We pass the crushed and smoking wrecks of the defense cannons on our way to the main facility. Squid slows the APC as we approach, in case more troops are lying in ambush, but there’s no resistance.
The facility is a squat structure, made to look taller by the long, wedge-shaped heatsinks that reach up to the firmament. The heat output melts snow in a ten-meter ring around the building, marring the fields of white with a large black moat of sodden dirt.
The massive door off to one side of the building opens automatically. Squid takes us down into the garage and parks the APC near the entry to the facility proper.
“Einri just arrived in orbit with the Nova,” they say. “It’s ready to send the shuttle whenever we need.”
“Great,” I say, as I step out of the APC and stretch. My breath comes in white plumes, but it’s warmer down here in the vehicle lot with the door closed. Not warm, just warmer than below-fucking-freezing.
Trix steps down from the APC, exofoot clanging against the ground. “What happened with Pale back there? You were meant to be training him,” she says, words thick with venom.
“I’m teaching him to control his powers, but I can’t do shit about his fear or trauma.”
Squid climbs through to the back of the APC and sits so Pale can rest his head in their lap. Despite his pallor, Pale’s eyes are bright and watch us intently as we speak.
“You saw what he did to that soldier; what if that was the hull of the ship he tore apart?”
“Then we might have crashed,” I say, sardonically. Ocho shifts between my shoulder blades; she’s asleep, unaware of, or unconcerned by, the loud argument happening around her.
“Can we talk about this later?” Squid pours water from a canteen into Pale’s mouth.
“He can’t help it,” I say, ignoring Squid.
“That’s exactly the problem.”
“Fuck off, Trix; he’s just a kid,” I say.
Trix sneers, and I half expect her to cross the gap between us, slam me against the hull of the APC, and try and strangle me; you know, that old song and dance. She shakes her head, but stays put. “Doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous.”
“We don’t know what MEPHISTO did to him,” Squid says, “but he’s unstable, and we need to do something about the seizures.”
I nod. “Miguel said all of MEPHISTO’s records are here; we’ll find what they did to Pale. In the meantime, we should put him to sleep,” I say, and at that Trix steps forward. I hold a hand up and say, “Not permanently, fuck. If Pale’s sedated, he won’t freak out; if he doesn’t freak out then he won’t push his powers too far and hurt himself.”
Trix scoffs. “Or us. And we can’t keep calling him ‘Pale’; it’s a descriptor, not a name.”
“How does ‘Bob’ sound?” I say, winking at Pale. “I think he looks like a ‘Bob.’”
“Seadation is probably the safest bet, for now,” Squid says.
“Fine.” Trix grunts, then crouches down, exoframe clanging against the floor. “Strap the kid on then.”
Squid and I fasten Pale to the exoskeleton and I zip up his oversized jacket. Trix walks to the exit and Pale smiles as his whole body is swung from side to side with Trix’s mechanical gait.