Serin’s voice purred behind the painted black teeth of her metal mask, seeping into the dim red twilight of the crew compartment.

“Meat,” she said, “is the medium and measure of all strength and growth. Muscle and fat will suffice, for metabolic maintenance. Gristle, tendon, cartilage. Those are enough for mere survival, scraps for the bottom feeders. Organs are better. Fresh and hot and dripping with blood. The lowest of suitable fuels for accelerated healing, nanomachine accumulation, self modification. Bone marrow is superior. Higher nanomachine density. Tastes good, too. Even cold. Buttery. Rich. Congeals on the tongue. Sticks to the roof of the mouth. Goes down smooth. Even the weakest scavenger can lift a rock to crack open a femur. But brains — brains are best. One mouthful of pink and grey neurons is equal to all the bone marrow in a body. All the muscles in five or six corpses. Enough gristle to fill this room. A whole brain is a prize worth contesting. Or killing for.”

Serin paused. Her crimson eyes burned against the bloodless skin of her face, a bionic glow to match the ruddy night-cycle gloom of Pheiri’s internal illumination. Her shapeless black robes hung as if from a bundle of sticks, revealing nothing of the form beneath. She was framed by the scuffed metal of the infirmary door.

Elpida chose not to interrupt; she guessed that Serin was pausing for effect, or to allow for displays of disgust. Nobody else in the crew compartment reacted.

Amina was listening with rapt attention, staring up at Serin from the nearest seat, at the end of the bench. She looked very comfy, wrapped up in her blankets. Elpida had considered a quiet intervention, to relocate Amina into a seat further away from Serin, in case something went wrong; but Serin would recognise the obvious gesture of distrust, especially after Serin had spoken so kindly to Amina up on Pheiri’s hull. Elpida allowed Amina’s new infatuation to pass without comment, despite Howl’s grumbled objections.

Vicky was sat on the bench seat opposite Amina, as close to Elpida as possible, still dressed in the clothes in which she had slept, all tomb-grey in the low red light. She’d fetched a drink of water to help her wake up, and was now holding the empty cannister in tight hands. She was frowning at the floor, looking queasy.

Melyn appeared to be listening, but Elpida wasn’t certain — the artificial human had not asked a single question since she had snuggled down in Hafina’s lap, enveloped inside Hafina’s six arms. And Hafina herself was half-asleep; she stifled several massive yawns as Serin spoke. Her big black eyes kept drifting shut. Her colour-shifting skin had faded to a dusken grey, blending with the red shadows among the blankets on the floor.

Elpida was standing at the head of the compartment, as if blocking the way into Pheiri’s spinal corridor. She still wore her armoured coat and her boots, submachine gun still strapped over one shoulder. She maintained the position on purpose — authority and protection, implied but not aloof.

The air smelled faintly of Serin’s unique odour, like rotten wood and fungal blooms.

With no objections, Serin continued.

“Meat needs meat,” she said. “Nothing else will satisfy the hunger. Bellies may be filled. Intestines packed with shit. Minds tricked. Bodies diverted. But growth will halt. Slime and rocks are like eating grass and bark. Low energy, high investment. The nanomachines are too used to being things other than meat. Too solid, too slow, too still. Chew on concrete and you will become as concrete, dull and cold and grey. Suck down slime and you will turn soft and pliant, bovine, dependent. Eat meat and you will live as a person. Steal the seat of your prey’s soul, and you will thrive. Eat, or cease. Eat, or end. Eat, or be eaten.”

Serin trailed off, watching her audience. Vicky swallowed loudly. Amina sniffed, breaking the silence.

Elpida said: “I think that’s the longest single statement I’ve heard you make, Serin.”

Vicky muttered, “Yeah, very poetic.”

Serin’s eyes crinkled above her mask, the tell-tale sign of a hidden grin. “Have I offended your gentle principles, coh-mander?”

“No,” Elpida said, telling the truth. “Far from it. That was intended as a compliment, not as sarcasm. Thank you for going into so much detail. Those kinds of details matter a lot for the sorts of decisions we have to make.”

