Page 80 of Mutant Mine

Rory glances at me from time to time. From the warmth in her gaze, I know that she is thinking some such thought.

Instead, we get dressed, and then we arm ourselves.

From the back of the closet, I pull out a duffel bag and dump it on the bed. A small pile of stun-guns, flashlights, and other equipment spills out onto the covers.

“…Have those been in there all along?” Rory asks.

“Yes. I collected various useful items from deceased crew after the breakout.”

“I really could have done with one of those, in the early days when I thought you were going to murder me.”

“Then it is my good luck that you did not find them.”

I take out two stun-guns and two flashlights — one of each for Rory and myself. The rest of the equipment I put back into the bag.

“There is still room in here.” I pat the bag. “Is thereanything else you would like to bring with us?”

Rory grabs some clean clothes — some in her own size, some in mine. She disappears into the bathroom, and returns with some tooth-cleaning capsules and soap.

She glances around the room.

“Ooh — this too,” she says. From the couch, she holds up the reading tablet that I gave her. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever been given,” she says.

“It was not mine to give you,” I say, but my mouth betrays me by twitching up into a smile.

She laughs. “But you did anyway!”

We pack the tablet into the bag, on top of the stun-guns.

“What are these for, anyway?” she asks, her hand resting on the gun now hooked onto her waist.

“For keeping your friends safe.”

Rory beams. Perhaps she feared that I had made no allowances for her colleagues in our escape plan.

Once we are dressed and the bag is packed, just one job remains for me.

“Wait here,” I say to Rory. “There is one last thing I need to do.”

I head back through to the flight deck. At the instrument panel, I finally set a new course for the Hades. Straight to Caster-391 — and right on time.

39

Roth

IT ISlate in the ship’s artificial night — around half past three now. To help its human charges uphold their diurnal rhythms, the computer has dimmed the lights in the communal areas to just the faintest glow. It is enough for us to see by, just.

Most of the men aboard are sleeping. Even when I close my eyes and listen hard, scarcely a vibration disturbs the heavy sheet of silence. A few men are awake, in the hygiene pods or their bunks, together or alone — but mostly the ship is peaceful. Dreaming.

Rory and I walk through the dark corridors, fast and quiet.

We are both tense, hands braced on our stun-guns, but we do not meet anyone on our way.

It strikes me just how ignorant the men will be of what is happening. Very few of the ship’s rooms have viewing ports. Even if they are awake, they cannot see that a vast ship looms over them, nor that a shuttle is landing.

Soon we arrive at maximum security — where it all began. It seems that we keep being drawn back here.

The cells are silent. The imprisoned crew must be sleeping, just like everyone else.

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