Melyn climbed out of Pheiri’s innards, tired and sore and sated.

She wriggled up through the narrow aperture of the engine access hatch, emerging into the soft shadows and open space of Pheiri’s spinal corridor. Dead screens, threadbare seats, and scuffed bulkheads greeted her return.

She perched on the edge of the open hatch, dangling her naked legs and bare feet through the slit which led down into Pheiri’s guts. She gripped a rung of the ladder with her toes, stretching her aching calf muscles. She sucked on her fingertips, digging beneath each fingernail with the edge of a tooth, to clean away the final morsels of grey goo.

She sat in satisfied silence for a long and solitary moment. All the others — zombies and otherwise — were sleeping, as far as Melyn knew. All but Pheiri himself. She listened to the purring of his body, to the click and buzz and hum of his nervous system and bloodstream and muscles, and to the steady, deep, powerful beat of his nuclear heart.

The screen of Melyn’s mind told her this was good.

It also reminded her that this was not her function; she ignored that part, dismissed it with a flicker of thought, and locked it out so it could not repeat.

Melyn had spent most of the night down in Pheiri’s engine decks — six hours, nineteen minutes, and three seconds.

First she had stowed the grey goo for later use; the zombies had handled collection, up on Pheiri’s outer deck. Melyn and Hafina had scurried around inside Pheiri to provide the zombies with every possible container they could find, from hand-sized drinking vessels to ancient plastic buckets. Melyn had not dared venture up onto the outer deck herself — not with so many dangerous things nearby, and with how the sight of Arcadia’s Rampart affected the screen of her mind. Instead she had focused on what she could achieve within the safety of Pheiri’s hull.

The sheer amount of grey goo did not all fit into Pheiri’s ‘secret room’, deep down in his guts, where his original stash of grey goo was kept. Melyn had poured as much as she could into the big tank which was plugged directly into Pheiri’s internal machinery, until the fluid reached the brim. She and Haf had eaten great messy handfuls of the stuff; Haf had gorged herself into unconsciousness, but even that had barely reduced the available quantity. Melyn had resorted to cramming the extra containers into new nooks and crannies down inside Pheiri’s engine decks, in places she had never needed to use as storage before. The zombies couldn’t get down there, but they didn’t need to; the zombies couldn’t eat it, not like Melyn and Hafina.

This was all for Pheiri.

Arcadia’s Rampart and Thirteen had done Pheiri a generosity that Melyn could not comprehend. She wished she could think clearly about their godlike benefactors, but she could barely picture the vast machine in her mind without almost blacking out.

After securing and storing the priceless bounty, Melyn had begun the long and painstaking task of smearing the grey goo all over Pheiri’s viscera.

She had squeezed through narrow passages of throbbing red light to wipe greasy grey gunk on machines she only dimly recalled, following fragmentary instructions from the screen of her mind, slathering sticky sludge on copper wires and optical cables and blinking panels and pulsing plastic mucosa. She had revisited the steel ring of Pheiri’s nuclear heart, to add an extra layer of fresh goo to all the joints and seams and plates; thankfully the chamber was no longer flooded with the invisible power which had blinded her and scrambled her mind, so she took the opportunity to lie against the warm metal of Pheiri’s most secret engine, wrapping her arms around the machine that kept him alive and moving. She had whispered a thank you, and a love poem she could not recall composing, before she had moved on.

She had opened hatches marked with yellow warning symbols and wriggled into the periphery of Pheiri’s thumping, grinding, clacking manufactory systems, to dump bottles full of goop directly into the machinery, snatching back her fingers before she could lose a digit to the metal teeth. She had smeared the gloopy, chunky, glistening mess over what she thought was probably Pheiri’s water processing and nutrient-growth machines. She had teased open wet red sphincters deep in Pheiri’s nervous system, then reached through to massage grey goo directly onto the hot and quivering meat of his most delicate membranes.