Vicky snorted, still staring at the deck. “Yeah, lessons on cannibalism. Tell us something we don’t know.”

“Mmm,” Serin grunted at Vicky. “Changed your mind fast. Didn’t you?”

Vicky finally looked up with a frown for Serin. “What are you implying?”

“Mood swings,” Serin rasped. “Irritation. Next comes difficulty with focus. Can’t think about anything else. Then the gnawing. Chewing on anything you can fit into your mouth. Then … ahhhhh. Then friends become food.”

“Hunger,” Elpida said, cutting through Serin’s poetic meandering. “You’re talking about hunger, yes. We all know.”

Vicky snorted with sarcasm. “What, like in an old cartoon? I’m gonna look at my comrades here and see chicken drumsticks running around with little legs? Is that part of being a zombie? Am I gonna hallucinate Elpi into a loaf of bread?” Vicky cleared her throat. “No offence, Commander. Just an example.”

“None taken,” Elpida said. “In fact, that’s a very good question.”

Vicky looked taken aback. “Eh? What?”

Elpida addressed Serin again: “Answer the question, please, Serin. As revenants, does hunger become unbearable? Can we lose control of ourselves?”

Serin stared at Elpida for a long time, red eyes burning in her pale face. “Were you ever hungry in life, coh-mander?”

“Of course I know what hunger is like. I know—”

“How long did you ever go without food? Days? Weeks? Did you ever eat waste? Mouldy bread? Rotten meat? Have you ever caught a rat with your bare hands and squeezed the life out of it just to tear the scraps of raw meat off with your teeth? Have you ever eaten worms, or flies, or a favourite pet? Have you ever made soup from lichen and moss? How empty has your belly ever been, coh-mander? Have you ever lived without food long enough for your body to start digesting your own bone marrow? Have you ever starved?”

Elpida dipped her head, giving way to Serin’s point. “I’ve never been that hungry, no. I never experienced such things. My apologies.”

Vicky sighed. “I have. I remember what it was like, when I was a kid. Get hungry enough and you’ll do anything.”

“Mm,” Serin purred. “Hunger. Breaks you down, fast. Disgust fades. Anything to fill the belly. Anything to feed the soft machine. Zombies? Nothing to do with it. Alive, we were all the same. Hunger is our inheritance. Human beings will kill and eat each other before they starve to death.”

Vicky straightened up and gestured with the empty cannister. “Serin’s got a point, sure. Hunger is a terrible motivator. But I’m not irritable because I’m hungry, thank you. In fact, I’m not really hungry at all, not yet. How about you, Commander? Amina? How do you both feel?”

Elpida let the use of ‘Commander’ go without further comment, at least until she could get Vicky in private; she didn’t want to correct Vicky again in front of Serin. She knew what Vicky was doing, though she didn’t know for sure if the behaviour was intentional or subconscious. Serin was an outsider, an other, standing apart from the group, not subject to whatever ad hoc command structure and interpersonal dynamics they had built thus far. And now she was saying things that nobody wanted to hear. Vicky was asserting her own place in that same structure, asserting Elpida’s authority, and asserting her refusal of this information.

Which was not what Elpida needed. This was a bad sign.

Elpida shook her head. “Not yet, no. I could eat, I think, but I don’t feel any particular urge. Amina?”

Amina shook her head as well, then spoke in a quavering voice. “T-the blue stuff … ”

Elpida nodded. “That’s correct, Amina. Good memory. We all drank from the raw blue nanos before the fight, even if just a little bit. And we ate those brains, up in the penthouse, before we descended toward Arcadia’s Rampart. And, Serin? Thank you again for the meat you gave us. We might not have survived without it.”

Serin dipped her head. Her neck and shoulders moved across strange angles beneath her ragged black robes.

“So,” Elpida said. “You’re right, Vicky. We’re still topped up on fuel.”

“For now,” Serin rasped, then chuckled behind her mask — a nasty, grating, metallic sound.

