Unmade (7 page)

Lee's eyes went bright at the mention of weapons. She rushed Zuzu so fast that she almost toppled backwards.

“So what's the missile-per-minute capacity here? How much gunfire can the hull take? What would you do to arm a small civilian ship if you wanted to add it to
Everlast
's defense matrix?”

Zuzu twirled a silver ring in her lip and fired answers. “Twenty-three. Up to a thousand direct hits per sheet per week, double that for indirect. Rig the blast-wipers to fire small projectiles. Just as an idea.”

Lee clapped her hands to her heart.

Ayumi cleared her throat and said, “We really should be helping with—”

“What? Survivors? They know how to walk across a dock.” Lee turned back to Zuzu. “We're going to have a fleet soon, and we need them armed.”

“Oh, right,” Zuzu said, tugging at an ear stud. “I'm used to
thinking
about weapons. Not so much actually using them.”

“Well, things are about to get really hands-on,” Lee said.

Ayumi looked four different kinds of upset.

The last of the survivors from Res crossed the dock, and on the other side, Renna let out a full-ship sigh.

 

She wasn't the only one who liked things quiet. Cade had spent years kicking people out of her dressing room, slapping threats on anyone who stared at her for too long. Her new urge to bring the human race together wasn't the same thing as wanting them all within touching radius.

Cade took a walk, admiring the acoustics of the emptied ship. She was so tuned in that she heard the dull knocking right away. It was coming from the common room, behind one of the cushions that survivors had been using as makeshift beds.

Cade pushed aside a wall panel and found Mira, knees shoved to her face. She stared out, all green eyes and defiance.

“What's this about?” Cade asked.

Mira pulled her crossed arms tight and Cade noticed the places where they were still dotted with baby fat. “I don't care about that other ship. I like it here.”

Rennik and Lee had been doing a maintenance round, and hooked around the door frame at the sound of voices.

“Who are you talking to, Cadence?” Rennik asked.

She stepped aside to reveal Mira.

Lee didn't look surprised.

“We're still close enough to
Everlast,
” Rennik said. “We can hail them and have them here in—”

“No!” Mira sprang out of the panel. “Please.”

“She has no reason to go with them.” Cade's own past rose again. Andana, in all of its anti-glory.

“The girl needs to speak for herself.” Lee retied an errant hair knot and did her best to look wise. “State your case.”

Cade got the feeling anyone with a semi-functional heart wouldn't be able to turn Mira away once they heard her story. Wanting to know what had happened to her was like wanting to hear a sad song—Cade got the feeling it could drag her under, but it would also scrape her against something she needed to feel.

Mira didn't pour out a story, though. She kept her eyes hard and put a hand to the wall. “Renna let me stay.”

Renna
was
the ship—she had the first and last word on the subject.

That was enough to take the air out of Lee's objections. Under normal circumstances, Rennik would have let it go at that, but he was still sizing up Mira as if every pound she added to the ship had to be worth it.

“If you want to stay,” he said, “you'll be counted on to help.”

Mira nodded like he'd handed her a hot meal, a birthday present, and a kitten all at once. She skittered out of the common room and turned back when it became clear that no one was following.

“All right, then!” she said. “What do we do?”

“
We,
” Lee muttered. “Universe help us.”

Cade didn't bother hiding her smile.

 

Mira's first job was to grab tables from the storage closet and set them up in the control room to help turn it into a center for the finding and gathering of the human race. She rushed, a blur of pale brown hair and bright eyes, so eager that she brought five more tables than Cade needed. Lee unrolled charts of all the known systems. Ayumi tore blank pages out of a notebook, which Cade patched with tape so that the huge sheet laid flat, taking up a good portion of the floor.

She kneeled in front of it, pencil in hand. Rennik claimed the starglass. Lee and Ayumi manned the charts. Mira sat across from Cade, ankles tucked under, and watched.

Cade didn't know a better feeling than having her strange little band assembled.

