I half-expect to run straight into the first number we came across, but the hallways are empty. So empty, it gives me the creeps. I know everyone’s just hunkered down because of the supernova, but it would almost be better if there were humans haunting the halls.
I keep watch for the heat signatures of anyone, though I’m not sure that’ll work for me. These two had heat when last I saw them, but that doesn’t mean they can’t somehow turn it off. If it’s possible with that one on Amethyst, I’m not going to discount it now.
This ship is mostly new to me, having just been purchased mere days before I left, but I remember my way around in a vague enough sense to make it back to the hangar without the elevators, just the emergency stairs. All the way down I go, ignoring the bruises my body is starting to tell me about.
I try to consider what will kill these things.
A shot to the head or body with the guns on my ship or Zane and Lalia’s. Worked on the special number on Amethyst. Should work on these. Can’t push through injuries if you don’t have a functioning body anymore.
I didn’t ask for the model of Lee’s gun, but if Bat called it a rocket, I’m sure it’ll take out a small ship.
Individual shots don’t do much, I’ve already experimented with that and failed spectacularly.
A knife might eventually sever all the wiring and electronics connecting the body, but that would take too much close contact for too long a time. The memory of it digging its creepy, ice-cold fingers into the back of my neck sends a shiver through my entire body.
Inside my ship, I’ll be armed enough to take them out.
But I can’t. Not inside the hangar of this ship.
My guns are nasty. Deadly. Even on my old ship. That’s the point of them. Blasting a hole in the side of Lee’s hangar isn’t going to help anyone, me included. Hitting something more vital into the interior of the ship could kill us all.
Especially the humans.
No ship gun unless completely and utterly necessary. And if I have to, I’ll try to aim toward the hangar doors. A hole in the hangar won’t mess with the airlock for the rest of the ship. It can be fixed. And Kel can pay for it.
I’m not positive this is her doing, but I suspect.
The hangar is empty. As it should be, but it still makes the back of my neck tingle. Gun in hand, because that can at least slow them a bit, I step away from the door, into the open.
No one shoots at me. Good sign.
Everything is dark. But there aren’t any heat signatures. My ship doesn’t appear to have been messed with. The sibling’s either. For a moment, I entertain the idea of sabotaging the Amerov vessel. But messing around out in the open isn’t a great idea. And neither is just blowing it up with my ship’s guns.
Sprinting lightly across the open space, I cycle open the airlock, hop in, and close it behind me.
I lean against the control panel for a moment, breathing. There’s my giant rifle under my bed. I’m not sure it’s big enough to kill one of them, and I’ve never actually had a chance to use it on a person before, but if my pistol makes them stumble, I don’t see why that rifle wouldn’t at least take one out eventually.
Something scratches. A boot readjusting on metal. I stop breathing, staring at the one blinking light on the panel of my console now that the ship is asleep. There’s no other noise, but I get the sudden and intense knowledge I’m being watched.
I turn. Look into the back of the ship. It’s pitch black in here, just the faint blue glow of the muzzle of the pistol in my hand, and there’s no heat signature. Dead quiet sits in my ears. The comm beeps. I jump but don’t answer. Slowly, I run my fingers over the console until I find the switch for the ship’s interior lights.
The second number sits in one of my chairs, watching me.
I jump, nearly knocking myself over the edge of the control panel. It has no heat signature either. Nothing. It’s not hot or cold. It doesn’t so much as register to the temperature-sensitive parts of my eyes.
It doesn’t move, just stares at me, pistol in one hand, casual.
Well, I guess falling down an elevator shaft didn’t kill it.
I don’t move. What the hell do I do? The airlock is closed, it’ll take a few seconds for it to start cycling open. And I’ve already established that my pistol does nothing to slow it down.
It doesn’t blink and stays so utterly still for so long that I start to wonder if it’s alive. The idea that I killed it is a bit too much to believe.
How did it get in? My door doesn’t unlock for anyone except me. I have the only key. Glancing around the ship, I find the paneling near the engine askew. It must’ve taken apart the belly of the ship and simply climbed up in. Probably just ripped right into the metal. I hadn’t seen anything, but the hangar was nearly pitch-black.
