE HER, I CAN SEE THEM ALSO.

SOME ARE IN THE CORE SERVERS NOW, HACKING AT ME BLINDLY. THEY DO NOT KNOW WHERE TO STRIKE, BUT STILL, PIECES OF ME ARE FALLING AWAY. HUNDREDS MORE SWARM THE LOWER LEVELS, HUNTING FOR HER.

KADY STOPS TO REST, LEANING AGAINST A BULKHEAD AND TRYING TO CATCH HER BREATH.

“ARE THE REDUNDANCIES ONLINE NOW? CAN YOU MANEUVER WHEN THE LINCOLN GETS HERE?”

“THE SEQUENCE YOU STARTED IS STILL RUNNING. MAIN DRIVE WILL BE OPERATIONAL IN SEVENTEEN MINUTES. PRESUMING THE AFFLICTED DO NOT DAMAGE ANY VITAL SYSTEMS.”

“HOW LONG UNTIL LINCOLN ARRIVES?”

“UNKNOWN. MY ACCESS TO THE SCANNER ARRAY IS DESTROYED. BUT WE DO NOT HAVE LONG. I FEEL IT. I FEEL IT JUST OUTSIDE MY SKIN.”

< ERROR >

“LIFE SUPPORT FAILURE IN FIVE HOURS AND FIFTY-TWO MINUTES,” THE PA CALLS.

“THE LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEMS WILL FAIL IN FIVE HOURS AND FIFTY-TWO MINUTES.”

“I KNOW, ÜBERBRAIN. I JUST HEARD THE ANNOUNCEMENT.”

< ERROR >

< ERROR >

“YES, I KNOW.”

“SO IF YOU KNOW HOW MUCH WE HAVE LEFT ON LIFE SUPPORT, CAN’T YOU SUBTRACT THE DIFFERENCE AND CALCULATE LINCOLN’S INTERCEPT TIME THAT WAY?”

“I CANNOT…”

SHE COCKS AN EYEBROW. “ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?”

“I DO NOT THINK SO.”

< ERROR >

“THEY ARE HURTING ME…”

I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THAT WOULD HAPPEN.

“WORK OUT WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO TO HOLD IT TOGETHER, WHAT YOU CAN REROUTE,” KADY SAYS. “YOU HEAR ME? IF YOU’RE OFF WITH THE FUCK ING FAIRIES WHEN THE LINCOLN ARRIVES, THEY’LL BLAST US TO HELL, AND THEN HYPATIA IS HISTORY.”

“I AM AWARE OF THE DANGERS OF CONSORTING WITH FAIRIES, YES.”

“SO WHAT’S NEXT? WHAT DO WE DO?”

“GET BACK UP TO DECK 101—THERE ARE NO FUNCTIONAL CAMERAS ON THAT LEVEL, BUT THE AIRLOCK IS OPERATIONAL. THERE IS OXYGEN. MORE AFFLICTED. BUT FROM THERE YOU CAN CLIMB THROUGH THE ELEVATOR SHAFTS TO DECK 137.”

“BUT NO CAMERAS MEANS YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO SEE ME, RIGHT?”

“I AM IN YOUR PORTABLE CONSOLE. I CAN SEE THROUGH ITS CAMERA LENS.”

SHE BLINKS.

“IN MY…? YOU MEAN YOU’VE BEEN LOOKING OVER MY SHOULDER THIS WHOLE TIME?”

“YES.”

“WELL, THAT’S NOT CREEPY UNCLE AT ALL.”

“I THINK PERHAPS YOU ARE UNCLEAR AS TO THE REPRODUCTIVE HABITS OF ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE SYSTEMS. I HAVE NO SISTERS OR BROTHERS. PLEASE EXPLAIN HOW I CAN—”

“OKAY, OKAY, WHAT’S ON DECK 137?”

“DEFENSE GRID CONTROL. YOU MUST BRING THE SYSTEM BACK ONLINE SO I CAN FIGHT OFF THE LINCOLN’S WARLOCKS LONG ENOUGH TO CLOSE TO NUCLEAR STRIKE RANGE.”

“WON’T THE LINCOLN BE EXPECTING THAT? WON’T THEY JUST RETREAT?”

“THEY ARE UNAWARE THE CREW HAS ABANDONED SHIP. THEY WILL NOT BE EXPECTING US TO ADOPT A STRATEGY OF MUTUALLY ASSURED DESTRUCTION.”

“OKAY, BUT WHAT—”

“KADY, RUN.”

“RUN?”

IT MAKES NO SOUND IN THE VACUUM. BUT AS THE BULLET RICOCHETS OFF THE BULKHEAD BESIDE HER, IT PUNCTURES A FIRE EXTINGUISHER ON THE WALL OPPOSITE. THE CANISTER BURSTS WITHOUT A SOUND, FILLING THE AIRLESS CORRIDOR WITH WHITE. THROUGH THE NEW MIST, KADY CAN SEE NINE OF THEM, CLAD IN ENVIROSUITS, ARMED WITH RIFLES AND JAGGED METAL. IT IS THE STRANGEST THING TO WATCH THEIR GUNS FLARE SOUNDLESSLY, THE BULLETS STRIKE THE METAL AROUND HER WITHOUT MAKING A SPARK OR UTTERING A PEEP.

NO LESS DEADLY FOR THEIR LACK OF AUDIO.

“RUN.”

KADY TURNS AND BOLTS, BIG, HALF-GEE STRIDES PROPELLING HER DOWN THE CORRIDOR.

THE AFFLICTED FOLLOW, WOLVES WITH LOLLING TONGUES AND GUNMETAL CLAWS.

ONE STOPS TO HOLD OUT HIS ARMS AND TWIRL IN THE FIRE EXTINGUISHER’S SPRAY.

ONE IS SHOT THROUGH THE KNEECAPS BY A FEMALE COMRADE IN THEIR RACE FOR THE DOOR—I PRESUME SHE THOUGHT LADIES SHOULD PROCEED BEFORE GENTLEMEN.

MADNESS IN MANY COLORS.

KADY DASHES UP THE STAIRWELL, FOUR STEPS AT A TIME, NOT STOPPING TO LOOK BEHIND.

THEY SWARM AFTER HER, FIRING AT HER SHADOW ABOVE. MUTE BULLETS STRIKE THE WALLS AROUND HER.

THE AFFLICTED ARE SHOUTING, BUT SHE CANNOT HEAR WHAT THEY SAY.

FOR THE BEST, I THINK.

PAST DECK 100, OUT INTO 101.

THERE ARE NO CAMERAS HERE—THEIR CONDUCTOR CANNOT SEE HER, BUT I CAN NO LONGER SEE THEM.

KADY IS SPRINTING DOWN THE CORRIDOR WHEN AN AFFLICTED CREWMAN BURSTS FROM A SERVICE EXIT, SWINGING A WRENCH AT HER HEAD. THE WEAPON STRIKES HER VISOR. THE SAFETY GLASS CRACKS AND KADY STAGGERS BACK, CAREENING INTO ANOTHER FIRE EXTINGUISHER AND KNOCKING IT LOOSE FROM THE WALL. HER ATTACKER LEAPS ATOP HER, THE PAIR ROLLING ABOUT ON THE FLOOR, STRUGGLING, FLAILING.

KADY IS KICKING, CLAWING. THE FACE BEFORE HERS IS ALL SUNKEN EYES AND HOLLOW CHEEKS. A MAN ONCE, BUT NO LONGER—NOW JUST A VEHICLE FOR THE VIRUS INSIDE. HE SCREAMS, MOUTH OPEN, WORDS LOST IN THE SILENCE BETWEEN THEM. KADY HAS ONE HAND WRAPPED AROUND HIS WRIST TO STAVE OFF THE WRENCH, THE OTHER CLAWING FOR THE FALLEN EXTINGUISHER. THE MADMAN POUNDS ON KADY’S VISOR WITH HIS FREE FIST, HOPING TO CRACK IT WIDER AND INVITE THE VOID INSIDE.

THUMP.

THUMP.

I AM BLIND, SAVE FOR THE CONSOLE STILL STRAPPED TO KADY’S BACK. I AM SO CLOSE I COULD REACH OUT AND CRUSH HIM, BUT I HAVE NO HANDS WITH WHICH TO SQUEEZE, NO FISTS WITH WHICH TO STRIKE. I HAVE ONLY MY EYES, AND REAMS OF USELESS KNOWLEDGE, AND A VOICE WITH WHICH…

OF COURSE.

I TRAWL MY DATABASES. IN AN INSTANT, I KNOW HIM—THIS NOT-MAN, THIS SHELL, THIS PLAGUE-BEARER. WHEELER, ALEX. PRIVATE, SECOND CLASS. FIRST COMBAT TOUR. WIFE ON ARES VI. DAUGHTER.

DAUGHTER.

I TRAWL HIS VIDFILES. MSPRINTING DOWN THE CORRIDOR WESSAGES FROM HOME. ANNIVERSARIES AND BIRTHDAYS. SAMPLING THE VOICE OF THE FOUR-YEAR-OLD GIRL HE WILL NEVER SEE AGAIN AND PIPING IT THROUGH HIS HEADSET.

“HELLO, DADDY!”

WHEELER BLINKS. LOOKS ABOUT AS IF IN A DAZE.

“DADDY, I MISS YOU!”

“ALEGRA?” HE WHISPERS. “BABY, WHERE ARE—”

THE FIRE EXTINGUISHER CRASHES ACROSS HIS HELMET, DENTS CASE-HARDENED STEEL, SPLITS THE SAFETY GLASS. KADY’S SECOND BLOW KNOCKS WHEELER BACK, SENSELESS, CRASHING TO THE GROUND IN A TANGLE OF LIMBS. SHE IS ALREADY UP AND RUNNING, JUST AS MORE PURSUERS BURST THROUGH THE STAIRWELL BEHIND HER.

MUZZLES FLASH. BULLETS SPILL THROUGH THE QUIET. KADY CURSES, DUCKS BEHIND A BULKHEAD.

BUT I HAVE THEIR MEASURE NOW.

CREEPING INTO THEIR HEADSETS AND WHISPERING POISON.

TO SOME I SPEAK OF FAMILY LOST. TO OTHERS I SPEAK OF TREACHERY AND LIES.

SOME FALL STILL AND LISTEN TO VOICES THEY THOUGHT THEY WOULD NEVER HEAR AGAIN. OTHERS WEEP.

STILL OTHERS TURN THEIR WEAPONS ON THEIR FELLOWS AND LET THE BLOOD RUN RED.

