Blood.
The bugs went crazy, the clacking rising in a frenzied shriek.
Ashe flicked her weapon to continuous fire, targeting the opening, hoping she wasn’t taking out the controls to shut the hatch—
The building gave a major shudder, wood crunched and then crashed, and the upside of the Shan’s bird went downside, sending Ashe sliding toward the closing-too-slow hatch. Crunching sounds that could be wood. Could be bugs.
The frantic swarm shrilled, bug parts scraping the hull in their attempts to get in. The flash of her weapon’s fire too bright for her to see how effective it was as she continued her slide toward the narrowing gap—
A hand clamped her shoulder, dragged her around and into the bulkhead. She took the hit, twisted to bring light to bear on gap. Light swept her foot as pain crawled out from her impact wounds. Saw the bug clinging to it. It was as long as her calf, its feelers reaching almost all the way up her thigh and its tail twitching by her toes. Felt the pinch of something through her uniform. A bite? A bug was biting her? She screamed then, the sound bouncing off multiple sections of the metal hull. Kicked. Fired. Several times. Felt the shots zing off her shields where her foot probably was. Pinch stopped but she didn’t. Couldn’t stop screaming or shooting.
Dust and debris burst into the breach as the ship crunched against rubble, the angle almost normal. It bounced once, then settled deeper into the wreckage with what seemed like a distinct grumble. Ashe sagged against the hull until one section of debris sprouted black slit eyes. She fired on them. So did Shan. Bug guts splattered against the bulkhead. A last slam of metal against metal, as the doors sealed, muting the frantic clacking against the hull.
She did a light sweep, her weapon following the track. No movement. No eyes. She relaxed her arm, felt arms grab her, guy arms that patted and clutched in an alternating pattern.
“Are you all right?”
She leaned her head against his shoulder, took a couple of deep breaths that twanged her wounds—as Lurch sent drones in to repair the damage—and grabbed his shirt with her free hand. “I hate bugs.”
He made a sound that was half laugh, half something else. “What is there to like?”
* * * *
“Kind of ironic, isn’t it?” Her voice was a bit muffled against his chest.
“What is ironic?” He should release her.
“That our frantic efforts to get in here will now be replaced by frantic efforts to get out.”
His grip tightened instead, his hands sliding across her back. He found a spot that was warm and wet. “You are injured.”
“I’ll be fine. Except for the nightmares I’m going to have until I die.” She stiffened. “I think one of them bit my leg. I don’t want to turn into an alien bug. I won’t, will I?”
Shan did not see the connection, but he loosed his hold, sat back and ran his hands down both her legs. There was a tear in the slacks Calendria had provided for her, but— “It did not break the skin.” His hand resting on her ankle because he could not quite break contact, he looked at her. “Why would you turn into a bug?”
“Haven’t you seen the horror vids?”
Tremors of shock still shook her and he eased in beside her, sliding his arm around her again, pulling her to the place where she fit, where it felt she belonged. “What is a horror vid?”
She moved to stare at him, though she managed to do it without breaking his hold. Did that mean she liked being held by him?
“Don’t you have vids—moving pictures of made up stories?”
He shook his head, though not with certainty. “We have training videos.”
A small frown creased the smooth space between her brows. He touched the frown, because he could not help it.
“What do you do for fun?”
“My duty.”
Her brows arched now. “No dancing?” He shook his head. “No singing.” Another negative, though he felt that lack of certainty once more. “No parties? No games?”
“Training games. War games.” And meetings. Was that what she meant by party? Somehow he did not think so.
“Even when you’re little?”
“Children must learn to do their duty.” Did the words sound as bleak to her as they felt to him?
My mother didn’t have a garden. Life is about duty. A dutiful live is a life lived well.
He had a sudden, shadowy image of two boys throwing a round object back and forth. His mind groped for the word…ball? “What of your people?”
She grinned. “In my world, all work and no play makes Jack or Jill dull. And dull is dang near as big a crime as not pretty.”
The clacking outside seemed to build in intensity and sounded as if the swarm were expanding. She looked up as he did, the grin fading. “Does that sound like they are climbing up your bird?”
