After eleven minutes and fourteen seconds, they reach the bottom. Together they make contact with the ground, then stumble back a few steps before collapsing in the white wet crunch of snow. Noemi’s breathing is fast and shallow, like someone trying not to cry; Abel would reassure her if he thought he could speak.
This must be what humans call “exhaustion.” He doesn’t like it.
Finally Noemi says, very quietly, “Thank you, Abel.”
“You’re welcome.”
“We have to start walking. Can you do it?”
His ankle and wrist ache from the strain of the climb, but as Noemi said earlier—they’ll make it or they won’t. So he gets to his feet alongside her, brushes ice crystals off his clothes—
—and spots the figure rising from behind a snow-covered pile of debris.
“Abel!” Noemi cries, pushing him to the side just before a blaster bolt arcs through the air overhead. If her reflexes are faster than his, he’s even more tired than he thought. They’re half-buried in a drift, the snow their only protection. “Was that Remedy?”
“No—the Tare with one eye. One of Simon’s. And we’re unarmed.”
The situation’s even worse than that. Even now, the Tare—functioning as part of Simon’s mind—is sharing their location with the rest of his mechs. Within minutes the others will be on them.
Abel brought Noemi safely to the ground only for them to both die.
Noemi looks around frantically, her chin-length hair whipping in the wind, before grabbing a large stone and hurling it at their attacker. The Tare has turned so that her absent eye faces them, so she doesn’t see the rock coming—and when it makes contact, she goes down instantly, unconscious or inoperable.
“Unarmed, my ass.” Noemi scrambles to her feet and tows Abel up with her. She seems to have realized he’s not functioning optimally. Snow slips off her parka but clings to his clothes in thick, cold ridges. “We have to go back inside the Osiris,” she says.
He must protest. They only barely escaped the ship with their lives, and both the passengers and any surviving Remedy members will attack Abel on sight. Simon has yet to be reasoned with. Noemi will be in danger as long as she’s near him. “That can only delay our reaching the Persephone.”
“You’re not yourself, Abel. And if you’re not at full strength, there’s no way we can get to Virginia’s corsair.” She counts her points off on her red, chapped fingers. “But if we can’t fly up to her, she could fly down to us. There’s got to be something in the Osiris we could use to contact her—right? Or we could maybe find the docking bay and take a smaller ship, if there’s one that’s still spaceworthy. Either way, we’ll be able to help ourselves better in there than we can out here.”
“Agreed.” It’s risky, but so is every other course of action they could take. He stalks through the snow over to the fallen Tare and takes her blaster in hand. If he has to put Noemi in danger again, at least he’ll be able to defend her. Then he spies another blaster among the wreckage and tosses it to Noemi, who’s very good at defending herself. She’s also skilled at attacking, as their opponents on this ship will soon be aware.
And if he sees Simon again—what?
He’ll answer that when he has to, and not before. “Let’s go.”
Their entry point at ground level turns out not to be far from the air lock through which Abel originally entered the Osiris. He feels a strange ache at the memory of Riko greeting him here, smiling and exhilarated, little guessing she had less than three days left to live.
Concentrate on relevant facts, he reminds himself. At the time, this was Remedy-held territory. But Remedy no longer has the workforce to control so much space. This location should be safe.
“How far are we from a communications station we could use to contact Virginia?”
“Given the depleted energy reserves within the ship, we would probably have to get very near the bridge to find a working comms console. While possible, this course of action would also bring us into likely contact with Remedy members.” Who will, of course, be desperate to capture Abel and turn him over to Gillian in exchange for the medicine that would save their surviving friends.
She nods. “And the docking bay?” As they slowly work their way within, it becomes clear that even the emergency lighting has begun to falter. Abel adjusts his vision to infrared so Noemi will remain a warm glow by his side.
“Nearly half the length of the ship away—but closer than the bridge.”
She groans. “Let’s just start walking.”
One corridor proves to be by far the safest and best lit, so they’re able to make good time. They walk instead of run, both to be as quiet as possible and to avoid overtaxing Noemi. Or so Abel thinks, until he realizes that for once Noemi’s the one slowing down to his pace. Perhaps she’s worried about his ankle. It’s strangely pleasant, being worried about.
Yet some of his capacities remain at full strength—including his mech vision. Within fifteen meters of the docking bay, he halts midstep, putting his arm out to block Noemi. When she turns to him, confused, he says in a low voice, “Pressurized explosive device, point four one meters ahead.”
“How are you—”
“I’m on infrared frequencies right now. Otherwise I would’ve missed it. Apparently a wire’s been fed through the floor of the corridor.”
“Remedy mined the floor?” Noemi steps backward, a movement Abel copies. They came far too close to activating this device. If he’s accurately