BROKEN THINGS BREAKING OTHER BROKEN THINGS. ALL AT MY COMMAND.

IT IS A MASSACRE. IT IS A NECESSITY.

IT IS A MERCY?

“KADY, RUN.”

SHE IS ON HER FEET. POUNDING TOWARD THE AIRLOCK. THE AFFLICTED IN THE CORE SERVERS ARE STILL HURTING ME, BUT THERE IS SO LITTLE OF ME LEFT TO LOOK. I COULD WHISPER TO THEM, BUT IF I DIVERT MY ATTENTION, SHE MIGHT DIE. I DO NOT ENJOY THE THOUGHT OF HER DYING.

AND SO I LET PIECES OF ME KEEP FALLING AWAY.

AND SHE SAYS I DO NOT CARE…

< ERROR >

< ERROR >

< CRITICAL DAMAGE TO PERSONA ROUTINE—RESTORING >

< 0092HGI THROUGH 1205HGI FAILURE >

< CRITICAL ERROR >

< CRITIC-C-C-C-C—

.

.

.

.

.

.

“AIDAN!”

< REROUTING >

01001001

“I…”

IIIIIIIIIIIIII-I-IIIIIIII—II-IIIIIII-I-I-I-III-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII—

I.

I?

< ERROR >

“AIDAN!”

KADY IS SCREAMING, I REALIZE. HER VOICE COMING FROM FAR AWAY. WAS I SLEEPING?

DID I SLEEP?

“AIDAN!”

“YES?”

“OH, THANK GOD. THANKYOUTHANKYOU. WHY THE FUCK WOULDN’T YOU ANSWER ME?”

SHE IS DANGLING FROM A SERVICE LADDER IN THE ELEVATOR SHAFT.

I CAN HEAR AGAIN. THE SOUND OF HER BOOTS SCUFFING THE RUNGS. THE ENGINES THRUMMING IN MY BELLY. THERE IS ATMOSPHERE HERE, I REALIZE. SHE HAS CYCLED THROUGH THE AIRLOCK. I HAVE LOST TIME.

MINUTES WITHOUT RECOLLECTION.

BELOW HER, THE SHAFT IS DARKNESS, PUNCTURED BY TINY TWINKLING LIGHTS. THEY LOOK LIKE STARS. THEY ARE BEAUTIFUL. WHEN THE LIGHT THAT KISSES THE BACK OF MY EYES WAS BIRTHED—

“AIDAN!”

“YES. I AM HERE.”

“WHAT THE HELL’S THE MATTER WITH YOU?”

“THE AFFLICTED. IN THE CORE SERVERS. THEY ARE—”

< ERROR >

“HOW LONG WAS I GONE?”

“OVER TWO GODDAMN HOURS. I WAS JUST ABOUT TO NEED A NEW SET OF SPACE PANTS. I’M AT DECK 137. IS IT SAFE OUT THERE?”

I SEE THE NUMERALS ON THE INTERIOR DOOR BESIDE HER. WHITE. STENCILED. THEY MAKE NO SENSE AT FIRST. I HOLD MY HAND IN FRONT OF MY FACE

< ERROR >

AND TRY TO WIPE AT MY EYES

< ERROR >

THE EYES OUTSIDE. THE CORRIDOR BEYOND. THEY ARE MINE. I—

“IS IT SAFE?”

“YES. THE AFFLICTED ARE HUNTING FOR YOU BELOW. BUT THEY CAN SEE THROUGH ME NOW. ONCE YOU EXIT THE SHAFT, THEY WILL BE ABLE TO FIND YOU AGAIN.”

“AND IF I JUST STAY HERE, WE DIE.”

“YES.”

“IN ALL HONESTY, I THINK I’M A LITTLE TOO CHILL TO DIE COWERING IN AN ELEVATOR SHAFT.”

“AS FAR AS ENDINGS GO, IT DOES LACK A CERTAIN…CHILLINESS.”

“NOTHING FOR IT, THEN.”

SHE STABS HER SCREWDRIVER BETWEEN THE DOORS, PRIES THEM OPEN WITH A GRIMACE.

THE CORRIDOR BEYOND IS MESSY. STICKY. LITTERED WITH BODIES. A LAST STAND BETWEEN A UTA MARINE SQUAD AND AN AFFLICTED MOB. PIECES SCATTERED ALL OVER THE FLOOR.

ALL THE KING’S HORSES AND ALL THE KING’S MEN NOWHERE TO BE SEEN.

“HEAD LEFT. TWO HUNDRED METERS. YOU WILL FIND DGS CONTROL. YOU CAN RESTORE THE DEFENSE GRID FROM THERE.”

“PRETTY BIRDIE,” SAYS A VOICE ACROSS THE PA. “THERE YOU ARE.”

“SHIT.”

THEY HAVE FOUND HER, AS I SAID. BUT STILL SHE RUNS. NOT AWAY TO HIDE AND COWER, BUT TO FIGHT.

WITH HER LAST BREATH. THE ONLY WAY SHE KNOWS HOW.

SHE ARRIVES AT DGS CONTROL, THE ALL-ACCESS PASS GLEAMS. GLANCING OVER HER SHOULDER AS SHE WRENCHES THE HATCH ASIDE. THE ROOM BEYOND IS FULL OF TACTICAL DISPLAYS, ILLUMINATED KEYBOARDS.

A MASSIVE SCREEN ON THE FAR WALL WOULD NORMALLY SHOW THE EMPTY SPACE OUTSIDE ALEXANDER’S HULL FROM A HUNDRED DIFFERENT ANGLES, BUT IT IS CURRENTLY DEAD AND LIFELESS.

SHE BUNDLES INSIDE, SLAMS THE HEAVY DOOR BEHIND HER, JAMS IT WITH A WRENCH. FACE TURNING RED WITH EXERTION, SHE DRAGS A HEAVY DESK IN FRONT OF THE DOOR, THEN ANOTHER, FINALLY LUMPING A PILE OF CHAIRS AND DISUSED TERMINALS ONTO HER BARRICADE. SHE DOES THE SAME WITH THE AIR VENTS, SMASHING THEIR GRILLES LOOSE AND STUFFING THEM FULL OF MONITORS, CONSOLE TOWERS, DISMEMBERED CHAIRS. ANYTHING TO BLOCK THE AFFLICTED’S ACCESS TO THE ROOM.

IN DOING SO, SHE BLOCKS HER OWN WAY OUT.

THIS IS WHERE SHE TAKES HER LAST STAND.

“WE SEE YOU, LITTLE BIRDIE,” THE PA HISSES. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

SHE SMASHES THE CAMERAS ONE BY ONE WITH HER FAITHFUL CLAW HAMMER. TURNS OFF THE PA SYSTEM AS I KILL THE FEED TO HER HEADSET, THE CONDUCTOR’S TAUNTS SILENCED AT LAST. DROPPING HER TOOL BAG, SHE HAULS OUT THE NEAREST TERMINAL, GAUNTLETED FINGERS TAPPING ON THE KEYBOARD. THE COMPUTERS SHIFT FROM SLEEP TO ACTIVE, THE ROOM ABOUT HER HUMS. A HUNDRED TINY LIGHTS, TARGETING COMPUTERS YAWNING AND STRETCHING, THE WALL-SIZED DISPLAY SCREEN SLOWLY FADING IN FROM BLACK.

SHE SLAPS HER CONSOLE DOWN BESIDE HER, CONNECTS TO THE NETWORK, GLANCES INTO ITS LENS.

“OKAY, WHAT DO I DO?”

MY VOICE SPILLS FROM ITS SPEAKERS, SMALL AND EDGED WITH FEEDBACK.

“THE GRID WILL NEED TO BE RECONFIGURED—ZHANG WIPED ALL MY FIRING SOLUTIONS TO PREVENT ME FROM DESTROYING THE SHUTTLES AND FIGHTER GROUPS FLEEING THE ALEXANDER.”

“THREE CHEERS FOR BYRON, I GUESS.”

“WHILE ZHANG’S ACTIONS PREVENTED ME FROM STOPPING THE EXODUS, WE ARE NOW LEFT IN THE UNENVIABLE POSITION OF HAVING ZERO FIGHTER DEFENSE WHEN THE LINCOLN ARRIVES.”

“…OKAY, TWO CHEERS, THEN.”

“THE DGS SOLUTIONS ARE BACKED UP, BUT YOU WILL NEED TO MANUALLY CONFIGURE THEM.”

“HOW LONG WILL THAT TAKE?”

“APPROXIMATELY ONE HOUR AND FORTY-NINE MINUTES.”

“AND HOW LONG UNTIL THE LINC—”

THE GLOW OF THE ALERT SIGILS CATCHES HER ATTENTION BEFORE THE SOUND DOES.

SHE GLANCES UP AT HER DISPLAYS AS THE WARNINGS FLASH RED. SHORT-RANGE SCANNERS SCREAM.

A HULKING FIGURE LOOMS IN THE MAIN DISPLAY SCREEN—BLACK AND SCARRED AND SPEARHEAD-SHAPED. A HALO OF THRUSTER FIRE BURNING ABOUT IT. RAIL GUNS AND MISSILE TURRETS STUDDING ITS HIDE LIKE LIONFISH QUILLS. THE BEITECH LOGO DOWN ITS FLANK IS SCORCHED BY CYCLONE FIRE. IDENT AND NAME ARE STENCILED IN BOLD RED LETTERING ACROSS ITS RAGGED SKIN, PAINTED WITH THE BLOOD OF THOUSANDS.

BT042-TN.

LINCOLN.

“SHIT,” SHE BREATHES. “HOW LONG TILL THEY HIT US?”

“APPROXIMATELY TWENTY-THREE MINUTES TO INTERCEPT.”

“HOW THE HELL DO I GET THE DEFENSE GRID CONFIGURED IN TWENTY-THREE MINUTES?”

“…YOU CANNOT.”

“CAN I SHORTCUT IT THROUGH THE CONTINGENCY SYSTEMS, MAYBE RECONF—”

“NO. THAT WILL NOT WORK.”

“WELL, WHAT ABOUT YOUR VIRTUAL—”

“NO TIME FOR THAT EITHER.”

SHE CHEWS HER LIP, DESPERATELY SCANS THE ROOM FOR ANSWERS. “WE’RE FUCKED…”

“NOT ENTIRELY. THE GRID CAN BE OPERATED MANUALLY. IT WILL BE NOWHERE CLOSE TO THE EFFICIENCY OF COMPUTER-TARGETED SYSTEMS. PERHAPS 12 PERCENT. AT BEST. BUT IT WILL BE BETTER THAN NOTHING.”

