Helical-9

When I met her on the planet’s surface, Mex Christophe was everything I’d expected. Born into the false 1.3 Earth-standard G of the space station orbiting Helical-9, she was short and muscular, like all those born to the scientists seeded this far out into space. She was seventeen standard years old, had graduated from H-9 Home's medical facility as a precision Med-Tech and taken her first junior position with a recon-team.

 

They had been in-system for five standard weeks, searching for pirate activity among the mineral-rich asteroid belt two AUs out from the planet's atmosphere. Finding nothing, they were returning to the station when the craft's commline shut off, and despite repeated attempts by the Comm-Tech to raise a response from home base, there was nothing but the hiss of an open transmission line. Captain Afra turned their patroller around and cranked the fusion drive up to 0.7 lightspeed.

 

Coost and I had just performed a slingshot around Helical-9 itself on our way to Beta-San in the Puppis Constellation when we intercepted a distress signal from the station. Our sensor array indicated complete destruction of the Council-run station. On my orders, Coost made a course adjustment and we flew in silence for three hours, monitoring all frequencies for other transmissions.

 

‘H-9 Home, this is Dixie-6 calling, do you read? Over,’ a distant crackle of a voice said. Coost and I looked at each other and I gestured for him to answer.

 

‘Dixie-6, this is planethopper Delilah-947 recently out of Susurrus space, home port Aquasphere’s New Mediterranean in the Aquarius Constellation. We are seven AUs from Helical-9. Our sensors picked up a distress signal from your space station and we have altered course. Do you require assistance?’

 

I heard a shaky laugh over the commline before it abruptly shut off for a few seconds. I could imagine everyone in that little patroller breathing a sigh of relief; they weren’t alone, stranded several light months from a population centre in a craft that couldn’t reach l-speed.

 

‘Delilah-947, this is Dixie-6 of Helical-9 space station. Good to hear a friendly voice. Can you confirm the status of the Helical-9 Home space station?’

 

The aquanoid looked at me in dismay and I wondered whether their sensors were malfunctioning or they were just running on hope. I shrugged and nodded.

 

‘Dixie-6, this is Delilah-947. All scans and sensor arrays report the complete destruction of Helical-9’s orbiting space station.’

 

The silence this time was even longer and we waited for them to assimilate the information. The captain’s voice was cracked when he came back on comms.

 

‘Can your long-range sensors detect any survivors or possible hostiles? Can you scan the debris field for life signs?’ he asked and I could just make out the mutterings in the background before a low-voiced command abruptly cut them off.

 

‘Scanning now,’ Coost replied and punched in the commands. I looked over his shoulder as the holo-projection lit up. ‘Destruction the result of a long-range guided tactical plasma bomb impacting the space station. We are calibrating a directional fix for its point of origin. Life signs are faint but present within the debris field.’

 

‘Delilah-947, this is Captain Afra of the Dixie-6. We have received a brief transmission which indicates enemy infiltration of our facility on the planet’s surface and are proceeding down to look for survivors. We expect to encounter resistance. Does your ship have weapons capability? If not, please stand by to receive casualties.’

 

I puffed my cheeks out and keyed the transmission as Coost sat back, eyes wide and worried. He was a civilian pilot foolhardy enough to volunteer to pilot me in my attempts to track down an interstellar terrorist, code-name Q. 

‘Dixie-6, this is Delilah-947. My name is Nathaniel Gabriel of the Hazardous Lifeforms Disposal Agency. Our ship is weapons free but I am armed. Send your landing coordinates and ETA and I’ll meet you on the ground. We can morph our interior to accommodate up to two hundred casualties in stasis for transport to the nearest planet, Gargun-6. Acknowledge.’

 

‘A Hilda,’ a woman breathed over the line. ‘That evens the odds.’ 

 

I felt a smile tug the corner of my mouth at the naked relief evident in her voice. I just hoped I could live up to her lofty expectations. Hell, I just hoped I could live through the next few hours.

 

‘Glad to have you with us, Hilda,’ Captain Afra said formally. ‘There’s no denying we need your help.’

 

‘Scans of the Garden are picking up H-9’s native species in full infiltration of the facility,’ the woman interrupted. 

 

I heard Afra swear loudly and felt the skin tighten across my forehead. I wiped my palms on my trousers and waited to hear the news. Coost was typing silently and pointed as an image from a nightmare flashed onto the screen. I swallowed heavily, hoping this wasn’t what we’d be up against.

  

‘Hilda Gabriel, this is Captain Afra. Our scans reveal our surface facility has been infiltrated by Helical-9’s indigenous humanoids. They call themselves the Chosen Ones, Ha’athi Nobeyne, but we know them as homo lupus.’ I stared at the image Coost had brought up as Afra’s words sank in.

  

‘Werewolves? Are you kidding me?’ I said at length.

 

‘The name can be misleading,’ he replied hurriedly. ‘Think big hairy people with tails, teeth and claws, yes, but these are intelligent, tool- and weapon-users. They don’t change their shapes like the myths. They’re bipedal, and fast with it. Excellent climbers. Deadly.’

