City of Ruins - By Kristine Kathryn Rusch Page 0,89

ship. We even found a name and a vessel number on the Dignity Vessel. I can’t read the name because it’s in Old Earth Standard—or at least, I think that might be standard. It’s an ancient Earth language, anyway, and my Old Earth Standard is mostly limited to helpful words like “danger” and “keep out.”

I’ve given up on the door. I found the latch quickly enough—it is exactly where latches always are on Dignity Vessel doors—but I can’t open it. I’ve pressed it, moved it, changed it, and it still won’t budge. Either the door is locked from the inside—which is something I’ve never seen in a Dignity Vessel—or it keeps relatching every time I think I’ve opened it.

Al-Nasir and Quinte have found some overrides for the door leading to the corridor. They’ve also found a way to turn on the interior lights—all without touching a thing.

The interior lights came on after Quinte ran her hand over a part of the wall nearest the door.

We all blinked in the brightness and then got back to work. Or at least I did. DeVries and Rea and Al-Nasir and Quinte all stared as if they hadn’t seen the place before.

And when I finally gave up on the latch, I stared, too.

It’s not exactly what I thought it was. When the room had been shrouded in darkness, it had the feeling of a place that went on forever, of a room that led to other rooms, which led to even more rooms, which then became a compound.

Now that the lights are on full, I realize that the room is really one gigantic repair shop. There are several platforms marked “danger” in Old Earth Standard, and unlike the one I’m standing on, those are all empty. There are other equipment consoles built into the walls around each platform, and those consoles show nothing on their screens.

I wonder idly what would happen if we touch them. Would we get another Dignity Vessel?

I’d try, except that I want to find out more about this Dignity Vessel first, and then there’s the problem of the death hole.

This morning before we left, Gregory informed me that the new death hole—the one we think the Dignity Vessel caused (and by extension, we probably caused)—is the largest in Vaycehn’s recorded history.

I don’t want to do that again. I didn’t want to do it before.

So I’ve warned my people away from the other consoles, at least for the time being. Not that they were hurrying over there. We’re swamped with the consoles we have.

I’m proud of Kersting and Seager. They’re going over the consoles we have touched millimeter by millimeter, making sure they miss nothing. I can hear their conversation in my comm—”You take that.” “Got it.” “I’m finishing this.” “Good.”—and it feels like an accompaniment to the constant strumming of stealth tech.

I wish my equipment measured the sound of stealth tech, because it seems to me that the sound has changed since the last time we were here. It was louder just before the ship came in, and slightly different once the ship arrived. Now the sound has less treble and more bass. Even the treble has a bit of vibrato in it that wasn’t there before.

It’s distracting, and the conversation between Kersting and Seager takes my mind off of it.

I moved away from the door two hours ago and walked under the ship, booking for the hatches that I know are there. I found one, welded closed (or, at least, it looked like it was welded), and another that’s barely within my reach.

As I stand on tiptoe to inspect the top part of the hatch, I brace one hand against the ship itself. I run my hand across the top of the hatch and feel nothing. The hatch should have a latch in the very center, if it follows the same design as the other Dignity Vessels I’ve encountered, but I save the center for last.

I’m not used to standing on my toes for prolonged periods of time and, if truth be told, my legs are still incredibly sore. So I drop down to the flat of my feet and look at the rest of the room.

I’m tempted to go down there and see if there are ladders or stepping stools or even chairs, something that will allow me to stand above that hatch opening.

But I can’t touch anything down there, not yet, and I’m not going to. Every time I think of walking outside of this small area,