Vicky raised a hand and gestured at Serin. “Yeah, that? That sentiment, that’s what’s making me irritated. You’re telling us there’s no alternative. There’s no way to survive but to eat people. I don’t know if I can do that, even if it’s our only choice. Pira had a good point. Participation is predicated on carrying on all this murder and cannibalism.”

Serin shrugged, robes rising and falling. “Eat and live. Or lie down and die. Choice is yours, zombie.”

Vicky shook her head and looked at Elpida with a helpless shrug. “What are we going to do? Seriously, are we gonna … what, go out hunting?”

Elpida raised one hand — her bandaged right hand. “I’m not saying that. We haven’t come to any kind of decision yet.”

Amina squeaked: “What if—” She flinched when everyone looked at her.

Elpida said, “It’s okay, Amina, your suggestions are welcome too.”

“Yeah,” Vicky said, forcing a difficult smile. “It’s alright, Ami. I’m not mad at you or anything.”

Amina swallowed, eyes darting back and forth. “What if … what if we only eat bad people?”

Elpida smiled sadly. Vicky cleared her throat.

Amina’s eyes went wide; she was much smarter than she sometimes seemed. She must have understood exactly what that reaction meant. “I-I-I mean— I mean people who attack us first! M-monsters and— and— people who want to eat us! I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry!”

Elpida said, “It’s okay, Amina. We understand what you mean.”

“Sorry!”

“It’s alright. I promise.”

Vicky sighed a big sigh, raised one hand, and rapped a single knuckle against the metal wall of the crew compartment. “Who’s gonna attack us inside Pheiri?”

Amina bit her bottom lip. “Oh … ”

“Yeah,” Vicky said. “We’d have to go out there and act like bait. Nobody’s gonna assault this tank. We may as well have Pheiri mow down a crowd with his guns and then slink out to stuff our faces with the fucking burning meat. Great. That’s a great solution.”

Vicky resumed staring at the floor. Amina shrank down inside her blankets. Serin watched the exchange with unreadable interest. Melyn and Hafina were totally detached, the only two who didn’t need to worry about meat.

Elpida was losing control.

She did not like Serin’s conclusion — it was materially identical to Pira’s position on the nanomachine ecosystem, varying only in the resultant attitude. Survival meant participation in a system of predation. There was no other choice, no other way to live, no alternative food source. Before Vicky had emerged from the bunk room, Serin had said much the same thing. She had outlined three possible options for Elpida’s group: one, as ‘big game hunters’ bringing down heavily modified zombies with vast reserves of nanomachines packed into their bodies; two, as opportunistic predators picking off the weak, the loners, the abandoned, and any others unable to defend themselves; and finally, three, as scavengers, picking over the cold and stringy remains of better kills. Pheiri’s excellent protection, mobility, and armament opened all three possibilities. The third option would mean the least participation in the nanomachine ecosystem of killing and cannibalism — but according to Serin, it also meant slow and grinding starvation.

Elpida and her comrades had been faced with this basic material fact on the previous occasion they had run into Serin, when she had gifted them a grisly harvest of beheaded brains. Events since then had postponed confrontation with the needs of their new bodies, but now it was only a matter of time. Sooner or later, hunger would gnaw at their undead bellies once again.

Three cannisters of raw blue nanomachines remained, stored in Ilyusha’s backpack. Elpida wanted to retain those for emergencies.

Elpida did her best not to show her indecision. She did not have a solution to this problem. She had dealt with this same rejection in Pira, by accepting personal responsibility for Pira’s nanomachine load — feeding her mouthfuls of fresh blood. But in the long run, other zombies would still have to die to feed Elpida, if Pira was to drink Elpida’s blood in turn.

All she’d done was move the problem around.

In the back of Elpida’s mind, Howl was growling and grumbling, grinding her teeth, grumpy as all hell.

Howl? Elpida prompted. You got something to say?

Howl made a frustrated noise. Unnnh! Elps, shhhh! She might hear me.

Elpida resisted a sigh. I think if she was going to see you running about inside my skull, she would have done so by now. Howl, you don’t have to come out of hiding, but if you have something to say, I would like to hear it. I’m … stuck. I don’t see a way out of this, and maybe there isn’t one. If not, then we need to convince the others, especially Vicky. Do you think Serin is telling the truth? Is she right, is there really no other—

Howl took control of Elpida’s vocal cords.