 

‘Terrific,’ I muttered, wishing not for the first time that I was the pilot, not the Hilda. ‘Send me your files on them and I’ll get clued up before we land. Do I need silver bullets?’

 

‘Resonance weapons work just fine,’ Afra said. ‘See you on the ground.’

 

I cleaned and dry-fired my resonance rifle, checking it was fully-charged and all readouts were glowing green. Its anti-matter projectiles were humming gently in their cradle. I’d last used it only a month before, so my movements should have been precise, automatic. Instead they were awkward and fumbling, fingers shaking slightly as I zeroed in the sight. It was always like this before I went into unknown territory against an unknown foe. I could see Coost watching me worriedly but I wasn’t fazed; once on the ground my movements would smooth out and the adrenaline would kill the shakes currently ruining my aim. I gave him a big fake smile and settled into the acceleration couch.

Delilah’s small surface to orbit shuttle dropped smoothly from the bigger ship’s belly and followed the coordinates the patroller’s captain had relayed. Behind me thin, complicated arms unfolded from couches in the Delilah’s hull and hydraulic fingers tens of metres long began picking through the debris field, drawing some parts into itself and discarding others. None of the twinkling shards that used to be the space station were any bigger than my shuttle. It was hard to believe. 

 

****

 

I landed a few minutes after the Dixie-6 and peered cautiously through the forward view. The immediate vicinity was still and empty, the beautiful green and white jewel of the planet a dirtier green and grey up close. I checked my weapons one last time, slapped my hand against the vintage Japanese tanto strapped to my left thigh, and exited the shuttle.

 

‘Good luck, Nate,’ Coost murmured over the comm.

 

‘Thanks. You have command of the shuttle. Keep it a hundred metres up and ready to land at my position immediately.’

 

‘Acknowledged.’

 

Captain Afra led his crew out of their patroller. They wore standard issue combat vacuum-suits to protect against both attack and the low gravity and O² levels on Helical-9. Afra saluted me, but I just waved acknowledgment, studying them as much as they were studying me. Afra introduced them one by one and I weighed them up, assessing my chances of survival with them on my side. Mex Christophe was a raw recruit and likely to crack under pressure. The female pilot, Traka, looked competent enough, and the Comm-Tech, Pyx, was probably reliable.

 

I could see Mex, the Med-Tech, watching me through the side of her visor; could see her surprise that I wasn’t some hulking muscular behemoth. She examined my combat vac-suit, which was of a much updated version of the antiques the Dixie’s crew wore. Mine was slimmer and more fitted for freedom of movement and no doubt much more high-spec. I shifted my Council-issue resonating recoilless rifle and unthinkingly checked the IR and UV scopes, the modified plasma barrel fitted beneath the resonating chamber. I gave the girl enough time to satisfy her curiosity and then looked up, looked her right in the eye.

 

Mex looked away quickly, jerkily, the movements of her shoulders and forearms rigid with tension. I moved over and she startled like a wild animal; I could see the panic just beneath the surface. Gently I readjusted her grip on the weapon, showing her how to hold it comfortably just out of her shoulder in order to swing it instantly into position. I forced her to relax her shoulders and then gripped both arms and gave her a smile.

 

‘Much better,’ I said. ‘First time out?’ Mex nodded convulsively. ‘No problem. Stay loose and let your training do it all for you, alright?’

 

‘Yes, sir,’ Mex whispered.

 

‘Just call me Hilda,’ I said. ‘It’s easier for everyone.’

 

There were no signs of movement on the green sponge-moss between the group and the facility. Afra gestured towards the facility they called The Garden half a klick north and I followed the others as they stepped out in a skirmish line, taking position as rearguard five metres back. 

 

‘What are your normal defences against the Ha’athi Nobeyne, captain?’ I asked over the public commline.

 

‘There’s an electrified perimeter wall, securi-bots on patrol, roof-mounted automated weapons, AI-driven sensors...’

 

I whistled appreciatively. ‘And yet they’ve overpowered all of these at the same time as your station is destroyed? That’s either a remarkable coincidence or highly organised.’

 

‘The Chosen Ones test the defences at The Garden regularly; breaches at one point or another are common, but never anything of this magnitude.‘

 

‘Could the Ha’athi Nobeyne have attacked the station?’ I queried as we moved loosely across the terrain. Pyx was out front, gun in his shoulder, scanning our approach.

 

‘The indigenes here haven’t the technology to launch a grenade, let alone a plasma bomb. And I thought your pilot said it had come from out-system?’ Afra replied tensely, uncomfortable with my line of questioning. I frowned.

 

 

‘It did, I’m just trying to get a grip on what might have happened. If the local population here didn’t destroy the station, then they could be working with whoever did. I’ll need a look at any surviving data logs when this is over. From what we saw from orbit, the damage to your facility was not accidental. That means at least one member of the H-9 Home crew was responsible for this.’

 

I saw Afra glance over at Mex, then nod, troubled, and smiled humourlessly. I guessed I was about to find out something they hadn’t thought it necessary to tell me before now.

 

‘Our Mech-Tech, Mala, was taken suddenly ill yesterday,’ Afra said reluctantly. ‘She’s in stasis back on the patroller. Before she went under she said that “they” had taken the system.’ 

