We’d never seen the crew; Javier had led us to a rusted, painted-over hatch at the rear of the tanker, had pried it open with a crowbar, and quickly led us down a maze of shafts and ladders until he’d found this little room behind an unmarked hatch. He’d cheerfully admonished us to stay quiet and out of sight, had pointed out the latrine bucket and supplies he’d set up for us, and left us with basic instructions to wait until we heard the tugboat horns that would indicate we were being guided into Cadiz. I’d paid him every yen I had left, leaving me nothing to cover my debt to Adora, but that remained the problem of some future version of myself.
My head cleared, and I crept forward the four or five steps to the hatch, my own breath beating back at me as I crouched there inches from the corroded metal. I made out three, then four separate voices, trading off with one another, getting louder as they approached. The pain in my head, like a worm growing and squirming, gave a violent wrench and I shut my eyes, almost losing my balance as the nauseous agony swept through me, and the voices swirled and got confused.
here’s where I heard it
get the kid in
don’t listen to him, for fuck’s sake, he’s a
you sure? Seems quiet now
As the pain receded, gone as quickly as it had hit me, I heard the voices outside our little hiding place stop. For three heartbeats I waited, staring blindly ahead of me, finger along the side of the Roon.
“Stowaways!” a deep, wet voice shouted. It sounded like he was vomiting as he spoke, spitting up lungs and spleens and mucus as he went. The accent was harsh, German sounding. “My name is Captain Hermann Kaufman! You are not welcome on the Daniel Krokos! Step out, or we will come in! And if we come in, you will be dead! We have guns!”
I let the echo of his voice ping around the tiny space a bit, thinking. Somehow we’d given ourselves away. I considered our circumstances: The hatch was small, and if thrust open they’d be faced with pitch-black darkness. Only one normal-sized person could fit through the opening at a time. With a choke point like that, I could hold off an army with nothing more than a bag of stones and patience. They could trap us in , but there was no way for them to force us out .
I cleared my throat. “My name is Avery Cates,” I croaked out. “And I have a gun, too. And I’ll bet I’ve killed more people with mine than you have with yours.”
THEY SAY SHE IS A FLOATING HELL
“You okay?”
Adora was only a faint outline in the gloom, a foot or two away. I squinted at her through the pounding in my head, in time with my heartbeat, which wasn’t pushing blood through me anymore, just poison. My HUD had started pulsing in time with it, too.
I scrubbed my face with my hands and tried to force myself to concentrate, to get clear. I’d tried summoning my imaginary glass shield that I used when my usual ghostly voices got too intrusive, but the throbbing pain defeated me. I didn’t have time to contemplate a grapefruit in my brain, a mass of black cells gathering around my implant like spiders spinning webs with themselves. We’d been in our little hidey-hole in the Daniel Krokos for sixteen days, according to Adora, whose estimate I was prepared to accept. Sixteen days of stewing in my own sweat, alternating between a gnawing hunger that no amount of N-tabs could cure and a sweaty nausea that veined its way through my body like a vine growing inside me.
The crew had kept up a steady guard outside the hatch, presumably armed, but they had, at least, taken me seriously and not tried to open the hatch and rush us. I cleared my throat and tried to take a deep breath, but the crew had done its best to make life hard on us; they’d filled all the ventilation shafts with debris and the air was stuffy and thick with our own exhalations.
“I’m okay,” I said, forcing some energy into my voice. “You?”
I made out Adora’s shrug. “We must
My head cleared, and I crept forward the four or five steps to the hatch, my own breath beating back at me as I crouched there inches from the corroded metal. I made out three, then four separate voices, trading off with one another, getting louder as they approached. The pain in my head, like a worm growing and squirming, gave a violent wrench and I shut my eyes, almost losing my balance as the nauseous agony swept through me, and the voices swirled and got confused.
here’s where I heard it
get the kid in
don’t listen to him, for fuck’s sake, he’s a
you sure? Seems quiet now
As the pain receded, gone as quickly as it had hit me, I heard the voices outside our little hiding place stop. For three heartbeats I waited, staring blindly ahead of me, finger along the side of the Roon.
“Stowaways!” a deep, wet voice shouted. It sounded like he was vomiting as he spoke, spitting up lungs and spleens and mucus as he went. The accent was harsh, German sounding. “My name is Captain Hermann Kaufman! You are not welcome on the Daniel Krokos! Step out, or we will come in! And if we come in, you will be dead! We have guns!”
I let the echo of his voice ping around the tiny space a bit, thinking. Somehow we’d given ourselves away. I considered our circumstances: The hatch was small, and if thrust open they’d be faced with pitch-black darkness. Only one normal-sized person could fit through the opening at a time. With a choke point like that, I could hold off an army with nothing more than a bag of stones and patience. They could trap us in , but there was no way for them to force us out .
I cleared my throat. “My name is Avery Cates,” I croaked out. “And I have a gun, too. And I’ll bet I’ve killed more people with mine than you have with yours.”
THEY SAY SHE IS A FLOATING HELL
“You okay?”
Adora was only a faint outline in the gloom, a foot or two away. I squinted at her through the pounding in my head, in time with my heartbeat, which wasn’t pushing blood through me anymore, just poison. My HUD had started pulsing in time with it, too.
I scrubbed my face with my hands and tried to force myself to concentrate, to get clear. I’d tried summoning my imaginary glass shield that I used when my usual ghostly voices got too intrusive, but the throbbing pain defeated me. I didn’t have time to contemplate a grapefruit in my brain, a mass of black cells gathering around my implant like spiders spinning webs with themselves. We’d been in our little hidey-hole in the Daniel Krokos for sixteen days, according to Adora, whose estimate I was prepared to accept. Sixteen days of stewing in my own sweat, alternating between a gnawing hunger that no amount of N-tabs could cure and a sweaty nausea that veined its way through my body like a vine growing inside me.
The crew had kept up a steady guard outside the hatch, presumably armed, but they had, at least, taken me seriously and not tried to open the hatch and rush us. I cleared my throat and tried to take a deep breath, but the crew had done its best to make life hard on us; they’d filled all the ventilation shafts with debris and the air was stuffy and thick with our own exhalations.
“I’m okay,” I said, forcing some energy into my voice. “You?”
I made out Adora’s shrug. “We must
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