She had sustained bruises and bumps, grazes and cuts, and even a couple of dislocated joints as she had contorted herself to squeeze through the narrow passages of Pheiri’s body; Melyn had smeared small quantities of grey goo on each wound, and fed herself by licking the warm slime off her own hands. That was more than enough to accelerate her own healing process. By the time she’d finished and climbed back up the ladder, her cuts were scabs and her bruises were dark purple blotches, rapidly turning yellow and green beneath her pale skin.

Melyn sat on the lip of Pheiri’s guts, completely exhausted.

Nobody else had helped her. Nobody else could. Nobody else was small enough and flexible enough for the job — not even the smallest of the zombies, Amina and Ilyusha. Melyn suspected those two might just be able to descend the ladder, past the bulge of Pheiri’s brain. But no deeper.

She wanted to crawl into bed next to Haf and not move for twelve hours. She wanted to eat her own body weight in nutrient blocks. She wanted to curl up in the storage racks with a familiar book and read it from cover to cover six times.

The screen of her mind reiterated praise, but Melyn did not need the reminder to feel satisfied.

Pheiri was on the mend; that mattered more than anything else.

Melyn was exhausted for more than physical reasons, but those reasons were impossible for her to articulate. The last few days of her life had changed everything. She had finally recovered from the mind-scrambling side-effects of fixing the fatal defect in Pheiri’s heart, but now she was overwhelmed. She was still numb from the fight against the golden diamond in the sky, from Elpida piloting Pheiri, from the activation of Pheiri’s main gun, not to even mention ‘Iriko’, or the additional zombies she had to deal with, or Arcadia’s Rampart, or— or— or—

Melyn clicked her tongue. Thinking clearly was very difficult.

The screen of her mind was obsessed with Arcadia’s Rampart and Thirteen, but not in a way that was of any use to Melyn. The smallest stray thought was enough to summon a cacophony of clashing information, inscrutable terminology, and incompatible instructions. The physical sight of Arcadia’s Rampart triggered an explosion of overlapping nonsense inside Melyn’s head: ‘priority warning XK class nanomechanical replication threat’, ‘disengage and retreat, report to superior officer immediately’, ‘Telokopolan artefact recovery all other orders rescinded’, ‘I am the way and the truth and the future of all your generations’, ‘cease contact initiate EM-shutdown firewall procedure return to charging cradle’. Her eyeballs had tried to block out the sight of Arcadia’s Rampart several times, blooming with patches of white rot before she had dismissed the interruption.

The metal smell and salty taste of the grey goo itself was even worse — the screen of her mind had locked up several times, paralysing her until she had taken control and wiped her thoughts clean. When she’d watched Thirteen vomit the stuff onto Pheiri’s hull, she had physically passed out for three seconds.

Melyn had ended up manually locking away every single response to Arcadia’s Rampart, but the screen of her mind summoned fresh nonsense every time she thought about or approached the machine, as if there was an endless well within herself. She couldn’t function with all that input.

And it didn’t help. It didn’t tell her what was going on, or how her world was changing, or what she should do.

Her home was full of zombies. She had witnessed a battle she could not comprehend, fought by beings which had no place in her model of the world. Her own mind was conspiring to paralyse and confuse her. And nobody — not even Haf — seemed to be even half as lost.

Melyn had never before felt so small.

But six hours down in Pheiri’s guts had made the world right again.

Pheiri was home. Pheiri was life, and love, and safety, even if he was a bit more crowded now. As long as Melyn cared for Pheiri, and Pheiri cared for her and Hafina, everything else beyond this hull did not matter.

Melyn smiled as she finished sucking grey goo from beneath her fingertips. She knew her purpose.

“Thank you, Pheiri,” she whispered.

From the shadows down the spinal corridor, something whispered back:

“—sure about that part, Howl? I’m not so certain we can go without—”

Melyn raised her head and peered down the spinal corridor, past the jumble of Pheiri’s ancient systems and overlapping parts. She spotted the hem of a dark coat and a hint of snowy white hair, vanishing around an internal corner.

Elpida (zombie) (‘Commander’ provisional).

