Zero-G (12 page)

Prakesh is on the other side of the lab when he sees Julian Novak leading a group of people for the doors.

He ignores them at first, looking back down at the rows of soybeans planted in the giant troughs which run along the wall. He told the techs to carry on as normal, and he's trying to do the same.

He looks up again. There's something about the set of Julian's shoulders that he doesn't like.

“pH levels are good,” says Yoshiro, frowning over a tab screen. “I could adjust the lights a little, get the soy to reproductive stage even faster.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Prakesh says. He straightens up, dusting off his hands on his lab coat. “Back in a sec.”

He strides across the Air Lab, cutting across the pathways between the giant oaks, keeping his eyes on Julian. The tech has at least ten people trailing in his wake. Two of them are carrying something, swinging it between them – there are too many bodies there, and Prakesh can't quite see what it is.

He knows that the shutdown code Tseng used sealed off all the Air Lab exits, including the ones at the monorail docks. There used to be plenty of other entrances – little access points dotted here and there, loose panels and ventilation shafts and forgotten corridors. Prakesh used one of them himself, during the Sons of Earth crisis. Tseng, of course, doesn't know about them.

When Prakesh was made head of the Air Lab, he thought long and hard about whether to leave them open. In the end, he gave the orders to have each and every one of them closed off. The Air Lab was the single most important part of Outer Earth. Despite what Tseng thinks, he does take its security seriously. He checked each of them himself, Air Lab and the old Food Lab, checking the welded seals over the panels and the steel bars over the ventilation ducts.
No way in. No way out.

And as much as he hates to admit it, it has to stay that way. It doesn't stop his mind from being drawn to Riley – it's impossible not to think about her, impossible not to feel sick with worry about what she's facing out there.

And because he's thinking of Riley, he can't help but think of Carver. His anger rises, and he pushes it away. Nothing he can do about that now.

He reaches the open area near the front of the lab, and moves diagonally across it, heading right for Julian. He's picked up an entourage of his own – Suki and a few of the others are jogging towards him. Yoshiro trails behind them, still carrying the tab screen.

Julian has stopped a few feet from the doors. “Bring it closer,” he says to one of his followers, and that's when Prakesh sees what they're carrying. It's an old plasma cutter – one of the models that relies on an external fuel source, a big, heavy box that needs two people to carry it. Julian himself has the cutter head, a long tube with a red handgrip on the end. Prakesh can see the metal nozzle, gleaming under the lights.

“Julian,” says Prakesh, ignoring the flutter of fear in his chest.

Julian looks up and sees him, along with the rest of the techs. For an absurd moment, they freeze. The plasma cutter quivers, held a few inches off the floor. Prakesh recognises one of the men holding it – Iko, who was up on the roof the day before, when Benson took his plunge.

Julian gives him a tight nod.

“Want to explain what you're doing?” Prakesh says. He keeps moving, getting himself between Julian and the doors.

Julian tosses his hair back, then raises his chin. He's not heavily muscled, but he's tall, and looks down at Prakesh along the bridge of his nose. “Getting out. What do you think?”

“No, you're not,” Prakesh says, folding his arms. Suki and Yoshiro and the others are standing off to one side, waiting to see how this plays out.

Julian half smiles. “I quit. There. I don't have to take orders from you any more.” He looks behind him. “I think everybody here's had enough of being ordered around. Right?”

There are nods and murmurs from behind him. The plasma cutter fuel container drops, its clanging echoing off the door.

“Doesn't matter,” Prakesh says, holding Julian's gaze. “You're not leaving. Turn around, take that thing back where it came from.”

“What do you care?” Julian says. “Weren't you trying to stop them sealing it off in the first place? You just rolling over and letting it happen now?”

Prakesh opens his mouth to tell Julian about the closed ecosystem again, and the variables at play, and the probability of infection, and stops. He's remembering James Benson. His words on the roof of the control room, just before he stepped off.
They take us for granted. We give them food, all of them, and they treat us like dirt.

Maybe Benson was right. But it doesn't matter. Being head of the Air Lab may be difficult, it may not be perfect, but Prakesh loves it. He loves being here, among the soil and the trees and the algae pools.

