twenty-six
The derelict mining platform had a gloomy appearance, the landscape around it desolate. The dense atmosphere covered the crawler marks until her bubble touched the surface, then she saw the confusion of tracks running every which way, flattened dust that glistened as if ionized, and the bowl shape of large, trackless wheels. It looked like a large, hot snake had slithered back and forth, crushing and melting the ground.
A cluster of prefabs surrounded a satellite tower. Lights picked out the height of the tower, all the way to the top, indicating the station still had power. On the ground, Kat could see the dull red glow of door locks. Only one building had no door, a two story open-air hangar that housed ground transport vehicles. She suspected they would all be locked. A second domed structure was large enough to hold a shuttle.
Kat blew out a breath. Sufficiently charged, a shuttle could get her to the next system, to the mass relay. She wouldn't dare fly it through the gate. It would be ripped apart. But the relay could boost her signal. From there, she could place a call. She might even get a call out before then, depending on interference from the flare.
The landscape before her wavered slightly, then popped into sharp focus. Kat tapped her helmet, then shivered as she realised what had happened. Shepard's bubble had disappeared.
"Are you still there?"
She felt naked and exposed. What had been her prison had become her sanctuary. Shepard had protected her from the destruction of the Bataille, vacuum, the black shit in space, radiation and acceleration, atmosphere, a solar flare and a fucking cave in. Kat turned a slow circle, then thought to check her tool.
Here. The letters glowed dully in the dense atmosphere of the planet. Thought you might want to walk.
Kat laughed. "Walk? When I can ride the hero chariot?"
Hero chariot? Ha ha.
"Did I just make you laugh?"
I am amused.
So was Kat, though the light moment left her feeling giddy. She was running on empty. Turning around again, she chose one of the prefabs and began walking toward it. "I need food, then I'll secure my escape vehicle." Which sounded a damn sight better than 'steal a shuttle'.
Detecting a ship entering the system. The letters of Shepard's report pulsed once and then disappeared as he continued, Heading is…last known coordinates of the Bataille.
A shiver clawed its way down Kat's spine. "Shit, you sure?" Why did dread curl in her belly? It could be a rescue mission. "Can you read the ship's designation?"
JG4534, he typed. The Specht.
"That's Kaufer's son," Kat said, her voice sounded squashed. "Kaufer is the head guy at Jormangund."
She'd reached the squat building and tapped at the lock. When it didn't open, she accessed her menu of overrides. Despite the exposed feeling of being outside her protective sphere of...whatever, Kat's fingers were sure as she chose the correct routine and hacked the lock. The door slid open and she stepped inside a small, sealed vestibule. The building had an airlock. If it had a protein bar and a shower, sonic or otherwise, it would equal the nicest suite in the nicest hotel on the Citadel. Or Omega. Standards were lower there.
While the 'lock cycled, Kat turned her attention to the matter of Wessel Kaufer. "He's a playboy. Rich kid with an expensive education and a degree his father paid for. Spends most of his time racing yachts and fucking his bodyguards." A half smile crooked her lips. "Could be the other way 'round, too. He's just shy of deviant." There were plenty of folks in relationships with AIs, ships with convenient ports and tactile bays. Took a lot of imagination to be truly deviant in the twenty-fourth century.
The wall panel flashed, a line of green lights pinging on, one after the other, and the inner door hissed open. Kat stepped into the unit and checked her HUD. All green there, too. She deactivated her helmet and took a cautious breath. Air tasted flat and lifeless, but her eyeballs didn't fizz and pop.
Good enough.
She scanned her surroundings. An office with six desks parked together in a cluster and one larger desk behind a deactivated partition. Emergency lighting gave the large room a forlorn appearance. It felt abandoned and sorta sad. But the lack of absolute chaos was reassuring. The place had been packed up. There were no scattered papers, spilled coffee cups and dead bodies.
Suppressing a shudder, Kat approached the first of the three doors set into the far wall. She knew how to order spicy noodles and cold beer in sixteen languages. The sign on the door didn't offer either of those and she could turn the damned handle faster than she could pull up a translation module. The sight of the small kitchen pulled her lips so wide, they cracked.
When even smiling hurt…
Kat began pulling open cupboards and noticed orange text floating over her wrist.
I've been listening to Kaufer's ship. He responded to the same signal that pulled me to the Kepler Verge.
