THE AWARENESS THAT THE REGENERATION CYCLE HAS ended doesn’t feel exactly like waking up, but it’s close. Abel opens his eyes to near-complete darkness; only a few of Haven’s moons are visible at this time of night, and they must be smaller, more distant ones. He adjusts his vision as best as possible, then rotates his wrist. Although some stiffness remains, its condition is adequate for their immediate needs. The ankle feels almost entirely normal.

Next to him, Noemi sleeps soundly, her breathing deep and even. Her arm remains stretched around his waist, although her hand has gone slack. Abel allows himself a few moments to enjoy her nearness, and covers her hand with his own. Hopefully this is not inappropriate. She stirs gently, snuggling against his back in her sleep, and he discovers that love can be a physical sensation, a kind of melting warmth through his chest.

Even if she doesn’t love him in return, this feeling is reward enough on its own.

But he can’t afford to let such thoughts distract him from their imminent need to escape. He adjusts input so he can listen to the widest possible range of frequencies. His hearing isn’t exponentially better than a human’s, but the extra sharpness he possesses could make a difference. The bluster of the wind masks almost anything he could possibly hear outside the tank itself. However, he thinks that if Simon’s mechs had pursued them to this side of the crevasse, he’d pick something up. Certainly he would hear any Remedy fighters who had made their way over in hopes of collecting the bounty on his life.

Abel and Noemi are alone. They’ll get their chance to escape.

For another twenty-six minutes, he allows Noemi to sleep. She can’t have gotten nearly enough rest these past few days, even for a young human in top physical condition. However, when the temperature drops further, he realizes they need to act before the chill becomes hazardous for her despite the protection of the parka. “Noemi?” he whispers. Speaking louder would be more effective, but humans seem to value a more gradual awakening. “Noemi, get up.”

“Mmph.” She stirs beside him, then groans. “I was hoping the tank part was a nightmare.”

“We aren’t that fortunate. We need to move.”

“Can we? Are you okay?” Noemi sits up and touches his arm. No doubt she’s only checking his injury, but the contact rushes through Abel like heat or electricity. It’s not yet desire, but it could be. Do humans feel attraction at such inconvenient moments? Surely not. This must be some kind of malfunction. Unlike any other malfunction, though, Abel enjoys it.

He says only, “I should be able to climb down the remainder of this side of the ship until we’re at ground level, which will provide our best chance at escape. This is of course assuming the necessary handholds exist. What about you? How would you evaluate your climbing strength?”

“I’m not sure. Usually I’m pretty good, but now—” Noemi rubs her hands together; they’re red with cold, no doubt numb.

Immediately Abel says, “You should hold on to my back again while I climb for us both.”

“Don’t put yourself in more danger for me. That’s too much weight for you to carry with your ankle and your wrist—”

“It isn’t.” It’s close, but within acceptable parameters. “They’re almost back to normal. In addition, you know you can’t grip the handholds, not without gloves. This is the only way.”

Her frown tells him she doesn’t like it, but she nods. “I was thinking—if we get to Virginia’s corsair, and return to your ship, maybe we could contact Fouda from there? We might be able to bargain for the relay codes with something else.”

“I don’t want to leave Simon here.”

Noemi pauses, and he anticipates more of her objections to his work with Simon. Instead she says, “We’d have more resources on the ship. Some of Mansfield’s original plans for mechs, stuff like that, right? We could regroup and come back for Simon.”

“An excellent plan.” Its excellence is largely based on the fact that it’s the only remotely workable alternative, but Abel feels the need to be encouraging while agreement is still possible between them. His needs and Noemi’s will soon conflict. She’ll want to help Genesis as fast as she can—understandable—while he knows leaving Simon alone any longer could lead to disaster. He’ll make his arguments when the time comes. “Our hike to the corsair will be difficult—about two kilometers from here, but through difficult terrain and thick snow.”

She shrugs. “We’ll make it or I won’t.”

Abel wants to correct her statement, as he has no intention of going on without her. But that’s something else to mention only later, after it comes up, which, hopefully, it won’t.

In some respects, the broken chasm dividing this ship provides a more promising climb than Abel would’ve thought. Ragged spars of metal jut out at various angles, offering the hand- and footholds they require. Unfortunately, those same spars are mostly crusted with ice. Abel can compensate only so much for a slippery surface.

Noemi’s not the only one who could use a pair of gloves.

Quickly calculating ratios and probabilities, Abel decides the likelihood of his making it safely to the bottom is sufficient for him to try it. But it doesn’t seem enough for him to risk Noemi. He prefers a wider margin of safety when it comes to her. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

“Uh-oh.” Noemi rubs her head with one hand. “If you’re admitting you have actual limits, that means it’s bad, right?”

“Successfully climbing to the bottom isn’t impossible. Only… slightly less probable than the alternative.” This is definitely a time to keep exact percentages to himself.

She exhales, then says, “Well, there’s no other way out. No matter what the odds are, we have to try.”

Abel knows this, logically, but still wants to argue. Maybe he could escape on his own and bring help back to her—but what help, and when? Most likely he wouldn’t be able to return for at least a solid day, by which time Noemi would probably have died of exposure.

