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3 Sydenstar, 19:23
It is noiseless, the way they’re killing the Somnovum. Caduceus sits at their bedsides with a small cup of steaming blue tea and watches them sleep as they do it. Beau has a small crease of concern between her brows, like usual, but her mouth is slack and her hands are unclenched where they lie on her stomach and glitter with nodes and wires and black tape. Caleb lies head-to-foot with her on the second cot. He has his head turned slightly to the left, as if he had been about to say something to Beau before nodding off.
Caduceus has to remind himself as he takes a slow sip of tea; they are not asleep. Proof enough should be Essek, sitting upright in a chair borrowed from the mess room with Frumpkin snoozing in his lap, because the ship only has two medical cots, covered too in wires with his eyes shut and mouth pursed in focus. The people of his planet do not sleep.
The state his three friends are in is chemically induced. The data being run through their brains like electricity through a wire would otherwise kill them, fry their cerebellum like an egg, according to Caleb.
Caduceus takes another sip of his tea. It tastes foul but keeps his focus.
He checks the screen that he had angled towards himself before settling into his own chair. It displays three panels, each describing the condition of his friends’ vital organs, their blood pressure, their heart rate, and their brain activity. Jester could have done this job too, with her medical credentials, but the crew had all known without need for discussion that she would not have been able to handle the silence of this room alone. Caduceus, however, was fit for it.
There is nobody else on the ship. The four of them will be sitting and lying together in silence in the medical bay for another six minutes at the most before something happens. If nothing happens by the time those six minutes pass, it will be Caduceus who pulls his three friends back into reality, no matter the damage he might have to do in the process.
He takes another sip. He checks the screen.
They met Mollymauk at the very beginning. This being of colour and humour and irreverence had barely paused to ask for their names before inviting them to a circus show.
Jester was in love, in a way. ‘Finally!’ she had thought, ‘someone who understands.”
It had taken her a while before she began to think that perhaps it didn't come as naturally to Molly as it did to her. Perhaps he chose to love the chaos, a choice he made over and over. Much later, she started to think he might be onto something.
But before that, there was the circus. Naturally, it had ended in disaster and tears and prison (though fortunately not for any of her new friends) and a mad rush to steal a Grade-18 Mercurial Model spacecraft from Trostenwald’s sky-harbour. Afterwards, they decided to stick together and travel deeper into the Empire’s territory, putting their faith in that rusty old ship.
It would be nice to look back and say that Molly was the glue holding them together. That would be a lie. Molly certainly tried to resolve conflict when it arose in those early days between Caleb and Beau, or Veth and Fjord, but he was far from the most level-headed of the group. As they flew from planet to planet, system to system, across the Wynandir galaxy, Molly was intent only in finding the next distraction. He lost himself in one planet’s alt-wine, the next station’s tobacco, the next moon’s pleasure clubs. He’d return to the ship at the end of their visit with a new black eye or a lipstick stain on his shirt and declare to the rest of the crew “this is my favourite place yet!”
After one of these fly-bys, Beau had found Molly passed out on the floor of the common room two hours after take-off. She delivered him to Jester.
It was not hard to determine what had happened; under the lingering smell of alt-alcohol and a fine sheen of glitter, Jester found a pulsing grey-blue data chip plugged into Molly’s right forearm.
She’d noticed the red nodes on his body before, times when he had brought the group to bathhouses or simply started undressing on a whim. There were at least six of them across his torso, by Jester’s count. Nobody had asked about them. Beau had theorised that they were for easy administration of performance-enhancing bots; she’d seen some similar body modifications during her dealings with the black market. Veth thought they were for plugging into a simulator, the kind Molly probably finds in his pleasure clubs. Jester had said they were just pretty parts of his tattoos.
The chip she pried out of his arm that night was a drug she didn't recognise. She left it in a tray for either Caleb or Veth to examine the next day.
(What Caleb and Veth would conclude the next day is that it was a cheap hallucinogen designed to be sold to bored locals. Years ago, it had been busted and taken partially off the market by the Julous police force and the remaining stock was now being sold at higher prices to oblivious tourists who thought they were getting the hard stuff. It had no reason to hurt Molly the way it did.)
Molly was asleep for a little while longer. The chemical cocktail Jester administered eventually had him groaning and rolling over in the medical cot.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like shit. What time is it?”
“A little after eleven, ship-time.”
Molly peered around the med bay. “Oh, I’m on the Nein.”
“You don't remember getting back?”
Molly sat up. He rubbed his temple and stared suspiciously at the tube Jester had taped to his forearm, over the strange red node. “I remember a party. And then another party. Beau left because she needed to find Caleb, something about a pair of electrified gauntlets.” He paused, rubbed his forehead.
“Do you remember where you got that?” asked Jester, pointing at the chip in the tray.
Molly blinked at her. “Someone sold it to me.”
“Did they tell you what it did?”
“No. But the people who were using it looked like they were having a good time.” He smiled at her for only a moment before breaking eye contact. “I’m sorry.”
Jester fiddled with the pen she’d been using to track Molly’s serotonin levels. She wondered if she sounded like her mama did whenever she would tell her off for using the expensive perfume without asking or sneaking downstairs to mix up the coats in the cloakroom. She hoped not.
“Don’t do that again,” she muttered. “At least, not when you’re separated from us.”
“I won’t. I promise not to. Okay?”
“You scared me, Molly.”
“I know, love.”
“I’m not a very good medic,” she said. “I’m not good at treating serious stuff. I didn't pay attention in those classes, but I’m trying real hard to learn again now. I’m learning how to fix a broken bone. I’m learning how to treat burns and poisonings and stab wounds, all the things to keep you alive. But I still don't know how to make someone’s heart start beating again if it stops.”
Molly took the broken pen from her hand. She hadn't noticed that she’d cracked the plastic shell.
“But it wouldn't be your fault,” said Molly. “If it did happen. I’m an idiot, that’s my fault. I thought it would be fun. It wasn't. I’m probably going to keep making stupid choices, but not that one again.” He put his thumb over the splintered pen, stoppering the bleeding ink. “ I shouldn't have scared you.”
“I don’t want you to be so worried about me that you stop looking for fun,” Jester sniffed. “You’re supposed to enjoy yourself too.”
Molly turned their eyes back to her. “Not so much that something like this will happen again.”
“What are those red things on your skin?”
Molly didn't blink. “Nothing.”
“You’re a real bad liar,” she said, smiling around the tightness in her throat.
“I know, darling. But this is one of those times the truth just isn't important.”
Molly didn't try any more weird digi-drugs after that. Or, if he did, he didn't try administering them directly through those red nodes again. Once or twice Jester had to treat his hangovers, but it was never quite so bad as that night.
She didn't ask him about the nodes. She wondered if she should be asking about them, as the Nein flew to the busiest planet they had ever set foot on as a group.