 

‘“They?”’ I asked suspiciously as we began crossing the last hundred metres to the perimeter wall.

 

‘She was delirious. It’s not significant.’

 

‘In my experience, captain, everything is significant. She’ll need to be brought out of stasis after we’ve cleared the facility.’

 

‘Not until we have a working med-lab,’ Mex interrupted. ‘She’s going into renal failure. I can’t risk re-starting her until we can treat her.’

 

‘Convenient,’ I grunted, eyes on the horizon. ‘Once we’ve secured The Garden, bring her down here and wake her up.’ The group came to a halt and everyone turned to look at me, shock mirrored across their faces.

 

‘Not until we have-’ Mex tried to protest.

 

‘It wasn’t a request,’ I interrupted sharply, sensing the need to stamp my authority on our merry little band. ‘This is now Council business and you will follow my orders.’

 

‘But she might die,’ Mex said hotly, gesturing angrily with her rifle. The others ducked and swore and I jumped forwards, forced her weapon’s barrel towards the ground. I could feel anger tightening my face.

 

‘Listen,’ I hissed. ‘Right now my pilot is up there saving as many of your colleagues, friends and lovers as he can. When they’re safe, they’re going to want some answers. The Council of Presidents of the Federated Planets is going to want to know who destroyed its station and why. Someone very important is going to want some very good answers.’ I glared them all down one by one. Even Afra dropped his gaze after a few seconds.

 

‘All those people we’re saving,’ I continued gently, lifting my hand palm up,’ that’s a fair trade for the possible death of one engineer.’ 

 

‘How can you say that?’ Mex demanded, nearly crying. Her hands were shaking worse than mine had been back on Delilah. The others closed the line up until they were nearly huddling, so I slashed my hand at them until they reluctantly spread out. 

 

‘I’m a Hilda, Med-Tech,’ I snarled, getting up into her face until she backed away a step. ‘You will follow my orders. I choose who lives and who dies. I live with the consequences of those decisions, with the guilt.’ I paused, let that sink in for a moment.

 

‘Would you prefer to choose who’s more important, her or them?’ I pointed up with my rifle, saw their eyes follow it up, let them stare for few seconds. 

 

'Anyone? Afra? You, Mex?’ I demanded. When no one responded, I smiled bitterly and gestured for them to proceed. ‘Shall we go?’

 

Afra and Traka exchanged glances and began walking again, Traka diverting to Mex’s side and hurrying her along, one hand on her bicep.

 

‘But she’s our friend,’ the Med-Tech tried one last time. I took a deep breath.

 

‘Everyone is someone’s friend,’ I said softly and resumed sweeping scans of the trail.

 

‘Except you,’ Mex replied savagely before Traka slapped the back of her helmet and pulled her along. I didn’t reply, didn’t give any indication I’d even heard, but over my comm band I heard Coost’s sharp intake of breath. It was strangely comforting.

 

**** 

 

The perimeter alarms were silent as we approached in a tight skirmish line, weapons up. Clouds of O² were venting from a breach in The Garden’s roof and the scorch marks around the gaping hole in the main airlock confirmed an explosion. 

 

‘I thought you said the Ha’athi Nobeyne didn’t have the technology?’ I asked as we surveyed the wreckage. 

 

‘They don’t,’ Traka replied. ‘Or at least, we’ve never seen evidence of it. You saw our data stream; they fight with carved weapons and brute strength, not explosives.’

 

‘So, it was likely a member of the Helical-9 space station,’ I mused. I heard Mex muttering beneath her breath.

 

‘Let’s proceed,’ Afra said with a hostile glance in my direction. He moved easily through the broken terrain, sweeping with the barrel of his rifle, stepping through to give space to the others to follow. He didn’t look back, trusting his crew.

 

I paused for a second to watch them slide through the rubble, assessing their ease of movement, the fluidity of their arc sweeps, the chemistry firing between them. I took a deep breath and consciously dropped and relaxed my shoulders, performed a slow and deliberate three-sixty turn, weapon up, eyes narrowed. Then I followed the others at a slight crouch, more worried than ever. 

 

The Garden on Helical-9 was a ruin. White-coated, red-splashed bodies lay twisted in unnatural poses amongst the science stations. Mex checked each body we passed; all were dead, whether from the wounds chewed and clawed into their faces and throats or from asphyxiation. She became paler and sweatier with each corpse and I could hear her harsh breathing both through the comm and in the silence of the facility. I closed my eyes for a second, knowing if it went down now we could effectively rule the Med-Tech out of the fight.

 

‘Hilda Gabriel, this is the Delilah-947,’ Coost announced suddenly, making me jump. ‘All viable casualties have been retrieved and stored in stasis. I await your orders.’ 

 

‘Thank you, Coost. Please remain in geo-synch with our position and bring the shuttle to hover close to us. We have recovered no survivors so far.’

 

‘Acknowledged, Hilda. Standing by.’