Elpida hadn’t replied to Melyn, she’d been whispering to herself. She was heading away from Melyn, making her way toward the crew compartment.

Melyn wasn’t the only one still awake in the night.

Melyn stood up and closed the engine access hatch, careful not to pinch her fingers between the hatch and the hole. Her clothes were folded in a neat pile nearby; she had stripped almost naked to squeeze down inside Pheiri’s innards. She quickly pulled her socks back on, followed by her pajama bottoms and her large baggy jumper. She tied her hair back with a twist. Then she set off after Elpida.

Catching up to the ‘Commander’ took only a few moments. Melyn spotted Elpida’s distinctive white hair and tall physique just ahead, ducking beneath an overhang of dead screens; Elpida stepped out of the spinal corridor and into the crew compartment, straightening up and rolling her shoulders. She let out a quiet sigh and ran a hand through her hair.

Melyn hung back, watching.

Elpida glanced around the crew compartment, then went left — into the infirmary, beyond Melyn’s line of sight. Melyn waited, tucked behind a twist of ancient machinery inside the corridor. Elpida reappeared a few moments later, crossed the crew compartment, and vanished to the right, presumably into the bunk room.

Melyn slipped out of the corridor and into the crew compartment.

All was quiet and dim, with the main lights extinguished. Soft red shadows coated the walls and pooled on the floor, vibrating in time with Pheiri’s distant heartbeat and the nearly imperceptible motion of his tracks. Hafina was asleep in her usual spot, snuggled up beneath a nest of blankets on the floor, between the benches. Haf was very large and soft beneath the covers, blonde hair fanned wide in a big untidy wave. She was on her side, three arms flung outward.

That was Melyn’s spot, on those arms. Melyn’s Haf. Melyn’s place.

Melyn said a silent apology. Sleep and closeness would have to wait.

But why? Why did she feel the need to follow the ‘Commander’? Did she think Elpida was up to no good? Of course not, no. Elpida had proven that she loved Pheiri too, and Pheiri was her brother, and that was good enough for Melyn.

Melyn’s curiosity was unmoored from reason, from the screen of her mind. She followed it anyway. She needed something she could not articulate, even to herself.

She crept up to the open doorway of the bunk room and peered inside.

Elpida was standing in the narrow gap between the bunks, framed by scratchy blue sheets and cream-white metal, all drenched in deep shadows with the lights out. Elpida was so tall and so large that she barely fit into that space, especially while wearing her long coat. Elpida was simply too big. All the zombies were too big, crowding Pheiri’s limited internal capacity. Haf and Melyn still had the crew compartment to themselves for now, but what about the future? What about the two zombies currently sleeping in the cockpit — Pira and Ooni? Wouldn’t they need somewhere more permanent? What about the zombie up on the roof, Serin? What if the bunk room got too cramped? It was already half-full of equipment, armour, guns, and other assorted zombie detritus. Melyn could wriggle down into Pheiri’s guts for some improvised privacy, and there were many other nooks and crannies hidden inside Pheiri’s superstructure, but she didn’t want to do that. She didn’t want to sleep in a gunner’s compartment or venture into the terrifying darkness of the charging cradle.

She didn’t like the thought of these zombies being so big and getting in everywhere, even if they were under Pheiri’s protection. They needed to stop being so untidy.

Elpida was checking on the others. Melyn watched.

The two smallest zombies — Amina and Ilyusha — were sleeping together in one of the topmost bunks, cuddled up with Amina in front and Ilyusha behind. Elpida reached up and touched one of them, perhaps making sure they were both tucked in properly.

The other three zombies were all sleeping alone, in separate bunks. The dark-skinned zombie with the one green eye was on her back, serene and peaceful, with a little smile on her lips. That was ‘Atyle’. Her face and neck and hands were wrapped in bandages, compressing medical gauze and thick greenish salve into her burn wounds. Melyn had not relished applying those dressings. Atyle had stared at Melyn the entire time. Atyle was spooky.