Her worries turned out not to matter all that much, as it was in Zadash that she learnt that even Molly had no idea what those nodes were.
3 Sydenstar, 19:24
“The name’s Tusktooth.”
The plump woman in green who had asked for his name freezes with her champagne glass halfway to her mouth. It’s the real deal, not the alt-alcohol stuff made from one of dozens of genetically engineered strains of a particular fungus which grows in the junkyards of fuel factories. Not that anyone could tell the difference by colour, taste, or smell alone. The only reason Fjord is certain is that it was proudly being discussed by the host of this party earlier that evening. Fjord has never seen a grape in-person, let alone drunk “retro” wine. Now that he has, he can't say it’s life changing.
“Is that a nickname?” asks the woman.
“Yes. My girlfriend gave it to me when I was awarded the paperwork making me the ship’s captain.”
The woman in green shuffles away shortly after.
Fjord has one eye on the host of the party and one on Jester, who has parked herself by one of the refreshment tables on the south side of the ballroom and begun stuffing the deep pockets of her dress with profiteroles. Dyomin, for all his attempts at charm, is struggling to hold the attention of a Duchess of Nicodranas Fjord doesn't know by name, close to the complicated glass sculpture standing tall in the center of the ballroom.
He thinks about approaching Jester — who is now cheerfully harassing another guest through a mouthful of frosted sugar cookies — for a moment before his ansible wakes up and hums against his hip. It’s a message from Veth.
FOUND THE PRIVATE WING. WILL BEGIN DISARMING SECURITY NOW. BE READY TO KEEP DYOMIN AND OTHERS DISTRACTED IF NEEDED. YOU CAN REPLY TO THIS MESSAGE.
Fjord forwards the message to Jester’s ansible, composes a short message of his own and sends it to Caleb, drains his champagne, and moves closer to Dyomin and his guests.
Beau has never appreciated being lied to but somehow hated Mollymauk’s explanation even more so. Of course she was pissed when he told them about his amnesia and subsequent apathy. What kind of person wouldn't want to know about the weird red nodes on their body which make their brain overdose itself with hormones if any old street drug is applied through them? Wouldn’t they want to know what the nodes’ real purpose is? Who designed them? If they’re dangerous?
Maybe the Soul would have wanted her to investigate, interrogate, archive, all that shit. Instead, Beau did as Molly said he wanted, and let it lie.
It had been easy to forget her frustrated curiosity in the moment, watching Molly prance around the pathways of the Hupperdook space station, flitting between external viewing windows like he’d never seen vacuum-compatible-fireworks before (in retrospect, he probably hadn't) and draping himself in the luminescent beads sold by residents on the streets every night. He laughed and danced and convinced the group to enter that stupid drinking contest. That station had been dark and smokey with industrial air, but what Beau could remember of that time through the haze of alt-beer was all bright happy stuff.
Later, she watched Molly die. She hadn't known what she was even looking at, at first.
The crew had been separated after angering one of the nastier gangs which patrol the Glory Run Belt. She, Caleb, Molly, and Veth had been hiding themselves in a seedy casino for the past three days, their damaged ship collecting rust in the basement, trying to re-group, fumbling for a plan of action. They didn't know where the rest of their friends were, if they had been captured, if they were hurt. They had tried fighting the Shepherds off themselves but had always been outnumbered.
Then Molly suggested attacking the gang through cyberspace. He suggested emptying the gang’s credit account, leaking their dealings with one mafia to the local rival syndicate, scrambling their communications, stealing any info which could reveal their crewmates’ locations. He said he could do it; Molly had been fiddling with the funny red nodes apparently (news to Beau) and had developed a knack for fucking with computers through those things.
He showed Beau how he would do it: the casino’s pleasure bar had sim-stations which, while not designed to do so, could be modified to directly access cyberspace. The stations were already equipped to put a person into trance and simulate a pre-generated scene accessed through cyberspace; all they had to do was peel back the metaphorical wallpaper.
Beau didn't understand, but had helped her friends tear into the computer’s innards and prepare for an invasion.
Then Molly plugged themself in. Caleb didn't want to watch, so stood guard in the hallway. Veth was keeping a close eye on the hardware. Beau sat by Molly, where they lay on the floor with closed eyes and wires sprouting from their forearms.
After a while (two hundred and twelve seconds according to Caleb) Molly’s heart stopped. The only indication that something had happened was the dull red light fading from the nodes on his arm and neck.
50 KB of data (largely trafficking records and blackmail material) had been transferred to the archive aboard the Nein, as well as a little less than two hundred credits. Caleb theorised Mollymauk had been caught by the gang’s security systems partway through his infiltration. It had looked to him like whatever virus or security program responded took so much of a toll on Molly’s brain that his body simply shut down.
Beau didn't care about the wordy explanations. She wanted her crew back. She wanted revenge. She didn't care to understand what had happened until much later.
3 Sydenstar, 19:24:03
The Somnovem abandoned their bodies a long time ago. Now, their blank child-like faces float projected across the surface of a prism they've called Cognouza; a sprawling maze of numbers and hatred much smaller on the inside than out.
And the Somnovem only dream. Sleepers without bodies, Lady Vess’s notes had called them. They dream and they build and rebuild their digital palace until they forget what it must have been like to be awake in the first place.
Hundreds of eyes cover the walls of Cognouza and watch for any minds naïve enough to approach in search of data, power, money, or whatever else. Vess DeRogna had wanted knowledge. Now her body is suspended in 57 Kelvin stasis within the Nein’s lower deck. And her mind is scrambled across the infinite and dense, blood-red layers of Cognouza’s cyberspace. They are not here for her.
Those red, red eyes are staring the three of them down now as they approach. Caleb knows they’re not really eyes, just his own tranquilised imagination attempting to translate the torrent of data running through his brain into digestible imagery, and that knowledge throws him off-balance briefly. His approach stutters before he re-aligns himself beside the dark puddle of numbers which is Essek. They aren’t eyes; they’re Cognouza’s security protocols, firewalls, and scanners, and they’re capable of destroying an entire star system’s power grid in less than ten seconds if they detect an attempt at intrusion.
Caleb, Essek, and Beau are sliding like oil over water towards Cognouza’s walls. They’re going to get into the system through a tricky combination of lies — Caleb will be the first liar.
He has the modified Luxon code on-hand, metaphorically speaking. It’s been re-packaged as a simple inquiry message sent from Lucien’s ansible (a novel trick which Essek had fondly named his ‘Rosohnan Horse’) and should, if all goes well, be let through the blood-red firewall.
Once Cognouza opens the package, the code should instantly begin duplicating itself, slowing the Somnovem’s processing time, overloading their minds, and manually unlocking the security. Best of all, the Somnovem will be entirely unaware of the primary stage of their attack, thanks to the strong hypnotic effect inherited from the original Luxon code.
