Tyche's Angels: Ezeroc Wars, #6

By Richard Parry

The fight for humanity's future will be won or lost where it all began: Earth.

Grace Gushiken and Nathan Chevell stand with the few allies they have found. They must save their Empire from the insect-like Ezeroc who control our homeworld.

The Ezeroc serve at the feet of one man: Kazuo Gushiken. Grace's father has burned every world to ash in his ceaseless desire to have her. He controls the Ezeroc and AI militaries, entrenching his position on Earth.

An ex-war heavy lifter stands against the military of an enemy civilization. The Tyche makes one final run to face Kazuo in the heart of his power. Grace and Nate must cut the head from the snake, even if it costs them their lives. If they don't, humanity will be lost forever.

Tyche's Angels is the gripping sixth book in Richard Parry's Ezeroc Wars Series. If you like page-turning space opera with great dialogue and heart-pumping action, get your copy today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mondegreen
• Release date: Dec 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9780473445515

Book preview

Chapter One

They dropped out of jump five billion klicks from Cantor’s yellow star. It was a cheery fingernail-sized beacon in the void.

Nate’s hands shook with post-jump jitters. He steadied them on his console, acceleration couch straps comfortable about him. Helm?

Cap.

What have we got?

Hmm. El brought up the bridge holo, Cantor’s star a tiny dot in the middle. Well, see now. We’ve got a bunch of backscatter from here, the holo updated with smudges of noise, "and here. I figure we’ve got your basic remains of starships. Could take a peek with active scan. The Tyche can’t see anything near enough to touch, though. We’re all alone out here."

I wonder. Nate rubbed his chin. It felt a bit scratchier than usual. Might be time for a shave, if the universe would give him a spare five minutes. Guess we should say hello.

You sure that’s wise?

Not in the least. But the way I see it, we’ve missed some serious action. Nate asked the Tyche for mass readings on the debris. The ship blared a flat error tone at him, her best estimate giving a range of five to ten billion tonnes of debris in each of the two expanding clouds. Not exactly much to go on. Could have been an Empire ship.

Glass half-full, Cap. Could be Ezeroc asteroids turned to rubble. Could be AI, too. Hell, could be both.

How is that half-full? Where there’s debris, there are likely to be angry dragons waiting for revenge. Nate glared at El. Take us in. One more jump, nice and close.

Her golden arm hesitated over the jump controls. Your magic trick telling you where to go?

My what?

Magic trick. Seeing the future.

It’s not magic, El. Nate sighed. It’s an esper ability, unlocked through science.

Grace’s voice called in from the ready room. It’s bullshit, is what it is. She’d woken half-way through their jump sequence to Cantor. Wouldn’t be told to rest, lie down, or take it easy. Grace had stared Nate in the eye and said, You going to take it easy? No? Then neither am I.

I’ll take that as a no. El tapped coordinates into her console. I reckon we go back to Cantor itself. Best bookmark we’ve got.

My thoughts exactly. Nate turned to look through the flight deck’s airlock at Grace. It’s not bullshit. You’re just jealous.

A frown went across her brow, the expression so fleeting he wondered if he’d imagined it. I don’t know about jealousy, Nathan Chevell. When you play a hand of cards without losing, I’ll believe it.

Hell. Nate relaxed onto his acceleration couch. I’ve been winning at cards since forever.

I mean without cheating!

You two need a room? El cleared her throat. Locked in at a hundred and fifty million klicks from the giant nuclear reactor in the sky. Jumping in three.

Hold up. Nate rubbed his forehead. Let’s double it.

You want to shoot around the star?

Yes.

Future-sense?

No. Nate let out a breath. "It’s simple. We can’t see anything on this side. Figures anything going on is happening on the other side."

I probably should have thought of that. El updated the jump controls. "Okay, now we’re jumping in three." A bright 3 lit the holo stage. Two. The number shifted into a 2. One. Jumping.

Nate’s skin felt fresh and new as the universe reckoned such things. Danger waited in the hard black. It knew he came, felt the shape of his soul, and was afraid. Behind them, loss. Ahead, salvation. Unbelievable, impossible acceleration. He couldn’t feel it. He was it. He was everything. He was the universe.

