Illuminae (The Illuminae Files #1)(60)
Mason, E, LT 2nd: i want you to get out kady
Mason, E, LT 2nd: i want you to live and tell the truth about what happened here
Mason, E, LT 2nd: jesus, someone has to
ByteMe: then i better get to work convincing my new captain that the sooner she rescues you, the sooner we can run away very fast from the Lincoln
ByteMe: and if she won’t help, i’ll find another way
Mason, E, LT 2nd: god im sorry Kady
Mason, E, LT 2nd: im so sorry for everything
ByteMe: what could u possibly be sorry for?
ByteMe: none of this is you. it’s f*cking BeiTech, it’s messed up software in an AI that thinks it’s saving us, it’s your dead commanders making stupid, arrogant choices
Mason, E, LT 2nd: kerenza. all the fights we had. all the excuses i made. all of it
Mason, E, LT 2nd: i should have told you i loved you every day
Mason, E, LT 2nd: i should have given you the stars
Mason, E, LT 2nd: and now its too late
ByteMe: it’s not too late until it’s over
Mason, E, LT 2nd: kady
Mason, E, LT 2nd: it IS over
ByteMe: it’s not.
Mason, E, LT 2nd: kady, don’t you f*cking dare come over here
ByteMe: i have to go. stay safe. check in as soon as i can.
ByteMe: love you
Mason, E, LT 2nd: kady DONT
Mason, E, LT 2nd: kady?
Mason, E, LT 2nd: shit
Subject: What’s left
Date: 07/30/75
Stuff doesn’t matter.
That’s what They say.
I wonder if They’ve ever tried losing everything?
I left Kerenza with nothing but the clothes I was wearing, and I lost those soon after. They were covered in blood, and nobody thought I’d want them. Maybe they could have been repaired, but instead they went into recyc, and I scrubbed the blood from under my fingernails and got a ship jumpsuit instead.
Given their composition, my clothes most likely went into fertilizer for the hydroponics section, and in my grimmer moods I imagine a molecule here or a molecule there in the carrots I eat at dinner. See, Kady? You didn’t lose everything. It’s right here.
They say people are more important than stuff. Maybe that’s true, though I think there’s a reason nobody except Brothers and Sisters renounce their possessions. Even the destitute have something they cling to, right?
Your stuff is a series of choices that show who you are. Yeah, I went for the black digiplayer with the skulls on, got a problem with that? Yeah, these are the boots my mother says make me look like I’m in the army, this is the shirt my boyfriend loves, that I have to wear a jacket over when I leave the house.
That’s the toy turtle my gramma gave me before she died.
All I have now is me. People matter more than stuff?
Well f*ck you, I don’t have people. My mother’s dead, or mad. My father’s on Heimdall, which means he’s probably dead too. And my stuff might have been a tiny reminder, something to cling to. Something to tell me who I am. Excuse me for being so f*cking shallow.
FUCK. I want to slam this keyboard against a wall. This keyboard that belongs to the Hypatia. Not mine. Requisitioned. Like my blankets. Like my clothes. Like my life.
So here’s the thing. My people are gone. My stuff is gone. Nobody’s left who knows me, there’s nothing left to say who I am. Everything’s gone, except one thing. One person.
He told me to run, to get out, to spread the word. Byron said the same. I understand why they did.
But Ezra was ready to die just to improve my chances of survival by one percent more.
Turns out I feel the same way.
Time to go get him, or die trying.
Surveillance footage summary,
prepared by Illuminae Group Analyst ID 7213-0089-DN
It’s hard to believe this is the same spider monkey. The same girl who sauntered away from the Hypatia servers and blew a kiss to mark her conquest.
Surveillance report commences at 17:43 as the subject, Kady Grant, approaches the Hypatia shuttle bay. She has in her possession a large bag with infirmary markings, a backpack and a portable tablet.
There’s no strut in her step now. She looks exactly like the scared seventeen-year-old she is, pink hair fading, askew where she keeps running her hand through it. Still, considering she’s on her way to almost certainly be deader than a space dodo (so nice we killed them twice), you have to give her some credit for not just puking on the spot.
She stops around the corner from Hypatia’s Shuttle Bay 1B, home to the personnel carriers used for short, intra-fleet skips. Small craft, no weapons, designed to zip across the black to the Alexander or Copernicus, or, in happier times, a nearby space station. Her mouth moves, but audio doesn’t catch it. I’m not even sure she’s making any noise. Praying. Rehearsing. Giving herself an old-fashioned pep talk. You’re up to bat, Kady Grant. One strike and you’re out.
Her fingers dance across the tablet, and she scans the results, then nods. When she rounds the corner to Security Officer (2nd Class) Bronwen Evans, she’s neither strutting nor shuffling, but striding, short of time and take-no-shit. “They need you outside 3F,” she calls, brusque.
Officer Evans lays her hand on her sidearm. “Back up please, Miss.”
Kady Grant, career criminal in the making, rolls her eyes. “Listen, lady. I’m trying to get to the infirmary, okay?” She hefts the huge infirmary bag to make her point. “Your comms unit is out, and they told me to send you to 3F.”