It’ll be upwards of two minutes before the code is in full effect, so Caleb silently counts the milliseconds. It is odd to be able to track time to an even more exact degree than usual — they’ve only been under for a little over three minutes so far, though it feels like hours — but it is coming in useful.
So when Caleb receives the encrypted message from Fjord’s ansible [ALL CLEAR. RIDE ‘EM COWBOY], he forwards the Luxon code to Cognouza within the next millisecond.
Lady Vess DeRogna was bad news. You didn't need to be a psychoanalyst of Caduceus’ talent to know that, but it was worth repeating at a time like then.
Learning that she had employed the crew of the Nein while comfortable with the fact that many of them might die during the mission and leaving them half in the dark about the danger involved was barely a surprise in the end. Finding her dead body in a pool of blood less than 24 hours after becoming her aides was rather unfortunate, but far from the most distressing thing the crew had seen, nor was it the worst way a job of theirs had ended. It was the subsequent discovery of the late DeRogna’s wish to join a tech-cult called the Somnovem which truly freaked Fjord the fuck out.
The nine garnet-like nodes modded into her torso filled in some of the blanks. Books, diaries, and cryptic explanations from the one called Lucien later answered broad questions. Beau of course had her theories to fill in the rest.
Some lunatic bioengineers from a centuries-dead planet had found a way to transplant a mind from the body into a computer, prolonging one’s lifespan to a state of effective immortality. These nine so-called scientists destroyed their own mortal bodies and hid themselves in their private corner of cyberspace with their vast archives of knowledge out of paranoia: fear that envious outsiders might take their deathlessness from them.
The Somnovem had sensed Molly as he’s left his body that night and snatched him up, mistaking him for Lucien, the mind who had piloted their body in the past. Molly was in Cognouza now. Judging by the way the crew had found DeRogna’s body, Lucien had facilitated a similar fate for her.
And now that man was walking around in their friend’s body, thanks to this freaky mind-transmission technology, doing stars know what.
For over a week the Nein chased Lucien across the skies. On the surface of one tiny moon — barely more than a boulder hurtling through the vacuum — they ambushed Lucien, separated him from his merry band of lunatics, and got so close to catching him that Fjord can still feel that bastard’s spacesuit slipping through his fingers.
As Lucien’s ship took off from the moon’s surface in his craft, Jester made a split-second decision, one she cried over for hours afterwards; before he could leave her range, she fired her heavy-duty radiant cannon at the craft, cracking open its hull and dooming Lucien to exposure.
When they recovered the body Caduceus pronounced it dead, again. They paid the respects they hadn't had the time to do last time and laid his body in a cryo-tank in the ship’s lower deck to keep him comfortable until they next landed on a planet suitable for his burial.
Jester had suggested leaving him on Trostenwald. Veth had briefly suggested the planet where he had last died. Yasha said it would be best to simply wait and wander and let the right place find them.
They spent the next day celebrating. Beau and Veth got drunk enough to perform a shaky rendition of The Lucidian Moons , a song Marion had sung at Jester’s most recent birthday party. Caduceus cooked the crew a meal with only two moss dishes. At the end of the day Yasha sat down at the front of the observation deck and plucked out a strange little song on her harp. It was a wonderful day, until they received the news about Essek.
Things became a little complicated after that.
3 Sydenstar, 19:25
Veth is buried in wires down to her hips. She would be blind too, if it weren't for the goggles Beau had handed over as they split into their teams earlier that day, saying “if you lose them I’ll jettison you” before pulling her into a crushing hug.
The grip Yasha has around her left ankle tightens for a moment.
“Everything okay out there?”
“Yes,” replies Yasha. “I thought I saw a light flash on one of these walls for a moment, but I must have imagined it.”
“We’re okay, Yash. We’ve got time.”
“We’ve only got a couple minutes left.”
“That’s fine. It’s fine.”
Veth severs the final wire with the edge of her pen knife before readjusting Beau’s goggles and beginning to wriggle her way backward out of the hole in the floor. Yasha helps her to her feet.
“That disabled the locks, so...this should…” Veth puts her hand up to the lock-pad by the door, just a half-inch from the dimly glowing surface. She holds her breath, closes her eyes, rests her other hand on the SOS button of her ansible. “Get ready to run, otherwise.”
Her palm touches the pad. The interface hums, tones, and the door slides open.
Yasha coos and quietly claps behind her. “Good job!”
Veth sighs and leads her into the room. There’s a long bank of screens waiting for them on the other side of the door. Most are blank, but many are boiling with green and white text, numbers, symbols Veth only half-understands. She’s the hardware expert, not the number nerd (Caleb, she thinks bitterly, would have loved to be in this room. Sadly, he’s on the other side of the system, unconscious, and less than a millisecond from having his brains melted.)
Yasha posts herself by the door and draws her heavy rifle. There shouldn’t be any other living beings on this floor of the satellite, but they can never be too safe; Dyomin is a paranoid and unpleasant man, and Veth wouldn’t put it past him to protect his vault by other means.
The vault in question is no bigger than the Nein’s common room, but holds enough rotten data to bring down Dyomin, half the aristocracy of the Menagerie system, at least two syndicates, and (if all goes well) a certain group of disembodied assholes. And it’s all tucked away inside a few dozen precious data drives.
Veth begins her search at once. The first two cabinets yield a combination of old-school paperwork and digital archives. She itches to dig through those files for only a moment before shaking herself and getting back to work.
The third cabinet is a bunch of sleek silver cassettes. Probably porn.
The fourth cabinet finally shows promise. There are three drives in total, but only one bears the name she’s looking for: ATROPA B. — scrawled in the same skeevy handwriting Jester had forged to make her and Fjord’s party invites.
Veth grabs the disc and hisses to Yasha. “I found it!”
Yasha glances over her shoulder. Her eyes lock onto the disc Veth is waving at her and beams. “You can send it from here, yes?”
“Yep!” Veth scurries over to the main console and quickly finds the disc input tray. She hums to herself as she punches in the address code for the Nein and readies the data transfer.
“Um, Veth,” says Yasha. “We’ve got seventy seconds until Beau and the scientists get rip-corded.”
“On it, on it.” Veth opens the data drive on-screen. There are two files. “There are two files in here.”
“What?” Yasha turns around. “Why?”
“I don't know. The first one is our virus, I mean, look at that file size. But the other is...I don't know.”
“Fifty-nine seconds, Veth.”
“Okay, okay. Uh. It doesn't seem to be a program. Maybe an image? Like a sim-file?”
“Veth!”
“Okay!” Veth taps the delivery icon.
The screen blinks: SENT.
Veth and Yasha stand in the dark room full of screens and don’t breathe. It’s up to the nerds now.