“Abel?” She looks at him steadily. “I trust you. I’m willing to try this. And sitting around here dreading the climb is only freaking me out.”

“All right,” he says. “Let’s go.”

They figure out a way to extend his belt and loop it once through the cord around her waist. It’s a pitifully weak kind of harness, but it’s the best they can do with what they have. Abel positions himself at the tank’s edge and lets Noemi adjust her grip on him and her balance. “Ready?” he asks.

Her hands tighten around his shoulders. “Ready.”

He bends, grasps the lip of the tank, and drops so that his body hangs over the side. For 0.4 seconds the icy metal seems to deny his hold, but then Abel gets it. Together he and Noemi dangle from this one ledge, she clinging tightly to his back, the crevasse still very far below.

“Oh God oh God oh God oh God,” Noemi whispers. “Tell me that was the hardest part.”

“It was, actually.” Their probability of death is still far too high, but completing the first step means their odds have improved to nearly sixty/forty.

Abel moves slowly, taking his time to make sure every hold is as secure as it can be. His wrist throbs with every movement, which is unimportant as long as his grip remains strong. There’s not much Noemi can do to help at this stage, but she remains utterly still, more so than most humans could manage. Because of this, his balance stays constant. With every meter they descend, the drop becomes less dangerous, and their odds improve.

After eleven minutes and fourteen seconds, they reach the bottom. Together they make contact with the ground, then stumble back a few steps before collapsing in the white wet crunch of snow. Noemi’s breathing is fast and shallow, like someone trying not to cry; Abel would reassure her if he thought he could speak.

This must be what humans call “exhaustion.” He doesn’t like it.

Finally Noemi says, very quietly, “Thank you, Abel.”

“You’re welcome.”

“We have to start walking. Can you do it?”

His ankle and wrist ache from the strain of the climb, but as Noemi said earlier—they’ll make it or they won’t. So he gets to his feet alongside her, brushes ice crystals off his clothes—

—and spots the figure rising from behind a snow-covered pile of debris.

“Abel!” Noemi cries, pushing him to the side just before a blaster bolt arcs through the air overhead. If her reflexes are faster than his, he’s even more tired than he thought. They’re half-buried in a drift, the snow their only protection. “Was that Remedy?”

“No—the Tare with one eye. One of Simon’s. And we’re unarmed.”

The situation’s even worse than that. Even now, the Tare—functioning as part of Simon’s mind—is sharing their location with the rest of his mechs. Within minutes the others will be on them.

Abel brought Noemi safely to the ground only for them to both die.

Noemi looks around frantically, her chin-length hair whipping in the wind, before grabbing a large stone and hurling it at their attacker. The Tare has turned so that her absent eye faces them, so she doesn’t see the rock coming—and when it makes contact, she goes down instantly, unconscious or inoperable.

“Unarmed, my ass.” Noemi scrambles to her feet and tows Abel up with her. She seems to have realized he’s not functioning optimally. Snow slips off her parka but clings to his clothes in thick, cold ridges. “We have to go back inside the Osiris,” she says.

He must protest. They only barely escaped the ship with their lives, and both the passengers and any surviving Remedy members will attack Abel on sight. Simon has yet to be reasoned with. Noemi will be in danger as long as she’s near him. “That can only delay our reaching the Persephone.”

“You’re not yourself, Abel. And if you’re not at full strength, there’s no way we can get to Virginia’s corsair.” She counts her points off on her red, chapped fingers. “But if we can’t fly up to her, she could fly down to us. There’s got to be something in the Osiris we could use to contact her—right? Or we could maybe find the docking bay and take a smaller ship, if there’s one that’s still spaceworthy. Either way, we’ll be able to help ourselves better in there than we can out here.”

“Agreed.” It’s risky, but so is every other course of action they could take. He stalks through the snow over to the fallen Tare and takes her blaster in hand. If he has to put Noemi in danger again, at least he’ll be able to defend her. Then he spies another blaster among the wreckage and tosses it to Noemi, who’s very good at defending herself. She’s also skilled at attacking, as their opponents on this ship will soon be aware.

And if he sees Simon again—what?

He’ll answer that when he has to, and not before. “Let’s go.”

Their entry point at ground level turns out not to be far from the air lock through which Abel originally entered the Osiris. He feels a strange ache at the memory of Riko greeting him here, smiling and exhilarated, little guessing she had less than three days left to live.

Concentrate on relevant facts, he reminds himself. At the time, this was Remedy-held territory. But Remedy no longer has the workforce to control so much space. This location should be safe.

“How far are we from a communications station we could use to contact Virginia?”

“Given the depleted energy reserves within the ship, we would probably have to get very near the bridge to find a working comms console. While possible, this course of action would also bring us into likely contact with Remedy members.” Who will, of course, be desperate to capture Abel and turn him over to Gillian in exchange for the medicine that would save their surviving friends.

She nods. “And the docking bay?” As they slowly work their way within, it becomes clear that even the emergency lighting has begun to falter. Abel adjusts his vision to infrared so Noemi will remain a warm glow by his side.

“Nearly half the length of the ship away—but closer than the bridge.”

