27

NORMALLY NOEMI WOULD LEAVE THE MECHANICAL work to Abel. It’s not that she doesn’t know how to do most of it, more that she figures the guy who is actually part machine has an advantage.

But now she kneels in front of the nearest comm panel, prying it open and using her small emergency light to peer inside. She’ll do the labor so Abel can conserve his strength. Their escape from the other side of the ship nearly killed him; she understands that even if he doesn’t. As they traveled through the corridors closer to the bridge, Abel walked slowly, and with an almost imperceptible limp. That sort of behavior, coming from him, is proof of real damage.

Even more proof: He lets her do the work without complaint or comment.

Noemi doesn’t know how to fix Abel, but she can at least be careful with him. She can’t haul him all the way across the ship. They have to figure out a way to handle this where they are.

The comm panel they’ve got isn’t fully powered, but Noemi’s jury-rigged it to do something. She only needs to make a couple of transmissions—starting with a couple of deals.

If she handles this right, both Captain Fouda and Gillian Shearer will have to play by her rules for a change.

“Okay, I’m about to call the passengers’ headquarters.” Noemi glances up at him. “Are you ready?”

Abel nods, and she puts it through.

Her voice crackles and echoes through the corridor as she says, “This is Noemi Vidal of Genesis, for Gillian Shearer.” The pause feels longer than it is.

The passengers must’ve been listening for Fouda to issue commands, because the reply comes almost instantly. “Where is Abel?” Gillian demands. Her voice comes through the small speaker against Noemi’s hand; the vibrating effect feels like she’s holding Gillian in her palm. “Does he still exist? Or did Remedy destroy him?” She’s scared of what Remedy would do out of spite.

“Abel’s fine,” Noemi says. “So am I. Thanks for asking.”

Gillian ignores this. “I want to speak directly to Abel.”

Abel kneels beside Noemi and leans close to the console. Its golden light glows between them as he says, “I’m here, Gillian.”

“You’re not coming back for Father, are you?” Gillian’s voice breaks. She’s caught between laughter and tears, so vividly that Noemi can picture her saying, “Did the two of you call just to torment me?”

“No,” he says. “I wanted to tell you that Simon remains alive, though exhibiting extreme mental and physical malfunction. He’s collecting other mechs, somehow controlling them. Simon’s dangerous to anyone on this ship—including you—and to himself. However, I still believe I can help him.”

“So you’re using the life of a small child as a bargaining chip,” Gillian retorts.

Noemi cuts in. “And you’re using dozens of lives as bargaining chips, so you don’t have a lot of room to talk, Dr. Shearer.”

“I’ll help Simon no matter what,” Abel says quietly. “If I can.”

“If this isn’t about Simon—”

“You’re smart enough to have kept checking the main passageways, so I’m guessing you know Remedy’s trapped all of you on this ship,” Noemi says. “If the mechs from the Winter Castle were coming to save you, they’d have gotten here by now. You’re going to starve or freeze to death if we don’t help you—but we’re willing to help you. If you accept a few conditions.”

“Conditions.” Is that anger in Gillian’s voice? Resignation? “Of course.”

“They’re pretty simple,” Noemi says. “One, you never come after Abel again. No mech hunters, no hostage situations, nothing. You set him free. Your father had his time, so let Abel have his.”

One of Abel’s hands curves around her wrist, a gentle touch that lifts one corner of Noemi’s mouth in a smile.

Gillian says brusquely, “What else?”

“Two, you spare the surviving members of Remedy. You give them the medical supplies they need. Then you bring them to the Winter Castle, share your provisions, let them help build this world. The ones who’ve had Cobweb are as adapted to Haven as you are.”

“How did you know—” Gillian cuts herself off, but too late.

“They need new homes as much as you do,” Noemi continues. “Yeah, some of them have done terrible things, but seeing as how you guys basically tried to steal a planet, I don’t think you have much room to talk. They’re used to hard work, and they have some of the skills your passengers lack. They’d make good settlers for a new world.”

In the background, beneath the crackle of the speaker, Noemi hears Delphine call, “We need someone who knows how to make snowshoes!” and has to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

Gillian finally says, “All right. We can do that. But Simon—Abel, what are you going to do with Simon? I’ve called and called for him—”

“Help him stabilize his mental and emotional processes,” Abel replies. “I’m not sure whether you can restore him to a growing tank at this point, or whether his memory patterns have been warped by the transfer—there are many variables in play. He began his existence as a human, which makes his experience radically different from mine, but we’re still alike in one fundamental way. We’re the only two mechs in the galaxy who are also… individuals. If anyone can understand him, I can.”

Gillian’s response: “No one understands a child like his mother does.”

No way is Noemi letting her get away with that. “Or like a father? Well, I’m sorry, but Mansfield told you to trash Simon and start over, like that would be no big deal. To me that sounds like your dad didn’t understand you at all.”

