ABEL ACCEPTS NOEMI’S DECISION TO TAKE ON THE mines herself. Although he considers following several paces behind her, he abandons this plan almost immediately; if he distracted her at the wrong moment, it could be dangerous to her. If she felt he didn’t trust her to handle something well within her capabilities… that could be dangerous to him.

Besides, she was right. Now that he’s sitting still with nothing to do but rest, he realizes how much his reaction times have slowed. He’s drained the reserves of his regenerative ability; he won’t be able to heal until he’s rested. Noemi recognized that even before he did.

My programming prioritizes handling problems for humans. Naturally I want to do things for Noemi. But perhaps emotional attachment programs humans to do the same.

Fresh wonder opens within his mind as he remembers that Noemi is emotionally attached to him—that she can’t imagine leading her life without—

He hears metal creak underneath. Localizing his hearing, he determines that the sound is coming from directly under his position, and that in addition to the metal, he can also make out the sound of shuffling feet.

Noemi shouldn’t be down there. That’s nowhere near the mine. Her position would be several meters ahead—

—which is where the footsteps are headed.

Instantly Abel’s on his feet, dashing to the nearest passageway. He reminds himself, This is why humans should never make the plans!

The closest hatch door is only a meter away. Lowering himself down is easy, as is moving quickly and silently through the corridor. His infrared vision allows him to glimpse a small human form—slightly too soft, with uneven footsteps—yes, it’s Simon. Confirmation comes one second later in the most chilling form possible: Simon’s voice saying, “What makes you go?”

“What do you mean?” Noemi sounds so calm, so steady.

“You’re not like me and Abel,” says Simon. “You’re just a person. I don’t understand what makes people go.”

“I bet you have that information in your databanks,” she answers, keeping her tone even. “I bet Abel would be willing to help you figure out how to access it. In fact, I know he would.”

Abel’s fear for her is mingled with fierce pride.

“Let’s go see him together,” she continues. “He wants to make things better for you, I promise.”

Noemi doesn’t trust Simon. She fears him. But for Abel’s sake, she treats him with kindness and tries to give him hope. He doesn’t have to defend Simon from her any longer… which is why he can see Simon more clearly than before: The awkward way he shuffles forward, though at this point Simon’s mind should’ve adapted to the basic parameters of his new body. The slope of his shoulders, the angle of which has adjusted remarkably wider since Abel first glimpsed him—as though his inner structure hasn’t firmed enough to hold. The rawness of Simon’s skin, which had to have been even softer than a newborn’s when he emerged from his tank, and is now severely abraded with no sign of healing.

“The voices inside say so many things.” Simon’s own voice breaks up, dropping various frequencies as he speaks. “One of them says that the way you breathe and that sound I can hear in your tummy means you’re tired and hungry. That one wants me to get you to a sick bay. I don’t know what a sick bay is, but I’m supposed to take you to it.”

Tare programming, Abel realizes. Gillian didn’t just try to bring back her son; she tried to equip him with Abel’s full array of knowledge and skills. She failed. It was too much for one small child mech.

Simon continues, “This other voice says that you’re an enemy, and weakness gives me a chance to kill an enemy. I wait for you to get distracted, and then I rip your throat out.”

Probably that comes from a Charlie.

“I’d rather we went to the sick bay,” Noemi says, straight-faced. “Let’s listen to that voice.”

“No. You are an enemy, aren’t you? You told Abel not to help me.”

“I was scared. I didn’t understand. That’s when we make mistakes. Don’t make a mistake now, Simon.” She shifts her weight from foot to foot, and Abel realizes she’s trying to determine a way out. There isn’t a ready one.

The mine stretches overhead, trip wires splayed at roughly thirty-degree angles across the entire floor. In Abel’s infrared vision, the small explosive at its center glows like a red jewel. He estimates its explosive strength based on size and the materials likely to have been available to Remedy members on short notice. Then he looks at Simon again.