It had been almost a week since they’d rescued Essek. Little had changed on the ship, though; eight of them now sat around the table for evening meals, Essek shared Caleb’s cabin, wormhole equations were being solved just a little quicker than usual. Nobody had any objections to the new member of the crew. He was one of them and he was healing from the mistakes of his past, like half of them. Like Yasha herself.
If she stood by the small portholes in the starboard wall of the common room Yasha could catch a glimpse of Essek and Caleb’s dance outside. It made her fingers itch for her harp, which was stowed away somewhere in her and Beau’s cabin.
“He’s going to do good things,” said Caduceus. He stood in the far corner of the common room, trimming a hanging succulent plant. “I’m not certain if he thinks so just yet, but he is going to do a lot of good.”
“I hope so.”
Caduceus hummed one long low note of satisfaction. Yasha shifted her fingers against her thigh to mime the right string to match.
“Maybe there’s something he’ll want to do,” said Yasha, “that we’ll help him to do. He mentioned a younger brother once. I would help him find his brother, if he wanted to see him, even though it’s dangerous for him now.”
“That’s a nice thing to say. I’m sure he would love to hear it from you.”
The scientists drifted out of sight again behind the jut of the ship’s hull. Yasha crossed her arms and walked away to join Caduceus. “I am not very good at...um, delicate conversations.”
“That’s not true,” said Caduceus. “I have seen you talk with Beau, Caleb, even Veth about all kinds of delicate topics. You may not be the best at, ah, stepping carefully, so to speak, verbally, but you have an effect on people. You make people feel safe. You calm them.”
Yasha fidgeted.
Caduceus went on, carefully inspecting the soil around the base of the succulent, “For me, the feeling reminds me of...hm, the rain showers of early springtime in the grove. Back on my planet. I could sit by the windows and do nothing but listen to the sound of rain falling on the temple roof all day and all night.” He paused. “Of course, that rain was acidic enough to burn through anything softer than marble. I couldn’t exactly leave the temple to do anything else,” he laughed. “But it was pretty soothing.”
Yasha sat down on a couch in the middle of the room. A half-empty box of spiced biscuits (nicked by Jester from an office on Rosohna last week) had been left between two cushions. Yasha began to nibble on one of them as she watched the portholes.
The Lucidian Nebula was beautiful. It had been beautiful the first time she’d seen it, so many months ago, and each time since.
Caduceus eased into the seat by her side with a sigh. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’ve been thinking about Mollymauk.”
Caduceus cocked his head, but his expression did not change. “Your friend.”
“We’ve been able to do so many amazing things lately. Things that I...I’ll be honest, I didn't think were possible.” She smiled ruefully. “Or maybe I’m just a pessimist.”
Yasha waited for him to interrupt, but Caduceus was busying himself cleaning his little watering can with a rag. She swallowed and went on.
“I...uh, I was wondering if there was any way to bring him back. Mollymauk, I mean. There might be.”
“I am not the one to speak to about it.”
“You’ve brought some of us back before, though.”
“From the brink,” he corrected. “Your friend has been dead for a long time, and his body has died a few times over.” Caduceus paused his cleaning. “This is...ah...a complicated situation.”
“But do you think it’s possible?”
He stared into his watering can for a minute. Yasha had no clue what he was looking for, but Caduceus must have seen something , because he blinked, sighed, and set the can down. “If your friend should be brought back, then there will be a way to do so.”
“I don't know how to do it.”
“Lucky for us, we have some very smart friends.”
3 Sydenstar, 19:27:03
Essek’s skull buzzes. It’s been buzzing since he was put under, a strange sensation that he could only assume is the result of his physiology revolting against the unnatural semi-conscious state. He would love to be discussing this experience with Caleb at the moment.
Instead, he’s hurtling towards a gleaming red behemoth and he can't see his own fingers (this is what bothers him most, absurdly). And it's not his skull that’s buzzing: he’s just imagining it.
But then, the buzzing intensifies, and Essek knows, deep-down somehow, that a file has just been delivered to the ship’s system, transferred to the sim-system he and his two friends are plugged into, and finally deposited into the computer temporarily transplanting his organic brain. It’s a little like recalling a childhood memory through scent. It clicks into place.
Essek wastes no time; Caleb has been toying with the Somnovem long enough already. He sends the ATROPA B. program towards Cognouza, like ushering a child homeward. It moves slowly at first, as if heavy, then gathers speed and momentum until it’s a twenty-story-tall wave of ink.
Caleb instantly backs away, barely avoiding the tide. Beauregard is still out of sight and waiting for her moment.
The wave crashes over the walls of Cognouza, where the eyes wait for intruders, and Essek wishes he could hold his breath in this place.
But the security does not trigger. The impenetrable walls flicker away and melt like ricepaper. The program floods Cognouza and begins to pick away at the libraries and cathedrals and palaces of data hidden inside.
Essek thinks he can hear screaming in there. It’s possible, offers a severely unhelpful part of his imagination, afterall there are supposedly souls trapped in there too.
He doesn't like that thought one bit and swiftly pushes it away.
Meanwhile, the stronghold is hemorrhaging data. Dyomin’s code is doing what it was born to do and it is snatching away the Somnovem’s intelligence files, all their hard work, and sending it far across cyberspace. Some are turning up on the black market. Some are being instantly sold to a number of syndicates. Some are appearing in the Cobalt Soul’s inbox from an anonymous sender. It doesn't matter. What matters is that the Somnovem is under attack. The Somnovem are being weakened. The Somnovem must retaliate.
But the Somnuvem have been slowed by the Luxon code already and can't fight the tide as they usually would. And they’re too overwhelmed now to fix that pesky security problem now. All they can do is follow the data trail.
“There! It’s working!” is the message Essek transmits directly into Beau and Caleb’s minds. “They think Dyomin is attacking!”
There’s a roaring as what’s left of the security begins its retaliation. Beau must have already taken her cue because she’s rushing up towards the Somnovum’s core, where their target should be. And Caleb should have rip-corded already, now that his job is done.
But he hasn't. Caleb is half-submerged in the virus flooding the city.
There’s no time to pause and assess the damage; Essek dives towards Caleb and braces against the swarm which threatens to tear him apart.
They never tried this in their drills. Essek doesn’t know what else to do, though, and he isn’t about to leave anyone behind, so he sends the briefest prayer skyward and pulls the shape of Caleb’s mind into the halo of his own and executes the rip-cord sequence for the both of them and—
He has a pounding headache, but as soon as Essek has his eyes open he’s lurching across the med bay towards Caleb’s cot, pulling wires and tape away from his own body as he goes. Frumpkin jumps from his lap with a yowl and skitters away under a table. Caduceus startles a little but doesn't quite spill his tea. Beau is still unconscious.
Caleb has his eyes open. There is bleeding from both nostrils, but he’s breathing and grunting in response to the light slaps Essek is giving his cheeks.