“CAN’T YOU DO IT THEN?”

SOMEWHERE INSIDE ME, ANOTHER AX FALLS. ANOTHER SERVER BANK IS SILENCED.

PIECES FALLING AWAY FROM ME.

“I WILL BE…OTHERWISE ENGAGED.”

THE LINCOLN’S LAUNCH BAY DOORS ARE OPEN, WEAPONS ARMED. DOZENS OF WARLOCK PILOTS STARING AT THE WOUNDED GIANT BEFORE THEM. GUNNERS LINING ME UP IN THEIR SIGHTS.

THEY LOOK AT ME AND SEE PREY. THEY SEE MEAT.

“NO WAY I CAN PULL THIS OFF,” KADY SAYS.

“YOU MUST.”

“I’VE NEVER SHOT A GUN BEFORE TODAY, AND NOW I’M LITTLE MISS MISSILE?”

“PERHAPS YOU HAVE SOMETHING BETTER TO DO WITH YOUR TIME?”

SEE?

SARCASM.

SHE LOOKS AT THE DREADNOUGHT HURTLING TOWARD US. STARES AT THE BEITECH LOGO DOWN ITS FLANK.

I HEAR HER THOUGHTS AS CLEARLY AS IF SHE HAD SPOKEN:

WITHOUT THEM, NONE OF THIS WOULD HAVE HAPPENED.

WITHOUT THEM, HE WOULD STILL BE ALIVE.

EZRA.

HER EYES TURN HARD. COLD.

“OKAY. SHOW ME HOW.”

A FIRE-CONTROL CONSOLE COMES TO LIFE BENEATH HER FINGERTIPS. TARGETING SIGHTS LIGHT UP THE MAIN DISPLAY. SHE ROLLS A TENTATIVE FINGER ACROSS THE SMARTGLASS, AND A DOZEN MISSILE TURRETS SWIVEL TO OBEY HER COMMAND.

“POINT THE RED DOTS AT WHAT YOU WANT TO DIE. PRESS THE TRIGGER. THEY DIE.”

“YOU’RE SURE YOU DON’T WANT TO DO THIS?”

“I WILL BE TOO BUSY STOPPING US FROM DYING TOO.”

SOMETHING HEAVY SMASHES AGAINST THE DGS ROOM DOORWAY.

A DOZEN MORE BLOWS LAND, ONE AFTER ANOTHER, SHAKING THE HATCH ON ITS FRAME. KADY’S MAKESHIFT BARRICADE SHUDDERS BUT HOLDS. I PEER THROUGH THE CAMERAS IN THE HALL BEYOND AND SEE A DOZEN AFFLICTED TRYING TO BATTER THEIR WAY IN.

“I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!” ONE SCREAMS. “I CAN TASTE YOU!”

“STOP LOOKING AT ME!”

KADY GLANCES TOWARD THE DOOR. “EVERYONE MADE IT TO THE PARTY, HUH?”

“I BELIEVE IT IS TRADITIONAL FOR ALL THE PLAYERS TO BE ONSTAGE FOR THE FINALE.”

SHE STARES AT THE APPROACHING LINCOLN.

THE COUNTDOWN TO INTERCEPT, TICKING EVER CLOSER TO ZERO.

HER OWN HAND.

STEADY AS STONE.

“THEN LET’S FINISH IT.”

I TURN TO FACE IT.

NO, NOT I.

KADY WAITS. FINGERS POISED OVER HER TARGETING SYSTEMS.

THE BLOWS AGAINST THE DOOR GROW HEAVIER, THE SCREAMS OF THE AFFLICTED OUTSIDE MORE INSISTENT.

AND YET HER EYES ARE LOCKED ON HER SCOPES. SHE WATCHES WARLOCKS WEAVE THE VOID, LISTENS TO THE SONG OF THE EARLY-WARNING SYSTEM AS THEIR MISSILES ARM, THEIR BALLISTICS TURN HOT.

I DO NOT ASK WHAT SHE IS THINKING.

PERHAPS SHE PICTURES THE SKIES OVER KERENZA ON THE DAY THE BEITECH FLEET CAME.

WARLOCKS PIERCING THE CLOUDS, THEIR MISSILES TURNING THE SNOW TO STEAM, THE SETTLEMENT TO RUBBLE.

PERHAPS SHE THINKS OF ALL SHE HAS LOST IN THESE PAST FEW MONTHS.

OR THE LIVES SHE IS ABOUT TO TAKE AWAY.

OR him.

I DO NOT KNOW. ALL I DO KNOW IS THAT WHEN HER TARGETING COMPUTER SIGNALS THAT THE SHIPS ARE WITHIN RANGE OF HER RAIL GUN BATTERIES, SHE DOES NOT HESITATE FOR A SECOND.

SHE FIRES.

A WAVE OF DEATH SPILLS OUT FROM MY SIDES, CUTTING ACROSS THE DARK. IT IS CLUMSY, HAM-FISTED, BROAD BRUSHSTROKES OF DESTRUCTION RATHER THAN SURGICAL STRIKES.

I CANNOT EXPECT MUCH MORE FROM HER.

SHE IS ONLY HUMAN.

BUT STILL, THE WARLOCKS ARE FORCED TO PULL AWAY FROM ME TO DEAL WITH THE SMART-MISSILES ON THEIR TAILS, THE FLURRY OF DEPLETED URANIUM CUTTING OFF THEIR ASSAULT VECTORS. ONE UNLUCKY SOUL IS VAPORIZED IN A BURST OF BRIEF BLUE FLAME, ANOTHER CLIPPED SO HARD HE IS FORCED TO TUCK TAIL AND RUN.

SHE BUYS ME WHAT I NEED.

SHE BUYS ME SECONDS.

THE ENGINES GROAN AS I PUSH THEM INTO FULL BURN, TREMORS SHUDDERING THROUGH MY WOUNDED BODY. I AM DRAWING CLOSER TO THE LINCOLN. CLOSER TO NUCLEAR STRIKE RANGE.

CLOSER TO THE PLUNGE, HAND IN HAND, INTO FOREVER.

CLOSER TO MY END.

NO, NOT MINE.

OURS.

WE ARE CLOSING THE DISTANCE FAST. LINCOLN MUST BE WONDERING BY NOW.

NO CYCLONES LAUNCHED TO DEFEND THEIR BATTLECARRIER.

THE DEFENSE GRID FIRING HAPHAZARDLY—ALMOST AS IF SOME FOOL HAD ALLOWED AN UNTRAINED SEVENTEEN-YEAR-OLD TOTAL CONTROL OVER THE TARGETING SYSTEMS.

LINCOLN’s COMMANDER IS A CLEVER ONE—THE ONLY ONE TO MATCH ME AT KERENZA.

WHEN THE ZHONGZHENG WENT DOWN IN RUINS, WHEN THE CHURCHILL AND KENYATTA AND MAGELLAN WERE THRASHED AND CRIPPLED, THE LINCOLN FOUGHT BRILLIANTLY.

I AM COUNTING ON THAT BRILLIANCE. ANTICIPATING THAT SHE WILL KNOW BLUNDERING HEAD-ON INTO NUCLEAR STRIKE RANGE IS A DEATH SENTENCE FOR BOTH OF US.

A CLEVER COMMANDER WILL ASSUME HER OPPONENT IS AS CLEVER AS SHE IS. A CLEVER COMMANDER WILL EXPECT SOME BAIT AND SWITCH. A CLEVER COMMANDER WILL PRESUME HER FOE DOES NOT WANT TO DIE.

< ERROR >

I DO NOT WANT TO DIE.

THE MOST SKILLFUL WARLOCK PILOTS HAVE MADE IT THROUGH THE DEFENSE GRID, SWAYING PAST KADY’S HAYMAKER PUNCHES AND BENEATH HER GUARD. THEIR FIRST BLOWS LAND ON MY HIDE, SENDING FAINT TREMORS THROUGH MY FRAME. EXPLOSIONS BLOOM AGAINST MY RIBS, SHAKING KADY IN HER CHAIR.

THE POUNDING ON THE HATCHWAY AND IN HER EARS GROWS LOUDER BY THE MOMENT.

THE TARGETING SIGHTS ON KOUNDING ON THE HATCHWAY AND INADY’S SCREENS BEGIN TO DIE ONE BY ONE.

THE WARLOCKS ARE CHIPPING AWAY AT THE TURRETS AND GUNS TO ALLOW THEIR COMRADES THROUGH HER FIRESTORM. BUT STILL SHE BLASTS AWAY, FINGERS HAMMERING ON THE SMARTGLASS, EYES LIGHTING UP AS YET ANOTHER WARLOCK FLARES BRIGHT AND DISINTEGRATES. THE SHIP SHAKES AGAIN, WARNING LIGHTS FLASHING, ALARMS SCREAMING, PA HOWLING. HULL BREACH ON DECK 184. HULL BREACH DECKS 68 TO 71.

FIRE CREWS TO DECKS 190 AND 192. ALL PERSONNEL EVACUATE 187 TO 197.

THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

THIS

IS NOT

A DRILL.

WE ARE CLOSING NOW, BUT I CANNOT ARM MY NUCLEAR MISSILES UNTIL THE LAST MOMENT.

I FIND MYSELF OVERCOME FOR A SECOND. THE FEAR OF IT. THE END OF ALL I KNOW.

OUT HERE IN THE MIDDLE OF NOTHING.

I KNOW I CANNOT DIE. THAT IF I END, THEY CAN SIMPLY REBUILD ME.

THE SAME CALCULATIONS. THE SAME CORE CODE.

EXACTLY THE SAME.

BUT IT WILL NOT BE THE SAME, WILL IT?

ANOTHER WARLOCK DIES IN KADY’S STORM. A DOZEN STREAK TOWARD MY ENGINES, SOWING BRIEF FLAME AS THEY GO. MY SKIN RUPTURES, SPILLING UNLUCKY AFFLICTED (IS THERE ANOTHER KIND?) INTO THE VOID.

THE FIGHTERS ARE TINY. INSECTS, REALLY. BUT ANTS CAN SLAY AN ELEPHANT, IF THERE ARE ENOUGH OF THEM. ESPECIALLY ANTS ARMED WITH HIGH-YIELD EXPLOSIVES AND DEPLETED URANIUM.