Finally, it says, “You’re a bit tougher than Captain gives you credit for.”
Its voice is deep, male. Calm, not quite human. I wonder if it has a voice box like the old robot still sitting in the corner.
“ForceZero is a lot scarier than I gave you credit for.”
An eyebrow raises. “You know about us?”
“Yvonne mentioned you.”
“Ah. The princess. She’s also more trouble than Captain bargained for.”
Are we seriously just having a conversation? “I’ve noticed.”
It goes back to staring. Still no blinking. But its hand readjusts once on its gun.
I try, “Your partner seems a bit…off.”
He twitches once, and I’m not sure if it’s in agreement or I just made a mistake. “She’s…unique.”
In agreement, then. “She scares me.”
“She should.”
“Well, don’t sell yourself short, you do too.”
Its expression twists somewhere between amused and confused. Probably going over its head with how little human emotion it likely has left.
“I can respect something that tries as hard to live as you do,” it says, finally blinking, readjusting in my chair. “I was a lot like you, at one point, unregistered. You’d be surprised what Captain does with things like us.”
“Let me guess: if you don’t feel anything, nothing hurts.”
It blinks again, lazily. “I feel things. I felt you drop me down an elevator shaft.”
Not what I meant. Talking to this thing is a lot like talking to Captain. Though with this one, I get the distinct feeling it’ll shoot me right between the eyes at a moment’s notice. Once getting shot in the face was good for this lifetime, and just because I survived once doesn’t mean it’ll happen again.
“You understand I have to kill you, don’t you?” it asks.
I swallow, my fingers cold around the handle of my pistol. “I figured.”
“Of course, Captain wanted me to give you the option of surrendering. You still can. If not, I’m simply going to shoot you. Do you understand?”
More diplomatic than I’d expect. “Yeah, I get it.”
I’m not going to cooperate, but I get it. A part of me wonders if I could buy time by surrendering. But then it would all be up to Bat and the humans. The fragile, easy-to-kill humans. One of which is a ten-year-old child. And even if they managed to get the upper hand, I’d likely be handcuffed and unable to help.
Not a good option.
I have an estimated three seconds between when I hit the button for the airlock and how long it’ll take to cycle open enough of a crack I can squeeze through. Outside, I’ll still be vulnerable, but at least I can run for it again.
Definitely going to get shot in the meantime, but as long as I can keep its hands off me and not get trapped, I can deal with getting shot. Again.
“Your choice,” it prompts.
There’s nothing worried in its expression. No matter how I dropped it down an elevator, it has no qualms about me. Respect, maybe, and even then I’m not certain, but it’s confident in its abilities. And it trusts Captain. Captain made it better, superior. Unbeatable. I wonder what it will think when it realizes it isn’t.
I slam my palm into the airlock button, diving sideways and aiming for its gun as the side of my viewport cracks with a bullet aimed at me. Idiot’s ruining my ship.
It seems to expect me aiming for its hand, because it doesn’t hold still for a moment. I aim for an eye—blinding it might afford me time to get away.
The airlock hisses as it begins to cycle open. I duck for it, one big hand catching my arm and knocking me off balance. It nearly slams me into the console, missing a full-body tackle by a hair’s width.
But that’s all the good luck I get. It yanks me up, straight off my feet as if I weigh no more than a scrap of cloth. Switches from the control panel stab into my back as it slams me down hard. A flash of a muzzle catches in the heat sensors of my eyes. I flail, punching blindly at the light. Pain shoots along the back of my hand. My vision goes blank. White hot burns along the side of my scalp. My right eye refuses to work correctly, flicking between my vision and heat sensors so quickly I can’t get a good reference on either one.
Something else fires, farther away. Someone shouts. More pistol flashes of light. The number crushing me against the control panel flinches, whirling around. I don’t know what he’s looking at and don’t care. Shoving against its impossible weight, I get one leg free and kick up. Hard. Right into its jaw. It doesn’t do much more than stun it for a second, but it’s enough for me to grab the arm around my throat, brace it between the both of mine, and snap.
There’s a sickening sound. It doesn’t so much as scream, but its grip loosens. I slither down and roll off the console, practically flinging myself out the airlock, rolling under the wing as shots follow.
