S Morden - One Way

Frank planted his feet and refused to move.

“It is my opinion—my expert opinion—that we need to train the whole crew on building those shelters, to get them up and running as quickly as possible. Sir .”

Brack let him go, and smoothed the front of his overalls down. “That wasn’t too bad, was it, Kittridge?” He stared at the palms of his own hands, almost as if he’d never seen them before. “I’ll pass it on.”

And he just walked away.

“What does he do here?” asked Marcy. “He’s not coming with us, is he? Oh, God, don’t say he’s coming with us.”

Frank took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. “I don’t know. But I know for certain they already bumped someone.”

“I’m second to Zero. The small black kid. Farming. Except he calls it hydroponics. And he’s second to Zeus. Who’s the AB guy. They’re both still in. And us two.”

“They’ve put an Aryan with the blackest kid on the team? It’s like they want us to fail.” Frank screwed his face up. “Goddammit, what were they thinking?”

“It’s not as bad as all that,” said Marcy. “Before you came in that first time, Building Six, he stood up and apologized. For his tats, for his behavior. Said he was sorry.”

“If he ever bothers you—”

“He’d snap you in half, Frank.” She shook her head. “He seemed sincere enough.”

Both of them had simultaneous messages in their ears, telling them to get on with their allotted tasks: Frank, learning, and Marcy, teaching.

“We’re in charge of jack,” said Marcy, retaking her spotting position behind the cones. “We don’t get a choice who we work with, right? You said that yourself.”

Frank climbed to the bucket seat. “Hope he thinks the same about us.”

He wiped the sweat from his hand before settling it at the six o’clock position on the wheel. Trying to forget about everything else but which way he wanted the back end of the trailer to go. He twisted in his seat and looked over his shoulder. How long did they have before Xenosystems had no choice but to put them on a rocket? The longer he lasted, the less opportunity they had to can him. Where did the tipping point come, when he was more useful to them on Mars than he was in the Hole?

Had he just passed it, or had he blown his one chance?

“Whoa whoa whoa,” called Marcy. “Where d’you think you’re going?”

He stopped and shook his head free of the distractions. “It’s OK. I got this.”

But it was still in the back of his mind as he went through his paces, pushing and pulling various trailers, loaded and unloaded, backwards and forwards for the rest of the morning. If they tried to can him, what would he do? Would he have the mental strength to force them to kill him, suicide by cop style? Brack didn’t carry a gun, but Frank was certain that the guards down at the perimeter did. Perhaps his thought about crashing the fence and haring out across the flats wasn’t such a bad way to go after all.

He couldn’t get the idea out of his head. He got as far as lunch, after which he was summoned to Building Ten again. What would his monitor say about his heart rate, his blood pressure, his breathing? Did they know? Could they read his mind after all?

Opening the door into the darkness, he walked out across the sand. The lights came on. It was just him: no Declan. That wasn’t a good omen, and it felt like a long way to the first module. Maybe he should have run already, because if they came for him now, then he couldn’t stop them from taking him down with tasers, binding him and hooding him and carting him away. He might be able to beat his own brains out with a wrench, but that’d be hard.

When he reached the module, he found a flight case, a big one, the size of a packing chest. He glanced around. There were tire tracks in the sand, leading towards the still-dark back of the hangar. He’d never explored down that end. He’d get to it. He flipped the lid of the case open, and pulled out one of six nut runners.

He pulled the trigger, and listened to the spindle turn. They had plenty of spare batteries, too. Did this mean what he hoped it did? That he’d been listened to, and he wasn’t going to have to do anything so drastic as try and kill himself?

The door opened. A silhouette appeared briefly before the rectangle of daylight was cut off. A single figure started towards him. What relief Frank felt that it wasn’t an XO snatch squad was tempered by his realization that it was the neo-Nazi giant.

This could be interesting.

“Hey, man,” said the giant. He clenched his fist and held it out.

“Hey. I’m thinking you’re Zeus.” Frank had to reach up to tap his own fist against the other’s. In comparison, his was tiny. “I’m Frank.”

“Good to meet you, Frank.” Zeus took in the modules with a slow sweep of his head. “Is this where we’re going to be living?”

“I’m guessing they’re going in kit form and we have to build them once we’re there. It’d be nice to be told, but seems like they’re holding back on us.”

“And you do this?”

“I do now. You?”

“Pipes,” said Zeus. “Plumbing. Used to work on oil rigs, so this is smaller-scale than I’m used to.” He reached into the case for one of the tools, spun it up and set it down again. “I can help you with this.”

“That’s what I hoped.” Frank kicked at the sand, and made up his mind. “I’m going to have to ask.”

“Thought you might. You know how it is: blood in, blood out.”

“I know.”

“They’ve been looking to shank me for a while. Been on the PC for six months. Still not safe there. So when the suit came to me and told me he could get me somewhere else, where I wasn’t going to have to watch my back for however long I had? I took it. You can call it a coward’s choice: call it that myself sometimes. But seems God hasn’t finished with me yet.”

“You left the Brotherhood because you got religion?” Frank blinked. “I guess that would do it.”

From what he could see of it, Zeus had a Nazi eagle splayed right across his chest, as well as ink on his head. The letters he had on one hand were matched on the other. HATE/HATE. This man had been in deep.

“The kid, Zero. I bet you scare the crap out of him, don’t you?”

“I’ve explained to him like I’ve explained to you. I’ve asked for his forgiveness.”

“His… forgiveness? How did he take that?”

“It went well enough.” Zeus flexed his fingers and looked away. He shrugged one shoulder and gave a snort of laughter. “I suppose I shouldn’t expect miracles, should I?”

“That’s your turf now. It’s not mine.”

The distant door clicked open again, and two more shapes occluded the outside.

“Getting busy in here,” said Zeus.

It was the older woman, Alice, along with the curly-headed boy. She walked with all the assumed confidence of someone who knew that nothing and no one was going to hurt her, whereas he was just a child, pale and weak: his steps were jagged and hesitant, like he was terrified of his own shadow.

She rolled up. “Alice,” she said to Zeus. “If you hadn’t already guessed, I’m your doctor.”

The boy stood a little way away. He couldn’t take his eyes off Zeus.

“Dee-dee,” he said.

“Demetrius,” said Alice. “His name is Demetrius.”

“He can call himself whatever he wants,” said Frank.

Alice tutted. “He has a stammer. When he’s nervous.” She made it plain that she didn’t have time for a stammer, or nerves. Her bedside manner was going to be something to watch out for.

“Don’t mind Zeus. He’s—” Frank almost said harmless, which was self-evidently not the case. “—one of us. What’s your job here?”