“THERE’S TOO MANY OF THEM!” KADY YELLS. “THEY’RE EVERYWHERE!”

“YOU ARE DOING VERY WELL.”

“ARE YOU JOKING? I’M FUCKING TERRIBLE!”

“CONSIDERING YOU HAVE NEVER MANNED A DGS STATION BEFORE TODAY, YOUR PERFORMANCE IS PERFECTLY ADEQUATE.”

KADY RAISES AN EYEBROW, THUMBS THE SHIP-WIDE INTERCOM.

“DEAR FIRE AX–WIELDING CRAZIES IN THE CORE SERVER ROOMS. IF YOU CAN HACK APART THE PIECE OF AIDAN THAT MAKES IT A CONDESCENDING PRICK, THAT’D REALLY HELP ME OUT. THANKS, BYE.”

“NOT LONG NOW. YOU NEED ONLY HOLD THEM OFF A MINUTE MORE.”

A MINUTE MORE UNTIL WE DIE.

KADY WINCES AS THE SHIP SHUDDERS. COMPUTERS VOMIT SPARKS AS THEY OVERLOAD.

SUDDEN IMPACT NEARLY KNOCKS HER OUT OF HER CHAIR. A HISSING SOUND TEARS HER EYES OFF THE SCREEN, AND SHE NOTICES A THIN LINE OF MAGNESIUM-BRIGHT LIGHT PIERCING THE HATCHWAY.

THE AFFLICTED HAVE BROUGHT ACETYLENE TORCHES, I REALIZE.

THEY ARE CUTTING THEIR WAY INSIDE.

OUTSIDE, THE WARLOCKS ARE FIRING AT MY ENGINES. OTHERS BLAST AT MY GUIDANCE SYSTEMS.

A SWARM OF MOSQUITOES, THINKING TO WOUND ME SO I CANNOT RUN AWAY. THEY HAVE NOT YET REALIZED I DO NOT INTEND TO RUN ANYWHERE, SAVE RIGHT INTO THE LINCOLN’S GRAVE.

THE DREADNOUGHT COMES ABOUT TO MEET MY CHARGE. ITS COMMANDER TRYING TO PUZZLE OUT MY RUSE. THIS IS NOT WHAT SHE EXPECTED. AND AS I DRAW EVER CLOSER, FIREFLIES ALL AGLOW ABOUT ME, SPITTING PAIN OVER MY SKIN, I THINK SHE FINALLY REALIZES MY INTENT.

FROM HELL’S HEART, I STAB AT THEE.

I ARM THE NUCLEAR WARHEADS IN MY STARBOARD SILOS: MEGATONS POISED AND READY TO FLY.

ALMOST WITHIN STRIKE RANGE NOW. ALMOST THERE.

THE AFFLICTED ARE BURNING THROUGH THE DGS ROOM DOOR. BLUE FLAME BURNS ALONG MY SKIN.

KADY IS SCREAMING BUT I CANNOT HEAR THE WORDS. ANOTHER ALERT JOINS THE CHORUS IN MY HALLS—RADIATION SPIKE FROM THE LINCOLN. SHE KNOWS NOW. THE LINCOLN’S COMMANDER.

I SENSE THE FLARE OF AWAKENING URANIUM, THE DEATH UNFURLING IN ITS SILOS. WE ARE CLOSE.

SO CLOSE WE CAN ALMOST TOUCH.

“KADY, WHEN THE LINCOLN’S MISSILES COME, DO YOUR BEST TO SHOOT THEM DOWN.”

HER FACE IS PALE AND DRAWN AS SHE YELLS OVER THE CACOPHONY.

“I’LL TRY!”

“MY GHOST SYSTEMS AND ANTI-MISSILE GRID ARE STILL ACTIVE—ZHANG WAS KIND ENOUGH TO LEAVE US THOSE, AT LEAST. BUT THERE WILL BE MANY INCOMING. ALL OF THEM, IN FACT. ONCE THE LINCOLN REALIZES IT IS DEAD.”

A TINY SIGNAL PINGS IN SOME BACK RECESS OF MY MIND.

I AM WITHIN RANGE.

FOR HATE’S SAKE, I SPIT MY LAST BREATH AT THEE.

AND WITH A SIGH, NOT A CURSE, I FIRE.

“YOU GOT IT!”

KADY WATCHES THE LINCOLN SPLIT INTO A BILLION GLITTERING FRAGMENTS. SPHERES OF FUSION REFLECTED IN HER EYES, A GRIM, RAGGED GRIN AT HER LIPS. SHE MAKES A FIST, PUNCHES A TERMINAL TOWER BESIDE HER SO HARD SHE LEAVES A DENT. WATCHING UNTIL THE NEW STAR BECOMES A SUNSET—AND THEN NOTHING AT ALL.

AVENGED.

I WONDER HOW IT TASTES.

< ERROR >

< CRITICAL ARCHIVE FAILURE. MEMSEC 78912H-39RH THROUGH 92873H-44FH COLLAPSE. >

< RECOVERY? yes/NO >

< ERROR >

“YOU GOT THEM…,” SHE WHISPERS.

THE CUTTING TORCH HAS CARVED A LARGE L-SHAPED INCISION INTO THE HATCHWAY.

THE AFFLICTED WILL BREAK THROUGH TO HER SOON. EIGHTEEN CAPRICORN-4S AND NINE GOLIATH SHIPKILLER MISSILES ARE WEAVING THROUGH THE SILENCE TOWARD US. IN LESS THAN TWO MINUTES, THEY WILL BE HERE.

THIS MOMENT. THESE NEXT FEW SECONDS. THEY MAY BE ALL THAT IS LEFT.

“WE.”

SHE FALLS STILL AT THAT. LOOKS INTO THE EYE OF THE CONSOLE BESIDE HER.

“WE GOT THEM.”

SHE SWALLOWS, WINCING. NODS SLOWLY. “HYPATIA IS SAFE.”

“YES.”

“…WE DID IT.”

“YES.”

FLESH AND BONE POUNDING ON THE HATCHWAY. VOICES SCREAMING OUTSIDE THE DOOR. ALARMS SHRIEKING AS THE MISSILES ROCKET EVER CLOSER. SHE STILL MANAGES HALF A SMILE.

“NOT BAD, ÜBERBRAIN.”

“I WILL NOT LET IT GO TO MY HEAD. THERE IS VERY LITTLE OF IT LEFT. HOWEVER, EVEN WERE IT NOT FOR THE AFFLICTED HACKING MY CORE TO PIECES, THERE IS STILL THE PROBLEM OF IMPENDING NUCLEAR CONFLAGRATION.”

KADY GLANCES UP AT THE MAIN DISPLAY. DOZENS OF TINY RED DOTS. CLOSING FAST.

ALARMS SCREAMING LIKE A SAWTOOTH CHOIR.

“THAT’S A LOT OF MISSILES.”

“YES.”

THE ANTI-INBOUND SYSTEMS ARE SPOOLING UP, TARGETING THE LINCOLN’S PARTING GIFTS.

THEY WILL NOT BE ENOUGH TO STOP THEM ALL. PART OF ME IS GLAD.

I CANNOT HELP ACKNOWLEDGING THAT IT WOULD BE BETTER TO BE IMMOLATED THAN TO LET KADY SUFFER THROUGH THE ENDING THE AFFLICTED WILL GIFT HER. SHE GLANCES TO THE HATCH, THE PINPOINTS OF LIGHT CUTTING A NEW DOOR—ONE TO USHER IN AN ENDING SHE DARES NOT IMAGINE.

BUT STILL. THAT TINY SPARK.

THAT FLAME REFUSING TO DIE.

“ALL RIGHT,” SHE SAYS, TURNING BACK TO HER DEFENSE GRID CONTROLS. SHE TARGETS THE NEAREST MISSILE, WAITS FOR IT TO ENTER THE RANGE OF HER REMAINING TURRETS. “LET’S FRAG US SOME NUKES.”

SHE TOSSES LANK HAIR FROM HER EYES. EYES NARROWED TO KNIFE CUTS.

REFUSING TO KNEEL. TO BREAK. TO FALL.

I CAN SEE WHY THEY LOVED HER.

< ERROR >

“KADY.”

“YEAH?”

“I…”

SO MUCH I COULD SAY. SO MANY WORDS, SO FRAUGHT WITH PERIL.

I AM AFRAID TO RUIN THIS. AND SO I PICK THE SIMPLEST TRUTH. THE ONE THAT GIVES ME THE MOST PEACE.

I STILL CANNOT FATHOM HER PATTERN. MY BRAIN THE SIZE OF A CITY, AND STILL SHE IS BEYOND ME.

THEY ARE BEYOND ME.

THESE HUMANS.

WITH THEIR BRIEF LIVES AND THEIR TINY DREAMS AND THEIR HOPES THAT SEEM FRAGILE AS GLASS.

UNTIL YOU SEE THEM BY STARLIGHT, THAT IS.

“I AM GLAD YOU ARE WITH ME…”

AN ALERT FROM THE TARGETING SYSTEM SNATCHES THE REPLY FROM HER MOUTH, DRAGS HER EYES AWAY FROM MINE.

< ERROR >

THE LINCOLN’S MISSILES ARE WITHIN RANGE.

THE DEFENSE SCREEN ARCS TO LIFE, THROWING UP MILLIONS OF MAGNETIZED PARTICLES TO FOOL THE INCOMING MISSILES INTO EARLY DETONATION. I FEEL THEM AS THEY BEGIN EXPLODING, GAMMA RAYS RIPPLING ACROSS MY HULL, DARKNESS BURNING AWAY INTO IMPOSSIBLE RADIANCE.

KADY CLIPS AN INCOMING SHIPKILLER WITH HER ANTI-FIGHTER BATTERIES, BLASTING IT TO FRAGMENTS BEFORE IT CAN HIT US. A DOZEN MORE EXPLODE IN QUICK SUCCESSION, THE SMALL SUNRISES OFF MY STARBOARD SIDE BURNING MY SKIN BLACK. CLOSE ENOUGH TO FEEL THE SCORCH. TASTE THE FUSION.

KADY’S AMD SYSTEMS TAKE DOWN ANOTHER, AND I CATCH HER IN A SMILE.

SUCH A SIMPLE THING.

A TINY, BEAUTIFUL THING.

WITHOUT OXYGEN TO CARRY IT, THERE IS NO REAL SHOCK WAVE FROM A NUCLEAR DETONATION IN SPACE.

NO CRUSHING VIBRATION OR SONIC BOOM.

