Destination Europa: Chapter 22

Duty

Sep 27, 2024

Previously, Priska was injured when her home-made firearm exploded. Quill persuaded her to abandon her plan to destroy the ship, but too late for her to abort the countdown. At the last minute, the Leifr’s tech team were able to reboot AiLeifr and regain control, but now the hunt is on to find both Priska and Quill…

Quill studied Priska’s face as she slept. It was no more than a light doze; she was in too much pain to sleep properly, though the high doses of Fiducezol she’d been taking had the side-effect of increasing her pain threshold somewhat. His eyebrows knotted and he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. Lord, from the depths I cry… how did I get into this mess?

Around them, the grotesque stalagmites and stalagtites of mushrooms curved and spored. It’s a miracle we even made it to the Farm. Quill rubbed his eyes again. His chip had apparently disconnected from the system not long after AiLeifr had rebooted. He assumed it meant the ai was still in repair mode after being hacked. He hoped it meant he was invisible to the system, but was all too aware that him not seeing the ai didn’t necessarily mean the ai couldn’t see him. All he could do was pray and keep going.

But keep going where? He readjusted his position, stretching his legs in front of him as he leaned back against the planting box that formed one side of their cramped hiding space, grateful that the ship’s rotation had resumed and there was a perceptible sense of up and down. Lord, what am I doing? What is the right thing to do? Am I really going to try and help a — well, let’s call a spade a spade — a terrorist? But she won’t get a fair trial from the FSS. Chances are they’d just put her through the airlock. No mercy. And she was repenting, kind of. And now I won’t get justice, either. Who’s going to believe I was trying to save everyone, not working with her? And I told her, I promised her, if she changed her mind, if she stopped it, I would help her escape. I gave her my word. But isn’t my greater allegiance to God and the authorities placed over us? And I have a duty to the Alliance. But I gave her my word. I gave her my word.

It was cold in the Yellow Ring of the Farm, and the amethyst tint of the grow lights made it feel like the inside of a geode or a mystical grotto. Quill huddled closer to Priska, hoping his body heat would help her. He’d washed and dressed her mutilated hand as best he could using water from the irrigation pipes and a strip of cloth torn from his t-shirt. The heat of the explosion had effectively cauterised the ragged stumps of the missing fingers and thumb, but he was worried about infection. If we get to a lifeboat, there should be medical supplies. But how are we even going to get to a lifeboat? I’m sure they’re going to be watched. Lord, have mercy.

Priska moaned and stirred, her eyelids fluttering.

“Shh,” said Quill softly, stroking her forehead. “I’m here. Try and sleep a bit more.”

She blinked and awoke fully, grimacing in pain.

“Water,” she croaked. Quill held the beaker to her lips. She sipped, then propped herself up against the wall beside him. “We have to move,” she whispered, looking around anxiously.

“I know,” he whispered back. “I’m surprised no-one’s found us already.” I’d imagine Bowen would be checking on his domain after the emergency, but maybe he’s still in the outer rings. The Farm is pretty big after all.

“What time is it?”

Quill checked his visuals; simple things like time were held on-chip and didn’t need a connection to the ai. “20:43.”

“We should move at night. Get to a lifeboat.”

“They’re going to be guarded pretty tight,” Quill pointed out. “That’s where they’ll expect us.”

“Our only chance.”

They were silent for a while. Quill felt the warmth of her body beside him, and the misery of her soul. She was trembling. He rubbed her upper arm briskly, like a parent trying to warm a cold child.

“Listen, Pris,” said Quill eventually, still whispering. “This is crazy. I can’t even believe I’m sitting here with you. Maybe you — we — should just turn ourselves in. Commit ourselves to God’s justice, even if things go badly with the FSS.”

She stiffened. “Don’t talk to me about God.” She looked away from him, shaking off his arm. “You said you’d help me get away. I should’ve known better than to trust your promises.”

Her words stung. “I will,” he said, more emphatically than he felt. “I will, if that’s what you want. But—”

She turned to look at him. Her eyes were blazing, her voice trembling. “But what, Quill? But you’re a man of your word? You don’t break your promises? What about I love you, Pris? What about I’ll stay with you, Pris, I’m not going to leave you?”

