Providence - Max Barry Page 0,34

he wanted. He could study salamander tactics or review past engagements or figure out how crabs recycled each other—for as long as he wanted, just to satisfy his own curiosity. He began to wear his tool belt again, not because anything needed fixing, but in case he felt like taking something apart.

He also began to play more games, including Gamma Fleet, which they played through their films and mined resources and built ships and tried to conquer the galaxy. This had been popular even back at Camp Zero because it was what they all wished they were doing. Games took a few hours and usually ended in showdowns between Gilly and Beanfield, because Anders and Jackson were terrible. Gilly could now almost predict the winner from initial placements: whoever was close enough to pancake Anders and Jackson and absorb their resources.

“You should teach me how you do that,” Anders said afterward. They were hanging out in Rec-3, which had sofas.

“Sure.” He had tried before, but Anders’s eyes glazed over when Gilly started talking about supply paths.

“You see, Gilly?” Anders said. “You didn’t need those valve puzzles. You’re okay.”

He nodded. “I think I am.”

“You just have to accept that nothing you do matters.”

“Right,” he said, although that wasn’t how he would have put it.

“So, hey, next engagement, I want you to do something.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you when it happens.”

Gilly eyed him. “I don’t think I’m going to do it.”

“It’s fine. Beanfield did it.”

“Did what?”

“The thing.”

“During an engagement?”

Anders nodded.

“Just tell me what it is,” Gilly said.

Anders glanced around, as if Jackson or Beanfield might be about to teleport in from their cabins, where he could see their pings. “We go into a hot room.”

Gilly blinked.

“I can’t tell you why. You have to experience it for yourself.”

“I’m not doing that,” Gilly said.

Anders looked hurt. “Beanfield did it,” he said again.

Gilly didn’t believe this. “You can’t skip engagements. And you need to dial all this shit down. Jackson won’t take it forever.”

“Is that right?” said Anders. “What’s she going to do? Send me home?”

“We’re supposed to be soldiers, Anders.”

“But we’re not,” Anders said, standing. “That’s the fucking problem, Gilly. We’re passengers. It doesn’t matter if we’re at station.”

“It matters to whether Jackson will yell at me.”

“Jackson,” Anders said derisively. “Of us four cheap PR stunts, Jackson is the cheapest.”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“I need to get out of this room,” Anders said, flexing. “There’s no goddamn air.”

Gilly didn’t know what to say to that. In the silence, Anders left.

* * *

—

He considered reporting the conversation to Beanfield. But then he became distracted by an interesting salamander attack pattern from their last engagement, and next thing he knew the walls were orange. He hustled to station, and when he checked in, there was no sign of Anders. At first, no one mentioned it, then Jackson said, almost casually, “Any reason we’re missing Weapons?” and Beanfield said, “I’m dealing with it, Command,” and that was that.

It was a minor engagement, only a single hive. It expelled less than a hundred salamanders and as soon as the ship pulsed, they and the hive exploded enthusiastically. Gilly’s screens washed white. “Whoa,” he said.

Afterward, debriefing around the Rec-1 table, they tried to figure out what had happened. Jackson ran the footage, rolling forward and backward around the moment all the salamanders abruptly died.

“This was our regular pulse?” Gilly said. “Because that looks way more effective.”

“Regular pulse,” Jackson said.

He wanted to ask Anders, who was, after all, Weapons Officer. But Anders was still missing. “It’s like they ignited each other,” he said, pointing. “It practically looks like a chain reaction. Starting with the hive.”

“Is that a problem?” Jackson said.

He shook his head. “If they’re dying faster, that’s great. It might be because of our battlefield sanitization. They can’t get feedback