If he lets Julian through, if he opens up the sealed Air Lab, Tseng will see him fired. He'll never set foot in the Air Lab again. He should have thought of that before, when he and Carver nearly got into it. He wasn't thinking straight.

He can't lose this job. He won't.
If Julian wants out, he's going to have to go through me.

Prakesh walks up to Julian. “Last chance. I don't care what you do, but you leave that cutter here, and you walk away.” He raises his voice. “All of you.”

He can feel Suki and Yoshiro stepping in behind him, along with a dozen other techs, and a small smile slips across his face. Julian's group are muttering among themselves, casting dirty looks in his direction.

Julian turns away, and Prakesh feels a surge of elation. “That's right,” he says. “Move on.”

Julian turns back. He's holding a stinger in his right hand.

Suki lets out a strange noise – a squeak and a cough, melded into one. Yoshiro spits a hushed curse.

Slowly, Julian raises the stinger and points it at Prakesh's face.

My right knee groans in pain. Without thinking, I scramble in my pocket for the pill bottle, twisting it open and pulling down my face mask.

Last one. The pill rattles around the bottle, and I knock it back, swallowing it quickly, getting only the barest hint of bitterness. The mask goes back on, covering my mouth and nose. I throw the bottle behind me, and it clatters off one of the lockers and out of sight. I'd do anything for a drink of water. Sell my firstborn. Trade a kidney. Anything.

“Why are you—” Okwembu takes a ragged breath. “Why are you wearing a mask? And why did those men have scarves around their faces?”

I swallow. “Disease,” I say. “They're calling it Resin. It's going through the whole station.”

Okwembu looks away. “Perhaps I should have stayed in prison,” she says to herself.

I glance at the door. “We need to keep moving,” I say. “There's a place on the sector border. We'll be safe there.”

“Why did you get me out?” she says.

“Don't worry about that,” I say, keeping my eyes on the door.

“How do I know you aren't planning to kill me, Ms Hale?”

“I just saved you. Or weren't you paying attention back there?”

“Yes, but you still haven't told me why. You, a station protection officer, just broke me out of the brig. You're risking everything to do this. And if you don't want me dead, then what exactly
do
you want?”

I want to bring you to Morgan Knox. I want him to take these things out of me. I want my life to go back to normal.

I lean forward, looking her right in the eyes.

“If you try to run from me,” I say, “I will chase you down and snap your neck.”

“Would you? After all you've gone through to get me here?”

“Try me. Find out.”

She goes silent, staring at me. Eventually, she says, “So why shouldn't I have gone with the others? The ones we're trying to run from?”

“Because they
definitely
want to kill you. With me, there's a chance you might actually survive. Logically, which one would you pick?”

“Oh? I have to say, Ms Hale, for people who wanted me dead, they seemed very intent on marching me out of there alive.”

We fall silent. Okwembu watches me. Ever since I've known her, she's been able to do that – find the weak spot in any argument, pin it down, drill right to the heart of a problem in a second. It's as if she still views the world like it's made up of code. Like humans are just strings in a program, designed to be shifted around at will. Her eyes make me think of camera lenses, capturing everything, storing it for later use.

“This isn't a negotiation,” I say. “I don't owe you a damn thing. You either go where I tell you, or I'm going to chase you down, knock you unconscious, and then we'll get there anyway. Your call.”

“And drag me through the station? Hardly becoming for a lightning-fast tracer.”

I take a step towards her, and she raises her hands. “I can help you. We can work together.”

There's a long pause. Somewhere, in a distant part of the station, there's a deep bang, turning into a rumble as the sound travels through the levels.

“Someone wants to talk to you,” I say. “He asked me to get you out.” A cold shiver runs up my spine, but whether in fear or anticipation I don't know.

“He must have been offering something very important to you,” she says.

“You have no idea.”

She walks to the door, peering out into the corridor. It's a deliberate move, but I can almost see the cogs in her mind turning, weighing the odds.

She turns back to me, gives me a tight nod. “All right. I'll come with you. Lead the way.”

The old Riley couldn't do it, couldn't lead her to her death, would never have even considered it. No matter what crimes Okwembu had committed, the old Riley would have found a way around it, done everything she could to stop it happening.

