I don’t try to process what I’m feeling: the relief, and joy, and fear, all tangled up in a big knot. I just let Carver hold me.
It’s a full minute before he lets me go. By then, the fabric of his overalls is wet from my tears, and my face is red and puffy.
He cracks a smile. One of his teeth is gone. “Nice of you to join us,” he says.
I smile back, wiping away more tears. “Not like I had anything better to do.”
There’s splashing ahead of us, and we turn to see a worker lifting one of the guards’ rifles from the water. He’s painfully thin, with lank hair and a gaunt, scarred face, but his hands are sure as he checks the gun. Another worker is at the door, a woman with a closely shorn head and a nasty scar across the back of her neck. “Does anyone know how to lock this?” she shouts over her shoulder.
“Riley, I don’t…” Carver stops, shaking his head. “How are you even here?”
I open my mouth to tell him, but then I realise that explaining everything that happened to me would take longer than we have. Instead, it’s Prakesh who jumps to the front of my mind. I look around again, certain that I’ll see him among the other workers, but he isn’t there.
“I’ll tell you later,” I say. “Promise.”
“Seriously, what—”
“Right now, we need to get Prakesh, and then we’re going to find Okwembu. Where is he? Was he with you?”
“I can’t lock this,” the woman by the door shouts. A couple of workers respond, wading over to help out.
Carver looks at me. “We got separated. I sort of maybe mouthed off to the guards.”
He sees my expression. “Yeah, I know. Not smart. Ended up getting the shit beaten out of me. Bastards still put me to work, though–yesterday we were cleaning out the guards’ quarters, and today it was here.” He gestures around the dank space. “Water was leaking in and fried some of their generators. They put us to work repairing them.”
I point at the worker with the rifle. “But if you were working, then what happened with—”
“Beats me. One minute we were fixing holes in the hull, then the next a bunch of other workers burst in here and start shooting. Took the guards by surprise.”
He pauses, looking over at the man checking the rifle. “At least, I think they’re workers. We haven’t really had a chance to get to know each other.”
“We’re workers, all right,” the man says. He finally decides the rifle isn’t worth using–water-damaged, probably–and throws it aside, disgusted. “We were in the farm. The new guy did something–had us all soak our shirts in piss, then knocked out the guards with… hell, I don’t know what it was. Some kind of chemical stuff. Never seen anything like it.”
Carver raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah. That makes total sense. Thanks.”
Chemicals. Prakesh.
Before I can say anything else, there’s a panicked yell from behind us. We turn to see one of the workers standing over Koji, a hand wrapped in his jacket at the scruff of his neck. He has a gun in one hand, one that doesn’t look like it hit the water.
I get between them. “Don’t even think about it,” I say. Koji is on his knees, shaking in fear.
The man stares at me. “He’s one of them.”
“I told you. He can help us.”
“Who are you?” the man says, glancing at my cuffs. “What are you even doing here?”
Carver steps between us. “Back up, Adam,” he says.
The man–Adam–spits, his saliva plopping into the water. He jerks his head at Koji. “These people don’t deserve to live.”
“This one does,” I say.
Adam holds my gaze a moment longer, then turns away, disgusted.
“What’s his deal?” says Carver, nodding to Koji.
“Long story,” I say. “But I need him.”
“Come on,” says the gaunt worker from behind Adam. “Jojo said to get to the boats.”
“The hell is Jojo?” Carver says.
“Forget the boats,” Adam says. He points to the body of one of the guards, face down in the water. “We leave without taking care of the rest of ’em, they’ll come after us. Hunt us down.”
“You’re gonna get yourself killed, man,” says Carver. “You and everyone else.”
“He’s right,” Koji says, and everybody turns to look at him. “Believe me, you aren’t getting to the bridge. It’s too heavily guarded.”
Adam tries to speak, but the gaunt worker talks over him. “Then we get as many weapons as we can,” he says. He looks over his shoulder, raising his voice. “Find ’em, bring ’em here. I’ll check ’em for any water damage.”
As the workers start to move, Carver looks down at my hands, frowning as he takes in the cuffs.
“Hang on,” he says, casting about him. He spots what he’s looking for, and holds up the old-fashioned cutter. It’s acetylene, not plasma, and he aims it at the metal join between the two cuffs. I wince as the torch singes my skin. But within a second my hands spring apart. I badly want to get the actual cuffs off my wrists, but a cutting torch isn’t the way to do it.
The voice inside me speaks, reminding me that Prakesh isn’t the only reason I’m here. “Carver, was Okwembu with you? What happened to her?”
“Gods know,” he says, running his fingers along the cuff on my right wrist. “Lost her when they took me and Prakesh.” He sees me about to protest, and talks over me. “I know you probably want to throw her off the side of the ship right now, but it’s too dangerous. Let’s just get out of here.”
“Hold on,” says the woman by the door. “There’s—”
She doesn’t get a chance to finish. The door flies open, smashed from the other side, knocking her and the others aside.
Gunfire deafens me. Adam flies backwards, his arms stretched over his head, like he’s calling out for his own personal god. I feel blood speckle my face, and then his body slaps the surface of the water.
A split second later, something else comes through the door–a small cylinder, squat and black. I get a momentary glimpse of it before it vanishes under the surface, bumping up against Adam’s body.
Koji moves faster than I would have thought he could, grabbing me and Carver, pulling us down. “Flash-bang!” he shouts.
Everything goes white.