The auxiliary lights come on. For the first time in thirty years, Abel is no longer surrounded by darkness.
A human might hesitate, overwhelmed with shock, delight, or gratitude. Abel instantly angles himself, prepared for the moment a split second later when gravity comes back on. He drops two meters and lands on his feet and hands as silently as a cat. From there it’s only one step to the door; his fingers fly over the keyboard with inhuman speed to input the unlock code, and—at last, at long last—the pod-bay door slides open.
Abel is free.
He doesn’t celebrate. He doesn’t laugh. He simply runs to the nearest “defensive resource” listed in the ship schematics. The locker remains undamaged, still sealed. Whatever happened to Mansfield and the others, they never used these. Is that good news—or proof they died instantly?
Abel punches in the ten-digit code. The door opens, revealing the locker’s contents, and Abel’s hand closes around a blaster. Now armed, he runs toward sick bay. If Burton Mansfield is in cryosleep there, his life may be imminently at risk. Therefore, the Genesis pilot remains an enemy intruder whose presence cannot be allowed. The pilot’s swiftness in restoring full power suggests an intelligent opponent. In other words, a dangerous one.
Abel will allow himself to be found by his liberator—the person who set him free after all this time—and then he’ll shoot to kill.
5
NOEMI SLAMS DOWN ONTO THE DECK OF THE ABAN-doned ship, instinctively covering her head as pieces of debris fall on and around her—emergency ration packs, tools, all the other stuff these careless people left behind. Worse than the impacts on her back and arms are the heavy thuds of metal from behind: her fighter and Esther’s recon ship, falling onto the docking-bay floor.
The ships can take that. But Esther…
Lights are on. Gravity’s stabilized. Atmosphere pressurized—go.
Noemi dashes from the control panel to Esther’s ship and hits the switch to open the cockpit from the outside, but the damage is too great—it’s lost all power. Esther stirs, rolling onto one side until she stiffens, in obvious pain. With a shaky hand, Esther reaches for the manual control. The cockpit’s transparent shell scrapes back too slowly.
“Esther!” Noemi tugs off her helmet, then reaches inside the cockpit even as the shell struggles to open fully. Carefully she lifts off Esther’s helmet, too. “Where are you hurt?”
“Left—” Esther has to swallow hard before she can keep talking. “Left side… Where are we?”
“Looks like an abandoned Earth ship in the debris field.” And the ship’s in even better condition than Noemi had hoped. The backup power is at nearly 100 percent despite what must have been many years dormant. There’s a small plaque above the doors leading into the rest of the ship, one word etched in larger letters than all the rest. “The Daedalus. Somebody from Earth must’ve been forced to dump it decades ago. So, see, we’ve got gravity, communications systems, medical supplies, everything we need. You’re going to be okay.”
Esther’s head lolls back, her green eyes glinting with gallows humor. “Liar.”
“You will. Can you get out of your ship?”
After a moment, Esther slowly shakes her head. “I can’t stand up. The mech—my hip—”
Noemi’s stomach turns over as she realizes the mech not only tore through the hull of the ship but crushed Esther’s hip joint, too. The flight suit isn’t ripped, but that doesn’t mean Esther isn’t shredded and bleeding inside it.
The femoral artery hasn’t been severed, Noemi tells herself. If it had been, she’d be dead already. So it’s intact. She has a chance.
“Okay, Esther. Hang on.” Try to carry her to sick bay, or bring supplies back here? If they’re going to make it back to the troop ship and real medical help, Esther’s going to need sealant for her wounds and maybe a transfusion if she’s bleeding inside—one that Noemi, with AB negative blood type, probably can’t supply. But a ship like this might have stocked synthetic blood, and the stuff’s good forever. Noemi can carry some synthetic blood and tubes, and probably Esther shouldn’t be moved until she’s been stabilized and they have a better idea of just how badly she’s been injured. “I’m going to find sick bay, all right? I’ll be right back with supplies.”
Esther’s face goes even paler. She doesn’t want to be left alone, and Noemi’s heart wrenches thinking of how scared Esther must feel. But her friend only nods, and tries to joke. “I’m not… going anywhere.”
Noemi squeezes Esther’s gloved hand, then runs for the door, which slides open smoothly. She dashes into the interior of the deserted ship and pauses, trying to get her bearings. The corridor curves in what looks like a long oval, and the emergency lighting tints everything dull orange. Noemi looks around wildly. This ship isn’t that enormous—perhaps the size of a couple of three-story houses put together—but even the few minutes it would take to explore it fully are minutes Esther can’t spare. I need a screen, schematics, something to tell me where everything is!
She runs along the main corridor, a long spiral that goes from the bottom of the ship to the top, with a few short side corridors jutting off the sides. Like a vine with thorns, Noemi thinks. And the corridors are vaulted, broken up every few meters by curved metal struts on the side. It reminds her of the halls of Gothic cathedrals built on Earth long ago.
Then she sees a screen. Heart pounding, she presses her hand against it. Most info screens respond to human touch, but this one remains black. “Computer?” Noemi tries. Nothing. Does it not hear her? “Information. Power on.”
Still nothing. But at the very bottom of the screen, she sees a faint light racing back and forth, indicating that the computers are at least partially active. It must be malfunctioning. Although the Daedalus looks almost completely undamaged, it has to have been here a long time, at least since the first Liberty War thirty years prior. Maybe it’s falling apart due to neglect.…
No, Noemi realizes. That’s not it. Someone must have locked down primary systems.
Chills sweep through her, stiffening her backbone and making her hair stand on end. Is someone else aboard the Daedalus?—but no. That’s impossible. No human being could or would have lived in isolation for thirty years. Probably the former crew locked systems down before abandoning ship, to ensure nobody from Genesis could capture it.
If these systems are locked down, communication will be, too. How can she contact the troop ship and Captain Baz?