Deal with that later, she tells herself. Just find sick bay and take care of Esther.
The landing bay is on the lowest level of the Daedalus, so Noemi runs upward, checking each door as she goes. Engine room—no. Kitchen mess—no. Auxiliary pod bay for equipment—no. Crew quarters—the bridge with its vast viewscreen—no. Her breathing quickens as she pushes herself onward. Panic is closing in, and piloting a fighter in battle is more exhausting than it seems. But the danger to Esther keeps Noemi moving.
I must be near the top, she thinks as she rounds the next curve, footsteps thudding against the metal plates of the floor. Sick bay has to be one of the next few rooms—
Two years of military training have honed Noemi’s reflexes. So a barely conscious alarm goes off when one of the metal plates doesn’t thump the same way as the others. Maybe it’s that flush of extra adrenaline that sharpens her vision and lets her detect one swift flash of movement around the next curve—pale gray against the coal black of the corridors. Noemi reacts without thinking, instantly flinging herself sideways to take cover behind one of the wall struts in the split second before a blaster bolt scorches the floor.
One blink and her own blaster’s in her hand. Noemi leans around to shoot at her unknown attacker, whips back before whoever it is can target her again. The smell of ozone sears her nose, and now she’s on the verge of panic.
How can anyone be in here? Did a human being somehow live in this ship for thirty years?
What frightens Noemi the most is that her attacker stands between her and sick bay. This intruder, or castaway, whoever it might be, is keeping Noemi from getting Esther the help she needs. Esther could be bleeding to death internally right now.
Fear turns to fury. Noemi shoots blindly around the rounded corner of the corridor. Immediately her assailant fires back, missing her only by millimeters; the heat of the blast stings her bare fingers.
That was so close. So accurate. With a mere fraction of a second to aim…
Noemi’s gut clenches. A mech. That’s what it has to be, another damned mech. At first she’s confused—I know no other mechs flew out this way with us, only the one I destroyed—but then she realizes it must have been aboard ever since this ship was abandoned. The human beings saved themselves and fled back to Earth, leaving this soulless hunk of metal behind to defend the wreckage forever.
Emergency systems aboard the Daedalus belatedly recognize internal weapons fire. The lights shift from orange to red; they begin to pulse rapidly, the strobe effect turning the entire world strange and disjointed. Noemi’s heartbeat speeds up to match it.
She is a warrior of Genesis. She flew into battle today prepared to be killed by a mech. But she’ll be damned if she’ll let one kill Esther, too.
Noemi has to destroy this mech and get to sick bay now—or die trying.
6
THIRTY YEARS OF SOLITUDE, ENDED IN A FLASH. WITH his first glimpse of the intruder, Abel is—at last—no longer alone.
Every command in his programming says he must kill the new human on board. He fully intends to do so. But for one overpowering, rapturous moment, Abel wants nothing more than to hear her voice, to see her, to revel in the presence of another.
Replaying the .412 seconds of visual data he has indicates that this is most likely a her—an adolescent, female-presenting human approximately 168 centimeters or five feet six inches in height, of primarily Latin American and Polynesian ancestry, with chin-length black hair, brown eyes, the dark-green exosuit of a Genesis soldier, and a Mark Eight blaster that is—to judge by the wavelength of the beams that just sliced through the air—at approximately 45 percent charge.
Given that he must kill the intruder shortly, the data about the blaster is the most relevant. Abel saw two fighters entering the landing bay, but only one soldier has infiltrated the ship. Therefore, his earlier analysis of the situation was correct: One pilot is severely injured, and the other wants to reach sick bay in order to provide assistance.
But she cannot be allowed to do so, because Burton Mansfield may be in cryosleep inside. Immediately after arming himself, Abel shut off all communications systems, both internal and external, to isolate the Genesis pilots. Therefore, no reinforcements will arrive. His opponent is alone and desperate. In such conditions, humans become reckless. If he keeps her from her goal, she will go to extreme lengths to reach sick bay—and in so doing, weaken her position.
Abel thinks through the intruder’s options, makes a decision. Instead of prolonging their firefight, he turns and runs toward sick bay. He’s fast enough to reach the door before the first blaster bolt hits the wall nearby, and to get inside before she can pursue. As soon as the sick bay door slides shut behind him, he wheels around, locks the door, and…
… stops.
His programming is clear. Check the cryosleep pods. Look for Mansfield.
But his emotional processes appear to have morphed considerably during his thirty years, because he doesn’t want to turn around to look at sick bay.
Yes, he might find out that Burton Mansfield is here—but he might also find out that Mansfield is long gone, or long dead. He’s borne the suspense for so long that he finds himself afraid of certainty. He wants to stay in this box with Schr?dinger’s cat forever.
Lights around the door lock begin to flash, warning him of a power surge. As Abel had anticipated, the intruder has set her blaster to maximum in an effort to blow the lock. Within ninety seconds, the door will open. After overload, the Genesis warrior will have only one or two shots left in her weapon. Although Abel is confident he can dodge those shots, she might miss and hit the cryosleep pods.
The risk breaks his hesitation. Abel turns and looks.
All signs indicate the cryosleep pods are not in use. Verify.
As the faint whine of the overloading blaster slides to a higher pitch, Abel moves to the panels and double-checks. Confirmed. Nobody lies in any of the cryosleep chambers. It does not appear they were ever activated.
The Daedalus’s human passengers, including Burton Mansfield, abandoned ship thirty years ago, and they have never come back.
“They can’t get their hands on the Gate readouts,” said Captain Gee. On the viewscreen dome of the bridge, the Genesis fighters blew up another Damocles, a few hundred mechs smashed in an instant. “You, there. Mech. Extract the hard memory elements, launch them through the Gate, now.”
Abel turned to obey the senior officer aboard, but stopped as Mansfield said, “We’re not abandoning ship without Abel.”
Captain Gee snapped, “If the thing can get to the docking bay in time to leave with us, great! If not, just build another one!”