Stars streaked, making points of light outside the flight deck window.

They jumped.

Cantor’s star was larger, brighter, and a lot closer. Nate felt the post-jump shakes, the elation of life, and tamped down on it with old practice. Uncomfortably near, a massive Ezeroc asteroid slung rocks at two starships in the hard black. He recognized their lines. The Cantor and the Gravedigger, working side-by-side.

Just two ships against that monster?

He clicked his comm, pausing. Last time he’d been here, he’d hid the Tyche’s Empire origins. Should he be cautious again? Nate couldn’t see any AI polyhedral ships, and the Ezeroc didn’t use radio. Fuckit. "This is Captain Nathan Chevell of the Empire flagship Tyche. Calling the Cantor or the Gravedigger. Please respond." Nate asked the Tyche to pair with any available Empire comm net. No sense in being shy about it.

Empire flagship? El gave a small sound, almost a polite cough. "Thought that was the Mercenary."

What? Hell, no. Nate showed teeth, not quite enough joy in it to be a grin. "The Tyche has always had my heart, El. Ain’t no other that carries my standard."

My mistake. She tried to hide a smile without success. You probably should have announced yourself as Emperor, though.

Probably, agreed Nate. He flicked the comm again. Chad? Meenaz? You out there?

The comm fizzed, then Chad’s voice filled the flight deck. You ever heard of ‘radio silence,’ sire?

Sounds like something spies do, said Nate. Where you at? This close to the battle, he could see bright lances of energy with his naked eye. Speed of light delay on comm was negligible.

"Currently? We’re engaged in a little tête-à-tête with the enemy. Karkoski is with Meenaz on the Cantor. I’m on the Gravedigger. There was a pause. I sure hope you brought friends. We’ve got your basic hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned situation."

Give me a tactical feed, El. Nate waited until the Tyche’s holo bloomed with intelligence from the fleet. Hah. It’s not a fleet. It’s two damn ships. Still, you worked with what you had.

Cantor’s still star hung in the center as a point of reference. The Tyche blinked in the night, a cool hundred and fifty klicks from it. Comm relays blipped on the holo, twenty-three of them orbiting the star, the extent of the Empire comm net they’d attached to. The Gravedigger and Cantor were engaged in a battle with a massive Ezeroc asteroid, estimates from the Empire ships guessing the weight at ten million tonnes. The Cantor was a bridgeliner, never meant for war, and the Gravedigger was a corvette, designed for mid-range skirmish engagements.

Neither were built to go toe-to-toe with a capital warship. Thing was, no one had told either of the ships’ captains that particular detail. Or they’re just too damn ornery to care.

Nate watched the holo. The Ezeroc asteroid shed mass into kinetic payloads, slinging rocks into a stream of death that sped toward the Gravedigger. The asteroid seemed to shift focus from the Cantor, on account of taking an interest in a certain small ex-war heavy lifter.

The Tyche’s holo lit with a warning, the collision alarm sounding. BRACE BRACE BRACE INCOMING FIRE BRACE BRACE BRACE. Nate looked at the warning, then at El. You going to do anything about that?

Not anytime soon. Kinetic payloads take a while to get here. Seems a shame to get all excitable about things a good ways off, Cap. El’s voice was relaxed, like she’d just dropped three beers on an empty stomach. Her golden fingers tapped a rhythm on her console. I mean, if you want me to scream and panic, I can do that.

Prefer it if you didn’t. Maybe move to port a hundred meters or so.

Nate got an eye-roll for his troubles, but the Tyche eased to port in a smooth motion. Happy?

Delighted. Nate keyed his comm. Chad?

Kinda busy, sire. You know what would help? That particle cannon on your belly.

Nate looked toward El, leaving the comm open. He sound tense to you?

He sounds tense.

I’m tense because I’m trying to … fuckit, I’ll call you back. The comm cut out.

Definitely tense, said El. Want me to bring us in?

