“They’re a treacherous pair of savages. I wouldn’t trust either of them as far as I could spit, and I’m certainly not going to stake the future of our race on whatever lies they’ll choose to feed us.”

“But sir, if you’d just give me a chance,” Rene repeated for the umpteenth time, “If you’re worried about getting misleading information, there’s a simple solution: I could just take their testimonies separately. One from Zildiz and one from Neroth. Then we compare them afterwards, keeping whatever matches up and discarding what doesn’t. Simple as.”

“Who the hell’s Neroth?” demanded the Commodore.

“The boy who hitched a ride on the shuttle, sir.”

“You got the juvenile to tell you his name?” for the first time since Rene had met him the Commodore sounded truly impressed, “That was quick.”

“Wasn’t hard,” Rene said, rubbing his neck with shy pride, “The lad’s laying bricks in his trousers back there. I know I would be.”

The Commodore gave the pathfinder a long and searching look. Rene could almost see the gears turning in that shrunken head, and his instincts told him that he wasn’t going to like what came next.

“You know what I think, crewman? I think you’re in a unique position to serve the Fleet like no one ever has.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I was wrong. You’re onto something big here. I’m willing to bet that our friends in the food court will know the most important nodes by sight or hearsay. Your mission now is to get those locations out of them, by any means necessary.”

“With all due respect, sir, but I’m no torturer,” Rene said, choosing to take a stand.

“Did I say I wanted you to put the screws to them?” the Commodore’s retort came like a whipcrack, making Rene wince, “It’s imperative that they share their information with us willingly.”

“But how—”

“You’ve just established rapport with an enemy combatant within minutes of it regaining consciousness. Clearly you’ve got talent at being a winsome sonofabitch.”

The backhanded complement produced mixed feelings in Rene. The Commodore barged on regardless: “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I have the sense that you’ve also reached a certain understanding with the female as well.”

“Who, Zildiz?” Rene burst into a wheezing fit of laughter. But the Commodore wasn’t smiling, and Rene’s amusement wilted under his glare.

“I understands that she hates my guts, if that’s what you mean,” he managed to say.

“Is the feeling mutual?”

“Er, no,” Rene said, tiptoeing around the complicated bundle of emotions that Zildiz elicited in him, “No, I just tolerate her. When she isn’t trying to kill me, that is.”

“See now, I call that progress.”

“I mean, sure, she isn’t trying to take off my head anymore. But getting a fanatic like her to betray their god and everything they believe in? I don’t see how I can manage that, sir.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, crewman,” the Commodore bulldozed his objections aside, “I’ve never been a good judge of such things, and Fugue knows it’s been a while since I had the urge to perform such functions, but believe me when I say that you have the necessary equipment to get this job done. Appearance-wise, that is.”

“What?”

“Jumping gyroscopes, do I really have to spell it out for you?” the Commodore vented a frustrated sigh, “The fact is you’re not entirely hideous, Rene. Serviceable is the word that springs to mind.”

Rene felt a flutter of panic in his breast. Was the Commodore…coming onto him?

“Hey! Don’t space out on me,” snapped the Commodore, slapping Rene on the side of the head with a tendril, “What the matter with you? I’m talking about the female, man, the female! You’ve got an axis of attack open on that front—press the advantage while you can.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Y-you want me to p-put the moves on Zildiz?” Rene stammered, his sense of horror redoubling in intensity.

“Not exactly rocket science, is it?”

“But she’s a cosmophage,” Rene weakly objected.

“So? I’m not asking you pick out engagement rings. Just convince her you’re on her side and wheedle the information out of her. Do whatever it takes. That’s an order.”

“You’re asking for a miracle, sir.”

“Don’t talk to me about miracles. Do you know how hard it was getting this facility operational all by myself? How many lifetimes I spent rifling through Exodian rubble, cobbling together what scraps I could, waiting for this day to come? We all have our sacrifices to make.”

One of the monitors flashed, hard data replaced by a real-time view of the cafeteria. They saw Zildiz squatting frog-like in her chair, face darkened by her trademark scowl. The Commodore tapped a finger on her, saying:

“There’s your target, ensign. Now go and execute.”

#

“It’s alright to look, you know,” said Zildiz, wearing a coy smile as she regarded Neroth like a piece of meat, “I already know what you’re thinking.”