I half-expect to run straight into the first number we came across, but the hallways are empty. So empty, it gives me the creeps. I know everyone’s just hunkered down because of the supernova, but it would almost be better if there were humans haunting the halls.
I keep watch for the heat signatures of anyone, though I’m not sure that’ll work for me. These two had heat when last I saw them, but that doesn’t mean they can’t somehow turn it off. If it’s possible with that one on Amethyst, I’m not going to discount it now.
This ship is mostly new to me, having just been purchased mere days before I left, but I remember my way around in a vague enough sense to make it back to the hangar without the elevators, just the emergency stairs. All the way down I go, ignoring the bruises my body is starting to tell me about.
I try to consider what will kill these things.
A shot to the head or body with the guns on my ship or Zane and Lalia’s. Worked on the special number on Amethyst. Should work on these. Can’t push through injuries if you don’t have a functioning body anymore.
I didn’t ask for the model of Lee’s gun, but if Bat called it a rocket, I’m sure it’ll take out a small ship.
Individual shots don’t do much, I’ve already experimented with that and failed spectacularly.
A knife might eventually sever all the wiring and electronics connecting the body, but that would take too much close contact for too long a time. The memory of it digging its creepy, ice-cold fingers into the back of my neck sends a shiver through my entire body.
Inside my ship, I’ll be armed enough to take them out.
But I can’t. Not inside the hangar of this ship.
My guns are nasty. Deadly. Even on my old ship. That’s the point of them. Blasting a hole in the side of Lee’s hangar isn’t going to help anyone, me included. Hitting something more vital into the interior of the ship could kill us all.
Especially the humans.
No ship gun unless completely and utterly necessary. And if I have to, I’ll try to aim toward the hangar doors. A hole in the hangar won’t mess with the airlock for the rest of the ship. It can be fixed. And Kel can pay for it.
I’m not positive this is her doing, but I suspect.
The hangar is empty. As it should be, but it still makes the back of my neck tingle. Gun in hand, because that can at least slow them a bit, I step away from the door, into the open.
No one shoots at me. Good sign.
Everything is dark. But there aren’t any heat signatures. My ship doesn’t appear to have been messed with. The sibling’s either. For a moment, I entertain the idea of sabotaging the Amerov vessel. But messing around out in the open isn’t a great idea. And neither is just blowing it up with my ship’s guns.
Sprinting lightly across the open space, I cycle open the airlock, hop in, and close it behind me.
I lean against the control panel for a moment, breathing. There’s my giant rifle under my bed. I’m not sure it’s big enough to kill one of them, and I’ve never actually had a chance to use it on a person before, but if my pistol makes them stumble, I don’t see why that rifle wouldn’t at least take one out eventually.
Something scratches. A boot readjusting on metal. I stop breathing, staring at the one blinking light on the panel of my console now that the ship is asleep. There’s no other noise, but I get the sudden and intense knowledge I’m being watched.
I turn. Look into the back of the ship. It’s pitch black in here, just the faint blue glow of the muzzle of the pistol in my hand, and there’s no heat signature. Dead quiet sits in my ears. The comm beeps. I jump but don’t answer. Slowly, I run my fingers over the console until I find the switch for the ship’s interior lights.
The second number sits in one of my chairs, watching me.
I jump, nearly knocking myself over the edge of the control panel. It has no heat signature either. Nothing. It’s not hot or cold. It doesn’t so much as register to the temperature-sensitive parts of my eyes.
It doesn’t move, just stares at me, pistol in one hand, casual.
Well, I guess falling down an elevator shaft didn’t kill it.
I don’t move. What the hell do I do? The airlock is closed, it’ll take a few seconds for it to start cycling open. And I’ve already established that my pistol does nothing to slow it down.
It doesn’t blink and stays so utterly still for so long that I start to wonder if it’s alive. The idea that I killed it is a bit too much to believe.
How did it get in? My door doesn’t unlock for anyone except me. I have the only key. Glancing around the ship, I find the paneling near the engine askew. It must’ve taken apart the belly of the ship and simply climbed up in. Probably just ripped right into the metal. I hadn’t seen anything, but the hangar was nearly pitch-black.