 

My pilot had barely finished transmitting when movement to his right saw Afra spinning, weapon rising, only for it to be slashed from his hands by a dark blue-furred hand tipped with steel grey claws. Afra yelled as his rifle spun through the light gravity far beyond his reach. The seven-foot figure unfolded from beneath a work bench, its fur reflecting the rays from the red giant dominating the sky, its ears folded back. Afra launched himself at the creature and landed three swift, powerful punches into its blunt, heavy face. The Chosen One grunted and stepped back and Afra swept its legs from beneath it. He lunged forward to finish the kill even as I yelled a warning. From its prone position, the homo lupus skirled its claws across Afra’s helmet and down into his throat. There was a pop and suck as the vacuum-suit’s integrity was compromised before another, wetter sucking heralded Afra’s opened oesophagus. 

 

‘Shit,’ I mumbled as Traka’s scream pierced the silence of the facility. She leapt, rifle’s laser pricking a red dot on the Chosen One’s chest. The resonating particles within the projectile whined on their way into its chest, where they accelerated the atoms within his body until they were moving fast enough to break the weak nuclear force and fly off in opposite directions. The Ha’athi Nobeyne’s ribcage exploded in a welter of fleshy fragments and a slight pinking of the air as red blood cells floated in the atmosphere for an impossible moment.

 

‘Captain? Captain?’ Traka shouted as Mex hurried forward. Together, they dragged his body from underneath the Chosen One’s corpse. Mex bent over him, one gloved hand pressed firmly to the tear in his suit. The helmet was cracked and Afra’s face couldn’t be seen beneath the fog of his breath as the filters ceased working. Mex hit the manual helmet-med diagnostic tool and I heard it whirr into life. A series of LEDs flashed on the brow of Afra’s helmet. Blood loss was flashing red and oxygen saturation an ominous orange. The helmet’s synth-skin generators began unfurling skeins of flesh for the micro-manipulators to insert into Afra’s throat wound. They worked fast, but blood continued leaking from the torn artery. 

 

‘The med-tool must have been damaged by the blow,’ Mex muttered to herself as the manipulators slowly lost cohesion and delicacy. As she spoke, one of them sank clumsily into Afra’s wound, making him choke blood. Traka disabled the system and the Med-Tech gently pulled the manipulator out of his throat. Pyx and I exchanged grim glances and turned back to scan our surroundings. I could hear Afra choking over the commline and Traka’s frantic breathing. 

Mex pulled the torn suit away from Afra’s neck and picked tatters of synth-skin from the wound. Her med-pack fanned open and she selected the arterial repair syringe, gently glued the tear as best she could.

 

‘Bring the shuttle in to land as close to this position as you can, right now,’ I murmured over the radio. ‘We have a casualty. He’ll need to be put straight into stasis.’

Even before I had finished speaking, Afra’s eyes rolled back and he convulsed, his internal organs shutting down. Mex sat back and held his hand as he died.  

 

‘Contact!’ Pyx yelled from his position. Traka surged to her feet, face vicious beneath her helmet, and we spread out to face the oncoming threat: a dozen of the Ha’athi Nobeyne, some running bipedally, others on all fours, low and sleek to the ground. They were fast, were on us too soon.

 

 

I ducked a razor-tipped swipe and fired a burst into the creature’s chest, turning before it died to engage another. Traka was crying but shot methodically, keeping close to the cover of a workbench as the Ha’athi Nobeyne started firing arrows and using slings to hurl smooth stones with lethal accuracy. The proximity sensors in my suit activated and the stones appeared to bounce off the air a centimetre in front of me. In reality the sensors stiffened that part of the suit a nanosecond before impact and they ricocheted right off. I’d be bruised by the end of this, but no bones would be broken and the arrowheads couldn’t penetrate.

 

The others weren’t as lucky. Seven of the twelve attackers were dead when Pyx cried out in pain and I looked over to see an arrow poking from his thigh. The man staggered backwards and a Ha’athi Nobeyne stalked him on all fours, swaying from side to side like a snake, its lips peeled back to reveal fangs as long as fingers. A glimpse of movement from the corner of my eye made me look away. Mex jumped clumsily sideways as a Chosen One lunged for her. She tripped over Afra’s body and sprawled amongst the blood and wreckage. The Ha’athi Nobeyne didn’t hesitate, coming straight for her on its hind legs, claws retracted so that its stubby fingers could pull back the string of its bow. Mex stared at the arrow, hypnotised. I looked between her and Pyx, saw his mouth open desperately but couldn’t hear anything over the blood pounding in my ears.

  

I slid beneath the Ha’athi Nobeyne’s weapon and slashed into its soft underbelly with my tanto. It screamed and collapsed in on itself, ungainly hands trying desperately to stuff its purple entrails back into its body. The blade punched into the atlas joint at the base of its skull and it died instantly, its death rattle echoing in the silent facility. 

 

Mex’s own breath was no less harsh than the Ha’athi Nobeyne’s final exhalation. It was the only breathing coming through my comms. I wiped my blade clean in the Chosen One’s luscious fur and sheathed it, then held out my hand.

 

‘Time to go,’ I murmured. Mex reached out and I hauled her upright. She looked around slowly, eyes wide and pupils blown. 