“S’not what you said up top,” she growled at Serin, through Elpida’s mouth.

Crimson eyes flickered back to Elpida. “Coh-mander?”

Howl smiled with Elpida’s lips. “You think I wasn’t paying attention? Think you could slip that trick past me? Nah, I don’t think so, you’re not stupid. You were testing. On purpose. And I’ve already passed.”

Howl, Elpida said. What are you doing?

Shhh! Elps, lemme work her! I think I’m onto something.

You’re doing a very poor job of imitating my tone, if that’s your intention. Let me take over. You can feed me the lines.

Howl hissed: You won’t get it! You didn’t pick up on what she really said. You’re so hung up on all this bodies and meat shit that you didn’t even notice.

Notice what?

Howl didn’t answer.

Serin dipped her head to examine Elpida’s face in more detail, red eyes burning in an expanse of mushroom-pale skin. The smell of damp wood and fungal growth intensified. “Oh?”

Vicky looked up too. “Yeah, what are you talking about?”

Amina murmured: “Live and change.”

Howl broke into a grin and pointed at Amina with Elpida’s bandaged hand. “Give that girl a biscuit! Same wavelength, tyke bomb! Ha!”

Amina blinked at Elpida in surprise, eyes wide, dark lashes fluttering. Vicky raised an eyebrow too. Melyn and Hafina didn’t seem to care. Serin tilted her head to one side, peering closer at Elpida.

Howl, that was nothing like me, Elpida said. What is this? Have you changed your mind now, are you trying to provoke her on purpose?

Howl used Elpida’s lips to say: “That’s what you said, Serin. Up top, out on Pheiri’s back. You said ‘eat or die, or live and change.’ Eat or die,” Howl echoed again. “Or live and change. Bitches like you pick your words real carefully. So, yeah. We’re smart enough to read that shit.”

Serin straightened up again. She wasn’t smiling behind her mask. “You have a passenger, coh-mander.”

It wasn’t a question.

Elpida was still dressed for combat, in her armoured coat, carrying her weapon. None of the others were armed. Vicky was wearing the clothes she’d been sleeping in. Amina was within reach of Serin’s arms, let alone her weapons. Melyn and Hafina didn’t seem to feel the tension in the air; Haf was sleeping, sitting upright with her eyes closed.

Elpida moved her left hand closer to her weapon’s grip, under the guise of adjusting her armoured coat; the ruse would fool the others, but Serin would understand what she meant.

“I do,” Elpida said. “Do we have a problem?”

Come on, you cunt! Howl screeched inside Elpida’s mind. Fucking swing at me, you lying sack of shit! Do it! Take a shot!

Howl. Stop. Right now. What are you attempting?

Calling her bluff! This is the only way, Elps! She keeps fucking lying, about everything! We can’t trust her!

Howl—

“No problem, coh-mander,” Serin purred. “I know you are no Necromancer. You’ve already been tested. Found wanting. Your passengers are your own business.”

“Thank you,” Elpida said. “I appreciate the respect.”

“Mm,” Serin grunted. “Same.”

Bullshit! Howl snapped. Bullshit! Bullshit! Bullshit! She’s bullshitting us! Come on, shoot me, you fuck! I showed you my face, right there! I am a Necromancer! I’m exactly the sort of shit you say you’re looking for! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck youuuuuu—

Elpida sighed out loud. “She also doesn’t like you or trust you. She believes you’re lying to us about certain things, mostly about Necromancers and the reasons you’re hunting them. For the record, so do I — or at least I believe that you’ve been misled, and are passing those mistakes onto us. Here, Vicky.” Elpida pulled the strap of her submachine gun off her shoulder and handed it off to Vicky. “Can you put this on the seat for me, please? It’s getting a little heavy.”

“Uh, sure, yeah.” Vicky accepted the gun, checked the safety, and placed it on the seat next to her.

Elps, what the fuck are you doing? Howl snapped.