Another long silence falls. Abel’s eyes widen as he thinks about Mansfield’s dismissal of Simon, even though Noemi already told him about it. Abel’s pain remains palpable. Maybe people never stop trying to believe in those they once loved.

Noemi decides it would be merciful to change the subject. “Okay, we have a deal. Wait where you are until we confirm that we’ve deactivated the mines.”

The dry response: “I don’t think you have to worry about that one. We’re in no hurry to test them for ourselves.”

“Then let’s save comms power. Vidal out.” With a flick of her thumb, the intraship comm goes quiet again, and she nods to Abel to change the signal. She’s no longer calling the passengers; this time, she’s calling the bridge. “Captain Fouda?”

It takes several long seconds for a reply to come. “Vidal of Genesis.” Fouda’s voice is ragged, his tone like that of a man in shock. “Still alive.”

“So far. We need to talk.”

“We need your mech.” The defiance has bled out of him. All Noemi hears now is desperation. “Human lives are at stake—”

“We’ve bargained with the passengers,” Noemi explains. “They’ll give you the medicine you need if you deactivate as many mines as you can—and give me the relay codes for Remedy.”

She expects Fouda to argue or posture, but he’s past all that. “We don’t have many people left. The mines—I’m not sure how much we can do.”

“Defuse as many as you can,” she repeats, adjusting her expectations. “Abel and I will take out a few, too. But now I need those relay codes.”

“Gamma four eight seven delta mu delta five five one eight zeta six pi phi sigma three—”

The string of letters and numbers catches her off guard; this must be something Fouda memorized by rote, something he’s spitting out with the last of his mental strength. I can’t record him! There’s no way I can remember this! Noemi momentarily panics, then realizes Abel’s getting every word.

When Fouda finally finishes, he says, “How long? We need the medicine now.”

“Abel and I need to clear at least one of the mines as a show of good faith,” Noemi answers. “As soon as we’ve done that, we’ll send passengers with help. All right?”

“All right.” Fouda’s weariness makes it clear he sees this as defeat, even though it’s going to save the few people he has left. “Fouda out.”

The tiny light between her and Abel goes dark. Her eyes have adjusted enough to the dim lighting to see his expression, though—thoughtful and uncertain at once. “What is it, Abel?”

“You bargained for everyone except yourself.” He shakes his head slowly. “You’re remarkable.”

“I bargained for you. That counts.”

Abel’s hand slides up her arm, curves around the back of her neck. The way he leans closer makes her realize he intends to kiss her. Her heart thumps crazily in her chest—

—but he drops his hand and pulls back. “I apologize.”

No denying it: Noemi feels cheated. “For what?”

“For acting on my romantic feelings.” Abel explains this as easily as he would the workings of the mag engines. “I don’t expect you to share them. But my momentary impulse may have made you feel awkward. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

Slowly Noemi says, “Oh, Abel—that’s all wrong—”

“What do you mean?”

She can’t come up with the words. Words aren’t important. Nothing matters except a truth she didn’t know until this moment.

Noemi puts her arms around Abel and brings her lips to his. When she kisses him, he tenses; at first she thinks she’s gotten it wrong somehow. But then he embraces her, brings her closer, kisses her back. She gives in to it, opening his mouth with her own.

The first time they kissed, she was floating in midair. Gravity holds them fast now, but somehow it feels the same, like she’s flying inside.

No, better. Last time she was only kissing Abel good-bye. It was an ending. This is a beginning.

When their mouths part, Noemi’s breathing hard. Abel’s expression looks more dazed and wary than elated. “We shouldn’t get caught up like this. Not in the middle of such a serious crisis.”

That’s what Captain Baz would tell them. That’s good military training. Noemi has never given less of a damn about military training in her life.

Then Abel continues, “But as you humans say—to hell with it.” And he kisses her again.

This time the kiss goes on much, much longer. Their tiny corner of the Osiris—their patch of this new world—feels like all there is to the entire universe. Noemi combs her fingers through his fair hair, leans against him so that he’ll feel her heartbeat through his chest; maybe it will feel like a heartbeat to him, too. He doesn’t have a heart or pulse of his own. She’ll share hers.

Finally, Abel breaks the kiss and folds her deeper in his embrace. Noemi buries her face in the curve of his shoulder.

Tentatively he asks, “Is it bad form to ask for romantic clarification?”

She laughs in his arms. “I don’t know. I don’t care. Ask away.”

“Would you describe yourself as ‘in love’ with me, or merely interested in exploring a romantic connection?” He sounds so earnest, so unsure. “Either alternative is extremely acceptable. But I’d like to know.”

“Probably? Maybe?” Noemi’s more confused than Abel could possibly be. She only knows that she couldn’t have gone one more second without kissing him. “When I went back to Genesis, my old life didn’t fit me anymore. Some of that was because we lost Esther, and some of it was because I was a pariah—”

“Pariah?”