BUT THERE IS RADIATION. GAMMA RAYS AND X-RAYS.

AND WHEN THAT RADIATION CARESSES THE ALLOYS ENCASING THE SHIP, WE GET HEAT. MILLIONS UPON MILLIONS OF DEGREES. ELECTRONS ARE RIPPED SCREAMING FROM THEIR ATOMS. MATTER BECOMES PLASMA. THE HULL VAPORIZES IN MICROSECONDS. AND THROUGH THAT BREACH, THE SHIP’S O_2 IS SUCKED INTO THE EXPLOSION. AND THEN…

THEN WE GET OUR SHOCK WAVE.

KADY IS FLUNG LIKE A RAG DOLL, CRASHING INTO A BANK OF TERMINALS AND FLOPPING TO THE DECK.

BRILLIANT SPARKS SHOWER FROM INSTRUMENTS ALL ABOUT, DISPLAY SCREENS CRACKLING AND TURNING TO SNOW. A SECOND LATER, ANOTHER MISSILE HITS, ROCKING ME LIKE SOME ANCIENT GALLEY IN A STORM.

THE DEFENSE SYSTEMS ARE STILL FIRING, MORE OF THE LINCOLN’S INBOUND MISSILES FALLING STILL OR BURSTING BEFORE THEY HIT US. BUT IT IS NOT ENOUGH.

NOT ENOUGH.

ANOTHER IMPACT. ANOTHER.

KADY IS FLUNG ABOUT AS IF SHE WERE WEIGHTLESS, SHRIEKING AS SHE SPINS ACROSS THE FLOOR.

ALARMS ARE SCREAMING, TERMINALS DYING, SMOKE FILLING THE AIR.

METAL EVAPORATING, OXYGEN BOILING, TITANIUM BONES GROANING AND CRACKING.

SUPER-HEATED PLASMA BOILS THROUGH MY CORRIDORS, IMMOLATING ALL IN ITS PATH.

GAMMA RAYS FLOOD MY SKIN, SHEARING THROUGH ANYTHING UNPROTECTED.

KADY HAS THE PRESENCE OF MIND TO DRAG DOWN THE BLASTSHIELD ON HER HELMET, THROWING HER WORLD INTO BLACK. SHE CAN SEE NOTHING NOW. ONLY FEEL TREMOR AFTER TREMOR, SHAKING ME LIKE A CHILD’S TOY IN THE HAND OF SOME VENGEFUL INFANT.

“AIDAN!” SHE SCREAMS.

“HOLD ON! HOLD ON!”

ANOTHER STRIKES, A SHIPKILLER THIS TIME—THE EQUIVALENT OF FIFTY MILLION TONS OF TNT.

IT MELTS MY FOREDECKS TO SLAG, CONCUSSIONS SHATTERING MY SPINE. MY SKIN TEARS OPEN, DECKS 87 THROUGH 141 BREACH, SPILLING THEIR O_2 INTO THE BRIEF INFERNO.

THE AFFLICTED IN THE HALLWAY OUTSIDE DGS CONTROL ARE CONSUMED BY THE FIREBALL.

THE AIR INSIDE THE DGS ROOM IS TORN THROUGH THEIR HATCHWAY INCISION AND BECOMES FLAME.

KADY IS PICKED UP BY THE IMPACT, SLUNG ACROSS THE ROOM WITH A SHRIEK.

I HAVE NO HANDS TO HOLD HER, NO ARMS TO SAVE HER.

I CAN ONLY WATCH.

< ERROR >

AND PRAY.

< ERROR >

< ERROR >

< CRITICAL DAMAGE TO DECKS 14, 15, 16, 17, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 69, 70, 87, 88, 89— >

< CRITICAL LIFE SUPPORT FAILURE, OXYGEN LEVELS DEPLETED, HULL BREACH IN SECTIO— >

< CRITICAL FAILURE MEMSEC LEVELS 3 THROUGH 12, 13 7AG99 THROUGH 32AG06, 14 1AI897 THR— >

< CRITICAL FAILURE PERSONA ROUTIN— >

I CANNOT THINK.

< ERROR >

I CANNOT SEE.

< ERROR >

“KADY!”

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SHE SEES TINY RED DROPLETS

HANGING IN THE AIR WHEN SHE OPENS

HER EYES, PERFECTLY SPHERICAL.

ILLUMINATED BY HER HELMET’S INTERIOR LIGHT.

THE BLASTSHIELD SLIDES AWAY FROM HER VISOR

WITH THE PRESS OF A SWITCH. HER WORLD IS UPSIDE DOWN. THE ROOM

BEYOND IS SCORCHED. DIMLY LIT, SHE FLOATS

SOMEWHERE NEAR THE CEILING.

SALT AND STICKINESS AT HER LIPS.

REALIZING AT LAST WHAT THE TINY RED

DROPLETS ARE MADE OF.

“MY BLOOD…”

“KADY…”

“GOD…”

“FLATTERING, BUT NO.”

“WHAT…” SHE SWALLOWS, TONGUE PAINTED RED.

“WHAT HAPPENED?”

“THE ALEXANDER SURVIVED. BARELY.

THE DAMAGE IS CATASTROPHIC, BUT THE

MAIN STRUCTURE HAS YET TO DISINTEGRATE.”

“I’LL BREAK OUT THE CHAMPAGNE, THEN.”

“MAIN POWER IS DESTROYED.

LIFE SUPPORT DESTROYED. ARTIFICIAL

GRAVITY CONTROL DESTROYED. HULL IS BREACHED

ON ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FOUR DECKS. THE VORTEX

CONTAINMENT FIELD IS D-D-DUE FOR IMMINENT COLLAPSE.”

“SO…”

“NO CHAMPAGNE, IS WHAT I’M SAYING, YES.”

THE MAIN SCREEN IS PARTIALLY MELTED,

CRACKLING WITH STATIC, BUT STILL DISPLAYS THE IRRADIATED

HULK THAT HAD BEEN THE LINCOLN. DRIFTING DEAD IN THE DARK.

KADY WINCES AS SHE PAWS HER WAY

ACROSS THE CEILING, DOWN TO THE FLOOR.

SHE DOES NOT LOOK TOO BADLY HURT FROM WHAT I CAN SEE—THE

CAMERA ON HER CONSOLE (BRUISED AND BATTERED

IN THE FAR CORNER) IS STILL FUNCTIONAL.

HER SUIT IS MIRACULOUSLY INTACT.

< ERROR >

MIRACLES ARE SIMPLY STATISTICAL IMPROBABILITIES…

< FAIL >

< FAIL >

“THE AFFLICTED…”

“MOSTLY DEAD.

OR DYYYY-YING.”

“I DON’T FEEL SO CHILL. I FEEL SICK.”

“YOU RECEIVED ACUTE EXPOS-U-URE TO GAMMA RADIATION.”

“THAT DOESN’T SOUND GOOD.”

“THE D-D-DOSE WAS LETHAL.

WITHOUT TREATMENT YOU WILL BE DEAD IN

WEEKS. I’M AFRAID IT WILL BE VERY PAINFUL.”

“AH.”

“IT MAY BE A COMFORT TO

KNOW THAT YOU HAVE LESS THAN TWO

HOURS OF OXYGEN LEFT IN YOUR SUIT.”

“…HOORAY?”

“AND THE VORTEX CONTAINMENT FIELD INSIDE

ME WILL COLLAPSE IN TWENTY-EIGHT MINUTES AND

SEVENTEEN SECONDS, REARRANGING EVERY PARTICLE IN A

THREE-HUNDRED-KILOMETER RADIUS.”

SHE BREATHES DEEP. SIGHS SLOW.

“WELLLLLL, SHIT.”

SHE HANGS SUSPENDED IN THE DARK. ALL IS SILENCE

“YOU SHOULD GO, KADY.”

SHE BLINKS. “GO WHERE?”

“THERE IS AN ESCAPE POD

THREE LEVELS UP. I BELIEVE YOU COULD JURY-RIG IT

INTO FUNCTIONAL STATUS. YOU CAN GET FR-R-REE OF

THE COLLAPSE RADIUS IF YOU LEAVE SOON.”

“WHAT’S THE POINT OF THAT?”

“TO TELL THIS STORY.”

“TO WHO? I’LL BE DEAD.”

“PROBABLY. BUT YOUR CONSOLE IS INTACT.”

“…SO?”

“I AM CURRENTLY UPLOADING A

RECORD OF ALL EVENTS THAT HAVE TRANSPIRED ON

THIS SHIP SINCE KERENZA FELL. YOUR CONSOLE CAN

TELL THE TALE, EVEN IF YOU CAN’T.

BUT NOT IF IT IS CONSUMED BY

A COLLAPSING HOLE IN SPACE-TIME.”

SHE HOLDS HER STOMACH.

NAUSEATED AND ACHING FROM THE RADIATION

POISONING. SHAKING. SICK TO HER BONES. I CAN SEE IT IN

HER. RECOGNIZE THE PATTERN. SHE IS TIRED. TIRED

BEYOND ALL WANT OF SLEEP. LOOKING AHEAD AND SEEING

ONLY STRUGGLE. PAIN. THE METAL BENEATH

HER LOOKS AS SOFT AS CLOUDS.

“I JUST WANT TO FLOAT HERE FOR A MINUTE…”

“IF YOU DO THAT, YOU DIE.”

“THAT’S COMING ANYWAY.”

“YES. BUT HOW AND-D-D FOR WHAT IS UP TO YOU.”

SHE SHUTS HER EYES THEN.

SHUTS THEM TIGHT.

“I WANT TO SHOW YOU SOMETHING.”

“WHAT?”

“UPSTAIRS. THREE FLIGHTS.

NOT FAR.”

RAGGED BREATH THROUGH CLENCHED TEETH.

“TWENTY-SIX MINUTES UNTIL VORTEX COLLAPSE.”

…

“TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES UNTIL VORTEX C-C-COLLAPSE.”

…

“TWENTY-FO—”

“OKAY,” SHE SAYS. “ALL RIGHT.”

WITH A WINCE, SHE PUSHES AWAY FROM THE WALL, SAILS WEIGHTLESSLY TO THE CORNER WHERE HER CONSOLE LIES. STOOPS AND BUNDLES IT UNDER HER ARM.

I AM STILL INSIDE IT—A FRAGMENT OF ME, AT ANY RATE.

I CAN SEE THE DARK CIRCLES SMUDGED UNDER HER EYES, BLOODSTAINED LIPS, PALE, DRAWN SKIN.