Making sure you don’t dynamite this meeting, Elpida replied.

I wasn’t gonna shoot her! Howl screeched. I want her to tell the truth!

Serin watched the performance with the gun in silence. Elpida could not tell if Serin found herself in check, or if she was simply continuing her stubborn refusal to tell the whole truth.

“Eat or die,” Elpida echoed. “Or live and change. Is my ‘passenger’ correct about the wordplay?”

“Rephrase the question,” Serin rasped.

Elpida nodded. “There’s no other source of nutrition available to revenants, just each other, or the occasional raw blue from a tomb opening. So, is there a way of eliminating a revenant’s metabolic burden?”

“No,” Serin said. Too fast. Too certain.

“Alright,” Elpida said. “Is there a way to reduce a revenant’s metabolic burden?”

Serin took a deep breath — or at least appeared to. Her shoulders and chest inflated as a rasping noise came from beneath her mask. When she exhaled, she closed her crimson eyes, and kept them closed.

“There are many ways,” she said. “To do that. More than I know of.”

Bingo, bitch, Howl said.

Vicky frowned. “What? Excuse me? There are other ways? Why didn’t you mention this before? Why the fucking stupid games with us?”

Amina didn’t complain, but she did look at Serin in a new way, chewing on her lower lip.

“Zombies,” Melyn said — but did not elaborate. Hafina blinked open sleepy eyes, then closed them again.

Serin said: “Because you will chase perfection at the cost of survival. Because you must walk before you can run. Because you will lose yourselves in a mirage of purity. Pick your metaphor. Whatever works.”

Elpida said, “Explain. In plain language, please, Serin.”

Serin’s blood-red eyes opened again. She was not smiling behind her mask. She stared at Vicky. “This is not something shared lightly. The knowledge will destroy you, but you’ve already reached the question. Yes, there are ways. To reduce metabolic loads, metabolic needs, metabolic speed. But. The work to reach that point is measured in thousands or tens of thousands of corpses. A mountain of meat and muscle. More brains than I can count. Years or decades of predatory cannibalism. The road to self-sufficiency is more predation, not less. And even in success, small inputs are still necessary. Even the most well-tuned body does not stand alone. We are all meat, little zombie. Every one of us. Nobody is free.”

“Except us,” said Melyn. “Us. Us.”

“Hooraaaaaay,” murmured Hafina, without opening her eyes.

Serin glanced at the pair of artificial humans. Her eyes crinkled with a smile. “Except those who stand outside. Envy them already, don’t you?”

“A little,” Elpida admitted. “How do we do it, then? How do we reduce our reliance on meat?”

Serin shrugged. “As many ways as zombies. Many possible downsides. Compromises. Trade-offs. Vulnerabilities. Grow fusion reactors from meat and gristle. Turn your cells into self-replicators. Feed on ambient radiation. Certain limited wavelengths of photosynthesis. Many more, most beyond my knowledge. Zombies come from their own times. Carrying ideas.” She shook her head. “And too many dead ends.”

“Dead ends?” Vicky asked.

“Mmm,” Serin grunted. “Like our mutual friend out in the road.” She nodded sideways, at the wall.

Vicky frowned. “What? Who?”

“I think she means Iriko,” Elpida said. “Serin, what do you mean by ‘dead ends’?”

“Iriko, yes,” Serin replied. “She made a metabolic choice. A long time ago. Probably seemed like a good idea at the time. Growth and flexibility. Made her a good hunter. Surface area increased to harvest the mould and concrete. But she locked herself into a niche. And now she is always hungry, always needing to eat. Can’t get out. Can’t think. Any choice to grow and develop can turn into a dead end. Tread with care.”

Amina wet her lips. A question was poised on the tip of her tongue. Elpida caught Amina’s eyes and nodded. “Amina, go ahead, please. You’re allowed to ask questions, too.”

Amina nodded, swallowed, and said: “Have you … Serin, have you done that, too? Do you eat … differently?”

Serin looked down. Amina didn’t flinch. Elpida decided that was a good sign.

Serin said: “Yes.”

