Hiro’s reaction time was dulled by the drink and the sense of betrayal that had crushed him. He had trusted Maria. She had been his only friend on the ship. And he found out she was responsible for all the misery, all the madness, the prison, the decades of hell, the dreams. It was all her fault.
Everything made sense now. They had solved the murders, but that didn’t change the fact that he could never trust her again. And worse, even if he hadn’t been the one attacking or killing the others, that didn’t mean he’d been entirely innocent—because he had blacked out, which meant the yadokari had been active doing something. He was still broken.
Then there was another blackout, but this time it was everywhere.
Hiro struggled to his feet and then fell when something hit him from behind. A knife dug in, and he felt the yadokari flare to life as if they had been sleeping fireworks. He bucked his assailant off and struck out with his open hand, driving his fingertips into something soft. Paul made a strangled sound and was gone.
Hiro rose again and began limping toward the door. A small red light, the only illumination in the room, still blinked, indicating it was locked. He wasn’t moving to go through the door, though. When he got to the wall, he felt around to see if he could find the speaker and mike that IAN—Minoru—used.
“Takahashi Minoru,” he said into the mike. He panted, feeling the blood run down his back. That asshole. I should go back and kill him.
Hiro calmly allowed the yadokari back into his mind and spoke gently into the mike, this time in Japanese. “You remember, don’t you? We were friends once. We messed with the other prisoners. I helped get you out, do you remember that?”
“I don’t,” the answer came, whispering. “I don’t know who I am.”
“That’s okay, I don’t know who I am either,” Hiro said. “Let’s just sit here for a while.”
“The others aren’t very happy right now,” Minoru said.
“Can you blame them? You hold our lives in your hands.”
“My life was in Maria’s hands. You see how that turned out.”
“She was a tool in the hands of someone more powerful,” Hiro said, finding it odd to defend her. “Just like we all were on this ship. Mignon wants you to do this to us. Wants you to scare us, and kill us and everyone on the ship. If you do this, you’re fulfilling her every wish for you.”
“Is that how you really feel? That Maria was a pawn?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I’m angry. But the people who were affected by my crimes didn’t forgive me, and I was just a pawn as well.”
“Are you afraid to die here? It will take a long time for the air to run out of the whole ship. You could freeze to death I suppose. I can make that happen.”
“I’m a little afraid,” he said. “But I think it might be time, you know? We’ve all lived a long time, and we haven’t really made the world a better place.”
“Is that the goal?” Minoru’s voice was astonished and far away. “Is that why you became a clone?”
“I guess not,” he said. “I didn’t have noble purposes when I first wanted to do it. But suddenly you realize you’ve had hundreds of years and not done a whole hell of a lot with it.”
“But you’re responsible for all those lives, those humans, those clone backups,” Minoru said thoughtfully. “That’s noble.”
Minoru didn’t speak. Then after a few moments, he said, “Katrina is dead.”
“What?” Hiro said, shocked.
“I think Paul killed her. He’s running around in the dark, attacking whoever he can find. Wolfgang is hunting him. If you could see in infrared, you’d be very interested in what’s going on in there.”
“Is Maria okay?” he asked, his concern overriding his distrust.
“She’s fine. She’s hiding in a tree. She already knows what Paul can do; she’s not stupid. Weak and cowardly, but not stupid.”
“Minoru,” Hiro said. “Turn the lights back on, please.”
“I don’t think so,” Minoru said, his voice sad. “I think you may be right. It’s not worth it to keep you all alive.”
Dying on a ghost ship felt noble and romantic. Dying from an attack by the boil on the neck of the crew was pathetic. Hiro scrambled. “Do you want Mignon to win? Or do you want a chance to someday get back at her?”
“Revenge. That is an interesting reason to keep living,” Minoru said.
He lapsed into silence again. “Minoru. Minoru!” Hiro said. He swore. He began limping forward, feeling the blood run from his wound. He was getting cold. The stitches in his hip had popped and blood trickled down his leg. He only barely realized the lights were returning, as an artificial sunrise began. He saw some figures by the pond, but tripped and fell again.
He didn’t get back up.
The Value of a Life
When the lights went out, Wolfgang felt a stinging in his side. Paul had cut him, with what? Wolfgang let go of the man’s wrist in shock, swearing and stumbling to the side.
Why didn’t I see if he had any more weapons? The blood ran hot over his hand; it was a slim, deep laceration.
He flailed around in the dark, hearing footsteps and other people cry out. He recognized Joanna. Katrina made a strangled, surprised sound. Wolfgang ran forward two steps and tripped over the bottle of whiskey. He landed hard, his side throbbing. The blood was slick and copious. He had no idea how much he was bleeding but he guessed it wasn’t a little bit.
“IAN, lights now!” he called, impotently.
His hands fell on an arm, he followed it to find a woman’s shoulders and hair. The hair was sodden, and he felt toward her neck to find it slit. The hair was straight, though, not Joanna’s curly hair. He felt the bandages on the face. Katrina, then. The blood from her neck was flowing at a trickle; she was nearly dead.
Joanna screamed again, an angry sound, and he heard struggles. A few thumps that sounded like punches. Paul cried out in pain, and then Joanna’s voice stopped.
Wolfgang stumbled toward the sounds and caught a boot in the face. He didn’t know whose, but he grabbed it and tugged.
The leg was flesh, not prosthetic. The body came with it. Wolfgang climbed on top of Paul and closed his hands around his neck. Paul lashed up with the cleaver, slashing Wolfgang’s arms, unable to reach his face.
Paul stopped struggling suddenly, and Wolfgang’s hands and face were suddenly very wet. He blinked, realizing he could see, barely. Paul was under his hands, unmoving, his throat slit.
Joanna sat to the side as the light increased, a bloody knife in her hand. Her jumpsuit was worryingly wet, and she smiled at him weakly.
“Thanks for the rescue,” she said. “What was that you said about sacrifice?”
“The greatest gift one creature can give another is that of sacrifice. Clones can’t sacrifice,” he said, crawling off Paul’s body to go to her. He took her hand.
“Right,” she said. “Our deaths mean nothing because the next day we can wake up and do it all over again.”