The Edge Page 35

blood and noted a fracture of the wrist and some cracked ribs. She roughly manipulated a long jagged scar on his leg.

  "Looks like some blind guy's been operating on him," she muttered to nobody in particular.

  "I sewed that up." He hated the way she treated him like a piece of meat, not looking at him, not talking to him.

  "Wow, a surgeon in the making as well. Regular jack of all trades."

  He didn't bother to answer but looked at the recruiter who stood like a statue off to one side.

  "Sure you can turn this boy into a pod jockey?" she asked over her shoulder. "He's a kid, for god sake."

  Andrews didn't answer. She sighed, taking his silence as a yes.

  "We'll shoot him up with a boat load of vaccinations," she told the recruiter. "Not too bad of shape. Considering. Get some calories into him. Put some meat onto those skinny ass bones. Looks like a damned skeleton."

  After the boat load of vaccinations, the recruiter took him down a long corridor which ended in a place called Deli.

  A bored young woman at the entrance looked at Mak. She was wearing some kind of uniform, pink and clean. A little hat perched precariously on her head. "Sergeant, there are vending machines down that hall."

  "Yes, ma'am," he said. "I saw them on the way here."

  "You could just send him down there," she sniffed. "He could wait for you until you're finished."

  "Thank you, ma'am." Andrews brushed by her with Mak following in his footsteps. Her sneer was hidden only by her skin.

  There was food everywhere. His mouth kept trying to salivate. He wanted to wander around the different food stations just to see. He'd seen restaurants on somebody's TV once but he'd never been in one. He wasn't sure this was a real restaurant since he thought people sat at tables and food was brought.

  "Not hungry?" the recruiter asked.

  "I'm fine," Mak mumbled.

  "Need money?"

  "I'm fine." He had no money.

  The recruiter filled his tray up with different kinds of food. Mak followed in his wake like a shadow, trying not to get in the way as Andrews kept bumping into him. He saw the other people stealing their little clean glances at him.

  The recruiter paid and they sat at a table. Andrews slowly ate the food on the tray, the sandwiches, the drinks, the chips, the pickles, the dessert. With arms crossed to hide his rumbling stomach, Mak watched. The recruiter threw his napkin down.

  "You want?" he asked indicating the leftovers.

  Mak shook his head. The recruiter waved and a robot trundled up to the table. He slowly fed the contents of the tray to the robot, then finally the tray itself. Mak could still smell each individual dish.

  A group of young men and women stopped at their table.

  "Got another worm on the hook, huh?" one said, staring at him, but looking at Andrews. "You should be a damned fisherman."

  "Why do we need this kind of garbage?" another said.

  "Pod pilot, sir," the recruiter answered.

  The group sniggered. "You gotta be kidding me? This worm? Is that why you're letting him pollute our air?"

  "He stinks," a young woman jeered. "If worms have to go into the armed forces, they should be just sanitation workers."

  The recruiter was silent.

  "What makes you think that you can be a pod pilot?" one said. "You're just a worm."

  Mak charged out of the chair his hands balled into fists, but the recruiter was quicker. Considering his damaged body, it was a good trick. He grabbed Mak's jacket and shoved Mak behind him.

  "Excuse us, sir," he said turning to the group. "We'll be on our way."

  "Send him to the Soldiers, sergeant," one of them said, hastily trying to replace his sudden look of fear with a sneer. "Let him shovel shit there."

  Mak struggled with his rage, but he didn't let it show. He was sure they just saw his bored expression. But he wanted to kill. This was a mistake. He didn't belong. He glided impatiently behind the slower man as they exited Deli.

  "What's that in your pocket?" Andrews asked.

  "Huh?" He jerked out of his anger. What next? He should just tell this Andrews to shove it. This was bullshit.

  "Your pocket, boy, what's in it?"

  "Don't call me boy. My name is Mak."

  "Alright, Mak. Your pocket."

  He jammed his hand into a pocket and found something. He yanked out a thick sandwich.

  "Don't get caught stealing." Andrews turned away.

  "I didn't steal it," he shouted about to throw the sandwich down.

  "I didn't say you did," Andrews limped away. Mak's pockets were full of food. "I might hate you. But I hate those assholes worse."

  Weapons had managed to bring some turrets on line and a bank of missiles but that was it. And what they could shoot at was still unknown. They still had no way of destroying the blobs, though they could be seen flooding towards the ship.

