twenty-four

Grit rained down across the top of the barrier, a whisper of sound that took a while to register over the quiet in and out of her own breath. Kat shifted against her not-so-soft cushion of rock and looked up.

"Are we tunneling to freedom?" she asked.

Yes, came the reply.

"No point."

The lack of immediate response from Shepard felt like an agreement of a sort. Or an argument. Her frayed temper flared and died. Nope, she was too tired for an argument.

"You should've saved Finch. He'd figure a way out of this."

I chose you.

There was that word again. Choice seemed to be a big deal to Shepard, and why not. He was dead and probably didn't want to be. But he'd chosen to die, he'd made the ultimate sacrifice. Fuck, he had chosen to watch over the galaxy he obviously loved. And he'd been rewarded with toys and a mission that would probably drive him insane. What a way to go.

"Why me?"

You reminded me of someone.

A blonde brow arched. Kat lifted away from the wall. "Oh?"

A friend. More. Someone I loved.

Well, if that wasn't flattering and creepy at the same time. But the answer resonated. Shepard had lost all his friends. All the people he loved. He had sacrificed himself for them, had walked away to serve a greater good. Kat shook her head, knowing without even having to articulate the thought, that she could not do the same. She wasn't that selfless.

"What was her name?" Kat assumed it was a she. The majority of human relationships were still heterosexual. Something to do with biology, she supposed. Sex with the same could be fun. She'd tried it. Two women shacked up on an empty frigate got as horny as two men. But as advanced as their race was, they still had a lot of primal urges.

'Course, a man's primal urge was usually to stick it where it fit.

Where did Shepard stick it?

Wow, did I really just have that thought?

He couldn't hear her thoughts, could he?

A name blinked across her holographic display: Jack.

Kat smiled. It was a nice, simple name and it suited, somehow, that the man Shepard had loved had been…not simple, but perhaps uncomplicated.

"So, how exactly did I remind you of Jack? Dude have blonde hair or something?" Automatically, her glove smoothed over the top of her helmet. She could probably deactivate it again, but she felt more secure with it in place, funky vomit-sweat-piss smell and all.

When I first met her, she had no hair.

Jack was a woman, then. Interesting.

And tattoos.

"I don't have any tatts." She'd thought about getting one, but figured if she was going to mark herself indelibly, the picture or symbol or slice of thought should mean something. Maybe she had it wrong, though. Maybe it didn't need to mean anything other than, 'Hey, I like pie'.

I called her Sunshine.

As the nickname formed over her wrist, Kat blinked back hot tears. Goddamn it. Had Shepard secretly been a big teddy bear of a guy as well? With a hidden core of sweetness? None of the vids, historical or hysterical, hinted at it, but to Kat's mind, it made sense he might not have been everything he appeared. Took years to really get to know a person, which was why she was still single. Took commitment and a job that didn't pull a girl from one end of the galaxy to the other.

Sniffing, again, Kat said, "I don't know why Finch called me that. I'm not a really sunny person, you know? I can be a snarky bitch, 'specially in the morning. Before coffee. Or any time of day when shit doesn't go as planned. When I need a drink. I can be…not nice."

She'd had a solid eighteen months of being really nasty on Omega, conning dweebs for dust credits and so on. If she hadn't run afoul of Maxim and had to hightail it out of there, she might already be dead. Just another strung out, nameless dust-whore scooped out of a cable trench and fed to the incinerator.

That's probably why he called you Sunshine.

"How does that possibly make sense?"

Finch had a good sense of humour.

"Oh, and you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Jesus."

John, but you can all me Christ if you want.

Kat's lips twitched. Then, as had become habit down in the deep dungeon of Rocky, she sighed and her almost-smile faded. "Finch was a good guy."

I have no doubt he was. I'm sorry, Kat. The letters paused, glowing dully in space, then began to fade as he typed more. I am more now than I was before I encountered you. Before this event. Something has changed.

Though the words did little to assuage her grief, she felt the sincerity behind them. She grasped what she thought Shepard tried to communicate.

A large chunk of rock bounced off the ceiling of her protective bubble. Kat pushed up to her feet and aimed the light from her tool at the chimney. "How's it going up there?"

Nearly done.

"What you can do is pretty amazing, you know."

Yep. Then, What I can't do is pretty annoying.

Kat smiled properly. Then she had a thought. "Hey, can you boost the signal of my tool to the relay in Newton? Maybe I can send a distress call to Jormangund. They might have a faster ship or solution or something."

It was a long shot. But with vectors and trajectories and all that astrographic bullshit, it was possible they could reach her more quickly than the hapless scientists fleeing the bee hive of Clobaka. Math in space was weird.

Why Jormangund?

"They were my employer for this contract. They owned the frigate."

I advise against contacting them. The entity was a part of the frigate. Their frigate.

Holy fuck. Kat blew out a deep breath as a wave of dizziness caused her to sway from foot to foot. Shepard was right. He had taken thoughts she'd considered earlier and extrapolated them into a full-fledged theory. Shit.

"Okay, but I'm running out of options, here. Got any other ideas?"

Yes.

Kat didn't let out a celebratory whoop. The ghost of John Shepard sounded more human by the minute, but he was still odd. Cautiously, she asked, "What's the plan?"

I carry you to an abandoned mining colony on Tungel and you appropriate a shuttle.

"You mean steal."

No one is using it.

"At the moment."

Words rolled through the air. The mining platform has not been operational for thirty seven years. The small craft inside the hangar may not even be functioning. But you could fix it.

"Or call for help."

How would you explain how you got to Tungel?

Kat bit a dry lip and mumbled, "Shit." She sucked a tight, dry breath over tight, dry lips. "You really think Jormangund had something to do with the Octopus of Doom?"

A better question might be: Do you want to ask them?

No, she didn't, because they'd either think she was insane or they'd kill her.

Shaking her head, the field of her helmet warping her view for half a second, Kat mentally denied the idea she'd somehow stumbled into some sort of corporate intrigue. This was real life, damn it. And Finch was dead and she had seen black tendrils of dark matter curling through space, eating the wreckage of the ship she had been sent to repair. A ship with organic circuitry.

"Fuck. Okay, Tungel it is." From there, she could call someone. Reconnect with reality. The galaxy was a busy place. Not everyone would know, or care, that she'd nearly died on a job. The news vids wouldn't carry her story. She could remain under the radar until she figured out what to do. She had enough currency, in credits and favours, to take a break.

So long as she didn't buy any gloves.