“You left me!” he retorted, trying to keep his voice low. “In spirit, anyway. You abandoned the Alliance. You turned your back on our faith. What was I supposed to do?” A bitter blackness filled him, as if he were drinking a vast cup of icy poison. He heard a trembling in his own voice, and the heat of tears prickled the corners of his eyes. “Maybe I was wrong. I shouldn’t have let go of you. But I tried. So hard. What was I supposed to do, Pris?”

They fell back into silence, the only sound their ragged breathing. Quill felt tense as a guitar-string tuned too tight. He clenched and unclenched his fists, biting on the inside of his cheek until the pain pushed down the tears.

“I was wrong to walk away,” he said, when he felt he could control his voice. “I should’ve stayed in Ransom, tried harder—”

“Don’t give me that patronising crap,” she snapped. “My faith… isn't something you can control by trying harder or praying harder.” Her voice cracked in a sob. “Quill, all I wanted was for you to accept me as I was. The real me, not the one you imagined. I thought your talk about marriage, one flesh and all that, meant something.”

“It did,” said Quill, broken. He felt hollow, eviscerated. “I’m sorry.” He put his arm round her, and this time she didn’t shake it off.

It felt like hours later, though in reality it was only a few minutes, when Quill stiffened. Neither of them were speaking, but he still whispered a low shh in Priska’s ear. He had turned his aural filters to maximum sensitivity. Now, behind the hum and purr of the Farm’s irrigation and ventilation systems, he could hear the sound of soft footsteps.

“Don’t move,” he breathed. He looked anxiously at the makeshift screen of planters he’d pulled in front of their hiding place.

The footsteps grew a little louder. Someone moving stealthily and steadily, purposeful, though each step was no more than a light touch of the ground in the low gravity. He heard the person cough quietly. Quill held his breath. The footsteps drew nearer. Through a narrow gap between a planter and the shelf that formed one side of their cubby hole, he saw legs. He felt Priska’s good hand grip his arm. The footsteps stopped. He could hear the sound of the other person breathing. The pop of a knee going into a squat. Priska’s hand clenched harder, her nails digging into him.

“Alright, Quill,” came a voice, speaking low but not whispering. “Open up.” It was Safira.

“I’ve brought a med kit, and some food,” said Safira briskly. She glanced in at Priska’s hand. “You’ll probably want the anti-infection gel and a couple of morphies to begin with.” Quill and Priska stared at her.

“What?” said Quill. He let go of Priska and pushed himself out of their hiding place.

“Listen carefully,” Safira went on. “I don’t have much time. I’ve distracted Bowen, for now. Hopefully he won’t get as far as the Yellow Ring tonight. But you have to be at the lifeboat — this deck — at 01:00 exactly.”

“Why?” asked Quill, getting to his feet.

“So you can get off this ship with your lives. Quill, a word.” She beckoned him away, round the curve behind a column of oyster mushrooms. Quill looked back anxiously at Priska, then followed Safira.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“Saving your ass,” Safira replied, her eyes fixing his. “I will do my utmost to get you both away on a lifeboat tonight, on one condition.”

Quill’s heart sank.

“You will go with her,” Safira went on. “We need an agent with these EXODUS nutters. You go with her, I assume you both get picked up by their outfit, you embed with them. In due course I’ll be in touch. We’ll work out reporting protocol and those kind of details then. You with me?”

His mouth opened then closed.

“Come on, Quill, you’ve precious few options right now. You stay here, Strand is going to have your guts for garters. You do this, you can help us prevent more shit like this in future. You hear me?”

Quill nodded dumbly, then looked at the floor. Safira reached out and tucked a finger under his chin, forcing him to look back at her.

“Consider it your patriotic duty,” she said. He nodded again, miserable.

“Right,” said Safira, seemingly satisfied. “Be at the hatch at 01:00. I’ll do my best to have it clear.”

She turned to leave.

“Wait,” said Quill. His mouth felt dry. “How did you… Why has no-one else found us?”