"Pulled you…wait, you can listen…of course you can." Kat shook her head and licked her poor lips, the tang of blood on her tongue too damned familiar. "He…" She stopped again as the dread in her gut curled tighter. "What else?"
The Specht is scanning for debris and bioforms.
"Are they looking for me?"
You and Herfer Finch.
"Herfer?" What the fuck kind of name was that? Kat's mouth curved into another painful smile as she imagined asking Finch directly, teasing him about his weird ass first name. Then her smile fell away, dropped to the floor, and the weight of the ensuing sadness pulled her shoulders down, curving her spine. Eyes closing, Kat leaned forward so that her forehead rested against one of the smooth cupboards.
She knew the punch would bruise less and less. That one day she'd think of Finch and just smile. Hell, she'd lost friends before. Comrades in arms and fellow junkies. Folks who had been friends by association. Finch had been more than a friend, though. He'd been damned easy company and good. Fucking good. Sweet behind the sass. Big, all gruff and bear-like, but sharp and righteous when it counted.
A quiet sob shook her shoulders and Kat sniffed wetly. She could easily peg her emotional state on exhaustion, but crying because she was sad seemed better, somehow. More like a tribute to Finch.
"Herfer Finch," she whispered. "Gonna keep that name somewhere. Remember who it belonged to."
She leaned back, swiped at her eyes and winced as the mucky sleeve of her suit scraped her skin. Fuck, she was tired of being filthy and tired and sad and hungry and all the rest of it. Kat reached up to pull open the cupboard and then stared disconsolately into the dark, empty square. She tried the next, found the plates and shit, then tried the next. Glassware and mugs. She pulled out a glass and tried the faucet over the sink. After a gurgle, water gushed out. The smell hit her first, the stink of off rocket fuel. Grimacing, she set the glass aside and continued opening cupboards. The tall one at the end had what she looked for; canned water and boxed rations. With a trembling hand, she pulled one of each off the shelf and then looked between them, trying to decide which to have first. Her cracked lips decided for her. She needed a drink.
The water tasted like the air, flat and dead. Any minerals added to make it more nourishing than water (seriously?) were probably inert by now. Thirty years was a long time for water to sit still. The ration bar tasted like the fucking wrapper, but her body didn't care. Kat chuckled as her stomach rolled and growled, clawed its way up to greet the food coming down. She hadn't even finished chewing the first bar before she unwrapped the second. Another can of water and she felt halfway human.
"Now I need a shower." Kat checked her wrist for messages and sighed quietly at the lack of orange lettering. She didn't mind being alone, but she'd sorta got used to Shepard's company. "How's tricks?" she asked, hoping for a short report.
Tricky, came the reply.
"Ha, ha." Kat pushed off the counter and sauntered toward the door, her movement somnolent. "What's happening over there?"
Kaufer is not happy. The creature was definitely his. He has pinged the entire system looking for it. He's spinning a story for his father at present. Solar flare destroyed the Bataille, taking you and Finch down with the ship. Kaufer senior sounds…terse.
The last sentence hung in the air for a few seconds before fading. Kat looked up and purse her lips. "This is fucked up." She had a hard time mustering outrage—at the idea Wessel Kaufer had some secret project going on, that his giant octopus of death or whatever rated more highly on the search scale than her apparently dead body, and that her entire life had been turned upside down and inside out in one day.
She turned her attention to the second door and found a storage room. Third door had what she needed. As she began stripping off her suit, Kat wondered if shit would make any more sense after she showered. After she slept? After she reconnected with someone real. She felt flat and dead, like the water and air in the prefab. Left behind to weather thirty years of neglect.
Her suit pooled awkwardly around her boots, Kat sat to do what she should have done first, remove the magnetic fuckers. She kicked away the heavy footwear and dead skin of her vacuum suit and sat for a moment longer, clad only in a tank and underwear that had seen better days. Much better days. Leaning forward, Kat propped her elbows on her knees and wrapped her hands around her sore head. The stink of sweat and piss wafted up from her undergarments, effectively ending her small moment. A girl couldn't think while she swallowed and gagged.
Tank and underpants joined her suit on the floor and she ducked into the sonic shower. While the pulse crept across he skin, disintegrating grime and pummeling small knots of tension into submission—she had the pressure dialed up HIGH—Kat made an effort not to think. She needed a break.