Wanderlust (Sirantha Jax 2)

“Like Emry,” Vel observes.

“Just so. This is how the Morgut prefer to operate. Pick a small, unimportant outpost and devour everything inside. If they’re left undisturbed, they’ll sometimes nest. Breed, before moving on to their next hunt.”

“But you got away from them.” I cling to that as a beacon of hope while the dark swims around us, eddies and ebbs in fluid waves that keep me jerking in all directions. I don’t know when I’ve ever been this scared.

“Yeah,” Jael says. “And lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place.”

He’s a regular bundle of cheer. I didn’t need to be reminded that I’ve stretched my luck until it’s transparent.

Stay cool, Jax. This is no worse than a bad jump.

The hell it isn’t. At least grimspace can only steal my mind, not suck all the juices out of me, devour my flesh, and pick its fangs with my bones. My fingers tighten on the shockstick, not that I think it’ll do me any good.

From what I remember they’re insanely fast. On the Silverfish , after Vel captured me, I tried to feed myself to them instead of going back to the Corp. Yeah, I was desperate. A monstrous marriage of arachnid and humanoid, the Morgut have fanged mouths, jointed limbs, and hairy bodies that bulge in obscene, unnatural ways.

I try not to think about that as I stay close on Vel’s heels. I’m guarding our rear flank, and I can’t help but remember the scary vids where the person in back gets yanked away to some hideous fate, and nobody notices for like ten minutes.

“I’ll always come for you, Jax.” Distracted by the need to watch our every movement, March answers me aloud.

The other two don’t seem to wonder what that’s about, though. Vel shines his light before we move a single meter while March pans with his disruptor. Anything that moves in the dark is going to get its innards rearranged. I’m not sure what to make of Jael. He’s too calm and unshaken.

We’re coming up on a two-way split in the corridor. Without a layout or a peek at station plans, we have no way of knowing which way we should turn. Down one of those halls might lie a nest or something worse.

“Right.” Jael points without elaborating as to why we should go that way.

After Vel shines the light both ways, I don’t have an opinion, but I do know my skin is crawling all to hell. It feels like I’m passing through wisps of webs, not enough to entrap me, but they do stick to my face. I refuse to let myself start slapping at my skin, a complete breakdown of impulse versus intellect. I won’t be the one to go nuts and flee, shrieking in the dark.

The hum of machinery grows louder as we make the turn Jael suggested. Maybe we can find a terminal here, so Vel can patch in and see how many we’re looking at. I’d rather know the odds, straight out. I saw the bounty hunter handle a full clutch of Morgut on board the Silverfish, so maybe our chances are good. Maybe.

I continue the silent pep talk as we continue, step by step. The coppery stink increases, the closer we come. By the time we hit maintenance, I have to cover my nose and mouth with my shirt.

Mary, no.

I don’t want to look, but it’s a compulsion as Vel lifts his light. I register impressions as flashes that burn themselves into my retinas. I’ll see this room again, frame by frame, in my nightmares, as if rendered on some old-fashioned film.

They’ve been here. Chunks of flesh litter the floor. I imagine the hunger, the frenzy that drove them to this. I imagine the spilled blood as an intoxicant, reacting on their alien body chemistry.

To them, we are, quite simply, delicious.

* * *

CHAPTER 17

The blood has dried, leaving dark, tacky patches on the metal floor.

If left untended, it will rust. Don’t ask me why I’ve focused on that, but I want to scrub all this away, as if that would mean it didn’t happen. Lives weren’t lost here.

I should know better than anyone how impossible that is. Cleaning up a mess doesn’t negate it. And some things can’t be swept under the proverbial rug.

The Conglomerate will have no choice but to deal with the Morgut now. In its day, the Corp dealt with them in terms of property damage. They didn’t care about loss of life, only the bottom line. But these monsters are growing bolder now. They’ve acquired a taste for human flesh, and they don’t believe the human authorities have the power to stop them.

And maybe they’re right.

Vel sweeps his light in a slow circle. This room holds half-repaired bots and cleaning droids, spare parts, and bins full of wires. Against the far wall, there’s a terminal meant for diagnostics, but maybe it connects to the rest of the station.

We can hope. By the low hiss of the unit, we still have power, even if the lights aren’t working. Vel sets up at the terminal while March and Jael take up guard positions in front of the door. Since we’re doing two things at once now, not moving as a unit, another light might come in handy. Plus I want them to be able to see anything that tries to get at us.

I hand a tube to March, who snaps it immediately. Now we have two anemic pools of yellow-green light. Because Vel is supposed to be watching my back—and vice versa— I head over to his side. He keys with unbelievable speed, but before I can try to assimilate what he’s doing, he’s inside their system.

I’ve never seen anyone crack code like he does. Most hackers rely on gadgets, portable AIs that run all the possible combinations. With Vel, it almost seems intuitive, like he can hear machines on a level that we can’t.