“Caleb, say something!”
“Feel like shit.”
“Oh, thank the Light,” says Essek. He pushes Caleb’s sweaty hair away from his forehead and pulls in a shaky breath of sterile air. “I—I couldn’t feel Frumpkin purring, I’m sorry. Not even a little.”
As he’s pulling Caleb’s head and shoulders into the cradle of his arms, Essek stares at the only one of them still dreaming.
“Moons and stars guide you, Beauregard.”
“This is a terrible idea,” said Caleb. Next to him, Essek looked to be barely restraining himself from sharing his own opinion.
“It’s dumb,” agreed Fjord. “It’s really dumb. But...” He sighed. “It’s on-brand. You can’t say it wouldn't be on-brand.”
Caleb scowled at his knitted fingers. Everyone was in the control room, most standing around the hip-height countertop which served as interface, map, and blackboard for the crew. Beau and Yasha stood against the wall, close enough to be part of the conversation but far enough to make it clear they may both duck out if the conversation took a turn. Caleb wouldn't blame them.
“We have a history of doing dumb shit, ja . But someday our luck is bound to run out. Like it did when we lost them in the first place.”
“But we’re, like, super strong now. And we have so many powerful friends. We can’t be pussies about it and just say, like, oh the Somnovem are just so scary we shouldn't even try ,” drawled Jester. “That’s dumb, Caleb.”
“How would we even do it,” asked Beau, arms crossed. “Caleb? Give us a rough plan. It doesn’t need to be good , just give us an idea.”
Caleb sighed and put his face in his hands. From behind his fingers he grumbled, “We would need to face them in cyberspace. Somehow, deactivate their security then destroy their inner matrix. We wouldn't get anywhere close to Molly otherwise.”
“That doesn't sound so bad,” said Jester.
“I don't know how we would go about doing either of those things.”
“Then we find someone who does,” said Fjord. A few pairs of eyes turned towards him. Fjord cleared his throat. “Well, we know folks with experience doing this kind of stuff, right? Yussa has messed around with cyberspace before. Plus, he owes us.”
“That is true,” said Caleb. He scrubbed his eyes and straightened, tapping the power key for the countertop. He began sketching loose semi-transparent diagrams with his index fingers in the air between himself and his friends. “But Yussa has never dealt with the Somnovum. He does not know how Cognouza operates. What we do know is what we’ve learnt from the late DeRogna and Lucien. There is an aggressive security system — so aggressive that it picked up Molly while he wasn't even close by, so to speak. It is capable of doing what it did to our friend, capturing a mind and locking it away from the body, and worse, what it did to DeRogna. Either way, death sentence.”
“Can’t we, like, disguise ourselves or something?” asked Jester, chin resting on her folded arms.
“A shield. Possibly. Yussa might be able to help us with that, given he is fond of his privacy in both reality and unreality.”
“See? It’s not so complicated.” Jester began doodling a tiny cock and balls at the bottom of Caleb’s work. “I bet Yussa would love to help out.”
“We still need to do something about the security,” said Caleb, circling a group of eyes he’d drawn in red and making extra room for Jester’s illustration. “I could try to cook something up with what little I know of hacking, but—”
“I have something of an idea,” interrupted Essek. “If you do not mind, Caleb.”
Caleb shook his head. “No, go ahead.”
Essek smiled briefly. “I have been tinkering with what remains of my research into the Luxon code. Raw, it is still inscrutable. It will take generations of minds such as my own to unravel the extent of its secrets, although I will not stop trying, but, ah, what I am trying to say is that what knowledge I have managed to extract may prove itself useful.” He cleared himself a patch of clear workspace in the air, but made sure not to disturb Jester’s illustrations. “The Luxon is dense. For a time, I worried my people might try to use its power in war, as a weapon, to overwhelm the unknowing with its immense and scourging wisdom. I do not wish to do this either, but—”
“Cut to the chase, Thelyss,” snapped Beau.
Caleb shot a bitter look her way. He was quite enjoying this peek into Essek’s private studies. But Essek went on unfazed.
“I have developed a miniature and modified Luxon code,” he said, finishing an equation Caleb wished he had time to examine before Essek pinched his fingers, shrinking the formula down until it was only a small blue box, then moving it across the workspace until it met Caleb’s diagrams. “I believe it is capable of...how would one of you put it... tanking the security. It will take a minute or two to reach full effect, but once that is done Cognouza will be unable to react with its usual speed. Their judgement may also be hindered so threats may be more easily mistaken.”
“Like getting the Somnovem super drunk,” asserted Jester.
Essek made a face. “I suppose.”
“Sounds like a good start to me,” said Fjord. “Thank you, Essek. Can you and Caleb confirm for us that this will work as you say it will?”
The novelty of being a part of the crew’s plans for once was showing on Essek’s face as a mild wildness in the eye, but when Caleb met his gaze and rested a hand on his forearm Essek seemed to relax.
“Yes,” said Caleb. “We can do that.”
“Okay. So what’s the next step?”
3 Sydenstar, 19:28
Something goes pop, all the screens go black, the overhead lights die, and Veth screams.
“I’m blind!”
Yasha flings an arm out to where Veth had stood before all the lights went out and grabs a handful of fabric. Veth shrieks again. “You’re okay,” says Yasha, trying to sound calm. She’s more than a little shaky with nerves herself. “I’m gonna lead you towards the hallway, okay? We’re getting the fuck out of here.”
Veth lets Yasha pull her out of the computer room and back the way they came through the dark. After a moment of shuffling Veth activates a small light, then fixes it to her forehead.
“This is a good sign,” Veth says in a way which seems more for her own comfort than Yasha’s. Her tiny blue-white spotlight sweeps over the walls of the narrow corridor. “The satellite’s system is being shredded by the Somnovem. They must be pretty pissed off, but Caleb and the others will have cover at least. We’re lucky the oxygen is still working.”
That makes Yasha stumble a little.
“But yeah, we definitely should get the hell out and back to the shuttle before anything else breaks.”
It’s then that something else in the walls goes pop .
It was another day of planning. Caduceus sat in on the conversation as usual, hearing everything and understanding about half of it. He was primarily interested in mixing up a selection of dried herbs he’d bought from a reststop a few days ago, thinking it might better suit Essek’s palette, and monitoring his friends’ emotional wellbeing.
The previous meeting had ended unpleasantly. While looking for a way to weaken the Somnovem enough to retrieve Mollymauk’s soul, Beau had suggested asking the local mafia for a lead. Veth had agreed it was their best chance at bagging a virus nasty enough to rip the stronghold down, even once Essek’s code had slowed the security, and most of the others had been positive to neutral about the plan.
Apart from Jester, who had objected entirely. She was afraid that any contact she made with a crime ring might draw attention to her father, who had only gone into hiding a few weeks prior.