 

‘Where are the others?’ she asked eventually, white face turning to me.

 

‘They’re all dead. I’m sorry.’

 

I didn’t patronise her with empty words of comfort she knew I wouldn’t mean, just looked into her eyes and reached out to gently cup the side of her helmet with my free hand. Tears welled up suddenly and she slumped into my arms. I held her in silence, felt the sobs reverberate through my O² filters, listened as she cried and sniffed in her private suit atmosphere, sealed off from me, from everything.

 

I scanned our surroundings for danger, listened to the sounds of the facility as it settled into its new, breached and broken attitude. The last venting of oxygen hissed into silence as Mex pushed against my embrace. I let go and she turned away, retrieved her rifle and stood facing into the darkness of the right hand corridor. I allowed her another twenty seconds.

 

‘We need to keep moving now,’ I said gently. Mex nodded once, curtly, and pushed past me, paused at the twisted bodies of Pyx and Traka, and then headed quickly down a corridor leading south. 

 

‘This will take us to the residential part of the facility. If anyone survived, it’s likely they did so there. It has a separate life support system, installed to prevent airborne antigens from The Garden reaching the living quarters and causing infection. They may still have breathable atmosphere’ 

 

‘Good. Lead on, Med-Tech. Let’s hope you’re right.’

 

****

 

‘We’re coming out now, Coost,’ I said over my commline several hours later.

 

‘Affirmative. Numbers?’

 

‘Just me and the Med-Tech. No other crew. No survivors. Please send the shuttle in to this location immediately.’

 

I listened wearily to the long pause on the line as Coost absorbed the information. I stared at Mex’s booted feet stretched out before her on the sponge-moss surface of Helical-9. They looked absurd. She stared into the middle distance and watched the last homo lupus running for the safety of the open spaces beyond the facility wall. It was elegant in its economy of movement in the light gravity, sleek and lithe as it ran on all fours, a bow slung over its back. We’d killed the rest of its pack. Mex laughed bitterly.

 

‘What?’ I asked from where I stood over her, rifle at port arms. 

 

‘That Chosen One will return with reinforcements in months. I just thought it was funny that they’ll arrive full of vengeance to find a deserted building full of rotting corpses. What will they do then?’ 

 

‘You’re tired,’ I said slowly. I expected an explosion of vitriol, got instead a snort and a nod of the head. 

 

‘I am. I’m not used to seeing and dealing death like you, Hilda.’

 

‘Concentrate on the living now, Mex. The two hundred or so survivors we have in stasis up in the Delilah. They’ll need to see a friendly face. That’s you. I’ll do my best to discover who attacked the station, but we may never find out whether it was coordinated with the Ha’athi Nobeyne or whether they saw the station blow in the sky and took advantage of the confusion. If it was coordinated, we’ll have to find out whether someone within the facility was working with the attackers and how they communicated with the Chosen Ones.’ I paused and looked down at the top of her helmet. She was small, doll-like.  

 

‘For now it’s about survival, Mex. Later on it will be about justice. Yes?’

 

‘Yes, Hilda,’ Mex said obediently over the rush of thrusters as the shuttle came in to land. I watched the landscape with narrowed eyes as Mex made her way up the ramp into the ship. Nothing moved. I turned and ran onto the shuttle, ordered immediate lift off. The Garden was abandoned. 

 

‘Med-Tech Mex Christophe, meet Pilot Coost Von Gripenhauer of Aquasphere,’ I said formally as Mex stared curiously at my blue-skinned humanoid pilot. Coost clapped webbed hands and bowed from the waist, the long purple skirt he wore skimming his webbed, clawed feet.

 

‘A pleasure, my lady, even under such difficult circumstances. I am pleased to confirm two hundred and twelve survivors in stasis, one hundred and seven in a critical condition but stable until we reach Gargun-6. May I offer you some refreshment?’

 

‘I thought you were the pilot,’ Mex said as Coost bustled about organising food and drink while I punched in our coordinates and ran through the stasis log of the survivors. 

 

‘Officially so, yes. But Nathaniel does like to get involved and when his blood’s up like this I usually just let him get on with it. He’s a good pilot, but usually too lazy to do it, so I take these opportunities whenever they arise.’ 

 

‘Did you pick up the engineer from the Dixie-6?’ I asked sharply. 

 

‘Of course. The bots brought her onboard in her stasis pod. She is in the dining room.’

 

‘Dining room?’ Mex asked, bewildered. Coost smiled, his wide mobile lips giving him a look of childlike glee.

 

‘Yes, Mex. This is my private ship, not a Council craft. I enjoy long interstellar trips while I write – I’m a writer, you see, you may have heard of me? – anyway, I enjoy long trips but don’t want to leave my comforts behind, so all non-critical parts of the ship have been designed to my specifications. I have several bedrooms, a lounge, dining room, old-fashioned kitchen, a dozen pools and a gym. As you can see, I’m an aquanoid, so when I travel alone I spend a lot of time in the pools where I don’t need these oxy-aqua filters to breathe.’ Coost pointed to the array around his neck in which water and air sloshed to and fro. 

 

‘They cover my gills,’ he explained. 