Nah, said Nate. Let’s give the rock a tickle though. He warmed up the fire controls, asking the Tyche for a targeting solution. First up, he targeted the stray inbound rocks, a stream of gravel the size of autocars coming in their direction. Next, the asteroid itself. The particle cannon was an impressive piece of technology, but the unit on the Tyche was a baby by starship weapons standards. Still, it might distract their foe.

The Tyche chimed, targets lined up. Nate told her to fire. The particle cannon lanced the hard black, brilliant white tinged with blue. The weapon rapid fired, each shot fragmenting an Ezeroc boulder. At the end of the sequence, the cannon raked a hard finger across the surface of the Ezeroc asteroid, fragments of space rock blasting into the void.

El sighed. You realize you’ve given us a problem, right? She pointed to the holo. Those rocks would have sailed past us. Now they’re expanding clouds of deadly debris. They’ll cause all manner of mischief.

Maybe you should go to port again, Helm.

Another eye-roll, but the Tyche hummed, drives coming online under El’s fingertips. The ship grumbled forward on twin pillars of fire, the hard hand of thrust pushing Nate onto his acceleration couch.

The good news, at least as far as the Cantor went, was the Ezeroc asteroid was focused on the Tyche and the Gravedigger. Tactical telemetry shunted across the Empire comm net, three ships sharing data, coming up with a plan. The Gravedigger’s drives burned bright, the corvette roaring forward like the Tyche, railguns hammering the Ezeroc asteroid. The Tyche kept firing with her particle cannon.

Nothing but sticks and stones against a titan.

Turns out, titans don’t like sticks and stones. The Ezeroc asteroid redoubled its efforts, rock shredding from its surface to hurtle toward the inbound Empire ships. El twisted the sticks, gold hand rock-steady on the yoke. The Tyche spun, corkscrewing toward the asteroid.

Nate lost sight of the Gravedigger out the windscreen, but the holo showed her position. Both ships were converging on the Ezeroc asteroid in what the enemy probably thought was a last-ditch suicide mission.

The Cantor, which hadn’t used any guns, followed in the Gravedigger’s wake. The Tyche’s sensors picked up a surge of EM radiation from the Cantor, the bridgeliner’s reactors coming on full. Her Endless Drives created two positive energy fields, both massive in scale. The Tyche shimmied on her approach vector as the massive hand of artificial gravity reached grasping fingers toward her.

El swung the ship around, drives roaring at the Ezeroc asteroid. She yelled into her comm, "Hope! We need it all!" The Tyche trembled, like she was frightened, a child in the dark, monsters looming to get her.

The tactical holo updated. The Ezeroc asteroid, now behind them, broke up. The Cantor’s Endless fields were tearing the asteroid apart, tossing rock into the vacuum. The asteroid didn’t crumble all at once. Pieces of the surface tore away, flensed from the carcass as Empire technology wrought ruin upon the body of their enemy.

Their drives on full, the Tyche still fell into the massive gravity well the Cantor created.

Nate wanted to get the ship and her crew out of danger. He wished he knew how. Maybe a charge toward the enemy wasn’t the best move, Chevell. This is why Karkoski is in charge of tactics and strategy. Remember that, if you survive.

The holo blinked, text scrolling up. An ALERT SYSTEM OVERLOAD shone, quickly cleared. The Tyche’s own Endless fields projected in front of the ship, creating a positive energy field that pulled them forward. It wasn’t enough to make a subspace bow wave, as this close to the Ezeroc ship that would destroy the field generator. It was enough to provide a semblance of resistance against the mighty well of destruction forged by the Cantor.

The holo showed the Ezeroc ship releasing smaller objects. Nate thought them some form of escape craft and wondered what the Ezeroc would prize enough to send away. Most got caught in the maelstrom of the Cantor’s gravity weapon, but not all. The objects that launched with enough velocity to make it clear went straight for the Cantor.

"El. Take us to the Cantor." Nate’s body felt confused, the effect of two strong gravity fields playing havoc with his inner ear. The Tyche’s thrust wasn’t registering on the scale of other discomforts.

Trying not to die right now, Cap. Be right with you.