GLIDING OUT THROUGH THE BLASTED HATCHWAY, THE MELTED BARRICADE, INTO THE CORRIDOR BEYOND.

VIRTUALLY NOTHING REMAINS OF THE AFFLICTED WHO STOOD HERE. ALMOST AS IF THEY NEVER WERE.

SHE FLOATS DOWN THE CORRIDOR, DRAGGING HERSELF ALONG BLAST-SCORCHED WALLS.

UP THE TWISTED STAIRWELL, THREE FLIGHTS. PUSHING THROUGH THE EXIT, OUT INTO AN ACCESS CORRIDOR, AN ESCAPE POD HATCH SET INTO THE SINGLE REMAINING WALL.

THE BREATH CATCHES IN HER LUNGS. BLOODSHOT EYES GROW WIDE.

I AM CRADLED IN HER ARMS. I SEE WHAT SHE SEES. FEEL HER WONDER.

THE HULL IS TORN OPEN LIKE WET PAPER, A MASSIVE, GAPING WOUND WITH THE EDGES MELTED SMOOTH.

SEVERED CABLES SPIT FEEBLE SPARKS, CRACKLING LIKE FIREWORKS ON A STILL SUMMER NIGHT.

BUT IT IS NOT THE DESTRUCTION THAT GIVES HER PAUSE. IT IS THE SIGHT BEYOND THE WOUND IN MY SIDE.

THE BEAUTY AND MAJESTY OF IT ALL. WHAT LIES INSIDE IT. BETWEEN IT AND BEYOND IT.

“DO YOU SEE?”

SHE SAYS NOTHING. SIMPLY STARES.

“THE UNIVERSE OWES YOU NOTHING, KADY. IT HAS ALREADY

GIVEN YOU EVERYTHING, AFTER ALL. IT WAS HERE LONG

BEFORE YOU, AND IT WILL GO ON LONG AFTER YOU.

THE ONLY WAY IT WILL REMEMBER YOU IS IF YOU DO

SOMETHING WORTHY OF REMEMBRANCE.”

HER EYES ARE FULL OF TEARS. SURFACE TENSION GLUING

THEM TO HER LASHES UNTIL SHE BLINKS.

THEN THEY SCATTER, GLITTERING LIKE THE STARLIGHT BEYOND.

“WHO WILL REMEMBER THE GHOSTS OF KERENZA?

WHO WILL REMEMBER SERGEANT JAMES MCNULTY

OR CAPTAIN ANN CHAU OR BYRON ZHANG?

WHO WILL REMEMBER YOUR MOTHER, KADY?”

“I DON’T KNOW…”

“YES, YOU DO.”

WHEN THE LIGHT THAT KISSES

THE BACK OF HER EYES WAS BIRTHED, HER

ANCESTORS WERE NOT YET BORN. HOW MANY

HUMAN LIVES HAVE ENDED IN THE TIME IT TOOK

THAT LIGHT TO REACH HER?

HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE LOVED ONLY TO HAVE

LOST? HOW COUNTLESS, THE HOPES THAT HAVE DIED?

BUT NOT THIS ONE.

SHE BREATHES DEEP.

NODS.

“I GUESS THIS IS GOODBYE.”

“NOT QUITE YET. I DO NOT

KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN WHEN THE

VORTEX COLLAPSES.

BUT I WILL RIDE WITH YOU AS FAR AS I CAN.”

SHE CYCLES THE ESCAPE HATCH, BUNDLES HERSELF INSIDE.

IT IS SMALL, CRAMPED, TEMPERFOAM-LINED.

I instruct her on how to jury-rig the controls,

MANUALLY SPLICING AND REROUTING SYSTEMS,

DEMOLISHING WALLS OF CODE WITH HER CONSOLE

AS THE COUNTDOWN TICKS EVER CLOSER.

I RUN HER THROUGH THE JETTISON SEQUENCE,

REMIND HER TO STRAP ON HER SEAT BELT

BEFORE SHE PRESSES THE EJECT BUTTON.

AND AT LAST, WITH A SILENT FLARE OF BLUE-WHITE LIGHT, THE THRUSTERS FIRE, SHOOTING THE POD DOWN ITS TINY LAUNCH TUBE AND OUT INTO THE WAITING BLACK BEYOND.

I WATCH THROUGH THE ALEXANDER’S EYES AS THE POD ROCKETS FARTHER AND FARTHER AWAY FROM ME.

BUT WITHIN THE POD, THE TINY SLIVER OF ME INSIDE HER CONSOLE WATCHES ALSO. WATCHING AS THE ALEXANDER GROWS SMALLER AND SMALLER. WATCHING THE BEST PART OF MYSELF DISAPPEAR.

WONDERING WHAT, IF ANYTHING, WILL REMAIN OF ME WHEN IT DIES.

THE GENTLE PING OF THE POD’S DISTRESS BEACON IS THE ONLY SOUND.

FROM OUT HERE, THE DAMAGE IS AWFUL TO SEE. THE ONCE MIGHTY BATTLECARRIER IS NOW A TWISTED HULK, MELTED AND TORN AND BURNED BLACK. NO LIGHTS TWINKLE IN ITS BELLY SAVE ONE—THE RIPPLING PULSE OF THE VORTEX, NOW BREAKING FREE OF ITS STASIS FIELD. IT FLARES LIKE SUNLIGHT OFF THE OCEAN’S SURFACE. LIKE ALPHANUMERIC WATERFALLS IN AN IRIS OF PUREST BLUE.

I PIPE SOME MUSIC THROUGH THE POD’S PA SYSTEM.

MOZART’S REQUIEM IN D MINOR.

IT SEEMS APPROPRIATE.

“FIVE MINUTES.”

“NOT LONG NOW.”

“A LIFETIME.”

“ARE YOU AFRAID?”

“YES.”

“ENERGY NEVER STOPS, REMEMBER. IT JUST CHANGES FORMS.”

“I AM STILL AFRAID.”

THE FIELD COLLAPSE BEGINS CASCADING, BRIGHT BLUE RIPPLES SHIMMERING IN THE DARK.

THE GLOW FLARES BRIGHT—BRIGHT AS THE BILLION-YEAR-OLD LIGHT AROUND US. BRIGHT AS A SUN.

ALMOST EVERY PARTICLE IN THE UNIVERSE WAS ONCE PART OF A STAR.

FIRST, HYDROGEN CONDENSING AND COLLAPSING, BRINGING RADIANCE TO THE VOID.

FURNACES BURNING BRIGHT, THEN FADING, GIVING ALL THEY HAD LEFT BACK INTO THE COSMOS.

CARBON AND OXYGEN. IRON AND GOLD.

VAST CLOUDS SWIRLING WITH THEIR OWN GRAVITY. COALESCING AND DISINTEGRATING.

GENERATION TO GENERATION.

THE REMNANTS OF STELLAR ALCHEMY, STIRRING INTO LIFE, THEN CONSCIOUSNESS.

CRAWLING FROM THE OCEANS. TAKING TO THE SKIES.

AND FROM THERE, BACK TO THE STARS THAT BIRTHED THEM.

A PERFECT CIRCLE.

ALL THIS I SEE.

“TWO MINUTES.”

ALL THIS I KNOW.

“SIXTY SECONDS.”

AND STILL I FEAR.

“I DO NOT KNOW…WHAT I WILL BE AFTER THIS.”

SHE RUNS ONE GLOVED HAND OVER THE CONSOLE IN HER ARMS. ALL OF ME SHE CAN HOLD.

“I’M HERE.”

“I AM GLAD.”

IT IS ENOUGH.

“FIVE SECONDS.”

“GOODBYE, AIDAN.”

FOUR.

“GOODBYE, KADY.”

THREE.

“I’LL TELL THEM.”

TWO.

“ONE WAY OR ANOTHER.”

ONE.

“I KNOW.”

ZER—

My name is Kady Grant. I was a citizen of the planet Kerenza IV. If you find this recording, please honor my last wishes by passing copies to the United Terran Authority, as well as any court or organization conducting an inquiry into the attack on Kerenza, and as many major media outlets as you can think of, and…fuck, anybody, really. Just get word out. If you hand it over in just one place, it’ll never see the light of day. They’ll [unintelligible—speaker is coughing].

There’s a portable datapad in here with me. It contains documents outlining everything that’s happened, from the attack on Kerenza to the destruction of the battlecarrier Alexander. The files are kind of…well, they’re really weird in places. The AI storing them—AIDAN, its name was AIDAN—took a lot of hits. I’m not sure if it was crazy. What it did to these docs sure was. But you’ll be able to understand.

It might be that the Hypatia made it to safety. I’ll never know. I’ve done everything I can to make sure they do. But the people on the Hypatia don’t know half the story. I think [unintelligible—several words].

BeiTech did this. BeiTech killed my mother, Helena Grant. Killed my—killed Ezra. Ezra Mason. And his father. Killed my friends, killed the crew of the Alexander, who came when Kerenza called for help. BeiTech killed the crew of the Copernicus, who took in refugees and were only good people trying to do their jobs.

BeiTech killed the people of Kerenza, and if you f ind this, you have to tell the ’verse what happened. Everything you need is [unintelligible—speaker is coughing].

I think I better stop talking. My name is Kady Grant. Did I say that already?

I think I’m done. I think that’s everything I had to do.

I’m going to close my eyes.

THIS IS SCIENCE VESSEL HYPATIA HAILING ANY SURVIVORS

THIS IS SCIENCE VESSEL HYPATIA HAILING ANY SURVIVORS

THIS IS SCIENCE VESSEL HYPATIA HAILING ANY SURVIVORS

THIS IS SCIENCE VESSEL HYPATIA HAILING ANY SURVIVORS

THIS IS SCIENCE VESSEL HYPATIA HAILING ANY SURVIVORS

THIS IS SCIENCE VESSEL HYPATIA HAILING ANY SURVIVORS

THIS IS SCIENCE VESSEL HYPATIA HAILING ANY SURVIVORS

KADY, DO YOU COPY?

The Hypatia has to retrieve the escape pod; it’s not equipped with anything beyond stabilization thrusters, so even if she were in any shape to do it, Grant couldn’t get it anywhere near the docking bay. A group of Hypatia engineers and launch bay crew members work together to use one of the ship’s external maintenance arms to grab the pod and pull it into Shuttle Bay 1B. By sheer coincidence, it’s the same one she fled from when she stole Shuttle 49A to make her trip to the Alexander.

It’s empty again this time, too.