“I’m the one who disconnected you. Your last known location was in the shaft near here.” She shrugged. “A little misdirection, a word in Gundarsson’s ear about a sighting up by Sick Bay, bought you a little more time.” He nodded. Safira walked away. Just before disappearing round the curve, she looked back over her shoulder. “Good luck.”

The next two and a half hours were long and uncomfortable. Quill longed to ask Priska all the questions that had stored in him like charge in a capacitor, but neither of them dared say much. The only one he asked was when he changed the dressing on her hand, peeling off the ooze-stained strip of t-shirt.

“Why did you take my shirt?” he whispered, as much to distract her as anything else. “When you took the pills?”

She smiled faintly. “Missed you.”

He finished smearing antibiotic gel on her hand and bound it with a bandage from the med kit. They said nothing more until it was time to move.

To get to the lifeboat hatch, they had to pass through the Green Ring then get halfway round the Blue Ring. Moving cautiously towards the ladder down to the Green Ring, Quill tried to picture the layout of the Farm and the best way to approach the emergency exit to the Deck 9 lifeboat. At least it’s all inside the Farm. More places to hide. I guess the airlock between the Farm and the corridor is guarded, so let’s avoid passing that way. Go round the other way.

He swung himself onto the ladder and down a couple of steps, then reached to help Priska. She shook her head. Her teeth were still gritted in pain, but the morphies had kicked in and she seemed slightly high. Quill felt numb, his arms and legs moving as if they were someone else’s and he were watching through the glass of an aquarium. He jumped down the last few steps and landed lightly on the floor of the Green Ring. Priska lowered herself carefully onto the ladder above him, holding on with her good hand, and started to climb down. About halfway down, she almost slipped, and cried out as lost her balance. Quill rushed forward to catch her, but she managed to regain her handhold. When she got to the bottom, Quill could see a sheen of sweat on her face.

They stopped to listen for movement. Quill could hear nothing beyond the background whirr of the Farm itself. The overhead lights were off, but the grow lights sent sideways shafts of violet into the shadows. They were in the potato section. Quill led them off the main passageway and in among the large planters. Good cover. They wove their way through the dark-leaved potato plants and into the onion section, pausing at every corner to look and listen, but the Green Ring seemed to be deserted.

At the ladder to the Blue Ring, Quill stretched out on the floor and stuck his head down, checking for movement below. Nothing. He checked the time. 00:36. Plenty of time. He went ahead down the ladder again. This time, with the increasing gravity as they moved outward from the axis of rotation, Priska allowed him to help her.

“Not far now,” he breathed. Ahead, he could smell the soft perfume of the dwarf apples. They moved as swiftly as they could through high rows of beans and peas and into the orchard area. The lifeboat hatch was on the other side, under the strawberries.

Near the edge of the apple section, they saw a light. A warm yellow human-spectrum light. Quill froze, and drew Priska behind one of the planters with its stumpy pleached tree. The apiary. But why is the light on at this time of night? Is someone there? They ducked down and began to creep along, keeping as low as possible without actually crawling. 00:44. We need to keep moving. No time to detour. Staying as far as possible from the apiary and the trapezoid of light shed from its window, they headed into the citrus trees. Quill glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of FSS overalls moving around the apiary office. A rhythmic clicking sound came from the open door, like a giant nocturnal beetle. They kept moving, hardly daring to breathe. The scent of lemon flowers grew stronger. Priska stopped suddenly, and her shoulders heaved as she suppressed a sneeze. Oh, shit. I forgot about her pollen allergy.

They took another couple of steps, and then Quill heard Priska take a sudden breath in and snort as she tried to stop another sneeze. It was too late. In the quiet, the sound was explosive. They both froze. In the light of the apiary door, they saw Olga’s silhouette appear. They sank behind a planter. They heard Olga’s footsteps, accompanied by the clicking sound. Her knitting needles.

The clicking came closer. They heard a hmph sound as Olga cleared her throat, only a few feet away. She seemed not to be moving any more, and Quill hoped she was turning back, when suddenly she rounded the side of the planter and saw them. Her mouth fell open and she dropped her knitting. The ball of yarn, which had been tucked under her arm, rolled across the floor.

“Help!” she shouted. “Don’t shoot!”

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