"They’re boarding the Cantor, El."

Her eyes went from her console to the holo, then to him, then back to the holo. Adjusting burn. Her flesh and blood hand hovered over her board. We can’t save everyone. You know that, right?

Nate shook his head. All of us or none of us, El. That’s how it is, right to the end.

A pause, then a nod. For Will, then.

The Ezeroc asteroid ruptured in space behind them, pieces showering into an expanding sphere. The Cantor’s projected Endless fields snapped out, and the Tyche rushed forward like a cork out of a bottle. Nate keyed the comm. "Chad? We’ve got inbound on the Cantor."

I see ‘em, sire. Coming about.

No. You’re on clean up. Get rid of all this floating space junk, then join us. We brought a surprise for these fuckers. Nate snapped off the ship-to-ship comm, switching to the Tyche’s internal channel. Algernon? Did you hack my ship again? That little trick with the Endless fields?

It seemed the right thing to do under the circumstances. No one else seemed interested in saving our lives. The machine’s voice was relaxed, as always.

Well, you’re up.

"Wait. I’m the surprise?"

Kinda. I’ll explain when we’re docked.

Docking with the Cantor was trickier than it should have been. As the Tyche approached the big bridgeliner, Nate saw gasses venting into the void. No flames, just escaping air from the hundred or so impact points. The Ezeroc’s tossed rocks had found their mark again and again but hadn’t yet killed the starship.

They built ‘em tough, back in the day. Just like her crew.

El brought the Tyche alongside the bigger ship, the vast bulk of the vessel making Nate feel tiny, insignificant. Shake it off, Chevell. People are dying in there. El?

I see, Cap. She pointed at the main docking bay, the doors rent, multiple impact points destroying the machinery. We won’t get in that way. Leastways, not without suits, and I don’t fancy crawling around outside with nothing but mylar between me and oblivion. El pointed at a particularly large rock, hurtling past a klick out. One of those hits you? You’ll remember it for the rest of your life.

You’d be dead.

Kind of my point.

Nate nodded. You usually stay with the ship.

And I plan to this time as well. She flashed him a smile, but it was a little worn. I’d like to land somewhere not on fire.

Chin up, Helm. Nate nodded out the windscreen. Nothing’s on fire here.

A massive gout of flame erupted from the bottom of the Cantor, lights along the ship stuttering into darkness. El sighed. You had to say it, didn’t you?

The Tyche’s holo chimed, filling with damage reports from the bridgeliner. An explosion in the Cantor’s Engineering section blew debris into the dark. Ezeroc might have been trying to take out a reactor, but none of them understood human technology. Whatever they’d done had sufficed well enough though, the Cantor putting all reactors into safe shutdown. She was running dark, emergency power only.

Bridge, said Nate. If it’s overrun, we need to take it back. If it’s still under human control, we need to keep it that way.

On it. El pointed the Tyche toward the top of the Cantor. The command deck was tiny compared to the rest of the bridgeliner. Standard configuration for human ships, people in charge at the top, surrounded by escape pods and an emergency access port or two.

Nate didn’t see any empty bays, the typical signature of launched escape pods. The nearest emergency access airlock looked good. He turned to the ready room. Kohl?

I know, I know. Gonna be some heavy shit that needs lifting.

And then some, agreed Nate. I figure we’re likely to have to kill a few roaches. Grace and Algernon, you too. Ready up. His golden hand clenched his armrest. Nate hated the idea of Grace coming with them, on account of her being weak as a kitten after the dust-up on the Ezeroc homeworld. But she wouldn’t rest. Couldn’t be talked down. Hell, Chevell. May as well try talking the tide out while you’re at it.

El flicked comm switches. "Tyche to Cantor. We’re docking with your bridge airlock. Please try not to gun us down in a hail of plasma fire, over. She looked at the hissing comm, then to Nate. Might want to take extra care. Not sure anyone’s listening over there."

Times like this, we could use Ebony. Kohl creaked to his feet, wincing. Send her in first, right? It’s like she’s immune to random acts of violence… The big man trailed off, shaking his head. I guess she’s not immune.

