The Ship's AI Strikes Back

The scent in the air was thick enough to coat the back of Chloe's throat with the metallic salt of fresh violence.

Tiny crimson spheres drifted between the cracked consoles in the thin dying pressure, catching the starlight in dull ruby glints, and at the top of the command steps the five women stood locked in horrified paralysis, their faces white and their breath catching in shallow stuttering gasps that barely disturbed the silence.

Chloe moved before any of them could draw another breath.

Her bare feet made no sound against the deck plates as she bounded onto the raised dais. 

Her hands were still wet with the gore of the Black Kite, but she reached out without hesitation and planted her small palms flat on the torn fabric of Leo's flight jacket.

The fabric was stiff with a fine crust of frost that melted under the heat of her fingertips.

"N-no..." Chloe whispered, her voice cracking as she shook his slumped shoulders.