“Ragtime, can we devise a protocol for tracking Exotics?”

“Yes.”

“Do it.”

The surviving bots crawl and start cutting into the reactor adjacent to the plug. It seems to take too long to Shell.

“If we don’t do this fast, the others are going to discover where we’ve gone.”

“Are you at peace with your gods?” says Fin.

“I don’t have any gods. You?” Shell raises an eyebrow.

“I’m fine.”

“Heaven or hell?”

“Yoruba don’t have hell. Life is hell. When you die, you go to heaven.”

“Neat. No Catholic guilt.”

“You have no idea.”

They go in together, previous antagonism forgotten; Shell first, then Fin. It’s different inside, more than just a service tunnel. It’s covered with organic matter.

Fin drags across it with the butt of his rifle. “Tough. Nothing scrapes off.”

“What do you suppose it is?” asks Shell.

“I have not even a tiny idea. Pretty sure it’s haram, though.”

They keep going until they come to an intersection. They split up, working in synchrony even with different putative objectives.

She turns a corner and sees him, laying down the wax or resin or whateverthefuck from nozzles in his gloves.

Shell takes aim. “Brisbane!”

“I see you,” says Brisbane. He sounds weak to Shell. She pulls the trigger when his head settles between the crosshairs. Nothing happens. What cheap gun did Fin print for her? She tries again, drops it, picks up the backup pistol, which also does not work. Fuck. She charges Brisbane and knocks him over. He is slimy with the… exudates. He easily bats her away, and she slams into a wall. He slouches towards her, stringy mucus connecting him to the wall slime. He’s also losing body fluids. He does not look well.

He’s going to kill me and cannibalise what’s left.

“Captain—” Ragtime.

“Not now.”

Brisbane smashes her across the head, and she feels her whole world tilt. She is surprised to be still alive, but the spacesuit must be part of that. God, it hurts, but she can still move. The helmet is not working well. Fuck it. She is going to bite him. Gross, but… fuck it. She removes the helmet and the stench almost knocks her back down. A mixture of a synthetic thing like a chemical toilet mixed with organic waste. Not shit. Worse. Rot. Decay.

But I will bite off your carotid as my last act, motherfucker. I got nothing better to do. I was going to die today, anyway.

“Step away from her, Pig-dog,” says Fin.

“I see you too,” says Brisbane. Electricity seems to originate from him, traverse the wall and electrocute Fin where he stands. It flings him against a wall, and he jerks once more, then hangs limp.

“Captain!” says Ragtime.

“I am busy dying,” says Shell. Her jaw hurts. It hurts to talk.

“Brace for impact!”

“What… wait, what?”