Page 70 of Mutant Mine

“Rory,” he breathes, looking up at me as I walk in. Myheart lurches towards him.

The same thing happened before, when he appeared in the crawlway. I spent so long sat there, feeling like a fool, after I saw that my crewmates were alive and well cared for — like Roth had told me all along.

Of course they were. I knew they would be. But at the same time, I had really feared…

Then Roth appeared, as if I had summoned him there with the confused noise of my thoughts. He looked ludicrous: squashed into the tiny passageway, with such a serious, doleful look on his face. I wanted to drag myself into his lap, to press my skin against his, to kiss him and not let him say a word.

But I didn’t. Because after he tells me everything, I might not want to kiss him anymore.

Roth looks tense now. Afraid. Whatever he has to say, it’s something he needs to get out, like spitting up poison.

Bizarrely, I find it easier to be brave when I know that someone else is scared. It’s easier to have courage for someone else’s sake than for my own. When I was a little girl, I had a friend who was too afraid to tell the mistress in the kitchens when she needed the bathroom. Mrs Jarvis scared the crap out of me, too — but I would always puff my chest out, march Lucy over by the hand, and announce that we needed to take a break.

Now, I take a deep breath, and stand up straight.

“Get up and sit at the table,” I say calmly. “I’ll fetch us some tea. I’m thirsty.”

Roth stares at me, then nods.

Methodical motions in the kitchen as I spoon leaves into the pot, pour in hot water, fetch two teacups. I set it all out on the table, and pour us some tea. The cup looks comically small in Roth’s hands.

We each take a sip. And finally, with his eyes fixed on the steaming tea, Roth speaks.

“What year were you born?”

“2191,” I reply.

He hums. “Nine years after me. So you will remember the last few years of the war — when the world seemed to be getting darker every day.”

Nine years? Roth doesn’t look anywhere near that much older than me.

“Yes,” I manage to say, concealing my surprise. “Just about.”

“Radiation leeching from the bomb sites. Extreme weather events. Food shortages. All news was bad news.” He shakes his head, disturbed by the memory. “You were a child when it ended, but I was a teen for much of the war — old enough to understand that something had to be done.”

“So, what? You joined some radical group? Didn’t know they were terrorists?”

Roth smiles wryly. “Sort of. I joined the military.”

That makes me sit up.

“What? But—”

He continues as if I haven’t spoken.

“I believed that I would be fighting for righteous causes — protecting people. Driven by that belief, I excelled. I was tough, tactical, and obedient to a fault. I climbed the ranks fast.”

“The military is where you learned to pilot government starships.”

He nods.

“But things were still bad. Catastrophic, even. Solutions that would have once seemed crazy started to sound… reasonable. Necessary.”

He clears his throat.

“One day, I was informed that I had been chosen to entera special program. Highly classified. They needed volunteers to take part in an experiment to produce… a new type of soldier. Stronger. Smarter. Genetically superior. It would take place at a secure underground facility.”

A shape is beginning to emerge from the fog. Something ugly.

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