The second dark-skinned zombie was sprawled on her belly, with one arm hanging off the side of her bunk. That was ‘Victoria’, or Vicky for short. Her dangling hand seemed to be reaching for the zombie on the bunk below her — ‘Kagami’. Kagami was the only zombie who had drawn the thin blue privacy curtains over her bunk. Kagami had also required considerable medical attention, lots of gauze, and a few stitches. She’d submitted with grim determination.

Melyn was doing her best to remember all the names. They were not easy.

Elpida stared at Atyle for a long time, standing motionless. Melyn bristled inside; was the ‘Commander’ judging her work on the dressings, evaluating her treatment of Atyle’s burn wounds? She had no right, no right to pass judgement! These zombies kept getting beaten up and cut open and burned. Melyn felt as if she could barely keep up.

Elpida moved over to Vicky and smiled down at her, shaking her head at the sight of Vicky’s dangling arm. Elpida twitched open Kagami’s privacy curtains, but Kagami was curled on her side, facing the wall, breathing softly.

Melyn recalled that Elpida had done this before; when Elpida had woken up from the surgery on her gut wound, her first priority had been to check on the others.

Melyn relaxed inside. The ‘Commander’ was only fulfilling her purpose, just like Melyn had done, down inside Pheiri.

Maybe Melyn should go sleep with Haf. She was very tired. There were no answers here.

But then Elpida stepped over to the equipment and weapons spread out across the lower bunks. She moved quickly and quietly, tugging on her trousers, stepping into her boots. She squatted down and did something to the controls of the very big gun, the one with the backpack and the magnetic rings.

Melyn watched.

The screen of Melyn’s mind suggested that she should make her presence known to her Commander. She made that suggestion go away.

After a little while, Elpida stood up again. She strapped her submachine gun beneath her coat, then mimed raising it with her left hand a few times. Her right hand and wrist were still wrapped in bandages — Melyn’s own work, some of the best she had done these last few hectic days. Elpida had asked Melyn to leave her fingers free, and Melyn had carried out the instruction. Was her best not good enough for Elpida’s dexterity?

Eventually Elpida turned around to leave the bunk room. Melyn slipped away from the door, hurried over to Hafina, and slid inside the nest of blankets. She did not snuggle into Haf’s arms, but stayed out of reach, peering over the edge of the covers.

Elpida emerged from the bunk room doorway. She paused to tuck her long white hair down the back of her coat, then pulled her hood up over her head. She turned to her left and mounted the narrow staircase which led to the top hatch. She vanished into the darkness.

Melyn waited.

Was Elpida going up to the outer deck? Why? It was the middle of the night! Pitch darkness and freezing cold waited up there. Anything might be watching from the edge of the ruins, beyond Pheiri’s hull. And Pheiri was tired, still recovering. His guns could protect Elpida, of course, but he needed to rest!

What was the Commander doing?

Melyn crept back out of bed and tiptoed over to the narrow metal staircase. She peered around the corner, up into the dark. She hadn’t heard the hatch open. Perhaps Elpida was making certain the hatch was closed and locked. But then why had Elpida taken her gun? Why—

A small pale face appeared around the edge of the bunk room door.

“Ah!”

Melyn flinched.

The face flinched as well, letting out a strangled squeak. Hands fluttered to cover a mouth.

Melyn stared. The zombie stared back, shocked to be discovered creeping around at night.

Amina, the littlest of the zombies.

Amina took her hands away from her mouth, panting softly, red in the face. She bobbed her head, eyes wide and dark.

“S-sorry!” Amina whispered. “Sorry. I-I saw Elpida. Going up there. Sorry, sorry. I’m very sorry.”

Amina was almost as small as Melyn, but much chunkier beneath her baggy grey clothes. She was brown and soft and mousey. Her left hand was wrapped in bandages and gauze, pressing creamy salve into burn wounds, the same as Atyle’s dressings. Melyn had applied those bandages too; Amina had bitten her own tongue and lips to stop from whimpering as Melyn had tended to her, screwing her eyes up tight and panting through her nose.