Finally, it says, “You’re a bit tougher than Captain gives you credit for.”
Its voice is deep, male. Calm, not quite human. I wonder if it has a voice box like the old robot still sitting in the corner.
“ForceZero is a lot scarier than I gave you credit for.”
An eyebrow raises. “You know about us?”
“Yvonne mentioned you.”
“Ah. The princess. She’s also more trouble than Captain bargained for.”
Are we seriously just having a conversation? “I’ve noticed.”
It goes back to staring. Still no blinking. But its hand readjusts once on its gun.
I try, “Your partner seems a bit…off.”
He twitches once, and I’m not sure if it’s in agreement or I just made a mistake. “She’s…unique.”
In agreement, then. “She scares me.”
“She should.”
“Well, don’t sell yourself short, you do too.”
Its expression twists somewhere between amused and confused. Probably going over its head with how little human emotion it likely has left.
“I can respect something that tries as hard to live as you do,” it says, finally blinking, readjusting in my chair. “I was a lot like you, at one point, unregistered. You’d be surprised what Captain does with things like us.”
“Let me guess: if you don’t feel anything, nothing hurts.”
It blinks again, lazily. “I feel things. I felt you drop me down an elevator shaft.”
Not what I meant. Talking to this thing is a lot like talking to Captain. Though with this one, I get the distinct feeling it’ll shoot me right between the eyes at a moment’s notice. Once getting shot in the face was good for this lifetime, and just because I survived once doesn’t mean it’ll happen again.
“You understand I have to kill you, don’t you?” it asks.
I swallow, my fingers cold around the handle of my pistol. “I figured.”
“Of course, Captain wanted me to give you the option of surrendering. You still can. If not, I’m simply going to shoot you. Do you understand?”
More diplomatic than I’d expect. “Yeah, I get it.”
I’m not going to cooperate, but I get it. A part of me wonders if I could buy time by surrendering. But then it would all be up to Bat and the humans. The fragile, easy-to-kill humans. One of which is a ten-year-old child. And even if they managed to get the upper hand, I’d likely be handcuffed and unable to help.
Not a good option.
I have an estimated three seconds between when I hit the button for the airlock and how long it’ll take to cycle open enough of a crack I can squeeze through. Outside, I’ll still be vulnerable, but at least I can run for it again.
Definitely going to get shot in the meantime, but as long as I can keep its hands off me and not get trapped, I can deal with getting shot. Again.
“Your choice,” it prompts.
There’s nothing worried in its expression. No matter how I dropped it down an elevator, it has no qualms about me. Respect, maybe, and even then I’m not certain, but it’s confident in its abilities. And it trusts Captain. Captain made it better, superior. Unbeatable. I wonder what it will think when it realizes it isn’t.
I slam my palm into the airlock button, diving sideways and aiming for its gun as the side of my viewport cracks with a bullet aimed at me. Idiot’s ruining my ship.
It seems to expect me aiming for its hand, because it doesn’t hold still for a moment. I aim for an eye—blinding it might afford me time to get away.
The airlock hisses as it begins to cycle open. I duck for it, one big hand catching my arm and knocking me off balance. It nearly slams me into the console, missing a full-body tackle by a hair’s width.
But that’s all the good luck I get. It yanks me up, straight off my feet as if I weigh no more than a scrap of cloth. Switches from the control panel stab into my back as it slams me down hard. A flash of a muzzle catches in the heat sensors of my eyes. I flail, punching blindly at the light. Pain shoots along the back of my hand. My vision goes blank. White hot burns along the side of my scalp. My right eye refuses to work correctly, flicking between my vision and heat sensors so quickly I can’t get a good reference on either one.
Something else fires, farther away. Someone shouts. More pistol flashes of light. The number crushing me against the control panel flinches, whirling around. I don’t know what he’s looking at and don’t care. Shoving against its impossible weight, I get one leg free and kick up. Hard. Right into its jaw. It doesn’t do much more than stun it for a second, but it’s enough for me to grab the arm around my throat, brace it between the both of mine, and snap.
There’s a sickening sound. It doesn’t so much as scream, but its grip loosens. I slither down and roll off the console, practically flinging myself out the airlock, rolling under the wing as shots follow.
