The doctors always say hearing is the last sense to go. She leans close to Riko’s ear. “It’s all right. We’re here with you. It’s okay.” Which is utterly meaningless, but it’s all she can come up with.
Somehow she must have said the right thing again, because Riko relaxes, exhales in a long, unmistakable rattle, and—
“She’s dead,” Noemi whispers as she turns to Abel. “Isn’t she?”
“The line between life and death is somewhat arbitrary.” Only Abel could say this and sound compassionate. “Riko’s heart and lungs have ceased to function, but while her brain no longer supports consciousness, it continues sending signals. In its last moments, her body was flooded with endorphins, with every possible emergency boost of strength or will. Her brain will be processing these as pure euphoria, producing the visions reported by so many brought back from clinical death.”
“That’s what Earth thinks.” She wipes at her eyes. “On Genesis we see it differently.”
Apparently Abel knows better than to argue the existence of heaven with her here and now. “It’s interesting to conjecture.”
Although Noemi believes in the afterlife, she isn’t sure exactly what kind of reckoning awaits on the other side. She only knows Riko kneels before it now. A power greater than Noemi will decide whether punishment or mercy is called for. So it’s okay to mourn what could’ve been.
If Earth had opened Haven to everyone, Noemi thinks, there wouldn’t be such a thing as Remedy. Maybe Riko would’ve been a settler here, working hard to set up the first cities of a brand-new world.
So many lives could’ve been so much better if Earth had only taken responsibility.
The comms—recently restored by Abel—crackle with sound. Gillian Shearer’s voice comes through: “If our calculations are correct, by now the members of Remedy have learned exactly why this world belongs to us, and not to them. You can’t live in this environment—not without the medical treatment we control.”
Noemi and Abel look at each other. We were right, she thinks.
Gillian says, “We’re willing to trade that medical treatment. You’ll get as much as you need. You simply have to pay for it first.”
Noemi instantly realizes what comes next. Dread hollows her out, and her breath catches in her throat.
With satisfaction, Gillian concludes, “Bring us the mech named Abel, alive.”
24
ABEL’S BLASTER IS BACK IN HIS HAND BEFORE GILLIAN Shearer has finished saying his name. He reaches for Noemi—but she’s already on her feet, her own weapon at the ready. She looks down at the body of Riko Watanabe, and for a moment he thinks Noemi won’t be able to abandon her. Humans behave strangely around the dead.
Instead Noemi says only a single word: “Go.”
He runs for the far door, which leads into a badly damaged corridor. With one leap he’s in the door frame, able to pull Noemi with him. Behind them he hears somebody hoarsely shout, “He’s getting away!”
Are Fouda’s soldiers already after him? Irrelevant. If they aren’t, they will be, and he and Noemi have to run without looking back.
They take off through the long, dark corridor, debris crunching under their feet. Even the emergency lighting took damage here, meaning the small orange beacons are far apart. They dash through an area that must have briefly caught fire; the once-delicate murals on the walls have been charred black. Each breath smells of ash. Through the darkness he can barely make out Noemi, sometimes glimpsing only the glitter of her jumpsuit. With her limited vision, she must be running nearly blind.
“What do we do?” she says. “Literally everyone on this ship is trying to capture us. There’s no safe space.”
“We have to leave the Osiris, and Haven, as soon as possible. The corsair is approximately two kilometers away—”
“Okay, great. We get outside and run for that,” Noemi pants. “We have to find an air lock.”
Under such stress even an experienced fighter like Noemi can make an error in strategy. “They’ll check the air locks first. I believe there’s a breach in the hull not far from the theater. We stand a better chance of escaping through that breach than through any of the doors.”
Noemi is wise enough not to ask the exact probabilities of their success. “Let’s go.”
Abel calibrates his running speed to match Noemi’s. Once they’re on more even footing, he’ll simply pick her up and carry her. “If I’ve calculated Haven’s diurnal cycles correctly, it should be nighttime outside. We’ll have cover of darkness and should be able to get back to the corsair.”
“Without a scratch?” Noemi quips. “Promise?”
“We can take scratches. The corsair must not. I suspect Virginia would refuse to give us a ride back to the Gate. She’d take the Persephone as her bounty.” He means to joke, but the possibility is in fact plausible.
“Wait.” They pause at a sharper bend in the corridor. Abel thinks Noemi’s only catching her breath, but she asks a question. “Virginia Redbird came with you?”
“You know how she loves a mystery.”
She laughs in apparent surprise. She leans against the wall, clearly gathering her strength for their next run. Although Abel should be focusing nearly all his conscious attention on plotting their course, he nonetheless registers that her jumpsuit is extremely low-cut, revealing the curves of her breasts, which rise and fall with her rapid breathing. This should be irrelevant but somehow is not.
Swiftly he comes up with a reason for observing her wardrobe. “You’ll be inadequately protected against the cold.” He gestures at his own white hyperwarm parka. “Once we’re outside I’ll give you this.”
“I found a coat earlier and left it behind, like an idiot. Won’t you get cold, too?”
“I can endure it for considerably longer than a human, more than long enough to reach the corsair. The flight back to the Persephone will also be cold, but should take no more than twenty-nine minutes depending on Virginia’s orbital status.
“I’m calculating our path to the corsair,” he says quickly, turning his head to gaze at a broken light