 

‘Coost. That’s enough,’ I snapped, sick of his babbling.

 

‘I was just explaining,’ he began, folding his arms and narrowing his enormous, liquid eyes.

 

‘I know. But we’ve had a trying day and Mex has been through hell. She doesn’t need your high on life approach right now.’ 

 

Coost pouted but fell silent and I faced Mex, watched her take in my sweaty skin and no doubt bloodshot eyes. I knew the lines around my mouth would be carved deep and could feel its downward turn but was too drained to attempt a smile. My hands were shaking again. She took an involuntary step forwards and grasped my elbow.

 

‘Here, sit down. You’re exhausted. You need food and rehydration packs immediately.’

 

I complied, leading her to a table down the stairs from the bridge. Coost brought a tray of electrolyte drinks and carb-steaks over. Mex ate ravenously but I pushed the food away, contented myself with a rehydration pack. Coost clicked his tongue in disapproval but said nothing. 

 

‘How long until we reach Gargun-6?’ I asked, watching the girl stuff carb-steak into her mouth.  

 

‘About two days at present speed, Nate.’

 

 

‘Plenty of time to question your crewmate, then, Mex, eh?’ I said. ‘We have some medical facilities here and the med-pack from your suit. That should be enough. I’ll restart her while you finish eating.’ Mex began to protest but I was already walking away.

 

‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ Coost said softly behind me and I guessed Mex was trying to follow me. ‘When he comes out of a combat situation it’s generally best to just let him be for a while. He’ll do whatever he thinks is right regardless of what you say, but you really don’t want to piss him off right now. Trust me on this.’

 

‘But she isn’t well. If he restarts her now, she might die.’

 

I didn’t hear Coost’s reply as I turned the corner and went down the corridor to the dining room. 

 

The engineer came out of stasis faster than I’d ever seen. It should have alerted me, but I was so tired that instead I just leant against her pod and watched her skin flush with life as the doc-bot removed the oxygen and waste tubes.

 

Mala opened her eyes and they were clear grey, not fogged, not confused. She stared straight at me and smiled.

 

‘Hilda Gabriel, how nice to meet you at last.’

 

‘Wha?’ I managed before her fist connected with my jaw and sent me crashing backwards onto the carpet. I rolled groggily to my feet and the woman was already climbing out of the pod, her movements sinuous and altogether unexpected. I raised a hand.

 

‘I understand you might be disorient-’ I tried before she hit me again. This time I riposted, driving a fist up under her ribs and sending her stumbling into the side of the pod. I hoped it might start her thinking more clearly. Instead she wheezed for breath, eyeing me with naked hatred. 

 

‘Listen, bitch,’ I said, thoroughly annoyed now, ‘sit down and stay still or I’ll have to restrain-’ I managed to close my mouth before I swallowed her fist and felt my teeth rattle. I backhanded her hard enough to send her tumbling and she screamed. I stopped, shocked, but she rolled to her knees and lunged for me again. I could hear shouts and running feet, chanced a glance back and saw Coost and Mex barge through the door. Mex had her rifle but came to a shocked halt at the sight of Mala’s bloody face. I grinned mirthlessly. 

 

‘No one comes out of restart like this. What’s happening?’ she asked Coost, who shrugged helplessly, unnerved as ever by the violence. 

 

I ducked anoher vicious punch and threw one of my own into Mala’s midriff. She grunted and doubled up and I dropped an elbow between her shoulderblades. Mala collapsed and I jumped on her back, forced her arms behind her and cuffed them tightly. Panting, I pulled her into a sitting position and crouched just out of range in front of her. I took one look in her eyes and signalled Mex. She was the Med-Tech, after all.

 

‘This isn’t right,’ she whispered a moment later as she looked in Mala’s vacant, hate-filled eyes. ‘This isn’t Mala. She looks ... possessed.’

 

‘Whatever illness she had when you stopped her is clearly not affecting her now,’ I hissed, squinting suspiciously at her. Mala writhed and we both flinched away at the crack as she dislocated her own shoulder and brought her arms over her head. I pushed Mex backwards as the woman shuffled onto her knees and reached for me. I felt my lips pull back and scooted sideways, out of reach. 

 

‘Who are you? Who sent you?’ I shouted. Mala smiled cruelly. 

 

‘I work for one you know, Hilda Gabriel. One you hunt.’ 

 

I felt lead in my stomach and paused, watching her watch me. ‘What happened to the station?’

 

‘He wanted to get your attention.’

 

‘He has it,’ I said grimly. ‘But then, he had my attention before. Why kill thousands?’

 

‘A warning,’ Mala whispered, a fierce grin splitting her face. ‘He shows his hand.’ She lunged to her feet and I rose with her, side-stepping and slapping the back of her head so that she stumbled past, off-balance. Mala turned, still smiling, as Coost and Mex scrambled away from her, the aquanoid shoving Mex behind him and knocking her rifle out of her hand. 

 

‘Your move, Gabriel,’ Mala said. ‘How many will you sacrifice before you give up the chase?’