Another few clicks, and a grainy image comes up on the screen. Routine bot surveillance, these units perform basic cleaning, maintenance, and repairs as well. We see what the little machine sees, a corridor that could be anywhere on the station.

“Anything yet?” March asks without glancing our way.

“Yeah, we’re watching a bot—” I break off because even the low-quality images can’t conceal what’s sliding past.

I recognize the jerky, multijointed movements. Here’s visual confirmation, and a chill rolls over me. When this recording ends in static, Vel switches to another. And another, until we’ve seen every last droid destroyed.

There’s no record of the people who died here, screaming unheard. No bloody images the talking heads can use on the vids to rouse people to a vocal outcry. And the truth is, nobody dirtside gives a shit what happens to the folks up here. Maybe they even privately think we deserve such things for taking the risk.

We may find their names later on the outpost manifest or on duty rosters. If we survive. And it will be up to us to remember.

“It’s a full clutch,” he says at last. “At least ten.”

“There may be more if they’ve had time to nest,” Jael adds. “They breed fast. And they’ll be utterly savage if they’re protecting young.”

“They are always savage.” After checking to be sure he can’t get primary systems online from here, Vel powers down the terminal. “But I concur, that would make it worse.”

“Would they lay eggs on a station without a renewable food source?” That’s such a disgusting question.

March shrugs. “We’re here, aren’t we? Maybe they counted on a ship arriving now and then.”

“Pointless speculation,” Vel says.

Jael adds, “We need to find and exterminate them. The time for talking is over.”

I actually agree with Jael. Now that we have a rough idea how many we’re facing, the hunted need to become the hunters. Vel had an advantage against them on the Silverfish ; they couldn’t lair up there, or spin webs and traps. In close quarters, he has the edge since they use their fangs on prey—and if they bite him, they’ll die.

But here on Emry, they’ve had time to get comfortable. They have the upper hand. We’ll need to be tough, smart, and careful to make it out alive.

The instant I conceive that thought, the door slams shut. March and Jael spin as one, weapons drawn and ready. But there’s nothing to fight. How do you combat what you can’t see?

A hiss from the ventilation system gives the first warning.

“They’re going to gas us,” Jael says grimly. “Fragging cowards.”

Vel lifts his face, breathes in. “It’s nontoxic, designed to make you dizzy and noncombative.”

“But it’s not bothering you,” Jael says, his words already slurred.

He’s finally figuring out that Vel isn’t as average as he looks. What I wouldn’t give for a rebreather. My stomach lurches, and my head starts to spin. The room seems smoky, and I can’t make my eyes focus.

I see two Vels standing before me, and his voice seems to come from very far away. “Don’t go to sleep, Sirantha. Do you understand me? Stay awake.”

But I’m so tired. If I could just lie down for a minute, I could figure everything out. I’m positive of it. I’ve lost track of March and Jael.

My knees feel like they’re melting. Vel jerks me upright and gives me a shake that rattles my teeth in my head. When that doesn’t help a whole lot, he slaps me full across the face. That stings enough that I try to fight back.

And that’s when the things drop down from the ceiling.

My head spins too much to count them. When Vel knocks me flat, I have the sense to stay down, though the blow feels like it may have cracked a few ribs. Ironically, the pain clears my head to some degree.

I try to breathe through my shirt, and that helps a little, too. On my belly, I crawl along the floor, taking refuge behind a crate of machine parts. The fighting seems blurred and distant, too far away for where I’m hiding.

My vision can’t be relied upon. I hear March swearing steadily as he fires. He’s taken cover somewhere nearby. I hear the wet, splattering sound of the disruptor rearranging meat. The Morgut don’t scream when they die; they keen.

Jael screams. My whole body tenses in response to the anguish of the sound. Backlit by a fallen torch-tube, I see the Morgut hold his body aloft, skewered on one of the creature’s forelegs.

Vel almost seems to fly as he crosses the room, severing the limb with a sonicblade I didn’t even know he had. But he’s got a pack of them following hard on his heels, so he can’t do more for Jael, who hits the ground in an agonizing arc. The wounded thing shudders; blood spatters, hot drops raining down on my face.

The bounty hunter wheels on the ones sinking their teeth into him from behind. His weapon hums as he carves a gory map into their flesh. And the one that’s missing a leg turns on March, who’s waiting for the disruptor to power up again. The weapon cycles up, the lights on its grip indicating when it will be ready.

I give myself another good slap, fighting the effects of the gas. I can’t say whether it’s will or something else, but I manage to clear my head a little more. My own cry strangles in my throat. I taste the copper of Jael’s blood, the flavor of terror and despair. Vel goes down beneath a wave of them. They’ll die in agony, but if they hurt him bad enough, he’ll perish, too. Grim comfort.

The disruptor won’t do March any good this time; he’s used it too much, and it’s taking forever to charge. The Morgut advances, trembling with lust. Its fangs drip with the salivary fluid that paralyzes us. One scrape, and he will be done. The Morgut hesitates, and then, with a careless swipe, it knocks the useless weapon from March’s hands.