Marshall leans back from his desk and runs his hands back through his brush-cut salt-and-pepper hair.
“Look,” he says. “We began this expedition with one hundred and ninety-eight people. We made landfall with one hundred and eighty, and we are now down to one hundred and seventy-five. From a population standpoint, we are fast approaching the limit of viability for a beachhead colony. Because of this, I unfortunately can’t actually shove either one of you down the corpse hole at this time, or even punish you in any meaningful way, much though I might like to do so.
“Barnes, I have a strong suspicion that you know more about those things out there than you’re telling us. If this is true, I can only ask you to think very carefully about what you’re doing, because if this colony goes down, you will wind up spending your last days like that poor sick bastard on Roanoke, in the company of a whole shitload of Mickey Barneses—which, I can tell you from my experience with just one of you, would be absolutely unbearable.
“Chen, I really don’t know what to make of you at this point. I’m beginning to suspect that you may have had some preexisting relationship with Barnes, which you should have disclosed prior to the sortie. In the future, please remember that you need to let Command know if the possibility exists that personal issues may interfere with the performance of your mission.”
Cat opens her mouth to speak, but Marshall cuts her off again with a slash of one hand.
“I don’t want to hear it,” he says. “I just want you to think very carefully about who you choose to associate with in the future.”
He looks at me, then Cat, then back at me. “That’s all,” he says. “Go. We’ll let you know when you’re needed again.”
* * *
“SO,” CAT SAYS. “That was fun.”
We’re in the cafeteria, catching a late-shift dinner. There are at least thirty people here, gathered in groups of three or four, leaning over their tables, heads close together, talking in low voices. Five deaths in one day is a scary thing on a beachhead colony, and we’re mostly engaged in the ancient human custom of telling one another what idiots the recently deceased were, in order to convince ourselves that what happened to them can’t possibly happen to us.
“Yeah,” I say. “He didn’t actually murder us. I call that a win.”
That gets a smile. Cat’s much prettier in a jumpsuit than she was in battle gear. Her face is soft and heart-shaped, and her hair is thick and black and pulled back into a shoulder-length ponytail. She’s picking at a plate of roasted tomatoes and a stringy-looking rabbit haunch. I’m working my way through a hundred-kcal half-full mug of cycler paste. I know I promised Eight the rest of our ration for the day, but I just nearly died while he was napping. That has to count for something, right?
“So,” I say. “Marshall thinks we’re sexing, huh?”
Cat’s face hardens into a scowl. “Marshall can fuck himself.”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s pretty harsh. Don’t want anyone thinking that you’re associating with the Expendable, huh?”
She shakes her head. “Nah. I’m not a Natalist or anything. As far as I’m concerned, you’re no different from any of the other weirdos who signed up for this trip. What I don’t like is the insinuation that I didn’t do my job because my hormones got in the way. I mean, I didn’t hear him giving you any shit about that, right?”
“I didn’t…” I trail off, because I was about to say I didn’t think he meant it that way, and it’s just occurred to me that yeah, he probably did.
“You didn’t what?”
“Nothing,” I say. “You’re one hundred percent right. Fuck that guy.”
“Amen,” she says, and raises her water cup to me. “Fuck that guy.”
I tap my mug to her cup, and we drink.
While she’s distracted with that, I snatch a tomato from her tray and cram it into my mouth before she can react.
“Hey,” she growls, then reaches across the table and punches my shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise. “No screwing around, Barnes. You touch my food again and I’ll break your arm.”
“Sorry,” I say, and push my mug of paste toward her. “You can have some of mine if you want.”
She scowls again and pushes it back. “Thanks, I’m good. If you want a tomato, why don’t you just go get one? Did you seriously eat through your entire day’s rations before the sortie?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Pretty much. I’ve had a rough few days.”
“Oh,” she says. “Right. I forgot you went down last night. You’re fresh out of the tank, huh?” She takes a bite, chews, and swallows. “What’s that like?”
“What, coming out of the tank?”
She nods, picks up the rabbit bone, and gnaws at a bit of meat left around the joint. “Yeah. I’ve always wondered what it’s like to wake up and know that you just died, that the body you’re in was a bunch of protein paste in the bio-cycler a few hours before. How does that feel?”
“Well,” I say, “you’re not conscious in the tank. You wake up in your bed. You’re a little disoriented and a lot hungover, and you can’t remember how you got there. You think maybe you were out drinking the night before, except that you can’t remember that either. The last thing you remember is plugging in to upload.”
She leans back and nods. “Right. That’s when you realize.”
“Yeah, that’s it. I’ve done it seven times now, and it’s a kick in the crotch every time.”
She gives me a sympathetic smile, but then her eyes focus over my left shoulder and the smile fades. I turn my head to see Nasha standing behind me, arms folded across her chest.
“Hey,” she says. “How’d it go with Command?”
I slide over to make room for her. She steps over the bench and sits.
“Good,” I say. “Well, more like adequate, I guess. Marshall threatened to cram me down the corpse hole, but he didn’t actually do it.”
Nasha grimaces. “Is that even a threat for you? After the shit that bastard did to you when we first made landfall, why would he think that would scare you?”
Cat looks at Nasha, then back at me. “Well,” she says. “He did threaten to put him through balls-first.”
Nasha shakes her head, and moves her hand to the small of my back. “Sister, you have no idea what this man has been through.”
“You’re talking about the medical stuff?”
“Yeah,” Nasha says. “I’m talking about the medical stuff.”
Cat looks away then, and goes back to picking at her rabbit bone. I nudge Nasha. Cat’s had a rough go. She doesn’t need to catch shade right now. Nasha sighs.
“Anyway,” she says, “I’m sorry about what happened to Gillian and Rob out there. I know you guys were tight.”
“Thanks,” Cat says. “I already asked Gomez this, but … did you guys pick up anything before those things hit us? I mean, they couldn’t have just materialized out of nothing, right?”