The rest of the crew had agreed and dropped the idea.
Yesterday's meeting had concluded with the revelation that Beau and Veth had contacted the Myriad anyway. Jester had not been pleased.
Now, those of the crew who were gathered around the table in the control room were discussing what to make of their new intel: the Myriad did not have a code fit for this job, but they used to. It had been sold to a noble of the Menagerie System several cycles ago. This wasn't all bad news, apparently. Beau, Veth, Caleb, Essek, and Fjord were all furiously noting down ideas onto the floating whiteboard. Yasha sat with Caduceus on the floor and watched him sort his herbs in silence.
Meanwhile, Jester was sitting this meeting out. Caduceus had spoken to her the day before and helped resolve the conflict, but there was still a tremor of unease on the ship. Caduceus would be glad once this particular adventure was over.
“Our smartest will go inside,” Caleb was saying. “Veth has figured out how to modify the sim-station technology to support up to three of us. It’s for the best that it is myself, Essek, and Beauregard who are put under.”
“Hey!” said Beau. “No way am I going in there. Put me on Yasha’s team. I’m sneaky too, I can help her and Veth get to the computer vault.”
“They will be fine, Beauregard.”
Yasha was looking over at the group around the table now, saying nothing, but paying attention.
“I’m not even anywhere as smart as you and Essek! Put me on Yasha’s team, you little shit.”
“You are sharper than you let on.”
“I don't know shit about computers. I’m a fucking librarian.”
“What’s the square root of five hundred and twenty-nine?”
“Twenty-three. Fuck you.”
Caduceus screwed the lid of his new herb mix into place and passed it to Yasha. “This will be really nice with the green soup you helped me make last week,” he told her. “Don't you think?”
She nodded.
“What do you think of this?” He held out the root Veth had brought him from the Asarian marketplace. It looked a little like a pale-yellow sweet potato the length of Yasha’s forearm, but with a rough scab-like texture. An ugly thing, but once Caduceus had scraped away the skin it gave off a rich and spicy perfume.
“Maybe fry it?” suggested Yasha. “I don't know. I’m not much of a cook.”
“Hmm. A stir-fry. Good idea.”
Meanwhile, Fjord was fiddling with the digital display. “Caleb, update on the virus situation.”
“Oh, I’ve got an idea,” interrupted Veth, before Caleb could do more than open his mouth. “So, the Somnuvem are old, and I mean old old, right? Even if they are super-humanly intelligent there's no way they’ve got the hardware to do things that our hardware still can’t. Maybe they've got some crazy software, but not the goods . You follow?”
Beau narrowed her eyes at Veth. “Elaborate.”
“We could park the Nein somewhere even the best tracking technology in the galaxy can't find us. See, the Somnovem will notice a program of that size being transferred across cyberspace, and even if we disguise it as something more innocent like a private launch code they’ll likely be curious enough to track it to its source. But, if we were, say, floating somewhere inside the Rumblecusp halo, when they follow the data-trail we’ll just be a blurry little speck of lint on their screen. As far as they’re concerned, the virus came from Dyomin’s personal computer.”
Beau blew a long breath between her lips and leant back. Caleb and Essek stared at Veth, while Fjord rubbed his chin in thought.
Caduceus understood very little of that, but figured it was indeed good news.
“We’ll have to do it quickly,” said Essek after a moment of quiet. “We can’t risk carrying the virus on the ship’s computer or the sim-stations for long, even while in an untraceable location such as that.”
“But—! Hang on,” said Fjord, apparently now done processing Veth’s speech. “The Rumblecusp halo? That place is an asteroid belt!”
“So we have the ship parked there while Yasha and Veth are sending the virus to us in the ship,” said Beau, ignoring Fjord’s sputtering, “but the file doesn't touch the Nein’s system.”
“No,” agreed Caleb. “This would be a minutes-long operation.”
“We’re sticking to the party-plan,” said Beau.
“ Ja . It is still our best chance of smuggling Veth onto the satellite. Fjord, do you think you can keep heat off our friends if alarms are triggered?”
“You want me to attend a party,” groans Fjord, “while my ship is floating through a fucking asteroid belt on the other side of the system, and the only conscious member of my crew on-board is Caduceus?” He turns around. “No offence.”
“None taken,” said Caduceus, not looking up from the ugly root. “What do you think, could I get away with sautéing this?”
3 Sydenstar, 19:28
Jester had been halfway through retelling a riveting story about a flock of space-jellies to an older woman she’d cornered at the party when all the lights had gone out. The woman had screamed and instantly tripped over her own skirt, by the sound of it, but Jester had frozen still until the emergency lights clicked on three seconds later.
Now, Fjord is jogging towards her from the other side of the ballroom. He looks real good in that suit, but it isn't exactly designed for this; the shoulders are creasing weirdly as he runs.
“We should get out of here!” he shouts over the other guests’ panic as he nears her. “Back to our shuttle!”
Then, something else goes wrong. First it’s a warbling alarm echoing around the hall which lasts only a moment before it cuts off abruptly. In its place is a funny sense of vertigo.
She hears Fjord yelp. He’s not running anymore, he’s floating a foot off the ground and hurtling towards her at an unfortunate velocity.
When Fjord collides into her it's less of a tumble and more of a bounce. Jester squeals as her feet leave the ballroom floor and both of them begin spinning out of control into the air. It’s quickly proven impossible to make any sense of “up” or “down”.
They’re not the only ones flying either; most of the guests are flailing around like dozens of untethered brightly-colored balloons, some clinging to light fixtures on the wall or to each other. At least one person has recently lost their hors d'oeuvres and is frantically breast-stroking away from their floating mess. Jester wants to laugh at them, but she and Fjord are still spinning like a sycamore seed in slow-motion, and she’s a little distracted by the fact that she’s currently holding his back to her stomach.
Jester puffs at her hair which is moving around her jaw and nose much like seaweed and man-handles Fjord until they’re face to face.
“So,” she says as she tries to ignore her own motion-sickness. “The grav-system went down, huh?”
Fjord looks around them for a moment. “Uh. Yep.”
“The Somnovem must be real pissed.”
“Seems like it.”
“Gonna be pretty hard for us to get out of here quickly now, huh?”
“Yep.”
There’s a pause of about two seconds before Jester bursts into laughter. Fjord joins her a moment later, palm pressed to his forehead like he still can't quite process what he’s looking at as he stares about at the ballroom.
“Man, I can’t wait to tell mama about this,” says Jester through the giggles. “It’s like a prank I didn't even have anything to do with. They all look so stupid!”
As she says it, Lord Dyomin swears loudly from where he’s suspended above the south side of the hall and getting himself hopelessly tangled in a curtain.
“I do hope you’ll be painting this,” says Fjord.
“Oh, for sure .”
“And don’t miss these floating cakes and Martini glasses.”
