“Easy, easy, legionnaire,” it pleaded in a horrific approximation of the human tongue, the obviously unfamiliar language gnarled on its lips. “I coop’rate.”
Rake let out a gruff breath and yanked the knife free from its hand. In the microsecond she was off balance, the Drudger’s Imprints surged. It twisted out from under her knee, throwing an elbow as it spun. She blocked it with her free arm while slicing the knife cleanly into its chest with the other. The captain spluttered a mouthful of blood, and its eyes rolled back as it fell limp.
“Fucking Drudgers…” Rake muttered under her breath and stood, sheathing her knife. She headed straight for the main terminal and began sliding through menus, blood dripping down her arm.
“Void, Rake.” Cavalon pulled himself out of the duct and glanced around. The primary flight console sat flanked by two smaller, catchall terminals sitting behind the pilot and copilot chairs, facing each of the side walls. He went from station to station, scouring the filthy cockpit for something not disgusting to staunch her bleeding with.
“Cav, it’s fine,” Rake assured.
He glanced back. Her Imprints glided around the cut, and the flow of blood ceased as they sealed up the wound. Moments later, it scabbed over, like it’d been healing for days. Rake absentmindedly swabbed the excess blood off with the back of her hand, then wiped it on her pant leg while staring at the terminal.
“Don’t you get tired?” Cavalon nodded at her Imprints as they receded from her wounded arm and reset themselves.
“Yes,” she said simply, scratching at the fresh skin.
“I could never use mine as much as you have in the last half hour. I’d have dropped dead by now.”
“You have to treat them like a muscle,” she said, continuing to swipe through the screens. “Exercise them.”
“Really?”
“The more you use them, the more your body gets used to it. You won’t get tired as quickly.”
“What kind of regimen are we talking?”
She glared. “Must we talk about this right now?”
“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands in submission. “Sorry, sir.”
Cavalon added that to the list of points to question her on later. Her eyes darted back to the display, and he walked over to the terminal. He picked up the strange golden pyramid the Drudger had been using. It was heavy for its size, and oddly warm. A series of etchings ran along each of the four facets in an uninterrupted, geometric design. He turned it over in his hands, running his fingers along the asymmetrical grooves, but could find no way to activate the display. He set it back down, then went to hover over Rake’s shoulder.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Checking their logs to see where they’ve been.”
“And?”
“And … nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “They’ve trav eled a good distance the last few days—stopped at a couple of random coordinates. Nowhere I recognize as being anywhere. But I’m mostly concerned about where they just came from, and where those other twenty Drudgers are.”
“Is there even anywhere they could get to in only a couple of hours?”
“Other than the Argus, no. Their last trip put them literally on the edge of nowhere. Halfway between the Argus and the next buoy, but a few hundred thousand klicks inward. There’s nothing there.”
“Maybe it’s a loot drop. You know—secret places they stash contraband between runs.”
“Yeah…” She stared vacantly at the screen.
“We could watch that message it was playing,” he suggested. “Maybe it’ll give us a clue where the rest of them went.”