 

I opened my mouth with no idea what I was going to say, but the woman turned and sprinted, head down into the bulkhead. There was a wet crack and she dropped to the carpet, the front of her skull caved in. 

 

‘No,’ Mex screamed and rushed forward to kneel in the blood soaking sluggishly into the expensive carpet. She cradled the woman’s shattered head. 

 

‘Internal life monitoring indicates the recently re-started engineer Mala to be deceased,’ the AI intoned gravely.

 

‘Shut up,’ Mex sobbed as the AI repeated it. ‘I said, shut up!’

 

‘Engineer Mala’s death acknowledged,’ Coost stammered as he moved to Mex’s side and knelt next to her. ‘I’m afraid it’s standard procedure, Mex. The AI repeats until its message is acknowledged.’ 

 

‘Take her back to the bridge, Coost,’ I said distantly. I walked slowly to the bulkhead and examined the red stain, absently pulled one of Mala’s long black hairs from the sticky blood. I stared at the corpse as the aquanoid pulled Mex gently to her feet. 

 

‘How was he controlling you?’ I muttered as she numbly followed Coost back into the corridor leading to the bridge. ‘Neural implants? Hypnotic suggestion?’

 

‘Coost,’ I shouted after them, ‘get Mex settled with a drink or something and then help me get the body to the med-lab.’ It was Mex who came back through the door. She held up a palm. 

 

‘Don’t say anything. Mala was my friend. I want to try and understand why, how, she did this. I’ll perform the autopsy.

 

‘The med-bot can do that.’

 

‘Please, I’d like to.’

 

‘Very well. Follow me.’ I lifted Mala gently and stared at her face for a moment. ‘I wonder whether you were a willing convert, girl?’ I whispered, ‘or whether Q coerced you the way he has so many others.’

 

‘Who’s Q?’ Mex asked as she followed me down two levels and into the small standard med-lab. I should have had it updated before leaving Susurrus, regretted it now, like so much else.

 

‘He’s an interstellar terrorist responsible for the deaths of thousands and the disruption of law and order throughout the galaxy.’

 

‘Why do you think this is him?’

 

‘It has his stench about it. The destruction of the station, using the indigenes to attack the surface facility, finding an insider strangely willing to die for him.’ I put the body on the steel examination table.

‘And because of what she said, about it being someone I was hunting. That’s why we’re in Helical space now. He knows I’m following him, and he knows I’ll kill him when I find him.’ 

 

‘So he killed everyone on the station as a warning to you?’ Mex demanded. ‘All those deaths are your fault?’

 

I spun around, teeth bared and fists clenched. Mex shrank back into the wall. ‘This is not my fault. This is Q’s fault. Do you understand?’

 

Mex nodded mutely, wiping her palms surreptitiously against her trousers. I hoped I’d scared her enough that I wouldn’t have to face any more questions.

 

‘Then get on with the autopsy.’

 

****

 

‘No one on station has any of these,’ Mex whispered, indicating the bewildering array of chips and implants she’d removed from Mala’s body. ‘I don’t even know what they are.’

 

‘Interstellar positioning,’ I said, pointing to one. ‘Audio link. Visual link.’ I pointed to two more. ‘Allowing her handler to see and hear what went on around her. That’s a signal intercept and repeater for blocking or sending pain signals. That’s a slow-release capsule that would have been responsible for her kidney failure; probably contained a necrotising agent for the fastest possible onset of illness.’

 

‘That’s horrible,’ Mex said, screwing up her face. ‘Why would she have submitted to these implants?’

 

‘I doubt if she knew she had most of them. She probably went under thinking they were giving her secure comms – which these are – and at the same time they implanted the rest and then used synth-skin to cover the surgery points and the signal intercept to block any pain she might have felt from the areas they’d worked on. She wouldn’t have known about any of these.’ 

 

‘I feel sick,’ Mex muttered, turning away from the bloody table. 

 

‘We need to know when she was implanted. Has she spent time off-station recently? Taken a transport anywhere?’

 

‘Not since she joined us four years ago.’

 

‘Joined you? You mean she’s not native?’

 

‘No, Mala wasn’t Helicalan. She graduated from Tau Ceti engineering college six years ago and requested a post here, took a slow transport in stasis and worked with us for four years.’ 

 

‘Then she’s been spying for Q the whole time, feeding him information on the station, the planet, the patrols. For four whole years.’ I whistled.

 

‘But, but she was my friend,’ Mex stuttered, almost pleading. 

 

‘No Mex, I’m sorry, but Mala was a terrorist. She was nobody’s friend, at least not anyone on the station.’ I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder for a moment as Mex looked up with wide, confused eyes. It was the expression I’d seen most on her face since I’d met her. 

 

‘I’m sorry,’ I said lamely and left Mex with the gutted body of her friend, ran back to the bridge.

 

‘Coost, get me General Menel on a secure feed. Right now.’

 

****  

 

I came out of the bridge’s secure-comm room an hour later, feeling even more haggard than when I went in. Coost and Mex were in the lounge, sitting in depressed silence. Coost was tapping desultorily at his holopad, for once looking less than engrossed in the novel he was writing. I passed them in silence, went into the elaborate kitchen joining the lounge to the dining room and ordered a protein shake with a whiskey chaser, turned in time to see Coost wince in distaste. I ignored him. 

