Beacon 23: Part Four: Company (Kindle Single) by Hugh Howey Read Free Book Online Page A

just a distant awareness that something in me has changed.
    “Can never have too much of this,” I say.
    The pilot is looking at me funny. I untwist the wire and pull out the can of WD-80, then make a show of appraising it. “It’s a good year.” It’s been a good week, at least.
    “Yeah, whatever,” the pilot says. “The operator just told me to give that to you. I swear you people are strange.”
    He turns and heads back through the airlock.
    “Tuner,” I shout after him. “She’s a tuner.”
    He looks back at me.
    “You think she looks like an operator?” I ask.
    He shrugs. And then, reaching to key his door shut, he says, “You all look the same to me.”
    “Wait!” I say. I peer past him into the supply ship, which brings us our food and our spares and the people who replace us, and which takes us home if we ever decide to go. I search for some sign of her, but there is none.
    “Yeah?”
    I show him the can of lubricant. One quick burst, and things just slide together. “Thank her for me,” I say. “Just tell her I appreciate it.”
    Another look like I’m the crazy one.
    “Tell her yourself,” he says. “She’s your neighbor. I’m outta here.”
    •••
    It takes me three or four stunned breaths to put it all together. And then I take the three ladders quicker than I ever have. If there were an Olympic event for beacon operators, I would’ve set the galactic record. It never would’ve been broken again. That is, until I hit the hatch that leads into the command module.
    I free the clamps holding the hatch and give it a shove, but the thing won’t budge.
    “Cricket!” I yell. “MOVE! Cricket! Off—!” I grunt with effort, climb another rung and put my shoulder to the hatch. I feel it rise a centimeter or two, but then it collapses back down as Cricket shifts her weight.
    “I swear, Cricket, get the hell off! I’m trying to get up there. Bad girl! Move!”
    Finally I get it lifted enough that she slides off. She jumps out of the way as the hatch falls into its recessed slot in the deck. Then Cricket’s all over me as I try to get up the last rungs of the ladder, licking me with her rough tongue.
    “For fuck’s sake,” I tell her. “Cricket. C’mon. Leave it. No licking. Never lick me again. I swear.”
    I’m grumbling at her as I get to the HF and pick up the mic. I squeeze the transmit button, then let go. I nearly said something. Switching to the lock bay’s external camera, I watch the supply ship pull away. No she didn’t , I tell myself. No she didn’t. No she didn’t. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.
    I try to talk myself down as I wait for the supply ship to get the hell into hyperspace. I try to picture some bald man with a beer gut over on that other beacon, scratching his neck, chewing on a protein pack. That’s the truth. Hold on to that. Don’t get your hopes up.
    The supply ship ramps up its drive and vanishes from my screen.
    I squeeze the mic.
    “Beacon 1529? This is beacon 23. You read me? Over.”
    I wait.
    There’s no response.
    I switch my scanner back to get a visual on the beacon.
    The lifeboat is still there. Still attached.
    “Go ahead.”
    The words are clipped. Came when I wasn’t paying attention. But it was her. I’m pretty sure it was her. Pretty sure.
    “Claire?” I ask.
    “Go ahead,” she answers.
    I take a deep breath. I steady myself with one hand on the dash. Cricket is there, leaning against me. She puts her mouth on my arm and squeezes, threatening to bite me if I make the wrong move.
    “I know,” I tell Cricket. “We both do.”
    And I can’t remember the last time I said the words and meant them like this. Can’t remember the last time.
    But I’ll always remember this one.