"Might be medical facilities on the Cantor we can use." Nate unstrapped himself, standing with a hand on the wall. El’s approach vector was nice and smooth, but it never hurt to have a hand on something solid in case the unexpected happened. He stepped into the ready room. He looked to Grace, her face closed, eyes hard. Nate touched her arm, felt pain/fear/concern/protect, and paused. You good?

Grace looked at him, chin jutting. Ready and able.

That was a filthy lie, but sometimes people needed to lie to make themselves feel better. Right you are. Nate gave the ready room a once-over. Where the fuck is Algernon?

Kohl pointed toward the crew deck. Said he needed to see Hope about something.

Nate tapped his personal console, keying the ship comm net. Algernon? You coming?

I will be but a moment, Captain. The machine’s voice was calm and smooth, rich and sweet like honey. There are things you don’t think about until it’s too late. I’ve run multiple simulations and believe—

Sure. Nate switched off the comm. Get ready, people. We’ve got a starship to save.

The Tyche’s cargo bay airlock felt more crowded than usual. Four people were fine most of the time, but Kohl’s ancient suit of power armor was more plus-sized than was comfortable in a small space like this. Nate and Grace stood in the middle of the airlock, wearing black ship suits. He had his black blade strapped on his back, a blaster at his hip. She carried her ship-forged sword in one hand. The blade was safely inside a scabbard so’s not to scare folk. Algernon waited on the opposite side to Kohl, a smaller golden form to Kohl’s massive bulk.

Nate looked up at his Captain of the Black. Damn faceplate gives no clue where to look. Kohl?

Cap.

Best let me go first. No telling what kind of response you’ll get. Nate looked to Algernon. Goes for you too. Last time these people saw AI, they didn’t have the best of times.

Algernon gave a human shrug. I have no desire to be blown apart by space hicks.

They’re not hicks, Algernon. Grace shook her head, black hair visible behind her visor. They’re rebels. Allies. Friends. People we can trust, with precious few like them left alive.

Algernon seemed to think about that. I seek clarification. They flew an aging starship out to the edge of charted human space, correct?

Yes. Grace nodded. They were trying to get out from under the boot of injustice.

Space hicks, as I thought. Algernon turned to the airlock door. I have no problem waiting back here while you meat socks get gunned down in a hail of plasma fire. We should have a safe word. One you can use when you’re ready for me to save you from yourselves. While it breaks the tradition of a single word, I was thinking something like, ‘Oh God, Algernon was right.’ He blinked. What do you think?

As I said, I figure maybe I should go first, said Nate. He held up his flesh and blood hand as Grace looked about ready to start in on him. This isn’t up for debate.

He saw Grace parse that a couple times, then she nodded. Okay.

Nate felt a flash of surprise. You’re good with that?

Another nod. I’m good with that. The arm holding her scabbarded sword relaxed a shade. Others might not have noticed, but Nate did.

He reached for her. If you—

I’m fine. Grace shook him off, turning to the airlock. Let’s go kill some Ezeroc.

Problem with command? Not knowing what the right thing was often as not. Nate bit back a sigh, then palmed the airlock controls. The Tyche chatted to the Cantor, agreed they were both on the same side, and opened both her airlock and the bridgeliner’s.

Smoke. Someone wailing. An alarm, muted by distance or a faulty speaker.

Nate stepped onto the Cantor, sidearm out. He had no memory of drawing the weapon, but his metal hand did the damndest things sometimes. Escape pods lined the corridor from the airlock to the bridge, all closed, ready for crew who wanted to flee. Looks like the Cantor’s crew ain’t the running kind. Steps slow, on account of not wanting to startle any excitable people, Nate walked forward. The inner airlock leading to the bridge proper was open, which wasn’t standard operating procedure. Inside, things looked as far away from ‘standard’ as you were likely to get.

There were bodies everywhere. Some slumped over consoles, others strewn about the room. All with Ezeroc puncture wounds on them. In the middle of the bridge, two women stood. Admiral Karkoski, back straight, but like an admission to the situation, her hair was plastered by sweat. She held two sidearms.