But Melyn understood that Amina was just as dangerous as any other zombie. Amina’s danger was concealed.

That’s why Amina didn’t straighten her right arm all the way. She pressed it awkwardly across her stomach, with her elbow bent.

Amina hesitated, then raised her bandaged left hand, and whispered: “Um … t-thank you. M-Melyn? Is that how your name is pronounced? For this, I mean, thank you, for this. For earlier. I didn’t get a chance to … say … ” She trailed off. Her throat bobbed. “Do you … do you speak?”

“Yes,” Melyn whispered back. “Yes. I speak.”

Amina dipped her head again. “S-sorry for interrupting you. Following Elpida, I mean.”

“You move very quietly. Very quietly. Made me jump.”

Amina winced as if terribly ashamed. She averted her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I … I … ” Amina sniffed, paused, then sniffed again, smelling the air. Her eyes travelled back up to Melyn. She sniffed the air a third time. “Is that smell … is that the … the sick?”

“The sick? Sick?”

“The grey stuff. The mud. You … you smell of it … ” Amina trailed off. Her eyes were huge and wide in the dark red shadows. She looked Melyn up and down, then eased back from her as if afraid. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry. I’m just worried about Elpida. Do you think she’s doing something without telling the rest of us?”

Melyn considered this question. The screen of her mind offered suggestions about the Commander’s prerogative for independent action and the lack of responsibility for informing subordinates. Melyn cancelled that suggestion and tutted. Amina flinched. Melyn frowned at her.

Amina hissed: “S-sorry … just … your stare is very intense.”

“You’re correct,” Melyn whispered. “Correct. Correct.”

Amina blinked several times. “Ah?”

“Elpida shouldn’t be doing things without informing the rest of us. Informing the rest of us.” Melyn wasn’t certain about ‘the rest of us’, but the screen of her mind provided no better phrase. She wasn’t about to start calling the zombies Pheiri’s crew. “Pheiri doesn’t do things without informing us. It’s not right. Not right.”

Amina stared for a moment longer, then nodded. “Nobody has to be alone!” she hissed. “Ever again!”

Melyn wasn’t sure about that part, but she was glad Amina agreed with the basic principle. She stared up into the dark passageway which led to the hatch.

“Let’s go,” Melyn hissed. “Go. Go. Go get her back. Her back.”

Amina whispered: “W-what? Sorry? Us? Now?”

“Yes,” Melyn said. “Us. Now, now.”

Melyn mounted the steps. Her socks cushioned her tread on the bare metal. A few paces onward she stopped, turned around, and stared at Amina. The zombie hadn’t moved.

“Come on. On. On,” Melyn said. Her temper and patience were both fraying. Amina was a zombie. What did she have to be afraid of?

Amina glanced back over her shoulder, toward Haf’s huge lumpy form, asleep beneath her blankets on the floor of the crew compartment. “Don’t you want to wake … Haf— Hafina?”

Melyn shook her head. “Haf needs sleep. Haf did lots of fighting today. We didn’t. You didn’t.” She stuck out her hand. “Come on. Come on. On.”

Amina’s face went pale and waxy. She glanced into the open door of the bunk room.

Melyn hissed: “Why are you afraid?”

Amina cringed, screwing her eyes shut and shying away.

Melyn said, “I wasn’t insulting you. Insulting you. I don’t understand. Understand. We’re inside Pheiri. The hatch didn’t open. Why are you afraid?”

Amina blinked up at Melyn. The small zombie was framed at the foot of the stairs, drenched in red shadows. Her delicate forehead creased with a frown.

“How are you not afraid?” Amina whispered. “All of you? How are you not? Everything — everything! It’s terrifying! I … I can’t … ”

Amina lowered her eyes and stared at nothing, gaze darting back and forth over invisible memories. The screen of Melyn’s mind provided rapid diagnoses, warned of an oncoming panic attack, and suggested she render aid. She decided not to. She waited and listened.

