“This is really dumb,” I mutter, as March sets off.
Presently we come to another security door, where he repeats the procedure. “I hope there aren’t many more of these. This thing only has one charge left.”
That much I knew. Like most black-market wares, codebreakers are crafted with a finite number of uses, then they break down to base chemicals, leaving no hint as to their purpose. Maybe a really good chemist, analyzing the residue, would be able to posit a guess, but there’s still no proof, and for most criminals, that’s the important thing. For obvious reasons, possession of them is outlawed on every Corp world, and as far as I know, they can only be purchased on Gehenna.
We hurry onward, trying to be quiet, although skulking in a bright corridor with no cover looks even sillier than it sounds. As we pause at the next—and hopefully last—set of doors, I say, “One of these days you’re going to stop surprising me.”
He gives me a saturnine smile. “And when that day comes, Jax, I’ll miss you.”
Bastard. But I don’t mean it. Very few people can keep up with me verbally, and I wouldn’t trade March for someone nice. Well, I don’t mean that like it sounds. March is a good man, just not a nice one. Does that even make sense?
While I’m pondering, he gets to work, and the door whispers open. Even before I step around the corner to see, my skin prickles with wrongness. Yes, this is the place Farr warned us about, where they’re doing dreadful things. I step into the room without waiting for March, scarcely able to take it in.
At first glance it looks like a med ward or possibly a morgue, so many rows of bodies, lying pale and quiet. The only sound besides our breathing comes from the low hum of the machines keeping them alive. And that’s not even the worst part.
“Mother Mary,” March breathes, coming to stand beside me. “They’re—”
“Helping populate the station,” a voice says from behind us. “We’re growing only girl children right now. There are so many men waiting.”
Shit. We’ve been had.
I turn to find Farr leveling a disruptor on us. Either one of us makes a sudden move, our molecules are going to find themselves painfully rearranged. And that’s really not good for breathing and circulation.
“Canton,” I drawl. “What an unexpected pleasure. Decided you don’t want a ride off station anymore?”
As if he ever did. The last piece of the puzzle falls into place. Hon doesn’t possess the scientific expertise to execute this plan by himself. My stomach roils, seeing how they’re using these poor women as nothing but wombs. I’m afraid to speculate just how insemination takes place.
“Yes, I was rather proud of that performance. I had to think fast. But why would I? I can’t study in the field anymore…my lungs were damaged on Marakeq, and I have a sweet setup here. Hon trusts me to take care of business, I’m his right-hand man.”
“Where did you find all these women?” March asks. His hands furl into fists at his sides, and it doesn’t take a specialist to read his body language.
“Med wards mostly, sometimes Psych. You’d be surprised how many throwaways there are, forgotten by friends and family.” Farr shakes his head in what appears to be sincere regret, and I have to conclude he’s just about the craziest bastard I ever met. He thinks it’s too bad these poor women wound up like that but doesn’t see anything wrong with this? “Don’t worry,” he adds, seeming to misread my look. “We test for genetic anomalies, and I’m keeping careful record so we don’t wind up inbreeding.”
“Thank Mary for that,” I mumble, but Farr is immune to sarcasm. “You’re behind the biomechanical work on Hon’s jumpers, too, aren’t you?”
He smiles, like we’re having a friendly conversation, and if it weren’t for the weapon in his hands, I might even believe it. “Yes, they’re kept in a separate area, as it’s a different project. Our goal is complete self-sufficiency, a settlement free of Corp influence, free from artificial cred-based commerce.”
“What happens if one of these women wakes up?” March edges closer to the scientist by millimeters.
“Oh, they never do,” Farr answers, and I can picture him smiling as he slides the spike behind their eyes, crooning, This is for the best. “And no one ever leaves Hon-Durren’s Kingdom. Afraid there’s no place for you here, March. Hon simply doesn’t like you. We’re keeping the women. Jax, after reviewing your Corp record, I don’t trust you to be docile on your own, and you appear resistant to mental conditioning. The blonde’s a mechanic, yes? We can use her expertise. The other two from your crew can join the rovers. I’m sure they’ll all adapt…and if necessary, I can assist with that.”
Shit, why didn’t I see it sooner? He’s just like the Unit Psych, Newel.
After a brief pause, as if thinking things over, March asks, low, “Will you take care of baby-Z for me, at least?”
No. Oh no. I find myself begging silently, Don’t you dare leave me, March. Don’t you dare. But there’s nothing but my own thoughts, nothing to indicate he heard me.
“Of course,” Farr says kindly. “I have him right here in fact.” With his free hand he opens up his shirt and Z pokes his head out the top.
“Grrr-upp.” For some reason, Z only chats if he can see someone to talk to. With his head covered up, he seems to assume nobody’s around.
Fantastic. Now we’re crippled because we need to be careful with the baby. Just when I don’t think the situation can get any worse, March dives for the scientist’s legs. Farr’s faster than I’d have guessed, though, and he fires—blinding flash, so I hit the deck instinctively.
When my pupils adapt, I see March crumpled at Farr’s feet.