Beside her, plasma rifle cradled like an unwanted baby, was Meenaz Lodhi, still commander of the Cantor and all souls on board. Two dead Ezeroc drones were slumped near her, plasma scorching their broken bodies.

Karkoski. Nate grinned.

I see we didn’t destroy you by accident, said the head of the Empire’s admiralty. Saves me finding a replacement.

Meenaz Lodhi hadn’t moved, eyes wide, like she was still seeing things no person should be exposed to. Hey, Meenaz. Nate spoke a little quieter than he might normally do, as someone in shock holding a plasma rifle could get uppity. You still with us?

Meenaz turned to Nate. He could see the tear tracks down her face. They killed them all.

Looks that way, said Nate. Permission to come aboard?

You’re the Emperor. You don’t need my permission. Meenaz held a hand out in welcome despite her words, letting her plasma rifle point toward the deck.

Hell, I’ll give you permission, sire, said Karkoski. Did you bring any help? It’s been a long lonely fight out here.

I figure it’s best not to get used to putting on airs and taking what folks might freely give, said Nate. He stepped into the bridge. He gave Karkoski a measured look. I’ve brought a few new people with me. Two of them will seem strange, and it might be best if you put the guns down before they come on board.

The admiral looked past him to the airlock, coughing at the smoke in the air. If you’ve brought more Ezeroc, I’m in no condition to fight.

Grace stepped through the airlock, sword still sheathed. Nate felt relief chased around by tension inside his skull. Does no one listen to my orders? Still, Grace knows people. Grace walked to Meenaz, putting a hand on the commander’s arm. Best you hear the words, so there’s no ambiguity. We’ve come from the Ezeroc homeworld. A new person joined our crew. He’s a machine, but not like the others that have tried to strike us from the universe. We count him a friend.

A machine. Meenaz looked past Grace at the empty airlock, then shrugged. This is a strange day. I’ve lost friends of my own. She nodded at a man slumped over a console. Tyson I’ve known for twenty years. Gone, when the Ezeroc breached our hull. They sent hundreds of drones as we killed their ship. Meenaz shook her head. Seems fair, when I say it out loud.

The click of metal on metal drew their eyes. Algernon stood in the airlock, his glowing eyes doing a quick scan of the room. His gaze paused on Tyson’s body, then he walked to the man. Algernon held up a small hypo, the contents red. I appreciate today has been startling, and you think your friends are dead. Fortunately, they’re not. He pressed the hypo to Tyson’s slumped body. It hissed as it delivered its nanite payload. There are fourteen people on this bridge who need urgent medical attention.

Nate caught Grace’s eyes across the bridge. He shook his head. Let them work this one out. Grace nodded.

Meenaz took a step forward. "This machine … saves people?" Her hand holding the plasma rifle trembled.

Karkoski held her sidearms so tight her fingers went white. "One of them?"

Hello, Admiral Meat Sock. Algernon blinked at her. It is a surprise for me also.

Meenaz nodded, then put a hand on Karkoski’s arm, like someone would to settle a wild horse. Another friend of the Empire. Did they tell you how they saved us?

No, said Algernon. But I hacked the ship’s records and saw for myself. A daring battle.

Meenaz looked down. It wasn’t the battle, robot. It was the finding those cast aside, forgotten, discarded. Things others reviled. They brought us close when others wanted us far away.

Oh, right. Algernon nodded. I thought that was obvious. You’re taking this whole talking-machine thing well. I expected more screaming and flailing.

The ghost of a smile touched Meenaz’s lips, and Karkoski choked a laugh. Meenaz spoke for both of them. I’ve done enough screaming for one day. But others haven’t. Ezeroc scuttle everywhere. They infect my crew, but it’s worse than you might expect. She turned to Tyson’s console, gently pushing the man back on his acceleration couch. She rested her lips on his forehead, then turned to the keyboard. The holo in the center of the bridge bloomed into life. A schematic of the Cantor rotated before them.

Meenaz walked to the display, pointing. In red are the breach points. Atmosphere vented. Many decks are still sealed. Blue highlighted where the Cantor still held air. The problem is they’re not dead yet.