Amina went on: “I felt stronger for a while. After certain … certain things. After I … did what I was supposed to. But then today all the fear came back again. And how could it not?” Her eyes jerked back up and caught Melyn, wide and wild. “I don’t understand anything, anything I saw today. Anything that happened. Did we fight a demon? Did we fight God? Was that God? Or an angel, or—” Amina stopped and shook her head, eyes full of suspended tears. “Illy tried to explain, but the words don’t make sense. The others keep trying to tell me it’s okay now. But I saw. I saw! What … what did I see? And what are we following now? Arcadia’s Rampart, what is that? What was that?” Amina’s eyes bulged from her face. She was panting now, rough and ragged. Any louder and she might wake the others. “I don’t even understand what you are. You ate that thing’s vomit. You. What are you?”

“I’m Melyn.”

Amina smothered a sob. She bit her bottom lip and crushed her right arm against her own belly. She panted through her teeth. “I don’t understand.”

The screen of Melyn’s mind flashed with a lot of words she didn’t care to read — ‘anxiety attack’, ‘psycho-reflexive breakdown’, ‘trauma response.’ She dismissed them all and walked back down the stairs.

Amina flinched away.

Melyn whispered: “Same.”

Amina blinked several times. “S-sorry?”

“Me too. Same. I don’t understand. I don’t understand most of what’s happening.”

Amina’s tears stopped. She stared with huge dark eyes. “You … but you’re … you’re one of … you ate the … ”

“The only thing I understand is Pheiri,” Melyn whispered. “And maybe Haf. I don’t even understand myself. Understand myself. But I’m not afraid, because I know my purpose.”

Amina swallowed, sniffed down her tears, and gently wiped her own eyes on the back of her bandaged hand.

Melyn added: “But I should really be afraid of you.”

Amina stared. “S-sorry?”

“You’re a zombie. A zombie. You can’t be killed easily. You might eat me, or Haf, or something. Something. You’re stronger than you look. I know you have a knife up your right sleeve. That’s why I can’t see your hand, why you keep it in your sleeve. In your sleeve.”

Amina froze.

Melyn sighed. “It’s not a bad thing. You can take it out if you want. If you want. Holding it makes you stronger.”

Amina boggled at her, wide eyed with amazement, tears drying on her cheeks. “How do you know?” she whispered.

Melyn shook her head. It was too much effort to explain how the screen of her mind had informed her that Amina was carrying a blade, held at an awkward angle up her right sleeve; that’s why her right arm was pressed to her belly, to stop the knife from slipping downward.

Amina straightened her arm and fumbled the knife into her right hand, cradling and sheltering it as if Melyn was going to spring at her and take it away. The knife was nothing special — a black combat knife in a plain sheath. Amina stared, blinking, confused.

Melyn said: “Take it out, if you want. If you want. If it makes you feel better.”

Amina’s jaw hung open. Her voice quivered. “Are you sure?”

Melyn shrugged. “Will you use it to stab me?”

“No!” Amina hissed. “No, no! Not you, not— not you or even the angel, not anymore. I’m … I’m more useful now. I’m not … not for that. So, no.”

Melyn shrugged again. “Follow me or don’t. Up to you.”

Melyn turned and mounted the short, cramped flight of metal steps. A moment later, soft feet scurried up behind her. A bandaged hand bumped against her own. Amina wriggled up alongside Melyn, with her sheathed blade held in her other fist.

Amina smiled, tight and nervous. Melyn nodded back. The knife did not frighten her.

The diagonal passageway up to the top hatch turned only once, to the right, at a ninety-degree angle; Melyn knew this was to prevent the unlikely event of an aerial attack breaching the hatch while it was open, and penetrating straight into the crew compartment. Any attack would be fouled by the single turn. The area at the top, just below the hatch, was very small and very cramped. Melyn and Amina turned the corner together.

Elpida was sitting at the top, beneath the hatch.

