Out of the hatch, suited up, maybe five hundred yards from the Ragtime and closing. Behind, the Rowdy should be decelerating for contact. Why does he want to board? He doesn’t have to. He’s won the bet, so Pica and Rowdy can coordinate and get this done while Aaron counts his winnings. He is curious, though. He wants to see the crew, maybe help them? No, he wants to look them in the eye. A morbid part of him wants to see the damage up close. Or he just wants a spacewalk. Fuck it, he doesn’t need to have a reason.

Close enough, he launches off the fuselage, umbilical behind, tethering him to the Clandestine. Space. Not quite like flying an airplane, but Bloodroot in the sun looks mighty fine, fertile, a place where humanity thrives. He hits the Ragtime hard. There is fine debris all over the broken segment and rapidly freezing globules of sickly grey liquid. Shattered machinery. Something traumatic happened here. Tiny ice crystals abound.

“Clandestine, can you see me?”

“Yes.”

“What is this stuff?”

“The fragments look like parts of damaged bots, shielding and hull. I’ll need a sample of the liquid. Just don’t drink it in the meantime.”

“I don’t know, I’m feeling kind of thirsty.” He fiddles with the lock. Nobody is expected to be on this side, so there are no security measures to speak of. Something blocks the sun briefly and he has seconds to flinch before the Rowdy crashes into the Ragtime. It’s nothing more than a tap, but it shakes Aaron and a fair bit of debris loose.

He’s safe, but the crash reminds him that he could die out here.

“Are you all right?” asks Clandestine.

“The fuck is up with Rowdy?”

“Component failure. Retros didn’t kick in fast enough.”

“Now they know we’re here.”

“They already knew we were here. I’ve been hailing the Ragtime, remember?”

“Or, maybe they’re all dead.”

“IFC scans disagree with you, Aaron.”

Aaron activates the suit’s emergency manoeuvring unit and aims himself at the opening. He feels transmitted vibrations as the Rowdy connects.

“I’m getting an automated warning from Ragtime… proximity alarm,” says Clandestine. “And…”

“Are you trying to kill me with suspense? And what?”

“There’s a shadow.”

“What do you mean? We’re in orbit. There’s a sun. The place is full of shadows.”

“An AI shadow.”

“In English. The hell do I know about AI shadows?”

“There are two of them, Aaron. Two AIs in one ship. Maybe that’s the problem. Oh.”

“What? Clandestine speak to me.”

“It’s—”

Clandestine goes dark.

The door slides open and atmosphere vents just above Aaron’s head. He sees objects cannon out into space, some glinting in sunlight.

“Clandestine?”