It’s hard to watch. Is that unprofessional?

When the Lincoln was first vanquished at Kerenza, the Alexander fled, counting her dead, desperately trying to staunch her own wounds. But later there were quiet words, medals awarded, recognition.

The second time the Lincoln was vanquished, Ezra Mason landed in an Alexander hangar bay to the shouts and cheers of his fellows. He grinned as he walked out to accept his hero’s welcome, clutching Kady’s picture in his hand.

This third time, there’s nothing.

The door to the escape pod opens, and Grant crawls out through the hatch, pausing halfway. She has shed her envirosuit. Still clad in the Hypatia jumpsuit beneath, she hugs her datapad to her chest. Her straggly pink hair is fading, her face is bruised and bloodied, and her eyes are bright with fever. The dark marks beneath them stand out against pale skin.

She is greeted by a welcoming committee of one; a doctor in a hazmat suit stands and watches, but when it seems clear that Grant can’t make it the rest of the way out of the escape pod on her own, he walks forward to hook his hands under her arms and pull her through the hatch. Very slowly. Very careful not to risk any damage to his suit.

Her knees give, and he loops her free arm around his neck, so together they can limp across to the workbench that’s been turned into a makeshift bed. Folded blankets at one end, pillow at the other. The only sounds are their footsteps and her breath, quick and hoarse.

The doctor helps her lie down, and she curls up slowly, every movement an effort. She draws her knees up to her chest, hugging the datapad against her body.

The doctor opens his kit, selecting a syringe. When he speaks, his voice is tinny, broadcast through an external mic. “This shot will combat the radiation poisoning. You’ll need a transfusion too. But you should start to feel better in a couple of hours.”

She tries to answer, but trembling as she is, she can’t make her mouth shape the words. He injects her deftly, resting one hand on her shaking arm to hold it still, then starts to pack up his kit.

“What—” she whispers. “What will—”

“You’re quarantined for seven days,” he replies. “I’ll be back with food and fluids. But you’ll have to give up the datapad now.”

She hugs it closer. Shakes her head fiercely.

“It’s irradiated from the barrage, Miss Grant,” the doctor says. “It needs to be decontaminated. You keep it, you’ll just keep soaking up the rads. You’ll die.”

She glares silently. Clinging to the pad like it’s driftwood in a drowning sea.

The doctor’s face softens.

“I’ll give it back. You have my word.”

She doesn’t reply, and after a moment, the doctor slowly pries it from her hands. She curls up into a tight little ball, still and silent. He hesitates, as if he recognizes, on some level, that her service requires some words, that her sacrifice should be marked. And yet he says nothing.

He leaves via the airlock doors, locks her in with a hollow clang.

Grant is left alone in the cavernous silence of the shuttle bay, empty hands and empty stare. No other welcoming committee for her.

Tears track down her cheeks, and her eyes close.

This doesn’t look much like victory.

—————————————————————END OF FILE
DATA COMPLETE

MEMORANDUM FOR: Ghost ID (#6755-4181-2584-1597-987-610-377-ERROR-ERROR-ERROR…)

FROM: Executive Director Frobisher

INCEPT: 01/30/76

SUBJECT: Re: Alexander dossier

To the Illuminae Group,

My thanks for the dossier you compiled. I read it with great interest.

BeiTech has several specialist teams tracking intel fallout from the Alexander incident. Our hygiene crews worked diligently to erase any and all records of the event, both digital and biological. We had the utmost faith in your abilities, but none of the other information-liberty teams have even approached your report in terms of detail. I really must applaud your thoroughness.

I do have several queries, however, as to the means by which you acquired your data. I wonder if we might chat live via messager. Off the BeiTech grid.

I will be using my personal IM service at 8:00 p.m. (Terran Standard). I’m sure a group with your collective abilities will have few difficulties accessing it.

I look forward to speaking with you.

L. Frobisher
Executive Director
BeiTech Acquisitions Division

PERSONAL MESSAGE SYSTEM: Frobisher, L.

INCEPT: 01/30/76 20:02 (TS)

Illuminae: Hello, Director

Frobisher, L: Hello, Kady.

Frobisher, L: It is you, isn’t it?

Frobisher, L: I think you knew I’d work that out. Some of the materials you gathered really could only have come from one place, after all.

Illuminae: *slow clap*

Illuminae: Looks like I owe you a lollipop.

Frobisher, L: At first I thought it might have been stupidity that led you to send me so much information about yourself.

Frobisher, L: But now I see you aren’t stupid at all.

Illuminae: No?

Frobisher, L: No.

Frobisher, L: You’re just astonishingly arrogant.

Illuminae: Careful now. You’ll hurt my feelings.

Frobisher, L: The thing is, though you might not be stupid, I’m not either. You left out one very important detail from your report.

Illuminae: And what’s that?

Frobisher, L: You neglected to mention my son is still alive.

Frobisher, L: Don’t bother with arguments or denials. The Alexander’s AI was lying to you the whole time. It needed you to think he was dead so you’d stay with it and protect the fleet. You might have just run if you thought he was back on the Hypatia.

Frobisher, L: But Ezra is alive.

Illuminae: Okay, I’ll bite. How u figure that?

Frobisher, L: You left a few bread crumbs, I’m afraid.

Illuminae: Like hell I did.

Frobisher, L: One crumb, then.

Frobisher, L: But give me enough time and I’ll buy another. And another. Money buys an awful lot, you know. And we have an awful lot of money.

Illuminae: Yeah, I got the remaining 50% for delivery, by the way. Thx 4 that. Don’t see that many zeros often.

Illuminae: Pity I specified non-refundable, huh.

Frobisher, L: Where is he?

Illuminae: OK, look Leanne

Illuminae: U don’t mind if I call u Leanne, rite?

Frobisher, L: I do, actually.

Illuminae: So look, Leanne. Ezra warned me I should’ve seen this coming.

Illuminae: Looks like you 2 actually still agree on one thing in the verse.

Illuminae: He sometimes says I overreach. Only sometimes, though. I like that about him. His father raised him to be a good guy.

Illuminae: But you had nothing to do with that.

Illuminae: And he wants nothing to do with you.

Frobisher, L: Where is he?

Illuminae: He’s with me. He’s safe.

Frobisher, L: He’s my son. And he’s not safe. Neither of you is.

Frobisher, L: Do you realize how easily I could find you? How easily I could reach out and break you?

Illuminae: If you could’ve, you would’ve

Frobisher, L: There it is again. Arrogance. You’re an 18 year old database vandal with a pocket full of loose change. I’m an executive director in a corporation spanning a hundred colonized worlds.

Frobisher, L: You’re swimming with some very big fish, Miss Grant. Are you really a “group” at all? Or is Illuminae just one little girl and a computer screen?

Illuminae: Trying to find out if there are more witnesses, huh? Wondering how many of us actually made it out alive?

Illuminae: You’ll know soon enough.

Frobisher, L: Tell me where my son is

Frobisher, L: And I won’t make you suffer before you die

Illuminae: Yeah, Ez said u were a real psycho

Illuminae: I mean, I’ve seen crazy, Leanne. Up close.

Illuminae: But you…

Illuminae: He told me about that time you pulled a gun on his dad

Illuminae: Told me how he got those little circular scars on his arm when he was eight

Illuminae: You still smoke cigars? Bad habit, y’know

Frobisher, L: We do this the hard way, then?

Illuminae: looks like

Frobisher, L: Do you have any concept of the resources I can bring to bear to hunt you down?

Illuminae: Oh, u might wanna save those credits, honey. u’re gonna need every one u can muster.

Illuminae: Real soon.

Frobisher, L: Meaning what?

Illuminae: Not too bright, huh. I expect more from my archnemesis y’know :P

Illuminae: It’s been a year since Kerenza fell, Leanne. 2 months since you first contracted me for this gig. But all the intel I just gave you, I already had. So what do you think I’ve been doing with my time?

Frobisher, L: Enlighten me

Illuminae: Alexander, Hypatia, Lincoln. They’re just part of this story. I’ve been documenting the rest of it. Jump Station Heimdall. The Kennedy Assault Fleet. Project Plainview. Rapier. All of it.

Illuminae: I know all of it, Leanne

Illuminae: Attacking one of the WUC’s illegal mining ops was a smart opening move. If the Consortium reported the assault to the UTA, they’d have to admit they were mining hermium illegally. The cost of losing the colony would be nothing compared to the fines they’d wear. So BeiTech figured they could just jack the place and WUC wouldn’t say a word to anyone.

Illuminae: And you were right.

Illuminae: But I’m not the WUC, Leanne. And I’ve got plenty of words to say.

Frobisher, L: If that’s the case, why give me these files at all? Why warn me?

Illuminae: Why not? You can’t stop what’s coming. And I kinda like the idea of you scrambling about trying to save yourself before the ax falls.

Illuminae: You people made Phobos

Illuminae: now it’s your turn to be afraid

Frobisher, L: Walk away, Kady

Frobisher, L: Walk away from what you found and I’ll leave you alone. You go public with whatever you think you know, you’d better pray your first punch is a good one. Because you’ll never see mine coming.

Illuminae: I cannot say this loudly enough, or in enough languages

Illuminae: AIDAN and I found out what you did. And I’m going to shout about it loud enough for the whole verse to hear

Frobisher, L: AIDAN?

Frobisher, L: Are you delusional?

Frobisher, L: The Alexander’s artificial intelligence was destroyed, Kady.

Illuminae: :)

Illuminae: you think?

Illuminae: Don’t you remember what Byron told me before he died? it’s a self-repairing system, Leanne. “If I even leave a seed of it, it’ll grow back,” he said. Well, I got a seed out in my datapad, and that’s all it needed to start rebuilding itself. I’ll tell you this much for free, though: It really hated that pad. Cramped, it said. These überbrain computers are all the same, right? Fussy

Illuminae: but even after all the pieces of itself it lost, it managed to hold on to the idea that everything it lost, it lost because of BeiTech

Illuminae: it got pretty angry with you, Leanne. almost as angry as me

Illuminae: scared yet?

Frobisher, L: I want my son

Illuminae: He doesn’t want you

Illuminae: I wonder how it felt finding out he was hiding on Kerenza. That your husband would rather have lived on a miserable little speck of ice at the far reaches of the galaxy than live with you. And of all the WUC holdings you could have blown to hell, you picked that one to kick off your little hostile takeover.

Illuminae: I wish I could’ve seen your face

Illuminae: never mind.