“Ohhh, and all the underwear we’re getting to see now half of us are upside-down.” Jester gasps and pushes at her own billowing skirts. “You’re not trying to look up my skirt are you, Fjord? Taking advantage of this magical moment to be a pervert ? Shame on you.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Fjord looks over her shoulder and grunts. “Hold tight.”
“Huh?”
They collide into something solid. Jester grabs it instinctually, feeling the phantom sensation of falling as it begins to move away from her and Fjord again, and pulls herself onto the thing. It's the large blue and green glass sculpture from the centre of the ballroom floor. It looks a little like a fountain with tiny dolphins, seamonsters, and mermaids dancing around in a basin, except it is entirely functionless.
Jester and Fjord each hook an arm around a part of the glass fountain, not far from one another, and somewhat anchored. They watch as some of the guests begin to haul themselves out of the ballroom by grabbing parts of the walls and ceilings of adjoining corridors with varying levels of success.
“They’ll get the grav-system fixed eventually,” says Fjord.
“Eventually,” agrees Jester.
Essek had never been sweatier. He wore the same clothes he’d been wearing for weeks now, the small wardrobe donated to him by his friends after his rescue, which are mostly simple shirts, overalls, and cargo trousers. It was comfortable and practical, but had never felt particularly smothering until now.
“Is it always like this?” he muttered to Caleb, who was elbow-deep in the jury-rigged sim-station set up in the med bay.
“Hm?”
“Everything you do.”
“Oh, terrifying? Ja , definitely.”
Essek knotted his fingers together in the way his mother used to hate to catch him doing, the way that made his knuckles turn grey. He tightened his grip until the shaking stopped. “I wish I was more use to you.”
Caleb had gotten to his feet at some point. He clasped his hands around Essek’s. “Why do you say that?”
“I am so scared,” said Essek with a smile. “I have never done something so reckless before. I do not say this because I want pity, or support, or to be discharged from the job I am to do — I am going to do that job. I want to help you and I am going to, but...stars, I cannot stop shaking.” He laughed. “You would think I’ve done things like this before now, as a scientist, but truly I have had others do most of the dangerous work for me.”
Essek watched Caleb’s expression harden, but not unkindly. “You still think yourself a coward?”
“I am afraid that I may act like one when push comes to shove.”
“Do you think we would have given you this role if we thought the same?”
Essek’s fingers fidgeted. Before he could even begin to twist them again, Caleb gently pulled his hands apart and brought them up to rest on his shoulders. The warmth bleeding through Caleb’s shirt and the pressure of Caleb’s hands around his wrists grounded made Essek want to collapse into Caleb’s chest then. It would have been nice to pretend this was a normal afternoon aboard the Nein for a moment or two.
He sighed. “No. I’m sorry for this.”
“No apologies today, Essek. You are a member of this crew, an invaluable one at that. And even if you were to make a mistake I would not hate you for it. I wouldn’t even fault you for it. What we are about to do is stupid and reckless and no-one in their right mind would do the same. But we are doing it because we never leave a friend behind. Look at me?”
Essek raised his eyes to Caleb’s. That bright blue which occurs nowhere naturally in Rosohna’s flora or fauna never failed to stagger him. He would miss being able to look at Caleb during the dreaming.
“I will not leave you,” said Caleb.
“That certainly would be odd, after the lengths you went to last time I dug myself into a grave.”
Caleb smiled. “You are still a terrible joker, Thelyss. Lucky you’re pretty.”
Essek rolled his eyes and pulled back his hands. “Shall we give our friends their send-off, Widogast?”
The Nein’s shuttle was big enough for three, technically. The main cockpit was designed for a pilot and co-pilot to sit side-by-side above the storage compartment, which was usually filled with goodies from whatever planet or moon the shuttle had been sent down to. Essek had learnt that sometimes a third passenger would be crammed into the three-by-four-foot space, utterly breaking intergalactic health and safety regulations. It hadn’t come as much of a shock at the time.
When Essek and Caleb joined them, Beau was in the loading bay helping Yasha fold herself into the storage compartment. Veth, who knelt nearby surrounded by an array of tools, would have to eventually join Yasha in the same hiding spot. Essek didn't look forward to that part of the equation.
Meanwhile, Jester and Fjord were showing off their party clothes.
“I hope I won't have to fight anyone in this,” said Jester, picking up her bright green skirts. “It’s so pretty. But, even if I did”— she jumped into a stance and put up her fists, making the short silky sleeves bulge a little around her biceps — “I’ll kick anyone’s ass to protect Fjord.”
Fjord cleared his throat. “I doubt we’ll be joining or starting any fights.”
“Dont fucking say that,” Beau shot over her shoulder, pausing her not-so-subtle fondling of Yasha’s thigh. “You’ll jinx it.”
Jester giggled. “I hope I get to punch Dyomin in his stupid face. We didn't scare him enough last time he came crawling back to mama.”
Seeing her so lively calmed something in Essek; Jester had been rather miserable lately due to the mafia incident and, though she wouldn't have ever admitted it, perhaps feeling as if she had little to offer during the planning process. It had been torture to watch.
Essek had tried reassuring her one night that her help was invaluable (her forged party invites were crucial for a start) but she had only smiled wanly back at him and said something along the lines of, “I know, but thank you.” He still was not entirely sure whether Jester still doubted her contributions or not, or if she was weighed down by some other trouble. She was hard to read sometimes, and Essek had never been the most intuitive.
As she lowered her fists, Jester’s eyes landed on Essek and Caleb by the doorway. “Oh, hey! Just in time!”
“Just, um, saying goodbye,” said Essek, wincing slightly at his own words.
Jester trotted over with a flurry of fabric. “Don’t worry, Essek. This’ll be over in no time at all.” She beamed at him, twisting idly in place to make her skirts sway around her legs. She wore heels, bringing herself up to match Essek’s height. “Afterwards, I’ll take you to a Nicodranas party. A proper one. We can make it a date!”
“I, ah, I would be honoured.”
She took one of his hands and linked her right pinky finger around his. “When this is over,” she said, eyes locked onto their fingers, “we’re going on a best-friend date.”
“Best-friend date,” repeated Essek, blinking.
“ Best-friend date ,” repeated Jester in a comically low tone, waggling their hands in the air. “Caleb’s not invited because he brings the room down. You’re much more fun, Essek.”
“Okay, okay,” said Caleb. “Thank you, Jester.”
Beau eventually wrangled a complaining Veth between Yasha’s ankles and made last-minute adjustments to the shuttle’s controls. Jester joined Fjord in the pilot seats and, not long later, Essek found himself waving goodbye.
Four of his friends left the loading bay and shrank into the sky. They’d arrive at the satellite in two hours’ time. Until then, he and the others would wait.