She groans. “Let’s just start walking.”

One corridor proves to be by far the safest and best lit, so they’re able to make good time. They walk instead of run, both to be as quiet as possible and to avoid overtaxing Noemi. Or so Abel thinks, until he realizes that for once Noemi’s the one slowing down to his pace. Perhaps she’s worried about his ankle. It’s strangely pleasant, being worried about.

Yet some of his capacities remain at full strength—including his mech vision. Within fifteen meters of the docking bay, he halts midstep, putting his arm out to block Noemi. When she turns to him, confused, he says in a low voice, “Pressurized explosive device, point four one meters ahead.”

“How are you—”

“I’m on infrared frequencies right now. Otherwise I would’ve missed it. Apparently a wire’s been fed through the floor of the corridor.”

“Remedy mined the floor?” Noemi steps backward, a movement Abel copies. They came far too close to activating this device. If he’s accurately measuring its explosive content, the resulting blast would’ve shredded them both. “It has to be Remedy—there’s no way the passengers have the know-how for this, or Simon either.”

“Agreed. They must’ve done this when their people began falling ill. Since Remedy no longer had members available for patrols, they went for mines.”

“Well, let’s find a corridor they didn’t mine.”

But such a corridor isn’t easy to find. Now that Abel knows how to look for the devices, he’s able to adjust his vision to search areas human sight could never reach. Remedy’s mines are planted deep in the ship’s framework, making it impossible to cross from one part of the ship to another. “There must remain at least one route to the docking bay,” he says, as much to himself as to her, when they find the fifth blocked passage. “It’s the most tactically significant section of the Osiris. They wouldn’t cut themselves off from it.”

“But we’d have to go through whatever remains of Remedy to reach it, which means they’d target you.” Noemi leans against one wall. “You see what this is, don’t you?”

“A trap.” He should have expected as much.

“No. At least, not for us. Even if every member of Remedy dropped dead, the passengers wouldn’t be able to leave the surface of this planet. Not now, not ever. Fouda knows he’s lost. So he’s making sure the passengers die with them, even if it means they starve.”

History contains many examples of humanity’s capacity for spite, so this shouldn’t shock Abel. But he still can’t comprehend how a person comes to such a calculation.

He can, however, perform some calculations of his own. “Fouda may have wired the docking bay, too.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Noemi agrees.

“Perhaps we should try to approach the bridge after all. Remedy’s forces are weakened. We stand a chance of reaching a communications console.”

“No.” Noemi squares her shoulders. “We have to set the passengers free.”

“I don’t intend to abandon them. We should send for help once we’ve reached the Earth system.” Some of the patrol ships circling Neptune and its moons no doubt know of the Osiris and would be able to mount a rescue mission. “As for Simon, I’ll reach out to him once we have comms.”

Noemi folds her arms across her chest. “What makes you think he’s going to listen?”

“I’ve been considering what would motivate him. He is, at his core, a little boy. So I thought I would offer him a ride in a new spaceship. One where he can sit in the captain’s chair. That would work, wouldn’t it?”

Her tone gentles. “Maybe. But if he goes haywire up there—”

“I can install safeguards.” Abel’s already considered this. “There’s no way I’d ever let him endanger you. Or Virginia.” He hopes Virginia never hears how he had to add on that last.

“Okay. I trust you.” She says it more like she’s convincing herself than him.

“We must of course do something for the passengers and Remedy members before we go. Their lives are endangered.”

Noemi hesitates. At first, their escape seemed like no more than leaving a dangerous situation; however, Abel’s programming is at work within him, urging him to protect human life if he can… absent instructions to the contrary from Burton Mansfield, who is no longer a factor. He suspects Noemi’s religious belief operates much the same way within her, reminding her of others who need protection.

She begins, “You know how badly I want to get off this planet and help Genesis, but—no, you’re right. We can’t leave them to die. They don’t have tons of food down there—just champagne and petits fours, and they were almost out of those when I left. Those force fields have to be tapping the last of the energy; soon the ship’s climate control will fail. The passengers will freeze to death before we can send help.”

The fervor in Noemi’s voice stirs something within Abel—a sense of purpose that goes beyond his programming. That purpose is as much a part of her as blood or bone.

Quietly he says, “You will always be a soldier of Genesis. A holy warrior.”

Noemi nods. Even in the gloom of this dark corridor, he can discern the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “Do you think there’s any hope of getting the codes from Fouda? Or will he let my planet die?”

“I don’t know.”

There is one thing Abel could do, a final drastic measure that would get them the codes. He could trade himself to Fouda for the codes to help Genesis—allowing Fouda to then trade him to Gillian for medicine.

Gillian Shearer would get her hands on Abel at last. His soul would be forfeit, and his body would finally, completely, belong to Mansfield. He would fulfill Directive One.

The very fact that Noemi hasn’t argued for this herself is testament to how much their friendship must mean to her. He offered to die for Genesis once before, but she rejects that idea as strongly now as she did then. Still, if it comes down to one life for billions—

Abel curtails the thought. He believes they’ll get out of this on their own, because he believes in Noemi. She is the only faith he needs.