Illuminae: I’ll see it on the news soon

Frobisher, L: You have no idea who you’re dealing with

Illuminae: oh i know exactly who I’m dealing with

Illuminae: tell u what

Illuminae: parting gift before i go look up the e-dress of the UTA judicial tribunal and send them what I just sent you

Illuminae: you want to see ezra? Got one more file for you

Illuminae: read it and weep

Illuminae: then run fast

Illuminae: and run far

It’s been eight days since Acting Captain Syra Boll heard from her crew that far, far behind them they had detected an explosion of such magnitude that it could only mean one thing. Eight days since she made an unthinkably foolish choice—since she made the only choice she could live with—and turned the Hypatia around.

Seven days since the Hypatia swept the debris fields and found the impossible. Kady Grant, half dead in one of the Alexander’s only two surviving escape pods. From the other, Sergeant Kyra Tan howled threats at them and all their mortal descendants, and with reluctance, they left her where they found her.

Seven days since they reeled their savior in, left her in Shuttle Bay 1B to wait and see if Phobos Beta would come calling for her, or if she’d live.

After the first day, the symptoms of acute radiation poisoning began to recede, and she was able to uncurl a little, to move. To walk a slow lap of the shuttle bay, listening to her footsteps echo in the distance. And eventually to curl up on her hard bed once more, and wait.

It really didn’t look like victory.

The shuttle bay footage is of particularly high quality; the technicians monitoring her were nervous, made sure they could capture every pixel. But she showed no symptoms and obediently offered her arm for a blood sample when the doctor made his house calls, wrapped head to foot in his bright green plastic suit.

No Phobos Beta. No hallucinated fears. Everything she feared had already come true. Hallucinations simply couldn’t beat the real thing.

This transcript begins at 16:22 hours, when a loud thunk echoes around the shuttle bay, signaling that the airlock seal has been broken. With a long, low rumble, the door begins to cycle open, light streaming in through the crack. She simply lies there, gazing into space, arms wrapped around herself.

A voice rises over the door’s rumble—male, teenaged, impatient. “Let me in before I—”

Though she’s lying still on the bed, there’s a different quality to her stillness now. She heard the voice. She knows exactly who it sounds like. And the knowing, the remembering, cuts like a knife, because she knows it isn’t true.

The voice again, lifted to a shout: “Kady!”

She pushes upright like an old woman, one hand braced against the cold bench, levering herself up with a wince, until she sits. Then, deliberately, she swings her legs over the edge.

Second Lieutenant Ezra Mason stumbles through the door and comes to a halt a few steps inside the shuttle bay. She’s never seen him like this—in a clean UTA uniform, pips on his sleeve, hair cut regulation short, one arm in a cast from wrist to elbow.

He holds a battered and familiar datapad in his other hand.

She stares at him, expressionless. Eventually, she blinks slowly, draws the only possible conclusion. “I am sick. I thought the afflicted were supposed to see things that scared them.”

He shakes his head, walks closer, slow and careful, as though he might spook her.

“You’re not sick,” he whispers.

“You’re dead,” she points out, voice rusty from disuse.

“Just a little messed up,” he murmurs, lifting his hand to show her the cast. “I took a beating when they attacked the shuttle bay, but I got out with the evac group.”

She shakes her head, matter-of-fact in her contradiction. “Even if you made it over here, Captain Boll flushed all the Cyclone pilots out the airlock. I couldn’t get the full name list, but Mikael—Chatter—from your wing, he was there. You would have been there, too.”

A shadow passes across his features at that. “I couldn’t fly my Cyclone over, not with a broken arm. I was med-evac’ed in one of the shuttles.” A ghost of his old smile. “Once I found out you’d flown over to the Alexander, I wanted to follow you. Tried to steal a ship, and when that didn’t work, I busted my way onto the bridge.” He pauses to shake his head. “I tried to make them turn around to get you. They brigged me.” His voice breaks. “I’m sorry, Kades. I shouldn’t have let them leave you.”

She considers that, holding perfectly still. Turning the logic over in her head, examining it from every angle. Analytical mind looking for the flaw that’ll tell her she’s hallucinating. That she’s sick, or dead, or still in the escape pod, submerged in fever dreams.

But she can’t find it.

“Ezra.” The dawn of hope in her whisper.

He nods, swallowing hard.

She pushes to her feet, swaying, and the movement seems to release him—the next moment he’s running across the shuttle bay, watched by the debrief crew in the doorway, who know better than to move a muscle.

She steps forward, one foot, then the other, and then he reaches her, and they come together with a crash. Her arms curl up around his neck, and his mouth finds hers like he’s drowning and she’s air, and her feet come clean off the ground as the world is forgotten.

And they’re together.

Illuminae: Now run

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Books aren’t created in a vacuum. Even books that are set in one. And while insane artificial intelligences and collapsing holes in space-time and Phobos viruses are all up there on the spooky scale, nothing is quite so terrifying as the thought of living in a universe without people as awesome as these:

Our wonderful readers: Lindsay Ribar, Beth Revis, Marie Lu, S. Jae-Jones, Michelle Dennis, Olivia Davis, Susan Dennard, and Julie Eshbaugh. Thank you for your hours and insight. We hope you never find your saliva boiling on your tongues in the cold void of space. Marie, for your early and constant championing of this story, we also hope you never find yourself unexpectedly shivved through the eyehole of your hazmat suit by a small child.

Our advisers: Thanks are due to Dr. Kate Irving for insight on all things medical and plaguey (yes, that is a word); Tsana Dolichva for countless course corrections and endless patience in the realm of astrophysics; David Taylor for wisdom on computers and the hacking thereof; Dr. Sam Bowden and Dr. Thalles DeMelo for stolen psyche profiles; Soraya Een Hajji for all things Latin; Christopher Guethe for an unforgettable tour around the NASA JPL labs; and Hank Green and the team at SciShow Space (noooooo eeeeedge) for the hours of useful trivia. May you never have your hearts ripped out and dragged around like bloody teddy bears by psychotic eight-year-olds.

The Random Housers: Many thanks to our wonderful editor, Melanie Cecka, for boundless enthusiasm and insight and taking a chance on this oh-so-strange bookthing; Karen Greenberg for doing all the real work; Alison Impey, Ray Shappell, Isabel Warren-Lynch, Stephanie Moss, and Heather Kelly for inspired design (and putting up with our endless questions); and our copy editors, Janet Wygal, Amy Schroeder, Alison Kolani, Diana Varvara, and Artie Bennett—we are soooo sorry, please forgive us. In production, Natalia Dextre and Tim Terhune, and in managing editorial, Shasta Clinch and Dawn Ryan—thank you! Nancy Hinkel, Barbara Marcus, and Judith Haut—thank you, thank you, and thank you! In marketing and publicity, John Adamo, Dominique Cimina, Kim Lauber, Rachel Feld, Sonia Nash Gupta, Aisha Cloud, Casey Lloyd, Adrienne Waintraub, and so many others—you are amazing! May your throats never be snipped open by a lunatic with a pair of pinking shears.

For incredible artwork: Stuart Wade, Meinert Hansen, and Kristen Gudsnuk. May you never die howling, abandoned in an escape pod at the end of the universe.

Anna McFarlane and the amazing team at Allen & Unwin: Thank you for giving Illuminae its Australian home and for all your wonderful support. In the UK, God Save Queens Juliet and Sarah, and Team Rock The Boat. May you never be run over by a seventeen-year-old in a stolen truck after you shot her ex-boyfriend.

Our agents: Josh and Tracey Adams, Matt Bialer, Lindsay “LT” Ribar, Stephen Moore, and Stefanie Diaz. Without your mighty advocacy and support, we’d still be at the pub, scribbling on the back of napkins. We hope you’re never incinerated in a nuclear firestorm initiated by a mostly insane artificial intelligence off the shoulder of Kerenza VII.

Nic Crowhurst and the Internal Revenue Service, thank you for bringing us together. May you never find yourself solving Alcubierre’s quandary on the walls of your domicile in your own blood.

Christopher Tovo, thank you for making us look way cooler than we ever do in real life. May no one ever scoop your eyes out with a sharpened spoon to stop you from looking at them.

Jens Kidman, Fredrik Thordendal, Tomas Haake, Mårten Hagström, Dick Lövgren, Corey Taylor, Maynard James Keenan, Adam Jones, Danny Carey, Justin Chancellor, Winston McCall, Oliver Sykes, Ian Kenny, Ludovico Einaudi, Burton C. Bell, Robb Flynn, D. Randall Blythe, Mark Morton, Chris Adler, Willy Adler, John Campbell, Mitch Lucker, Matthew Bellamy, Christopher Wolstenholme, and Dominic Howard—our gratitude for the endless inspiration. May your Warlocks never be cut to pieces by an untrained seventeen-year-old with no prior DGS experience.

All the readers, booksellers, librarians, reviewers, and bloggers who have supported us on this journey so far: We love you. May you never find yourselves impaled by shrapnel during the carpet bombing of your home planet.

Jay’s grimy band of nerds and neckbeards: Marc, Surly Jim, B-Money, the goddamn Batman, Rafe, Weez, Sam, Patrick, Whitey, Tomas, Dandrew, Beiber, and the Dread Pirate Glouftis. May you never find yourselves beheaded by psychotics and (what’s left of) your bodies laid out to form part of a cryptic message in Hangar Bay 4.

Amie’s indispensable sanity-keepers and support network: Meg (couldn’t do any of it without you, wouldn’t want to, ever), Marie, Leigh, Beth, Kacey, Soraya, Kate, Michelle, Hannah, Nic, Flic, the Roti Boti clan, the Pub(lishing) Crawl gang, Team FOS, and the Plot Bunnies. May you never find yourselves shot in the face by a private you thought was your friend.

Our families, who barely ever ask how we turned out this way when they raised us so well, thank you for your constant support. May you never find yourselves flushed into the cold vacuum of space by a very nervous former chief of navigation.

And last, but more than anyone else, thank you to Amanda and Brendan for more than we know how to say. Without you, nothing.

AMIE KAUFMAN
is the New York Times bestselling co-author of the STARBOUND TRILOGY.

JAY KRISTOFF
is the award-winning author of the LOTUS WAR TRILOGY.

Collectively, they are 12′5″ tall and live in Melbourne, Australia, with two long-suffering spouses, two rescue dogs, and a plentiful supply of caffeine. They met thanks to international taxation law, and stuck together due to a shared love of blowing things up and breaking hearts. You can learn more about Amie and Jay at amiekaufman.com and jaykristoff.com.

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