I’m sorry, he thinks. You might’ve been my brother. But they pushed too hard with you. They were impatient. You deserved better.

He puts his hand on the holt of his blaster.

Abel means to call a warning to Simon, to give him a chance to run. It might be best, in the end, for Gillian to make the ultimate decision about termination. But as he opens his mouth, Simon takes a staggering step closer to Noemi and says, “I know. I’ll kill you and then I’ll take you to the sick bay.”

With that, Simon holds out his own blaster. He must’ve grabbed one from a fallen Charlie or Queen, like any little boy who doesn’t yet understand the difference between a weapon and a toy. It’s too big for his tiny hand, but he knows how to fire it. Charlie programming again.

Rushing forward, Abel knocks Simon down but doesn’t pause. He grabs Noemi by the waist as he runs; she exhales sharply from the blow but hangs on to him as he runs at top speed through the service tube.

She gasps, still struggling for breath, “He’s up—he’s aiming—”

“Fire at the mine on my mark.” Abel stops short, dropping Noemi. She reacts as fast as any mech could, landing in firing position, blaster leveling. “Now!”

She fires. Point zero one three seconds later, Abel grabs the seam of the metal panel beneath them and rolls over Noemi, pulling the flooring over and around them, wrapping them both under the makeshift shield.

Light brighter than Earth’s sun flashes, forcing him to momentarily cut all visual input; compressed heated air hits their metal shield hard enough to dent it and to sear his breath. Noemi hisses in pain, but remains still for another 1.9 seconds, which is when they both smell the fire.

“Go,” she says, pushing Abel out. He glimpses the burn mark on the back of her hand, but there’s no time to do anything but run away from the burning blast area—away from what little remains of Simon Shearer.

Neither of them can run at top speed, even with wiring and walls catching flame all around them. The blaze isn’t far behind, spreading through the entire service tube at a speed even greater than he’d estimated. In front of them is only darkness; behind them is flickering firelight.

“Service hatch?” she gasps.

Abel doesn’t respond with words, instead shoving her to the side. She collides with the ladder and leaps up. He’s just behind her, pushing her although she’s going fast—he feels the air heating around his feet, heating all around them—

Noemi pushes herself through and collapses into an ashy, crooked corridor. Here, too, they can see the flame, but this must be one of the few areas of the Osiris where the anti-fire protections are intact. The sprinkler system squirts up from the floor, not down from the ceiling, but it’s enough to keep the blaze contained. Soon it will sputter out.

Simon Shearer has died a second time. Abel wonders how many times the child will be resurrected, and how many of those resurrections will fail.

The only greater punishment than death is to be asked to die over and over again.

Abel’s meditations on Simon’s fate absorb him so deeply that Noemi has led him halfway to the docking bay before he registers her actions. Or maybe it’s exhaustion, which can be put aside during a crisis but otherwise appears to be extremely persistent.

“We’re almost out of here.” She hops onto a broken ledge, swings herself over, and pauses for him to follow. “As soon as we find a ship, we’re free.”

“We have to tell Gillian what happened.” Why does he still feel obligated to that family? Why do their feelings still matter to him? “She needs to know about the cleared path, but above all, I have to tell her about Simon.”

He can’t let her wait for her son in vain.

“We have to tell her what happened once we’re safely off the Osiris,” Noemi says. “Otherwise, she’s going to come after you with everything she’s got.”

He doubts Gillian has much in the way of an attack force, but at this point it wouldn’t take much to subdue him. Although Noemi’s held up better—astonishing for a human—she, too, is showing signs of weariness. Immediate escape is by far the best course of action.

The docking bay looks more like a child’s jumbled toy box than an organized dock for spacecraft. While force fields held some of the smaller craft in place during the crash, most of the ships broke free. The piles of wreckage stand as much as six meters high in some areas. Abel muses that any human in the docking bay during the crash was surely killed.

“Well.” Noemi sighs. “Looks like we’re going to have to hitch one last ride from Mansfield.”