Neroth shifted in his seat but refused to take the bait, keeping his eyes fixed on his toes.

“Can I get this Gallivant before she gets me? Should I do it while Rene is gone, or shall I bide my time and kill them both in one fell swoop? Don’t think I can’t see you loosening your wrists under that blanket.”

The boy went deathly still for a moment. Then he tossed back the greasy shanks of his hair with a flick of his head and cocked an eyebrow at her. Fear was still writ large upon his young face, but the firm set of his jaw betrayed a newfound determination to survive.

“Was it that obvious?” he asked.

“You may have fooled the Fleet-man, but I know you Leapers all too well. You’ll do anything to secure an advantage for yourselves.”

Zildiz lolled back in her chair, straightening her arms behind her to as if to get a good stretch in. As her hands grazed the floor she felt something small and sharp at her fingertips: a shard of the bowl that she had broken earlier. She quickly palmed the object, letting out a lazy yawn to mask her intentions, expecting at any moment to be reduced to a red mist by the guns of the sentry drones.

“I’m not the one helping the Betrayers, am I?” Neroth countered, “Traitor!”

“What are you yapping about?”

“Days ago, on the hilltop. You fought shoulder to shoulder with Rene. You killed two of my cousins, butchered them without mercy,” Neroth accused.

“It’s not like your warband left me much of a choice. If things had gone the other way, I’d be fodder for your newborns,” she said, surreptitiously slipping the ceramic shard in between the layers of bandages wrapped around her torso. It seemed that the sentry drones were neither as clever nor as perceptive as Exar was.

“Then why were you travelling with Rene?” Neroth pressed her, “What are you after?”

“Nothing. He took me prisoner, just like you. My exomorph was damaged beyond repair when he found me. I tried to resist, but you saw for yourself what he’s capable of.”

Neroth nodded, no doubt remembering the exploding traps that had decimated his comrades.

“All I want is to get back to my family on Arachnea,” she whispered as if letting him in on a secret, “My only goal is to survive and find a way off this miserable rock. How does that sound to you, Neroth?”

It was the first time she’d used his actual name, and she was counting on that having an effect. If she could convince the little gobshite that their interests aligned, then eventually he would trust her enough to do her bidding. Everything hinged on this moment.

“I want to go home,” Neroth finally said, his lower lip trembling, “I don’t like here. Everything’s so dark and scary and my innards hurt all the time from the cold. I want to be back in my exomorph where it’s warm.”

“As do I, Neroth. As do I,” she said soothingly, “But it’s not going to be easy.”

“You have a plan?”

“I’ll say more when we’re alone, but for now let’s just keep this between us. Alright?”

“Truce?” Neroth asked. The plaintive note in his voice was so pathetic that she almost felt sorry for him.

“Truce,” Zildiz nodded. Just as she said it the double doors in front of her slid open. Zildiz looked up with a guilty start, convinced that the Commodore had somehow overheard their scheming.

“Oh,” she said as Rene ducked into the hall, “It’s just you.”

“Well, there’s no need to sound so disappointed about it,” Rene said in a huff, mistaking her relief for dismissiveness. To tell the truth, Zildiz was actually quite glad to see him again—for purely practical reasons, of course. The pathfinder was a tool that could be easily manipulated through his misplaced sense of honour, that was all. Or so she told herself.

“C’mon, you two. Get up,” Rene told them, “We’re to relocate to the dormitories on the lower levels. Commodore’s orders.”

“What for?” she asked.

“That’s where you’ll be bunked for the duration of your stay here.”

“And what about you? Where will you be staying?”

“Same place you’re going,” Rene said quickly, taking Neroth by the underarms and hoisting him to his feet, “We’ll each have our own rooms.”

“The Commodore’s lumping you together with us?” Neroth wondered aloud, sharing Zildiz’s surprise.

“Yes. What about it?” Rene said testily.

“It sounds like he doesn’t trust you any more than he trusts us Kindreds,” Zildiz replied.

“Shaddup and get moving,” Rene growled.

Zildiz joined the other two as they were escorted out, flanked on all sides by armed drones. She risked a quick glance at Rene and was delighted to see an unhappy frown creasing his brow.

Things were shaping up already.