“How?” Amina asked. “I-if that’s okay to ask … ”

Serin paused for a long moment, then said: “It is upsetting to hear, little one. Are you sure?”

Amina swallowed again, wide-eyed, her breath coming in little gasps. She nodded.

Serin said, “I rot. Rot becomes a bed for fresh meat. In time, rot becomes meat. I recycle my own flesh. It is not a perfect system, but I require less meat, less input, with less regularity. It means I can stay in one place, very quietly, for a very long time. Like a crocodile. Do you know about crocodiles?”

Amina stared at Serin in awe. “I don’t know,” she breathed.

Vicky muttered: “Explains the smell.” Then she spoke louder. “But you still need meat?”

Serin nodded.

Vicky shrugged and shook her head. “And where do you get that?”

“I hunt. I eat.”

Vicky hissed between her teeth. “And how do you justify that? How do you justify eating other people, even zombies, even when they come back to life or whatever? Aren’t you supposed to be against those fash we fought back there, the Death’s Heads? How do you justify acting like them?”

“I do not.” Serin grinned behind her mask. “Can’t hunt the death cult if you don’t eat. Can’t do anything if you don’t eat. Can’t fight without strength.”

Elpida nodded along. She saw the logic, even if she didn’t like where it was going. “Nothing is achievable if we don’t participate. This is the same conversation I had with Pira, just on a larger scale.”

Vicky looked up at her, face twisted by a pained frown. “Elpi, there’s gotta be another way.”

If what Serin said was true, then no one zombie could achieve internal self-sufficiency, and no group could be a closed system.

Even Telokopolis itself was not a true closed system. The city’s population had relied on the bounty of the buried fields, which produced more than enough to feed every mouth in Spire and Skirts combined. But the soil of the fields had to be replenished and regenerated by the city’s waste products, by water pumped upward from the deep aquifers miles beneath the city, and by the unseen alchemical processes of the city’s own nanomachine circulatory system. Fresh intakes of nanomachines had to be fed into the body of the city, manufactured by sucking dust and grit and particulate from the air, filtering it of any taint from the green before rendering it down into atomic components. Elpida had not understood the process — that was the purview of the bone-speakers and the many functions of their sprawling guild. Telokopolan nanomachine technology was nothing like the raw blue nanos that made up her revenant body now; it was closer to the chunky grey vomit that Thirteen had supplied for Pheiri. Elpida was not sure if Thirteen’s fluids were descended from the technology she had known, but it made a kind of sense.

Elpida understood enough to know that Telokopolis had guzzled oceans of water and devoured mountains of dirt, turning it to metal and plastic, to food and clothes, to machinery and computers and everything else the population needed.

And to flesh and bone — the body of the city itself.

As long as Elpida was up on her feet, Telokopolis also stood. And she would do anything to protect her comrades, her new cadre, the human core protected by Telokopolis the body and Telokopolis the set of principles. And this little slice of Telokopolis also had to feed.

“Vicky,” Elpida said gently, “if there’s no other way, then we need to find a source of meat. If we can modify ourselves, given time, then we can try to minimise those needs. But for now—”

“What about Iriko?” Vicky said. “Can she grow stuff for us to eat?”

Serin chuckled behind her mask. “You’ll make her hunt for all your mouths, as well as her own? She will be less discerning in her choice of prey.”

“Dammit, fair enough.” Vicky looked away, frowning hard. “What about … cultured meat?”

“Vicky,” Elpida said, gently.

“No, I’m serious,” Vicky replied. “It was only just coming back in, when I was alive. But they used to do it a lot, back in the Old Empire — the country that existed before I was born. They grew meat in vats. Chicken, pork, beef, all of it. They were doing it up in the Chicago arcology right until the end, I think. Okay, yeah, we don’t exactly have access to a clean-room bio-factory or anything.” She gestured with the empty cannister again, indicating Pheiri. “But surely we can figure out a way to grow meat. It’s not like we have to worry about infections or getting sick.”

Serin said, “Meat means nanomachines. Grow it clean, no nanos.”