His gaze follows her gesture to a white semi-spherical ship in one corner that’s nearly untouched. “It looks like something he would’ve liked,” Abel says quietly.

She notices his reaction—his grief for his father/creator—but only caresses his hand for a moment before becoming businesslike again. “He owes us this one, I gue—”

“Simon says stay.”

Noemi jumps. Abel spins around to see a Queen model, largely stripped of skin and flesh beneath the waist. The illusion of semi-nudity is strangely off-putting, as are the Queen’s unfocused eyes. She stands amid one of the junk piles; in her damaged state, she blended in with it perfectly.

“Simon is gone,” Noemi says slowly, putting out one hand as if to shield them both. “He’s not here anymore.”

The Queen repeats, “Simon says stay.”

Abel runs through likely commands and possibilities. “His final instructions may well have been to keep us in one place until he could confront us in person.”

“And those instructions”—Noemi swallows hard—“nobody can cancel those but Simon, who is now dead and so not available to cancel anything ever again. Right?”

“Precisely.”

“Meaning we have a problem.”

From high above in the coils of fuel hoses and cells, a King shouts, “Simon says stay!”

“Affirmative,” Abel says. “We have a problem.”

Noemi shakes her head as though to clear it. “On my mark—run!”

He dashes toward Mansfield’s ship at top speed—his current top speed, which isn’t fast enough. Abel runs ahead of Noemi this time, because preparing the ship for takeoff is the single most effective way of protecting her. All around them, amid the clusters of scrap metal, mechs and pieces of mechs crawl forth, screeching and scrabbling, each one stripped of any purpose or function other than pursuing Abel and Noemi.

Abel feels a split second of revulsion—at mechs, at the very thing he is himself—but pushes it aside as he leaps into the ship.

Its plush interior certainly seems like the kind of luxury Mansfield would—would have insisted upon. While Abel checks fuel and power, Noemi dashes in and runs straight to the piloting controls. She slaps the control for the doors, which slide shut—

—partway, until the top half of a Yoke model wedges itself between them, one bloody arm still clawing uselessly at the air.

“Shake her off!” Noemi shouts to Abel as she fires up the engines. The ship lifts from the floor unevenly, hovering with a distinct wobble. “I’m gonna see if the automatic doors still work!”

“By flying directly at them?”

“Got a better idea?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

As the ship wheels around, gaining speed, he kicks at the Yoke to dislodge it. Yokes are built for strength, and this one doesn’t budge. The doors continue pressing in, but that only grips the Yoke more firmly. He cannot use his blaster without potentially damaging the ship.

Finally he pulls a chair from its stand and bashes the Yoke repeatedly until it falls away—just as he hears the scraping of the docking bay doors, and he and Noemi emerge from darkness into morning light. Fresh cold air whips through their vessel via the still-open doors, and Abel welcomes the chill. They have at last escaped the Osiris.

This would be a greater relief if the ship’s doors would shut.

“Come on,” Noemi mutters, punching at the controls again. “Come on.”

Abel grabs the ship’s doors and attempts to pull them shut, but the Yoke’s clawing damaged them. If the doors can’t be closed, the ship can’t leave Haven’s atmosphere, and he and Noemi will have to land and find the corsair. “Our escape may be flawed.”

“And it just got worse.” Noemi gestures at the screen, which shows a handful of battered ships leaving the docking bay, no doubt piloted by mechs still mindlessly doing Simon’s bidding. How long will these mechs hunt them? Days? Weeks? There’s no way to be sure how strong Simon’s commands are until they’re tested. Reaching the corsair with this many enemies in pursuit will be dangerous; it may be impossible.

Through the doors he catches a flash of red light. Noemi gasps, and he turns back to the screen. Another vessel has entered the atmosphere and is picking off the pursuing craft… not with weapons, but with mining lasers.

Grinning, he goes to the comm panel, activates the signal, and says, “Your timing is impeccable.”

“You’d better believe I’m forever captain for this!” Virginia yells back, and Noemi laughs out loud for joy.