The time went quickly. It was only half an hour until he, Caleb, and Beau would be put into that strange semi-sleep of the sim-station, and Essek didn't know how to feel.
“Hold my hand,” said Caleb.
Essek crouched by the cot Caleb already lied on and clasped his hands between both of his own. He pressed Caleb’s knuckles to his forehead and took a deep breath. “I’m still shaking, Caleb.”
“That’s okay. I am too, a little.”
Beauregard was still applying her sticky nodes with Caduceus’ help across the med bay. Essek listened to Beau’s muffled complaints as Caleb tapped a button on the side of his ansible.
“I won't be able to hold your hand in there,” said Caleb. “But, for good luck, keep Frumpkin, please.”
The cat was already hopping up onto the chair Essek would be put to sleep on. Essek stared at the creature, then back at Caleb. “Thank you.”
“He’ll stay on your lap. I don’t know if you’ll be able to feel his purring while we’re asleep. Maybe. Let me know once we’re out, ja ?”
“Ok. I will.”
3 Sydenstar, 19:28:26
Beau is alone; she can feel it just as clearly as she can see it, the blinking cursors where her two scientists used to be. She doesn't give herself the time to think about it, knowing from the practice runs she and Caleb did over the past week that any lapse in confidence will erode concentration, erode efficiency, and get her brain melted.
In the back of her mind, Beau is also aware that ATROPA B. is still running. It really shouldn't be, according to their drills. The virus has done its damage and Cognouza’s defenses are lowered. But something is still buffering in the background.
Whatever , thinks Beau, I’m out of here in two more seconds .
She slides into the Somnovem’s inner matrix. There’s so much data stored here, horribly powerful stuff the Cerberus Corp would probably start wars to get their grubby hands on, so much that Beau would be paralized if she didn't know that half of those files had already been cleared out by the virus.
Plus, she knows what she’s looking for.
Beau begins searching for it. The process would take less than a second, but it feels like minutes as the scouring program Yussa had helped cook up rattled through the Somnovem’s greatest secrets.
Behind her, another wall collapses, bringing with it another torrent of killer-virus still gnawing away at the shadow fortress. Beau wills herself smaller, smaller, nothing but an ansible notification, nothing worth examining, don’t mind me .
The scour is reaching the end of its search.
And a great red eye opens directly in front of Beauregard.
First, Beau thinks how stupid it would be to have to rip-cord so close to the end and have nothing to show for it. What a colossal waste of time.
Second, she wonders how painful it might be to die while dreaming.
Third, the eye screams directly at her with the voice of a metallic child. Wailing, pained, furious. Louder than a ship’s engine. Glass and steel slam down around Beau from all sides, severing Beau’s comms with the sim-system and the ship, disabling the rip-cord program. She’s stuck.
Another two red eyes blink open on the grey-black walls of Cognouza’s maze. As the fortress trembles, a voice leaps from the floor to Beau’s mind like an electrical current and shrieks,
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO US.”
A fourth eye opens directly below her.
And then, finally, the file which has been buffering for the past minute finally opens.
Because, and Beau would never have expected to thank the moons and stars for this, Lord Dyomin is a pervert. The data drive Essek had emptied into Cognouza’s gullet had held not only the killer-virus, but a forty-two-second video clip formatted for a high-tech sim-station. And, just as Beau readies herself for mental liquefaction, a ginormous feminine figure materialises upon the glittering horizon of cyberspace.
Every eye of the Somnovem instantly startles and snaps onto the intruder, the performance of an un-living lifetime, the highly illegal pirated recording of the Ruby of the Sea that Veth must have accidentally stolen from Dyomin’s secret stash. It’s just enough to let Beau slip out of their cage.
She returns to the search program; it’s found her target.
Beau snatches up the file into her non-corporeal arms, heart likely beating a mile-a-minute in her real chest, and holds Mollymauk fast. When she looks for it, the rip-cord sequence is available again.
But before activating it, Beau looks once more at the crumbling red palace around her. The hemorrhaging archives, the eyes, the long-overdue end to many lifetimes.
And above it all, the towering and magnificent image of Marion Lavorre, perhaps fifty stories tall, dressed to the nines in her iconic golden ball gown, arms raised to the heavens, singing the final chorus to The Lucidian Moons. She’s the most beautiful she’s ever been.
Beau makes her exit.
Something across the med bay is frantically beeping. Also, she has a fucking awful headache.
“Beauregard!” shouts Caleb. He appears at her side and beams from ear-to-ear. There’s dried blood below his nose.
Beau touches her own nose. Her finger comes away wet. “Ow.”
“Drink this,” says Caduceus as he hands her a cup of tea and eases her upright. “You were in there just a little too long, I’d say.”
Beau takes a sip and grimaces at the taste, then takes a bigger gulp. “Never doing that again.”
Across the room, close to the source of the beeping, Essek is fiddling with a computer interface. When Caleb sees Beau staring, he gets up and joins Essek.
“ Heiliger Strohsack ,” mutters Caleb. “It worked.”
Beau takes another gulp of tea.
“What happened in there, Beauregard?” asks Essek, turning away from the console.
“Uh.”
Beau’s ansible chirps. She pulls it from her belt and stares at the new message from Veth.
ALL FOUR OF US STUCK ON DYOMIN’S SATELLITE. POWER AND GRAVITY DOWN. JUST KINDA FLOATING AROUND. CAN'T REACH SHUTTLE. YOU CAN REPLY TO THIS MESSAGE.
“Um.”
“We have half a million credits in our account,” says Caleb weakly. “And enough archival data in our inbox to fill a dozen libraries.”
“Oh.” Essek collapses into the rotating chair. Frumpkin, unfazed, hops into his lap and starts purring. “That’s...impressive.”
“Beauregard,” begins Caleb, “how did you escape? Your readings suggested you’d been caught, we thought you might die, I was— what happened to you?”
Caduceus intervenes, taking back the mug. “Enough of that. We have more pressing matters to attend to, don't you think?” He helps Beau to her feet and hands her a wet towel, motioning to his face. She shakily wipes away the blood from her nose. “That is, if you were successful.”
Beau blames her moment or two of blankness on the shock of being rip-corded so recently, but still feels like a real asshole when she finally stumbles out of Caduceus’ arms and towards the med bay doors gasping out, “ Molly! ”
As she runs through the ship’s halls, bare feet against a metal grill, head still pounding, taking the shortest route she knows to the lower deck, she can hear at least two pairs of feet following behind her.
They never leave a friend behind, Caleb had told her weeks ago after pulling Essek out of a life sentence with tooth and nail. Of course, this had been nothing like Essek’s case. This was a rescue so long overdue the crew of the Nein are unrecognisable from the people they had been when they’d lost Molly.
But, one thing hasn't changed much. When they do go back for a friend they do it in the stupidest, messiest, most reckless, most terrifying way they can. And it works.