Read Online Asimov's Science Fiction: June 2013 by Penny Publications - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Penny Publications
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called out, and then he foolishly tried to kick free of the gangway. But he forgot the tie-downs. Clumsier than any bouncing ball, he lurched in one direction and dropped again, and G'lene shot him with a series of kinetic charges. Lifesuits were built to withstand high-velocity impacts, but the homemade bullets had hyperfiber jackets tapering to needles that pierced the suit's skin, bits of tungsten and iron diving inside the man's flailing sorry body.
The plasma gun left Pamir's grip, spinning as it fled the gangway.
A woman emerged from shadow, first leaping for the gun and securing it. She was crying, and she was laughing. The worst possibilities had been avoided, but she still had the grim duty of retrieving body parts. The plasmas hadn't touched the twins' heads, and they remained conscious, flinging out insults in their private language, even as their severed pieces turned calm, legs and organs and one lost hand saving their energies for an assortment of futures.
G'lene grabbed Maxx first, sobbing as she tied the severed legs to his chest.
Rondie said, "Leave," and then, "Him."
"You're next," G'lene promised.
"No, no look," Rondie muttered.
Too late, the crying woman turned.
Every lifesuit glove was covered with high-grade hyperfiber. Pamir was holding his own dead limb with living fingers, using those dead fingers like a hot pad. That was how he could control the slip of hyperfiber that he had been carving on. A kiss from the radiant hyperfiber was enough to cut the tie-downs that secured him, and then he leaped at G'lene. The crude blade was hotter than any sun. He jabbed it at her belly, aiming for the biggest seam, missing once and then planting his boots while shoving harder, searing heat and his fine wild panic helping to punch the beginnings of a hole into the paper-thin armor.
G'lene begged for understanding, not mercy, and she let go of body parts, trying to recover her own weapon.
Pamir shoved again, and he screamed, and the blade vanished inside the woman.
Flesh cooked, and G'lene wailed.
He let her suffer. With his flesh roaring in misery, Pamir set to work tying down body parts and weapons. All the while the girl's round body was swelling, the fire inside turning flesh into gas, and then empathy stopped him. He finally removed her helmet, the last scream emerging as ice, the round face freezing just before a geyser of superheated vapor erupted out of her belly.
***
"You had some role," Pamir said.
They were sharing a small platform tucked just beneath the ship's prow. The alien had been crawling through an access portal where nothing had ever been stowed. The glass threads had pulled together, building the platform that looked like happy red grass. Pamir hated that color just now. The alien's eyes were clear, and he didn't pretend to look anywhere but at the battered, mostly killed human.
"Each of us has a role," Tailor said.
"You helped them," said the captain.
"Never," he said.
"Or you carefully avoided helping, but you neglected to warn me."
"I could have done more," the creature admitted. "But why are you distressed? They intended a short death for you, just long enough for you to reconsider."
Every situation had options. The captain's first job was to sweep away the weakest options.
What remained was grim.
"I should kill you too," he said.
"Can you fly this ship alone?"
"It's an experiment that I am willing to try."
Tailor had fewer options, and only one was reasonable. "Secure me," he said. "Each day, please, you can tie me to one place. I'll work where you trap me. If I can go nowhere, what harm do I pose?"
"What if you talk to the sovereigns? You could turn them against me."
"Or you can separate their influences from the ship," the Kajjas said. "Feed them power, of course. But please, let this conundrum have its way with me."
"No."
The three eyes went opaque, blind.
"No," Pamir repeated.
"You once said something important," Tailor said.
"Once?"
"I overheard you.
The plasma gun left Pamir's grip, spinning as it fled the gangway.
A woman emerged from shadow, first leaping for the gun and securing it. She was crying, and she was laughing. The worst possibilities had been avoided, but she still had the grim duty of retrieving body parts. The plasmas hadn't touched the twins' heads, and they remained conscious, flinging out insults in their private language, even as their severed pieces turned calm, legs and organs and one lost hand saving their energies for an assortment of futures.
G'lene grabbed Maxx first, sobbing as she tied the severed legs to his chest.
Rondie said, "Leave," and then, "Him."
"You're next," G'lene promised.
"No, no look," Rondie muttered.
Too late, the crying woman turned.
Every lifesuit glove was covered with high-grade hyperfiber. Pamir was holding his own dead limb with living fingers, using those dead fingers like a hot pad. That was how he could control the slip of hyperfiber that he had been carving on. A kiss from the radiant hyperfiber was enough to cut the tie-downs that secured him, and then he leaped at G'lene. The crude blade was hotter than any sun. He jabbed it at her belly, aiming for the biggest seam, missing once and then planting his boots while shoving harder, searing heat and his fine wild panic helping to punch the beginnings of a hole into the paper-thin armor.
G'lene begged for understanding, not mercy, and she let go of body parts, trying to recover her own weapon.
Pamir shoved again, and he screamed, and the blade vanished inside the woman.
Flesh cooked, and G'lene wailed.
He let her suffer. With his flesh roaring in misery, Pamir set to work tying down body parts and weapons. All the while the girl's round body was swelling, the fire inside turning flesh into gas, and then empathy stopped him. He finally removed her helmet, the last scream emerging as ice, the round face freezing just before a geyser of superheated vapor erupted out of her belly.
***
"You had some role," Pamir said.
They were sharing a small platform tucked just beneath the ship's prow. The alien had been crawling through an access portal where nothing had ever been stowed. The glass threads had pulled together, building the platform that looked like happy red grass. Pamir hated that color just now. The alien's eyes were clear, and he didn't pretend to look anywhere but at the battered, mostly killed human.
"Each of us has a role," Tailor said.
"You helped them," said the captain.
"Never," he said.
"Or you carefully avoided helping, but you neglected to warn me."
"I could have done more," the creature admitted. "But why are you distressed? They intended a short death for you, just long enough for you to reconsider."
Every situation had options. The captain's first job was to sweep away the weakest options.
What remained was grim.
"I should kill you too," he said.
"Can you fly this ship alone?"
"It's an experiment that I am willing to try."
Tailor had fewer options, and only one was reasonable. "Secure me," he said. "Each day, please, you can tie me to one place. I'll work where you trap me. If I can go nowhere, what harm do I pose?"
"What if you talk to the sovereigns? You could turn them against me."
"Or you can separate their influences from the ship," the Kajjas said. "Feed them power, of course. But please, let this conundrum have its way with me."
"No."
The three eyes went opaque, blind.
"No," Pamir repeated.
"You once said something important," Tailor said.
"Once?"
"I overheard you.
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