The new Riley? She's thinks a little differently.

Okwembu did worse things than you ever will. Than you could ever think of doing.

But the guilt comes anyway, surging up through me, hot and acidic.

“Wait,” I say. I head to the back of the room, hunting around the smashed lockers. Earlier, I spotted a pile of what looked like clothing. It's now little more than rags, ripped and shredded, but perfect for what I need. I select a long strip of rough fabric, dark blue in colour. I hand it to Okwembu.

“Wrap it around your face,” I say. “Resin is airborne. This'll keep you safe.”
And anonymous.

She takes the cloth, holding it awkwardly in her hands. “Thank you,” she says, after a moment.

I walk out into the corridor, my centre of gravity low, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. It's empty, and I relax, but only a little.

“She trained you well,” Okwembu says from behind me. The sound of her voice is muffled by the fabric. “That move, back at the brig, where you broke his wrist – you could have been Amira.”

Unwelcome memories fight for attention. With an effort, I force them back down.

“You run in front,” I say, pointing. “One wrong move, and I'll end you.”

The techs scatter.

They just bolt, heading for the algae pools. Prakesh feels an urge to go with them, to get as far away as he can.

He doesn't.

Keeping his eyes on the stinger, on the black hole of the barrel, he raises his hands. He immediately feels stupid – Julian knows he doesn't have a weapon, and really, what is he going to do, block the bullet? But it's an instinctual reaction, and when he tries to put his hands down, he finds that his arms aren't listening to him.

He sneaks a look over his shoulder. Suki and Yoshiro are still behind him, and Suki's face has gone completely white. Prakesh looks back at Julian, trying to meet his eyes.

“Put it down,” he says.

Julian shakes his head. “No. I don't think I will.” He's moving slowly towards the three of them, almost sauntering. Behind him, one of his followers breaks and runs. It unbalances Julian for a moment, but then he sees that the rest of the group isn't moving, and he relaxes.

Prakesh tells himself to stay calm. He tries to remember everything he knows about stingers: their range, their velocity, their stopping power. They're designed to go through soft targets, like humans, and not to penetrate metal – useful for a space station hanging in orbit, with the vacuum on all sides. Prakesh knows that the rounds are small-calibre, but can still make a real mess of whatever they hit.

On the other hand, actually getting a hit with one is a trick in itself, especially if you don't fire them regularly. Could he disarm Julian before the man takes a shot? What if he's wrong? Where did Julian even get the stinger in the first place?

He keeps very still. “Julian, listen to me—”

“Move aside,” Julian says, jerking the gun.

“Think about what you're doing. They'll put you up against the wall in front of a firing squad.”

Julian hangs his head. For a half-second, Prakesh thinks he's got through, but then he sees that Julian's shoulders are shaking with laughter.

“Oh man,” Julian says, his fingers flexing around the stinger. “You don't understand what's happening here? The whole station's finished.”

“You don't know that.”

“Whatever. I'm not spending my last few days trapped in here with
you
,” Julian says, ignoring Prakesh. “I got friends out there. Me and mine. So does everybody here.” He jerks his head at the group behind him, then starts walking towards Prakesh. Prakesh feels Suki stiffen behind him.

“Now move,” Julian says.

Prakesh shakes his head. “Not going to—”

Julian smashes the pistol into his face.

Prakesh's head snaps sideways, and it's as if someone has let off a firework right in front of him. Sparks fizzle and crackle in his vision. The pain wipes them away, huge and sudden, expanding outwards in a slow-moving wave of fire from his right cheek. There's something loose inside his mouth, one of his teeth, scratchy against his tongue.

He's lying prone, and pushes up onto his right elbow. Yoshiro is cursing every god he can think of, backed up against the wall. Prakesh blinks, unable, for a moment, to move.

“Last chance,” Julian says. The barrel of the stinger seems to swell as Prakesh looks at it. He can see a slick of blood on the tiny spike of the stinger sight.

Yoshiro runs at Julian. He explodes off the wall, sprinting towards him, his arms pumping. Julian swings the stinger around.

“
Don't!
” Prakesh shouts. But the booming gunshot drowns out his words, and when the report fades away, all he can hear is Suki screaming.