Her long armoured coat was spread under her backside. Her submachine gun lay across her knees. She had her chin in one hand and her hood pulled down around her neck. She seemed much too large for the limited space. Bright purple eyes burned in the darkness. She looked at Melyn and Amina with a distinct lack of surprise.

“Hello, you two. Melyn, Amina,” Elpida murmured softly. “Didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“N-no!” Amina squeaked. “No, no, not at all, not at all, not at all … ”

Melyn stopped two steps short of Elpida’s boots. She had to look upward to meet Elpida’s eyes. “What are you doing? What are you doing?”

Elpida took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and said: “I was heading up to the deck, to talk with Serin. Or, more accurately, I’m hoping Serin is still there, hoping that she hasn’t moved on. But then I realised I needed to consider my strategy, so I sat down to think. I also happened to hear two girls whispering at the bottom of the stairs, so I thought I might wait to see if they were going to join me.”

Amina turned bright red in the face. She opened and closed her mouth several times.

Elpida smiled. “I’m not teasing you, Amina,” she said. “And it’s okay. Everything is going to be—”

“Liar,” said Melyn.

Elpida looked at Melyn. “I’m sorry?”

“Liar liar. You’re lying, Elpida. You’re lying to us.”

Amina blinked several times. “She— she is? I don’t—”

“Lying,” Melyn repeated.

Elpida frowned gently. “What am I lying about, Melyn?”

Melyn sighed. Where could she even begin? Elpida was not sitting down to think — she was sitting down because she was exhausted. The screen of Melyn’s mind provided a rough catalogue of wounds: Elpida’s right hand was still bandaged tight, the deep cut not yet healed; the remains of her gut wound still formed a dangerous breach across her stomach, closed with stitches and wrapped in gauze, far from ready to stand unaided; deeper still, Elpida’s heartbeat whispered of lingering tissue damage from terrible trauma, from shredded muscle re-knitted with the dark miracle of undead biology. And those were only the wounds Melyn knew about. The ‘Commander’ (provisional) sported countless bruises and scrapes, grazes and cuts, not to even mention the sleepless exhaustion hanging like lead weights on every muscle of her body.

Melyn understood that Elpida — like any zombie — had imbibed vast quantities of raw nanomachines to heal her wounds. But even undeath had limits.

“Lying by omission,” Melyn said eventually. “You need rest.”

Elpida sighed and chuckled at the same time. But she nodded. “You’re right, Melyn. We all need rest. But all I’m going to do is have a little chat with Serin.”

“Then why are you carrying your gun?” Melyn asked. “Pheiri will protect you.”

Elpida tapped the submachine gun across her knees. “Security. In case I need it. I don’t expect to. Serin is on our side, after all.”

Melyn frowned. She didn’t like Serin.

All the other zombies had come down inside Pheiri, happy to be included, protected, sheltered within his hull. They’d all spoken to Melyn, even if only a few words — Kagami had mostly complained and screamed, but at least that was communication. Victoria had made sure to pronounce Melyn’s name properly. Even Ooni had bobbed her head and muttered a bit.

But Serin wasn’t like the other zombies, Elpida’s zombies, the ones who called Elpida Commander. Melyn hadn’t even gotten a good look at Serin yet. She had smelled Serin through the open hatch when the others had been collecting the grey goo — mushrooms and rotten wood, earthy and loamy. None of the other zombies smelled like that.

Melyn decided that Elpida was right to go armed. And this meant she wasn’t right to go at all. She should stay inside Pheiri.

When Melyn didn’t speak, Elpida said: “Melyn, have you finished Pheiri’s maintenance? Finished with the grey goo?”

Melyn shrugged. “For now.”

“Thank you,” Elpida said. “I know it’s a lot of work. Without you, we wouldn’t be able to do any maintenance at all. Nobody else is small enough to go down inside Pheiri. I know he needs more, much more than we can achieve with the resources we have. We need to stop somewhere secure, somehow, to give him time, open up his insides, and … ” She trailed off, sighed, and smiled. “If there’s anything we can do for Pheiri, anything at all to provide better maintenance, I want you to let me know, Melyn. Please.”