She snapped from the soft brightness of Renna's control room into the song-strewn dark. It was easier to do this time—leave the ship, press through the silence, find the humans. But Cade had new challenges. With the nearest ships located, it became a matter of getting to everyone else, pinning them to specific spots in the universe. Figuring out how to reach them fast, before the Unmakers did.

“What is she doing?” Mira asked.

“I'm listening,” Cade said in a low, even voice.

She balanced the song-map in her head with the realness of the room around her. The smooth floor under her. Lee and Ayumi's footsteps. The pencil twirling.

Her wrist flicked, and the pencil landed over and over. Cade marked down the locations of songs, paying special attention to how far the clusters were from each other, how fast they moved. The first piece of information would make it possible to match her sketches to the charts of the known systems. The second would tell them whether the survivors were space-bound or planet-side. Some darted, or moved in strong, fast lines. Others sat, almost still, but when Cade focused she could feel a curved inching, the slow nudge of orbit and rotation.

“How many planets?” Ayumi asked.

Cade found one, then kept it in a loose mind-grip as she moved on and counted the others.

“Three,” she said. “I think.”

“Can that be right?” Ayumi asked. “Not that I know anything about how this works, besides it being incredible, but—”

“It doesn't sound right,” Cade said. Of all the human outposts, only three had survivors still clinging? Cade washed her mind over the songs again, but that was all she felt.

Lee's voice wormed into the dark. “Where are the Unmakers in all of this?”

“What are Unmakers?” Mira asked.

Ayumi shifted closer to the girl. “That's our name for them. The people who attacked.”

“People?” Mira asked. “You don't mean humans.”

“Bet your brass we do,” Lee said.

Mira's voice twisted and tightened. “Oh.” Then she went quiet. How was Cade supposed to explain to a little girl that her own kind wanted her dead?

“So?” Lee asked. “Where are they?”

The pressure of the songs rose, and Cade felt like her jaw might snap. “I don't know,” Cade said. “I can't care about that right now.”

“They're coming for us, whether you care or not.” Lee's words were too loud. They pushed hard, toppling the balance in Cade's head. When she opened her eyes, the light in the control room attacked them.

“If you don't want to help, you can drain,” Cade said.

Ayumi leaned over the tables. “Cade, she's just asking—”

“—a question I don't have time for.”

Lee didn't storm out. She left the control room at a slow, sure pace, her eyes dusted with disappointment. Ayumi hovered on her toes, ready to follow.

“Don't,” Cade said. “I need your help.”

“You needed her, too,” Ayumi said. She didn't sound mad with Cade. She sounded reasonable, which was even worse. Ayumi settled back on her heels and stuck with the charts, but Cade had the feeling she didn't deserve it.

“Thanks,” Cade muttered.

She got back to work fast. Reached out, translating songs into smudges on a blank white page.

The plan to deal with the ships came first. Renna would sail in one direction,
Everlast
in another, hailing as they went. They would spread the message that it was time for the survivors to gather, and give the coordinates where they would meet. A simple, open patch of deep space.

Cade got on the com and explained the plan to Zuzu.

“We'll have to have someone on hailing at all times,” Zuzu said. Cade heard the nervous clatter of a tongue stud.

“Tell June to put it on the chore rotation,” Cade said. “She'll love it.”

Cade didn't mention that they wouldn't have the same issue on their ship. Renna was more than capable of sending out a hailing code all day and night to act as a beacon.

Ayumi's pencil flew over the projected paths. “It should take less than a week, if we do it right.”

“All right,” Cade said. “Now planets.”

She described them—location and size, tilt and rotation speed—and Ayumi and Rennik matched them to the charts. Cade started with the biggest planet, the one with the greatest number of songs swarming on it.

“That has to be Cass 12,” Ayumi said.

“We'll ask
Everlast
to run the rescue there,” Rennik said. “There are too many survivors for us to pick up.”

The second planet was smaller, much smaller, but with a stubborn clutch of songs, huddled close, flaring bright.