 

‘You should eat, Hilda Gabriel,’ Mex said. I curled my lip. 

 

‘Eating makes me sick,’ I muttered.

 

‘Nonsense,’ Coost said with forced cheer. ‘I’ll make you a chicken and red spinach pasta dish. I know you like my cooking.’

 

I grimaced and sighed heavily, but in truth I couldn’t be bothered to argue and I knew I’d eat it if he put it in front of me. 

 

‘What did the general have to say of your report?’ Coost continued as he began rattling pans and dishes. 

 

‘He’s sending Hildas to every major space station and governing asteroid to conduct covert operations to detect other terrorists. Council Tech-heads are trying to develop scanners that can pick up this type of technology and neutralise it without alerting the suspect. They think that if Q realised his informants were about to be arrested, he’d overload their implants and terminate them.’

 

‘But there are hundreds of stations and command centres scattered Federated space. It’s impossible,’ Mex protested.

 

‘There are thousands of Hildas, Mex, of different species and on different planets and population centres. We can get Hildas to all the stations within one Terran month, give or take. They’ll be being briefed already.’

 

Mex just lifted her shoulders as I pushed away the protein shake and concentrated on the whiskey instead. I could smell myself, knew I needed a shower, but could smell Coost’s cooking as well and decided to eat first. My stomach was unknotting now, the tension finally dissipating.

 

‘This is all too big for me,’ Mex confessed suddenly. I looked up as she dragged herself ungracefully from the lounge pit and stumbled over to the table. ‘Even though I lived on a working space station, even though I knew we were light months from civilisation, my world was still small. I can’t get my head around what’s going on here.’

 

I looked away, saying nothing and Coost clicked his tongue again. I ground my teeth for a second. 

 

‘Well, your world’s going to get a lot bigger quickly, Mex,’ I said with false cheer. ‘We’re dropping you off with the survivors on Gargun-6 but you’ll be getting an l-speed military transport direct to General Menel on Epsilon Eridani A. We’ll be continuing on to Beta-San as planned.’ 

 

‘An l-ship to EEA?’ Mex croaked, sagging against the table. ‘General Menel?’ The poor girl looked like she was going to puke, but I’d worked with Menel for seven years, knew she wouldn’t get out of it now. She’d just have to deal, same as the rest of us.

 

‘You’re the woman of the hour, Mex,’ I said tiredly. ‘And when the general wants answers, he gets them.’

 

**** 

 

Unloading the injured was harrowing, to say the least. We’d put them in mass stasis and Gargun-6’s med facilities couldn’t cope with two hundred and twelve injured people all being restarted at the same time. We all pitched in, my field training finding a use and Coost doing most of the shuttling back and forth for bandages, synth-morph and plasma packs.

 

The doc-bots were invaluable but even so we lost ninety-four, including, Mex told me later, Captain Afra’s wife and baby. I was glad the man was dead then.

 

It was a tired and grim Mex Christophe that we said farewell to the next morning. Her world had certainly grown in the last week but she didn’t look pleased by it. She looked old. 

‘Thank you, Hilda Gabriel. Thank you for everything,’ she said formally. I nodded and held my hand out. She shook it, hesitated, and I pulled her into a hug. She clung like a child – I was a point of stability in her changing world – and I had to gently extricate myself. I found myself giving her my first genuine smile of our acquaintance. 

 

‘You’ll do fine, Mex. You’ll be out and back within a couple of weeks, no sweat. Then you and the other survivors can apply for asylum on Gargun-6 or reassignment to another station. The Council will be sympathetic.’ 

 

‘And my meeting with the general?’ she asked timidly.

 

‘Just be yourself, answer concisely, don’t be afraid to think before you speak. He’s not a monster.’ 

 

‘Will I ever see you again?’ she asked suddenly, blushing. Coost hid a smile behind his hand and wandered away. I cupped Mex’s face and kissed her forehead. 

 

‘Maybe one day, if I come this way again. If you decide to move on, leave a message with the Hilda Centre at the Council. They’ll get it to me and if it’s possible, I’ll drop by and see you.’

 

Mex nodded convulsively, stretched onto her toes and planted a kiss on my mouth. Then she turned and walked quickly away, shoulders hunched. 

 

I turned for the surface to orbit shuttle and passed Coost. He opened his mouth and I held my palm out at his face. He said nothing. 

 

‘Let’s just get to Beta-San, see if we can follow this trail all the way to Q.’

 

‘And the deaths?’

I shrugged as we watched the ramp seal into the hull, cutting off our view of the planet and the tiny figure of Mex, still and silent, watching us.

 

‘Menel is prepared to let thousands die in order to catch Q. He says the Council won’t be held to ransom by a terrorist. We are to proceed as ordered.’ 

 

The aquanoid said nothing more but I knew he was troubled. He wasn’t the only one. I punched in the coordinates for Beta-San and shifted out of the pilot’s seat to the captain’s. 

 

‘And Coost,’ I yelled over my shoulder. ‘Bring me a beer.’