Melyn nodded. She didn’t trust herself to answer. If she said anything she might stop being angry.

Elpida went on: “That goes for you as well. You’re our medic now, Melyn. You’ve treated almost all of us, with expertise the rest of us do not possess. Thank you. If there’s anything I can do to make your life easier, please let me know.”

Melyn nodded again.

“One more thing,” Elpida said. “I have a favour to ask you, Melyn. I know Pheiri has a lot more internal space than we’ve explored — me and the other revenants, I mean, not you and Hafina. You’ve known him for so much longer. I know he’s got gun compartments and little storage areas all along that main corridor, and there’s a bigger compartment on his left side that I can’t access. If and when you feel ready, would you please show me as much of Pheiri’s internals as you can? I need to understand how we’re going to manage space, privacy, storage, and such, if we’re going to be living inside Pheiri for the foreseeable future. I want to maximize our available space, without disrupting Pheiri’s current operations, while minimizing our impact on the spaces we’re already using.”

Melyn tutted softly. Elpida raised her eyebrows.

“Yes,” Melyn huffed. “Yes, Elpida. Yes. Fine. Thank you. You.”

“Thank you,” Elpida said. She smiled again. “Now, you’re probably right. I should probably be sleeping, or at least resting. But I can’t sleep, and I need to confront Serin about some difficult questions, and I don’t know when she might decide to up and leave. But I also shouldn’t do this alone — not because I think I might need physical backup, but because I cannot make decisions for the whole group by myself. We’re a collective now. A … ” Elpida paused. Her lips twisted with amused satisfaction, like something else was speaking through her. “A cadre!” she growled. “Yeah. Good shit, eh? Haha.” She sniffed and blinked. “A cadre”, she repeated, normal again. “Which means any long term decisions belong to all of us. That includes both of you, Amina, Melyn, no matter how unqualified you feel. So.” She thumbed at the hatch just above her head. “Do you two want to come with me, to question Serin?”

Melyn and Amina shared a look. Amina was wide-eyed with surprise. Melyn considered going to wake Hafina.

“This isn’t an order,” Elpida added. “You are under no obligation to accompany me. You are welcome to leave, or stay and listen from the shelter of the hatch. You probably won’t understand what Serin and I are going to talk about, but that’s okay. You don’t have to understand the words to judge her character, her intent, or where her allegiance may lie. If you want, I can do my best to explain to you as we talk.”

“Or—” Amina squeaked, then recoiled under Elpida’s attention. Elpida waited. Amina chewed her bottom lip, then carried on: “Or make Serin explain to us. Make her do it.”

Elpida smiled with surprise. “That’s a very good idea, Amina. Very clever. Very sneaky. I like it. Thank you.”

Amina beamed with pride, taking a sudden deep breath.

“Melyn,” Elpida said. “Do you understand why I like Amina’s suggestion?”

Melyn nodded. “Intrigue. Subterfuge. Not my preference. Preference. But I can watch. Not stepping beyond the hatch. Not beyond the hatch.”

Elpida nodded, suddenly very serious. “You two can be my audience. Use your own judgement on what to say and when to speak up, just be honest. You have complete permission — no, complete encouragement — to press Serin for explanations on any point. I’ll back both of you up, no matter what you ask. But if you don’t smell a rat, you don’t have to interject, there’s no pressure. If you get uncomfortable, just walk down the steps and leave. I won’t think less of either of you if you need to do that. How does that sound?”

Melyn had no idea what ‘smell a rat’ meant, but the screen of her mind provided the context. She nodded. Amina nodded too, shaking a little with over-excitement. Her sheathed knife creaked in her fist.

“Good,” Elpida said. “Let’s get this started.”

She rose into an awkward crouch in the cramped stairway, turned around, and grasped the release handle for the top hatch.

“You two ready?” she asked.

“Ready!” Amina squeaked.

“Ready,” Melyn said, then added: “Commander Elpida.”