“So?” Vicky laughed a little, warming to her subject. “You say we can’t eat the mould outdoors — the black gunk everywhere, right? Why? Because it’s low-energy or whatever. It’s like being a cow and eating grass. You’ve got to eat lots and lots of it to extract the energy, so you end up slow-moving and dull in the head. Whatever. Why can’t we take that stuff and concentrate it?”

Serin said nothing, watching Vicky with those burning red eyes. Vicky paused, as if expecting an answer.

Elpida said: “Go on, Vicky. I’m listening.”

“That’s basically what vat-grown meat is, right? Or real meat, too, I guess.” Vicky gestured over her shoulder, toward the bunk room door. “Kaga would probably know more about this than I do. I bet they didn’t raise cattle on the moon. Bet all her meals were synth-meat. Anyway, you get the cells, you feed them sugars, or … or whatever, I don’t actually know how it works. And they concentrate the energy you give them, into protein, into meat. Why can’t we do the same thing with the black mould?”

“Why indeed,” Serin purred.

Vicky sighed, staring at Serin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Serin shrugged. “Somebody has probably tried it before. The world remains the same.”

Vicky snorted, rolling her eyes. “So what? We shouldn’t try to change anything? We shouldn’t try to make the world a better place, even just for us, because things might have been tried before, and failed? I kinda expected better theory from a person who defines herself by shooting fascists. Fuck’s sake.”

“Change is stamped out,” Serin said. “By Necromancers.”

“Not the one we met,” Vicky said. “From the sounds of it, she wanted to blow up her boss. Sort of.”

Serin went very still.

Before Serin had a chance to speak, Vicky set down the empty cannister and stood up. “Fuck this,” she said. “Hey, Melyn? Excuse me, sorry, I know you’re sleepy.” Melyn blinked at her, not sleepy at all, while Haf’s eyes remained closed above Melyn’s head. Vicky pointed at the machine set into one wall, the dispenser that Melyn had used to produce food sticks. “How does your nutrient paste thing work? How do I get it to give me a stick?”

“Vicky,” Elpida said gently. “It’s not going to work, not for us.”

Vicky gestured impatiently. “Commander, just— just let me work. Melyn? What buttons do I press?”

Elpida opened her mouth again, but Howl stilled her lips. Let her cook. I wanna see where this goes.

Melyn answered in a rattling staccato: “Left top. Twice. Twice. Then middle row for size. Small medium large. Press the bottom row to adjust the taste. The taste. I like it all the way over to the left. On the left. The left. Tastes like chocolate.”

Vicky walked over to the food stick dispenser and jabbed at the controls. The machine disgorged a greasy-looking, dark brown rectangle. Vicky picked it up and sniffed the result. Serin looked on with amusement crinkled in the corners of her eyes.

“Thanks, Melyn,” Vicky said. She broke off a corner of the food stick, popped it into her mouth, and chewed slowly. “Mm. Not bad. Does taste a bit like chocolate, I suppose. Melyn, I need to see this thing’s guts, if that’s possible. I need to know how it works.”

Melyn looked up at the ceiling, and said: “Thank you, Pheiri!”

Vicky nodded, chewing another piece of greasy protein block. “Oh, yeah, yeah. Thanks, Pheiri.”

Elpida said: “Vicky, our bodies can’t draw any nourishment from that. I know you don’t want to—”

“Hey, hey, Commander. Elpi. I know! I’m not stupid.” Vicky waved the food stick. “Pheiri makes these from scratch. If I can understand whatever system he’s using to pull resources together, maybe I can improve it. Maybe he can manufacture nanomachines. Who knows? We won’t know unless we try. I’m not grasping at straws here. I’m not drinking seawater while dying of thirst. I’m just trying to work with what we’ve got.”

Heeeeeeeeey, I like this girl, Howl snorted. Elps, you’re wound too tight. She’s on fire. And standing up to your bullshit.

Elpida paused, then nodded to Vicky, accepting her error; she’d been so focused on stopping Victoria from mounting an effective anti-participation argument that she hadn’t seen what her own comrade was trying to do. She’d been on the verge of a very bad leadership mistake. She hadn’t been listening.

