help

~

External cameras swivelled as the transport turned its manifold gaze on Orpicea's old suit. It spun in a slow-motion somersault, limbs splayed absurdly like an acrobat mid-feat. A tether wound slack from its belt. In the surveillance suite, Orpicea turned to the others and let her hands slip from the controls. 'Found her like that,' she said. 'I was manning the helm when the fire broke out or I'd be dead with the rest of them. Went down to check things after.'

Wills palmed the display. It zoomed. Speckled with static, the shadow of a face murmured beneath the suit's fogged visor like a creature in shallow waters. He frowned.

'Show us,' said Lambert.

Through carnival-tunnel corridors of heat-buckled plating Orpicea and the drone led the officers down to navigation.

'My guess is it was her that set the fire,' Orpicea was saying. 'That'd explain the suit, anyway. When I cracked the lid and we lost atmosphere she must've panicked, managed to hook a tether as the differential coughed her out, then couldn't get back in after I locked things back down.'

'Great. Well, mystery fucking solved.' Wills shot a sidelong look at his partner, who shook her head. Her mouth worked. Wills flapped a hand like she was a fly buzzing in his ear. It was all silence to Orpicea.

They paused at a bulkhead while the drone pried at gnarled controls, and Orpicea was considering her odds of survival if she tried to knock both officers out of navigation to join her old suit when movement caught her eye. Behind the officers a bearded man, face twisted in soundless shouting fury, slammed suited fists on the other side of a windowed door. The plastic shuddered.

'What,' she said, then jerked her gaze away. 'Is . . . taking so long, drone?'

'Rome wasn't built in a day.' It looked over, saw the scene past her shoulder, and one of its eyes fritzed and died. 'Kelly,' it said as Orpicea wandered over to block the view through the door, 'could you override this bulkhead, please? It's quite important.'

Their radios crackled. 'Thank you for asking nicely.'

Who the fuck, mouthed Orpicea, jerking a thumb over her shoulder and miming a beard.

The officers, oblivious, exchanged glances. 'This transport's designation is Kelly?'

'Actually, sir, actually her designation is Khloris.' The drone hesitated. 'But here is the thing, you see, she thinks that name? She thinks it is too stuffy.'

As it wandered through this thought Orpicea found herself staring at its remaining eye. Her brain, entirely without her input, started translating the erratic winking into morse code.

. . . T, STOP, F-R-G-T

Her brow scrunched. Seriously? Shaking her head, she mouthed: Forgot?

'Too stuffy?'

'Yes, that's quite right, yes, ridiculous,' the drone babbled as it blinked out W-H. 'Ha ha,' it added, 'do you hear that, Kelly, I told you it was a lovely name, ha ha.' O-O-P-S

Shut up.

T-R-R-I-S-T

Lambert's suit beeped. With a lingering frown at the drone she dug out the device she'd been brandishing earlier. The bulkhead, at that moment, groaned and heaved itself open. 'Okay,' said Kelly-actually-Khloris.

'Hold it.' Everyone looked at Lambert. She held up the device. Four lights glimmered on its screen. Only three stood in the corridor. 'You said you were the only survivor.'

Orpicea looked at the display, then at the drone ( . . . U-C-K, STOP) then back again. 'All right,' she said. 'Look.'

'Open that door.'

'This is an internal matter—'

'Open. That. Door,' growled Lambert, 'or I will personally drag this whole darn ship back to Tynte.'

The lock shone green of its own accord and the door, whining open, vomited a wild-eyed bearded man. He slammed into Orpicea. The two of them crashed tumbling and, in a muddle of limbs, her knee in his gut, his foot slipping on her helmet, the chief engineer stumbled to his feet and his visor knocked against the barrel of Lambert's gun.

'Start talking,' she said.

Red-faced, he went on shouting. Nobody heard anything. Lambert thought she could feel his visor reverberating through her grip on the gun.