Karkoski joined her. They’re setting up camp again. We need to get these roaches out of our hair, once and for all.

Algernon walked to stand beside them. Ah. Yes. Your people are being cocooned as a food source by the Ezeroc. They’re secure in the breached deck sections. The bulkheads are sealed, but not double-gated airlocks. If you open them, you might space fragile meat socks not currently in peril.

That is the size of it, said Meenaz. We don’t have enough ship suits to get everyone in. We don’t have time to get them in the suits, even if we had them.

We don’t have any Marines, added Karkoski. She looked to the floor. Volunteers shouldn’t have to face this kind of thing.

That’s an easy problem to solve. Algernon turned to Nate. Captain, I have a plan to solve the problem. The problem is of two parts. First, your people need air, and second, you need to move between bulkheads faster than all the air can escape.

Nate took off his helmet, wrinkling his nose at the smell of burnt Ezeroc. Grace did the same. Nate coughed, then said, Meenaz, these are your people. I think Algernon has—

It has a name? Meenaz stared at Nate, eyes wide in surprise. It’s … a machine.

It has a name, Algernon agreed. I am excellent at figure skating too. Neither of these things apply to the survival of the delicate meat socks on the ship. The Ezeroc entombing method will keep people already cocooned alive for some time. I know, he held up a hand as Meenaz was about to speak, you believe air and speed are problems. It’s lucky for you at least one person on this bridge doesn’t need to breathe.

Nate nodded. Get it done.

May I borrow October Kohl? The machine looked at the bridge airlock, as if it would make Kohl appear.

Sure. Nate looked at Grace. Grace and I will bring Meenaz up to speed.

Kohl’s rumble came from the airlock corridor. Can I come out now?

Nate laughed. How is it, this once, you’re the only one following instructions?

Kohl’s golden armor lumbered into view, turning sideways to fit through the airlock doorway. He held a bag in one hand. I kinda tuned out, Cap. Went back for these. You can never have too many grenades.

No, said Algernon.

Al, look—

No, said Algernon again. Your job is to save people, October Kohl. That’s it.

How the hell am I supposed to do that? Kohl sounded like he’d been asked to drink fire.

By being large, said Algernon. Come with me.

The two golden figures strode from the bridge, Meenaz goggling at them. "You … it … the machine is alive."

Karkoski muttered something like I’ll be damned.

Yes, said Grace, a hand on Meenaz’s arm. "And he has known love and loss, and the death of his world. Algernon’s thrown his lot in with us. She shook her head, black hair hiding her face. I don’t know if we’re worth it."

Meenaz sighed. I do. I’ll get some tea.

Chapter Two

Three decks down, the action started. Kohl almost missed it.

He clanked behind Algernon, the golden man keeping up a pretty good pace for a fella over six hundred years old. They were on an accommodation deck, evenly-spaced doorways stretching on down to the left and right. A sealed bulkhead stood thirty-one meters ahead of Kohl’s position. He wasn’t normally in the business of being so precise, but his golden armor seemed to occupy itself with details that weren’t in Kohl’s view very important.

Kohl wore his armor, bright as a new Empire coin. Algernon carried a satchel and hadn’t let Kohl know what was inside. Surprises, the machine promised.

It was at the thirty-one meters to go mark that Kohl paused. To his left, a closed locker promised EMERGENCY REBREATHERS. Yo, Al.

The construct turned, tipping his head to one side as it regarded Kohl. Why do you insist on calling me ‘Al?’ It’s not my name, any more than meat sock is yours, meat sock.

Algernon’s a long word. Got at least twelve sounds in it.

Syllables. And there are three. Blink, blink.

Sure, sounds. Kohl pointed to the rebreather locker. In there are devices likely to save a few lives. But if I wasted my twelve sounds telling you that, and some sort of nasty was inside waiting to eat my face, we’d be down and out.

Algernon strode back toward Kohl. I don’t think saying my name will be the material thing that stops you functioning.

Could be, insisted Kohl.

"May I