The hatch slid open and at first it didn’t seem that different from the view behind them. Iron gray walls in a small, circular room. There were hooks, possibly for equipment, situated above folded up benches or shelves. Pipes and cable ran up the sides and across the ceiling. A container of some kind was fixed next to one of the benches and there was another at shoulder height. It was a practical place, a space to adjust from one ship to another. She looked around, trying to understand why this felt different from the ship they’d just left.
Riina lifted the lid. “Emergency medical supplies,” she said, lifting out a package and examining it.
“Do you recognize the language?” John asked, leaning over to study it.
Riina held it toward Naxe. “Do you recognize it?”
It felt like a test and Naxe tried not to stiffen. She took the package and studied the text, then finally shook her head. “Should I?”
“It’s Eldierian. Eldirer is one of the planets your—the Scoyfol passengers were from,” Riina said.
So Riina no longer believed Naxe was one of this company. And why should she? In her mind, Naxe heard her own voice naming the planets that Scoyfol served. I am of Scoyfol. But she couldn’t be. When she tried to call up memories of those passengers, she couldn’t. Who am I?
She handed the package back and Riina replaced it, closing the lid.
The other container was empty.
“We should keep moving,” Tim said.
Naxe followed the others out into the ship’s proper, but more questions dropped in thumps, almost in time with their steps in the dim silence of a gray corridor.
If she wasn’t of Scoyfol, then why was she here? Why did she feel the compulsion to stay that was as great or greater than the one that said to flee?
Halliwell glanced at Naxe several times as they followed Tim and Riina down a long corridor with doors leading off on both sides. If anything, she looked more impassive than their first meeting. It was hard to tell through the visor of the headgear, but he thought she’d lost color. Her lips had firmed into a line and as she moved forward, her gaze scanned like someone who was used to going into unpredictable places. A couple of times, her hand went to her empty weapons holster.
He wanted to give them back. He didn’t like the way her hands twitched when there was no grip to wrap her fingers around.
He cleared his throat, then broke the silence. “Do you see anyone, any crew or people?”
She looked at him, then shook her head. Was it hope that her eyes looked grateful for the small moment of grounding?
“How many ships before the Scoyfol one?” he asked. This was crap. “Can’t we call in Blooban and just go to the head of the line?” Why had no one suggested it?
Over his comm, the frog’s gruff voice spoke. “As long as I had passengers, I could not secure permission.”
That was an interesting statement. Was it trying to tell them something? He sighed, even if it was, they still couldn’t jump the line. Be too bad if they missed this ship-to-ship horror show. This one, like the last ship, had some power, enough for emergency lighting and for the airlocks to work. So whoever was behind it wanted them to keep going.
“How many ships to the ugly ship?” he asked again. He’d known the number, but now if felt like there was a buzzing inside his head. Halliwell knew Tim answered him, but it didn’t process somehow. He did remember thinking it was just enough to keep them from getting too discouraged.
If they’d stumbled on this place by accident, found these ships, what would they have done?
Not a hard question. They’d have wanted to check it out. Without Naxe, they might have been less alert, less suspicious. They’d have had more people, though, so they could have searched each ship more thoroughly. But he had a feeling there was no point. There was nothing to see here. So he didn’t suggest deviating from their direct course for the next airlock.
They all looked around as they walked, their headlamps dancing over nothing-to-see-here.
“What do you suppose this ship was used for?” Halliwell asked, wondering if he’d remember the answer.
“It’s for passengers,” Riina said. “A short hauler, though. The rooms would be small.”
Halliwell reached out and found the door unlocked and pushed it open. It was a stateroom and very small. He might be surprised they hadn’t found any blood. It felt like there should be blood, instead the room was dusty but neat. Bedding was rolled up against the head of the bed and the closet stood open and empty.
“It’s probably not worth checking out the bridge,” he said.
“No,” Tim said.
If he got any more chatty, things could get—he stopped and shook his head.
“Are you well?” Naxe asked anxiously.
“A bit of a headache,” he said, making a dismissive motion.
“I have one as well,” Riina said. “Like there is a low buzzing inside my cranium.”
Tim stopped, turning abruptly around to face her. A light stabbed out of his arm, the scan running down, then back up her body. Almost as an afterthought, he also scanned Halliwell.
To his surprise, he found he could grin. It didn’t last.
“There was unusual brain activity in both your brains,” Tim said.
So Tim getting chatty was bad news.
“My head feels better,” Riina offered.
So did his, Halliwell realized.
“I stopped the interference,” Tim said.
Halliwell opened his mouth to ask how and decided he didn’t want to know. Then he realized Tim hadn’t scanned Naxe. Of course, she hadn’t said she had a headache. He turned and looked at her.
She lifted a hand to the side of her headgear.
“Tim?” Halliwell nodded toward her.
“I have already scanned Naxe,” he said.
“And,” Halliwell nudged when he didn’t say more.
“There was much brain activity there, too. I modified as much as was safe.”
Well, that was…he wasn’t sure what that was, but he felt better about taking her weapons. If someone was messing with her head, then that was problematic.
“It is all right, John,” she said. “I will be…” She looked up, as if she wanted to look away and stopped, her headlamp directed at a spot on the ceiling.
“What is that?” she asked.
Naxe removed her handheld light again, playing it over the walls and doors, then directing it up at the ceiling.
“That’s not…” she stopped, frowning. “It’s not…typical.”
Halliwell pointed his headlamp in the same spot. “Looks organic,” he said. The tracing had the look of a vine, but it was flattened against the ceiling. “What do you make of it, Tim?”
Tim didn’t just direct a light at it, he activated some kind of scan. Was it Halliwell’s imagination that it retreated some? Got smaller?
“You are correct,” Tim said. “It is organic.”
“Living?” Halliwell asked.
Riina seemed fascinated by it. “I wish we could get a sample.”
Tim’s arm moved smoothly toward it, but it retreated rapidly and visibly this time.
“It doesn’t wish to be sampled,” Tim said, retracting his arm.