Noemi glances at him sideways. “The Persephone? That’s what you renamed the ship?”
“Yes. In Greek mythology, she’s the wife of Hades, the daughter of Demeter. She spends half her time in one world, half in another. In each world she’s a goddess, but there’s no one place she will ever belong.”
“…Oh.”
When he turns to her again, Abel can see realization dawning in her eyes. He’s betrayed his feelings. When will he learn not to do this? Love has to be buried even deeper than he realized.
In a small voice, Noemi says, “You saw that.”
He doesn’t know how to reply except to say, “I know you.”
Noemi shakes her head—not denying him, but as if in wonder. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve gone my whole life just waiting for someone to see me. And you do, Abel. You might be the only person who ever has.”
“Now you know how I felt the day you told me I had a soul.”
Their gazes meet in the darkened room, and Abel realizes he’s holding his breath, which is highly counterintuitive. Yet the impulse is undeniable.
“Running,” Noemi says abruptly. “We should be running.”
“Agreed.” With that they resume their haste, Abel bewildered by his own reordering of priorities. Escape must be their first and only goal.
The ambient temperature drops a full degree Celsius, then lowers still further. Their destination must be within proximity. At last he makes out lighting at the end of one long corridor that has a blue tint rather than the orange of emergency lighting. When he magnifies this sector in his vision, he detects a few stray snowflakes.
In 3.6 seconds, Noemi sees it, too. “The hull breach. We’re almost there!”
Assent seems pointless. Abel runs faster, pushing ahead of Noemi to scout the area. Every meter brings more brightness and sharper cold, until he finally rounds the final turn—
—and stops just short of tumbling down a hundred meters, which even for Abel would be fatal.
He stretches out one arm, which Noemi runs into just after. She gasps in shock. “Oh, my God.”
Even for a soldier of Genesis, that’s only an expression. However, the physical devastation of the ship could well have been wrought by a vengeful deity. The entire Osiris hull has cracked—opening a sort of canyon almost forty meters wide, one that runs almost the length of the ship. From where they stand on the ragged edge, he and Noemi can see nearly an entire cross-section of the ship—each deck its own layer. Dangling sections of wall, flooring, and wires cover the side as though they were vines. Exposed above them is Haven’s night sky, brightened by six of its moons; below, at the floor of this artificial canyon, are drifts of freshly fallen snow.
“How exactly are we supposed to get out from here?” Noemi’s question is valid. What is now the top of the ship stands a solid eight meters above their head, and no uninterrupted framework for their climb readily presents itself.
Abel leans out, examines the wreckage, and comes to a conclusion. “First, we’ll need to climb down this”—he points to a nearby waterfall of dead cables, most of them as thick around as Noemi’s ankle—“to a level approximately fourteen meters below us. From there we can shift sideways and reach that piece of wreckage.” His gesture indicates a latticework of metal that leads very nearly to the top.
Even the most courageous humans are not entirely unafraid of extreme heights, especially in uncertain conditions like the ones they currently face. Noemi appears pale, but she nods. “That looks, um, doable.”
“It is.” At least, he believes so. Testing the weight capacity of that latticework is a task he’ll turn to later.
He slips off his white parka, which Noemi quickly dons. By mutual, silent assent, she prepares to go first—until, in the distance behind them, they hear a thump.
Turning his head to focus better on the sound, he makes out at least two sets of footsteps—still faraway, but heading in their direction.
“They’ve found us,” Noemi whispers.
“Not quite.” He gestures toward the cables leading downward. “You should go on alone.”
“What?”
“They’re only after me, Noemi. I can evade them for a time and escape the Osiris later. You and Virginia could retrieve me then.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not leaving you.”
This is enormously pleasing but poor strategy. “One of us has to go first regardless. It makes more sense for that to be you.”
Still Noemi hesitates. “You swear you’ll follow me? Right away?”
“I swear.” Oaths mean more to humans than to mechs; Abel sees little purpose in promising to do what future conditions may make impossible. But for Noemi’s sake, he will try to obey.
She begins shinnying down the cables, hand under hand, bracing her booted feet against fragments of wall. He watches her carefully until she’s out of sight and only then glances back.
In the darkness, he sees movement. Specifically, he sees a badly broken Tare, one eye missing so that the yellowish glow of her brain circuitry shows through. Behind her, an Oboe straightens, ignoring her shredded left arm and leg, and begins to hobble toward them.
“We have company,” Abel says, knowing Noemi’s still close enough to hear. “Some of Simon’s—playmates.”
She freezes in place; he is able to determine this from the way the cables stop moving. “Can they tell Simon we’re here?”
“They already have.” Abel knows this as surely as if he’d programmed the mechs himself.
“Come on,” she urges. “Hurry. Follow me.”
An altercation with Simon must be very close. Although Noemi wishes to avoid it due to her own fears and prejudices—understandable, if regrettable—Abel welcomes the chance.
He had been absolutely honest with Gillian; he believes he can get through to Simon. Calm him, reassure him, maybe even repair him. As long as that’s true, Abel has to try just as hard to save him as he tried to save Noemi.
She’s the first person who believed I have a soul, he thinks. I must be the person who believes in Simon.
“I’ll