He could not access the ship’s link from this bay, but… “It does.”
She made a face. “Creepy plus.” She held out her hand. “We need to get your atmospheric bird in the air, sooner rather than later.”
Which brought them back to ironic. He did not ask why. He felt the same urgency. With a wry grin, he helped her to her feet. She used the light from her forehead to sweep the interior of the bay, giving him a look that the emergency lighting could not provide. When his ship dropped that last time, it cut off his contact with the link, but he did not need it to know this section had minimal life support. He could smell it in the air. Another reason to get airborne as soon as possible.
Her light found the spot where his in-atmosphere craft—bird? He tried the word and found it suited the small craft—which wasn’t where it should have been. Followed the marks scored into metal to where the small craft was now. Around it, panels sagged from the ceiling and supplies lay in tumbled piles.
“The anchor moorings snapped.” Though they should not have—not when the bulk of his ship and the craft remained intact. They’d been stress tested under extreme conditions.
Ashe crouched next to an anchor fitting built into the deck, held up the binding with a severed end and ran her finger across it. “Smooth. I’ll bet the time wave did this.” She straightened, her gaze sweeping the messy bay. “Probably left chunks of the mooring cables in another time. Maybe we’ll catch up with them.”
Shan had seen the waves happen during the battle, but did not like thinking about them. He paced to the craft, trying not to think about going to the remains of his home. This dead city, this place was not his home. Home was nothing like this grim, bug-infested place. Home was this ship, back up there in the wild vastness of space. So why didn’t he object? Because some instinct deep inside called him to that place, even as his mind argued with her, and those instincts. They had not let him down yet, though there was always a first time for everything. He stared at a dent near a weapons port.
“What’s the damage?” Ashe picked her way through tumbled rubble, bringing a better scent with her, though he did not parse it, just enjoyed the mitigation of stale air.
“Exterior damage appears minimal.” He spread his fingers against the metal, felt some residual heat on the surface. “A few dents and scrapes.”
“But?”
“I am concerned about internal damage, particularly to the weapons systems. If this ship experienced any of the torque that impacted the bridge…” Then this bay could well be their tomb.
“You planned to shoot our way out.”
Her obvious approval made him grin. She had not lied when she said she liked to shoot. “That was my plan, yes.” He looked at her, because he liked looking at her.
“And you’re worried that the time wave did damage you can’t see.” She nodded, like she spoke of a normal problem, not the fantastical. Her gaze slanted his direction, hesitancy entering into her eyes and manner. “We can…help, or rather, Lurch can, if you’d allow it.”
“Your time theory expert. And the tweaker of my system settings.” He’d have looked around, but he knew there was no one but the two of them. He knew, or thought he knew, that she could not connect to this man from a different time. He stared at her, not to catch her out, but because he could not look away. He did not know how much longer— “Where is this expert?” He tensed, wondering what would change once he met him, knew him. Saw them together? “How did he survive the crash?”
“He’s not exactly a he, at least not in the sense you think of a he.”
His spirits lifted. “A she?”
“I think he thinks he’s a he. That’s how he feels to me. But he’s not a man. He’s,” she swallowed, her eyes big in her pale, lavender face, “a computer.” She winced, rubbed her temple. “He doesn’t like to be called that. They call themselves nanites.”
He blinked. “Nan…ites?” He shook his head, as clarity eluded him. The noise of the feeding bugs did not help.
“Microscopic computers. Really microscopic. And sentient.”
He blinked again. “Sentient? As in living?”
“And thinking. Pain in the as—butt, but not always cause, sometimes they fix the pain in the butt.” She shifted, showing him her back. Tears and dark spots marred the line of her shirt.
He stepped forward. “I knew you were injured.” He bent, his hands probing the spots and found only smooth flesh. “How is this possible?”
“Pretty cool, aye?”
He blinked yet again. What did temperature have to do with this magic?
“You look a little confused. Lurch says I’m not explaining very well and I guess he’s right because you look confused. And I’m repeating myself.” She rubbed her face. “I’m sorry, I’ve never had to do this. Okay, remember when you said I looked iridescent?”