  Jamaal signaled he wanted to talk again. Mak activated the control screen. Sitting down in front of the console was Brenn.

  "You don't look so hot," Mak observed.

  Brenn gave a thin smile. "You don't look so good yourself."

  "You're an Isolate."

  Brenn raised an eyebrow. "Been talking with the Host, I see."

  "Their representative from Earth Central. So what's sharing?"

  "Sharing is what Brenn and I are doing right now. That's why I can speak to you and interact and know who you are. Brenn and I are sharing. They, the Host, are possessing in the most literal terms. They kill their host and take over the body. That's why they don't speak or seem to know anything. They can glean a little bit here and there, but not much."

  "You're the good guys, they're not?"

  Brenn chuckled then coughed. "I don't think there are any good guys, Mak. I certainly don't feel like one."

  "Can you reverse the sharing?"

  "Yes, but I wouldn't be able to protect you any more. That's why Gold Ghost agreed to share."

  "Jamaal, what do the docs say about his brainwave activity?"

  "Looks pretty normal according to them. But he's in a bad way physically."

  "I'm dying." Brenn smiled sadly. "I can't keep this up much longer."

  "What can we do for you?"

  "I cannot be saved. You need to get away from here. The Host have found a crack to bleed through and you're on it. Believe me, they're not happy about that. They seek to live in this space through you and your kind. The Isolates believe this to be wrong but we are in a very small minority. Our plan was to protect you and have you destroy enough of the zombies as you call them to convince the Host their plan was imperfect. They needed many of you here with powerful ships to start their plan. The Kyrzal was a temporary relationship to determine the feasibility of taking you over. They always intended to betray them and your Earth Central."

  "Why don't these zombies zip around the ship like you do?" Jamaal asked.

  "You need to be properly shared as far as we can tell."

  "As far as you can tell?" Jamaal asked. "You don't know?"

  "True sharing is only rarely done and we've never attempted it with your species. We were as pleasantly surprised as you."

  "There wasn't much pleasure in that surprise," Jamaal said.

  "I have more bad news."

  Jamaal hung his head, saying. "Uh oh."

  "I'm not able to protect all that's left."

  "We've noticed and are concentrated as closely to you as we can," Jamaal said.

  "It's not enough. You're going to have to start picking people who I can protect."

  Mak felt cold. "How many can you protect?"

  "After the next three hours, I will only be able to protect ninety per cent of your remaining crew, then every three hours after that, another ninety percent. You're going to have to choose who is going to be protected."

  Mak wanted to do what Jamaal did which was close his eyes and lower his head. He struggled not to let his entire body slump into resignation.

  "If we can't
get life support going, we're all going to die anyway," Mak stated. "What does the host want with bodies? Why do they need us?"

  "We, and I emphasize we, need bodies if we're to remain in this space. We were living in what you called Jump Space. But the Host found a way to leak into your space."

  "So why come here at all?" Jamaal asked.

  "They wish to own this space."

  "For what?"

  Brenn shrugged. "You'll have to ask them that."

  "Why are you helping us?" asked Mak.

  Brenn laughed then coughed. He doubled over and the blood drained from his face. He waved away one of the meds who rushed over to help him. "It's a good question. The Isolates that came here, eight of us, thought this was Prophecy. A final end to the war between the Host and the Isolates. An escape from our space to yours. We've seen so many ships come and go through our space. But we couldn't follow and neither could the Host. You and others like you were simply ignored. But the Isolates found a way to enter your space. An escape. We thought to leave slowly then seal the rift behind us. But somehow the Host found out."

  "The Isolates have allowed the Host to enter our space," asked Jamaal slowly.

  "Yes, and we don't know how to seal this one. We are guilty of your doom. The eight came through to help you by way of another rift that has since closed. We had planned to seal the rift on this side."

  "No more Isolates can come through?"

  "We've sealed all the rifts except for this one. The Host is holding this one open."

  "Why did ramming this rift cause such a problem for them?"

  "Don't know. Maybe something about the size of the X. Maybe a large enough explosion might seal the rift on this side but we don't know. So little has occurred the way we had hoped."

  "So we've got two and a half hours before we have to start losing people again."

  Brenn nodded. He rubbed his eyes.