Ayumi did a quick check against the charts. “Rembra.” She choked on the name of her planet. “It's Rembra. I'm sure of it.” Tears slid down her cheeks, skirting the corners of a smile.

“Do we set a course?” Cade asked.

“There are still too many people,” Rennik said. “We couldn't pack them in.”

“Of course. Right right right.” Ayumi sniffled against the back of her hand. “We'll spread the message, and tell them where to meet us. We have our own ships on Rembra. There'll be a resistance there. A fierce one.”

Cade reached out and pulsed strength into Ayumi's hand, the way she used to send it to Xan.

“You'll see your people soon.”

Cade returned to the black to find the last planet. Medium-sized, with a strong tilt, a slow orbit. Songs like a scattered handful of sand. Cade's memories filled in the rest—a raking wind, the dry stick of a throat that hadn't felt the touch of water for days. She didn't need anyone to check this against a chart.

It was Andana.

“Not so fast,” Lee slurred.

She had waited until the rest of the crew drained and came back to the control room, her feet moving in unbalanced patterns.

The scent around her was so strong that Cade didn't have to lean in to take stock. Mint, and something stiff and woodlike, and another hint, strong and reaching up like a hand through the other layers. Every night in the bar on Andana piled into Cade's head at once.

“Peace offering?” Lee pulled a bottle from behind her back. It was filled with burnished green, only a few sips missing. Either Lee had zero-gravity for tolerance, or it was strong. Very strong.

“Where did you get a thing like that?” Cade asked.

Lee waved a vague hand toward the rest of the ship. “Was Moira's. She kept it in the highest cupboard in the mess, for
emergencies.
Never used it, not once. Not when I almost got thrown in a torture cell on Tirith. Not when wassisname told me it was time to settle down and
stole
my
pack
because I made it clear how many times and in what fashion he could snug himself. Not once!” she roared, like it was a point of pride, and Moira
might be taking notes somewhere.

“So why do it now?” Cade asked.

“Dregs.” Lee set the bottle down with a solid glass thump. “Every second of now is an emergency.”

Cade swiped the bottle, and thoughts of Andana drove her lips to the rim. She took a swig so deep it seared her from the throat down.

Lee whooped and put an arm around her.

Maybe if Cade got Lee fuzzed, she could convince her to let up on all of the attack-mongering, and see the good in Cade's plan. With Lee on her side, she could face anything.

Cade swigged again, and Lee sloshed a smile. “I knew you hadn't gone over to the wet slummer side.”

It hit Cade a few seconds later. Fire first, and then a warm gut-spread. Much nicer the second time around.

Lee's hand fluttered on her wrist. “What say we skip stones?”

Cade touched her burning-tender lips to the back of her hand. “Do
what?
”

“Skip stones!”

Lee clumsily wove her fingers through Cade's, and led her to the starglass. They took their shoes off and stretched their toes in front of them. Lee pelted the image in front of them with a little paper ball, and it rippled like dark water.

“So,” Lee said. “You and Rennik . . .”

Cade waded through the warmth of her brain and found herself deep in concern. Had Lee rigged this whole situation just to ask her about Rennik? If she asked, would Cade be able to lie? She held her green-heavy breath.

“You and Rennik,” Lee repeated. “Did you chart it?”

Maybe that was some kind of new slang. “What?”

“A course.”

Cade sighed. Lee slung a paper ball, and a far-off galaxy trembled. She started in on another white scrap, molding it small, but her fingers were disconnected from their function. Still, she kept at it, battering the paper into an ever-smaller shape.

“Yeah,” Cade said. “We're going to Andana.” She
hated
Andana. If she couldn't get herself to like her own plan, how much of a chance did she have with Lee?

“What about the Unmakers?” Lee asked.

Cade thought back to her time in Hades, opening up to it even though she didn't want to. She was back in a small white room with a woman who didn't think much of the human species.

Her own species.

“They made their big move,” Cade said. “Now they think we're crushed and done.”

Lee's voice was quiet, but impossible to ignore. “You don't know that.”