“Skip it for now. Mostly my life didn’t fit because I changed on that trip. The idea I had about who I was going to be, and the kind of person I could care about—that didn’t apply anymore. Nobody understood that, but I knew you would. I wished I had you to lean on, and to talk to. I imagined what you would say about everything, and I wanted to hear it. Even if you were going on forever or being arrogant! I didn’t care.”

Abel says, “It is not arrogance if I am realistically assessing my abilities as superior, which generally they are.” Of course that’s the point he’d have trouble with. But she’s begun to smile, and so has he.

“I didn’t fall in love with you on the journey,” she says. “I don’t know if I’m in love with you now. But you’re probably the best person I’ve ever known. I care about you more than anyone else in this entire galaxy. I don’t know what comes after this, if anything even can. All I know is you’re the only person I can’t imagine living my whole life without.”

Noemi never feels like she’s said the right words, except maybe this time. The way Abel’s face lights up, the pure hope that’s shining from him—she must’ve gotten at least some of that right.

He kisses her one more time, but when their mouths break apart, he holds up one finger. “…We should probably do something about the mines.”

“Yes. Bombs.” She pulls back and shakes her head, trying to clear it. “Good idea.”

First they turn to one of the largest intact corridors in the ship, the one that will be most useful to both Remedy and the passengers.

In Genesis military training, cadets extensively study both space and planetary mines. Noemi worked harder than most. The last moment she spent with her family was the moment before they drove over an explosive device not so different from a mine; for her, defusing bombs feels like defeating an enemy. Those diagrams come to mind as clearly as if they were still on her academy screen. “Okay,” she says as they stand at the far end of the corridor. “I’m going to crawl into the service tube and check this one out. If I can defuse it, great. If it’s too thorny, or requires equipment I don’t have, we move to the next corridor.”

“I should be the one to take the risk,” Abel insists, like she knew he would.

Noemi clasps his hands in hers. “I’ve worked with mines before. I know what I’m doing. You’re exhausted, and you’re more damaged than you’re letting on.”

“I still have full dexterity in my wrist.”

“Maybe you do. But let me handle this one, okay?” She struggles for the words. “I don’t mind letting you do more, because you are stronger than any human could ever be. You do have more info in your memory banks than any brain could hold. That doesn’t mean you automatically have to be the one who puts yourself in danger every time.” Noemi brings his hand to her lips and kisses it. His skin is terribly abraded from their icy climb through the crevasse. “Your life matters as much as any human’s, Abel. Remember that.”

“Not yours. Not to me.” He shakes his head. “You’re my priority.”

“And you’re mine.”

She can tell he wants to argue more, but he looks down at his damaged hands. If emotion won’t convince him, logic will. Sure enough, after a couple of seconds, he nods. “If you run into any difficulty whatsoever—”

“I’ll call for you.”

“And if you’re even slightly uncertain—”

“Same thing.”

Abel kisses her hand this time, then lets her go.

Noemi shimmies into the narrow opening of the service tube, pausing after a meter or two to take stock of the few tools she’s collected, and to slide a pair of night-vision goggles down into place. In the corridors, she could manage, but down here it’s nearly pitch-black. The damage of the crash is strongly apparent here, with the bent girders and collapsed struts of the Osiris naked and exposed. When she saw the useless murals and gilding, stepped over the shattered finery, she saw only the waste. Now that she’s in the belly of the thing, looking at its raw strength, Noemi realizes how splendid a ship it really was.

It was meant to be a vehicle of resurrection, she thinks. If it hadn’t been for the passengers’ greed and Remedy’s anger, this ship could’ve brought an entire planet’s worth of settlers to humanity’s next home. It really would have been a rebirth.

In the green-tinted world presented by the night-vision goggles, Noemi spots the mine almost immediately. Its wires sprawl in multiple directions, like one of the heptapod squids native to Genesis’s oceans. Still, with a mine, scale is relatively unimportant. Defuse the central mechanism, and all the arms go dead.

Still in the tunnel, she lowers herself into the broader open space beneath the mine. It’s barely high enough for her to stand in; Fouda must’ve sent someone short down here. Still, she can lean back a little, brace her shoulder against one of the walls, and be steady.

Doffing her goggles, Noemi turns on her small light again to check wire and tab coloration. The pattern clarifies and aligns with one she studied back in training, a pretty basic model that practically shows her how to defuse it.

With a grim smile, Noemi takes up the nearby emergency tool kit and gets to work.

What would Captain Baz think of her now? She’d be proud, probably—assuming she doesn’t hate Noemi for taking so damn long to help Genesis. As for Darius Akide—

What’s that noise?

She ducks, extracting her tools from the mine as she peers through the darkness of the tunnel. Seeing anything is impossible, but she knows she didn’t imagine that scraping sound. Swiftly she tugs her night-vision goggles down over her eyes and looks out—

—at Simon smiling back at her.

He whispers, “Peekaboo.”