He nodded, though it seemed a long time ago. He frowned. If this was the future, then it was a long time ago. His temple gave a pointed throb and he rubbed the spot.
“That was Lurch doing his thing. See.” She held out her hand. Gave it a shake. “Lurch. This is not the time to be shy.”
After a short pause, little beads of golden light emerged from her skin. They seemed to hover just above her palm. He leaned in, studied the lights. They appeared real. He tried to touch one and it shifted away from his finger. Sentient? It was amazing, but compared to time waves? Minor amazing. Who knew amazing had majors and minors? He swallowed. “Nanites. Of course.” He nodded, like he understood, though he did not.
Ashe beamed. “If you’ll let him, he can send in some drones to assess this banged bird.” She patted the craft with her non-glowing hand. “Suss out the problem spots. Maybe even fix some of them.”
Was this possible? Was he asking that question after all he’d seen? “It would be useful to know if something is wrong before it blows.”
“If that isn’t a family mantra, I’m making it one.” She looked past him. “Is that one of those cloaking things you used to hide the camp?”
He dragged his gaze from her hand and the small lights shifting in her palm. Saw the small tower and nodded. Felt a bit slow, like inside the time wave. “Why?”
“Does this thing have a cloak?” He shook his head. “If there are Zelk out there, a cloak would be nice. Actually, even if they aren’t out there, a cloak is nice. Cause cloaked is always better than not cloaked.” She frowned. “Could be another mantra, but its not quite there is it?”
“It is not integrated with the craft.” He felt odd and slow and the scraping of the bugs against the hull had intensified, like a thousand nails against metal, making it hard to hear his thoughts.
“Lurch is great at integrating. It’s his special gift.”
He nodded, once more pretending he understood. “What is happening out there?”
“Lurch?” Her eyes widened. “Crap. He says the bugs are eating the hull.”
The hull was made of a strong alloy.
“How can you know this—” As it had before, the link reappeared inside his mind. Was this the work of the nanite?
I also have the ability to wirelessly connect to my drones.
Lurch?
Were you expecting another nanite?
He shook his head, then felt a need to apologize, but there were other, more urgent priorities. “How long until they breach the hull?”
Her eyes widened even more. “Let’s just say, the sooner we blast our way out of here, the better.”
Blasted out or blew up. He did not plan to die by bug.
Indeed.
EIGHT
The bugs had developed a rhythm that sounded like the clock ticking in Ashe’s head. Lurch kept a visual of their hull incursions in the corner of her mind’s eye. Shan must see it, too, based on the determined way he pushed aside any issues he might have about having drones in his head and went after readying his little bird.
Lurch had committed every drone he could spare to the job. Status reports flashed in her head as he found problem systems and tried to fix them. The hull was getting pretty thin when the bird’s hatch finally slid up. She dragged the cloaking tower aboard, then started shifting in the supplies they’d collected, securing them in lockers and transport containers, while Shan reattached sagging panel covers and secured loose wiring, supervised by Lurch, of course. About the time Lurch gave her a head’s up, Ashe saw a bug leg poke through the hull. She headed up the ramp, met Shan coming down. The hole wasn’t big enough for the bug to get in. Yet.
“I got the important crap on board.” Stuff to eat. Stuff to shoot is what she meant. Weapons out, they backed up the ramp, kept weapons trained on the breach until the hatch sealed.
“Time to blow this party,” Ashe said. “How close are we to doing that?”
He and Lurch hesitated. Shan shrugged. Felt like Lurch did, too.
“We will give it our best shot.”
“You know how I like shooting.” She grinned. “I’ll see what we can do about the cloak.”
Do you have enough drones to connect the cloak?
I will give it my best shot.
Ashe wanted to comment on this, but couldn’t. An eye twitching shouldn’t affect speech, but somehow it did.
As if she’d said something Lurch said,
he becomes less and less the man I met.
And?
Perhaps more the man he was meant to be.
Wow, that was a huge concession from the bitter nanite.
Strong indicator his life is what we are here to fix?