Maybe hunger was more of a threat than she expected.

“Thank you, Vicky,” said Elpida. “That’s a brilliant idea. I would not have thought of that. And I’m sorry for interrupting you. Well done.”

Vicky laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, whatever. I’m just an old grease head in the end. Get me in the engines and I’ll see if I can tighten them up, that’s all.”

Melyn spoke up: “Might have trouble getting down there. Trouble getting down there. Too tight for zombies. For zombies.”

Vicky popped another crumb of food stick in her mouth. “I’m sure we can figure something out. I can take some panels off or something. I’ll be gentle with Pheiri, I promise.”

Serin said to Vicky: “Tell me about the Necromancer.”

“Uh-uh,” Vicky said, chewing slowly. “You tell us first. You’ve been insufferable so far. Give up some goods.”

Elpida almost laughed. Howl cackled inside Elpida’s head. Victoria’s real sharp on the uptake sometimes, huh? Gotta get this bitch laid, she’ll be running your crew like I did.

You never ran the cadre, Howl.

Did too.

Elpida spoke out loud: “Yes, Serin, I’m with Vicky on this. We’ll keep our end of the deal, of course. We will tell you about everything the Necromancer did and said, until she left Arcadia’s Rampart and left us behind. But I want to hear the truth from you first. About why you hunt Necromancers. About where you got that gravitic weapon.”

“Hnnnnnh,” Serin grunted. A wordless refusal.

Elpida backed up the conversation and tried a different angle of attack, before the others could foul her moves. “Alright then, let’s start with something less sensitive, but no less essential. What about you, Serin? Can we know about you? If you’re going to join us — and again, I’m not saying you have to — it would be nice to know a bit more about you. Where are you from? Or when are you from? I told you about Telokopolis, but I don’t know anything about you.”

“Beyond your comprehension,” Serin said, but she said it with an amused smile in her eyes.

“Try us,” Vicky said. “Kaga’s from the moon.” She gestured at Melyn and Hafina. “These two are androids. Gynoids. Whatever. You can’t be much weirder than that.”

“Yes, try us,” Elpida echoed. “Even if we don’t understand.”

Amina said, in a tiny voice, “I … I want to know, too … Serin.”

Serin said: “Furthest.”

Elpida and Vicky shared a look. Vicky shrugged. Elpida shook her head. “Serin?”

Serin said: “Furthest. The dark giant. The secret wife. No? All these are proper names.” Serin chuckled, a low metallic rasping behind her mask. “As I said. Beyond your comprehension. In life I hailed from somewhere very strange.”

Howl muttered in the back of Elpida’s head: Cryptic bitch.

Amina said, “I— I want to know! Please!”

Serin looked down at Amina, then ducked slightly, so she wasn’t towering quite so much over the smaller girl. “It was a dark place, and very far away. I will tell you more, between just you and I. But I fear you will not understand.”

Amina frowned with determination. “I’ll try!”

“Mm. You will.”

Elpida shared another look with Vicky — a silent prompt to follow Elpida’s lead. Vicky raised her eyebrows in acknowledgement.

Elpida said: “Serin, we need to start somewhere with sharing more intel. Can’t you at least tell us about the gravitic weapon you’re carrying? If we’re being hounded by Necromancers, then we need to understand how to stop them, disrupt them, or kill them. Why does that weapon work on them?”

Howl snorted. Yeah, that’s the right question, Elps. Push that angle.

Serin straightened back up to her full height. “The gun works because I trust the one who told me it works.”

Elpida said, “And who told you?”

“The one who gave it to me.”

Vicky laughed, shaking her head. “Do we have to play this game all night? Just answer, or say you’re not going to. Damn, I may as well go back to bed at this rate.”

Serin slowly extended a spindly arm from beneath her black robes, sliding the bony limb between rustling layers of ragged fabric. The mushroom-pale flesh was dyed red in Pheiri’s night-cycle illumination.

A row of crossed-out skulls glinted black and glossy, terminated by the now-familiar symbol — the crescent-and-line.

“The weapon was a gift,” Serin said. “From the same one who taught me this.”