Hunt Down Your Attackers

Just as you’re about to leave, you see Cortez exiting the cargo hold. The two Marines guarding the entrance salute as he passes by.

A thought occurs to you, and you curse yourself for not mentioning it to Rohyamar. You were in such a hurry, it slipped your mind. Sloppy.

You call out, and the doctor stops. “Listen,” you say. “Talk to the ambassador. Tell her I need a squad of Marines and a whole flock of drones. Ping my location and have ‘em join up with me. And make sure at least half of the Marines are in exos. If we have to go up against weapons, armor is going to help.”

“Of course,” he says, with a puzzled expression. “But maybe you should tell her your—”

“No time.” You clap him on the shoulder. “Thanks!”

Without waiting for a response, you set off at a steady trot. On your overlays, you study a diagram of Unity. The UMC has mapped the station in extensive detail, and you can see the areas that are uninhabited . . . and the ones that are completely unfinished. Those are the ones you’re interested in. You can rule out a number of spaces based off their placement—only a fool would try to hide next to the barracks by the embassy—but that leaves you with two big choices: left or right? The ring of the station you’re on curves in both directions.

Pick the path of least resistance. That’s what the suspects would do. Which means . . . going left. The empty areas there are closer, and you can see several side passages that would allow folks to avoid most of the foot-traffic in the station. But not the Caretakers, which might explain how the station mind knew where your attackers went.

So left you go. A sinister direction. Fitting.

According to the survey intel, most of Unity’s unfinished areas are pressurized. Good. You don’t want to mess with a skinsuit. The helmets restrict vision, and right now, you don’t want to be at any sort of disadvantage.

You just wish you had your pistol. Or better yet, the rifle you carried in combat. That and a couple of good battle drones to cover your back. But it’s just you by your lonesome, without a way to defend yourself, hunting down murderous criminals.

At least the Marines would be with you. No one in their right mind tried to mess with a Marine in power armor, no matter if they were armed or not.

. . .

It feels good to run. The exercise clears your head and burns off the adrenaline from earlier. You start to wonder: what the hell is going on? Umesh definitely saw a tentacle before he died. But if humans are involved, does that mean some sort of conspiracy between humans and Jellies?

You’re getting an uncomfortable feeling that you might have ended up in deeper waters than you expected.

From the cargo hold to the end of the inhabited/finished section of Unity is a bit over a half a kilometer.

As you approach the unfinished section, the walls grow . . . messier, for the lack of a better term. The vines and trunks and other living elements that make up Unity’s bulk are wilder, more undisciplined here. Gaps show between trunks to the structural spars underneath. Vines cover the deck, and flat patches of metal and stone are visible in odd, unplanned-for sections of the walls and ceiling. It feels as if you’re entering the outskirts of a jungle—a space jungle—and you step carefully, for it seems as if there could things living here that are more dangerous than men with blasters.

Not for the first time, you wonder about the inherent nature of Unity. Just what was the station, and what was it going to become, given enough time? The thought is enough to make the back of your neck prickle; you can’t imagine how the xenobiologists feel about it.

Restless, you scout around the entrance to the wilds (as you’re thinking of them) while you wait for reinforcements. The station floors are exceptionally wide; there are a lot of square meters to cover, and a lot of potential hiding places.

“Dammit, where are they?” You’re getting antsy. You try calling the Embassy . . . Nothing but static is the response. Line-of-sight comms don’t work here, and anything like radio just gets absorbed by Unity’s bulk. For a moment you consider turning around. But you don’t want to give up, and you don’t want your attackers to have any more time to escape.

After a moment of fidgeting indecision, you start forward, alone.

The Marines can’t be that far behind. Can they?