Page 110 of Gladiators of the Vagabond Boxset

Camila

At this point in time, I was debating the merit of all of my life’s choices.

Where the hell had I gone wrong? Had I pissed off some vengeful god at some point in my career, or maybe I’d already tipped the balance when I stole Franky’s lollipop back in third grade?

Maybe the deck had been stacked against me all my life. It sure felt like that today.

The plexiglass shield that curved across the front of my face was starting to fog up, which was a bad sign, but I tried not to panic.

I was running out of oxygen, my vision was becoming obscured, and I was worried that I could no longer feel the tips of my toes or fingers.

Death by oxygen deprivation while floating in the blackness of space was not how I had imagined I would go.

I’d joined the UAR’s Space Marine Corps fresh out of high school because, what else could I do?

My family lived down in the slums on Earth, and we had few career options that didn’t involve sitting still in an office somewhere or running my legs off in a hospital or school.

While I’d craved physical action, I preferred getting it while also seeing places—hence the Space Marines.

I definitely regretted that choice now. If I’d picked a nice, safe teaching career like my sister, I wouldn’t be drifting out here in space with zero chance of rescue.

Though, come to think of it, standing in front of a classroom of sixty-odd kids seemed like hell to me.

I didn’t get how Dian did it, but she seemed to thrive on it, so good for her.

Through the thin layer of fog that now covered the inside of my helmet, I could still vaguely see the massive shape of the UAR battleship Praetor in the distance.

The sleek black hull was lit up by the glow of two engine modules and a scattering of lights across the spine of the ship.

From my angle, drifting diagonally above the vessel, I could see them twinkle at me—taunting me with their nearness.

I sighed. That ship offered a false kind of safety.

The whole reason I was out here, drifting through space, was that the crew aboard had tried to off me.

I didn’t even know why my superiors had suddenly turned against me—just that one moment I’d been called in to speak to my boss, the next I realized they were about to shoot me, and I’d made a run for it.

Confused, hurt, and pissed the hell off, I didn’t know what to do other than run for my life.

I was lucky I’d gotten my hands on the EV suit, though my plan had failed miserably.

I had not intended to end up drifting in space.

What I’d wanted to achieve was to climb out of the airlock, scuttle across the hull, and get myself to an escape pod from the outside, so they wouldn’t realize where I was or what I’d done.

Only, they’d sealed up the entire ship and sent a team in suits out after me.

They’d shot my tether loose, and now here I was—drifting, damn it.

Admittedly, it had been a bad plan to start with, but I’d been driven into a corner with very few options.

I didn’t want to die; I was terrified. Holding onto my anger seemed like the better option right now.

If I didn’t, I was going to dissolve into a crying mess.

No. Just no. My final moments were not going to be spent crying.

The fog on my face shield was getting thicker; I couldn’t even see the lights anymore. I wasn’t sure whether that was an improvement. It was claustrophobic—not being able to see anything. It was hard not to start hyperventilating at first, and then… then I got drowsy, and so cold.

I was certain it was just some final delusion my brain was throwing at me when my body seemed to bump into something—spinning, twirling head over heels, before thumping against a surface and sliding down hard.

My body went from weightless to heavy—so damn heavy that I couldn’t even twitch a finger.

Surely, that meant I was now in my final death throes.

Except I wouldn’t imagine an annoying voice talking to me, would I?

How screwed up was my brain to invent some electronic voice jabbering in my ear?

My arms struggled under their weight, but I managed to move them around, patting the metal floor I seemed to be lying on.

“Take off your helmet, human. The air is safe to breathe. If you do not, you will asphyxiate.”

Shit, that made sense. My fingers struggled with the locking mechanism that held my clunky EV helmet in place.

It came loose with a hissing sound, and, immediately, air—sweet, fresh air—rushed into my lungs.

It took only a couple of deep breaths for me to realize that I was not dead.

Somehow, improbable as it was, rescue had found me.

The voice hadn’t continued speaking; it had fallen silent the moment I managed to undo my helmet.

Now that I was feeling a little more clearheaded, I struggled into an upright position and took off my already-defogging helmet so I could take a good look around.

As I suspected, some precision piloting had scooped me into an open airlock.

I was still sealed off from the rest of the ship, but, at the moment, I felt as weak as a newborn foal—too weak yet to get up.

I struggled to my feet anyway, not wanting to appear weak in front of my unknown rescuer.

While I much preferred not dying in the vacuum of space, this might not be the improvement it seemed to be.

I had no clue what kind of creature had decided to rescue me.

The airlock’s technology looked advanced and unfamiliar: extremely sleek and pale gray.

“Are you coming in?” a voice demanded. It didn’t sound so electronic now—it sounded impatient.

“Maybe. Where the hell am I? Who are you?” I demanded in turn. The knife in its sheath was still attached to my thigh, and a steel cable was still in its spool on my wrist. I wasn’t unarmed, even if I felt naked without a damn gun right now.

I touched the knife, then pulled it out and gripped it tightly. Better safe than sorry, with how weak and unsteady I felt, I wasn’t going to be as fast as normal. My fingers and toes were stinging something fierce, which I knew was a good sign, even if it hurt like hell.

“You are aboard the Akri,” the voice responded after a moment.

“Who are you?” The voice sounded eager and curious, but whatever the Akri was, I had no clue. It was pronounced in a very growly, throaty manner, which I would have a hard time replicating. That made it very likely I was not aboard a human vessel.

“I’m Sergeant Camila Hernandez with the UAR Space Marine Corps,” I rattled off, then frowned.

Was I, though? After they had effectively tried to kill me, I could probably consider my contract with them terminated.

Shivering, I flexed my hand and touched the knife on my thigh. I’d come so close to dying twice now…

“It is warmer inside. You should leave the airlock and warm up, or you might still get hypothermia,” the voice stated.

Getting warmer sounded nice, even if I didn’t have the foggiest idea what awaited me beyond the airlock door.

Better get it over with, though; there was no sense in dallying in this tiny space.

I moved, getting more firmly to my feet, one hand propped on the nearest wall to help steady my trembling legs.

When I stepped toward the inner door, it slid open by itself before I’d even touched the panel.

It was eerily silent, and the space beyond it was lit in a soft glow, highlighting the stark, soft gray walls that made up the interior of the ship.

To my great surprise, it was only a single room.

There was a pilot’s chair with a bank of screens and controls.

A bunk was set into another wall, along with some lockers and what was likely a small door to access a cleansing unit.

That was it. All in all, the space was no bigger than twenty by twenty feet.

It was also suspiciously empty. There was no one inside.

“Uh, hello?” I asked, unsettled. I pulled the knife free, expecting someone to jump at me at any moment. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled with awareness, I felt like I was being closely watched, but I couldn’t see anyone.

“Hello, Sergeant Camila Hernandez of the UAR Space Marine Corps,” the voice answered.

“Welcome aboard.” I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound.

It seemed to speak from somewhere in the cockpit, but there was nobody in the pilot’s chair, it was swiveled to face me, so I could clearly see it was empty.

“Where are you?” I demanded, turning to head for the cleansing unit. It slid open before I got there and showed me a small cubicle, completely empty. There was no one there.

“I am Akri. I am all around you, Sergeant Camila Hernandez of the UAR Space Marine Corps,” the voice responded. Oh shit, it was an AI. This was the actual ship talking to me.

“Where the hell is your crew? Why are you empty?” I asked, fearing the worst. What if this was the kind of AI that had turned on its masters? Wasn’t that exactly why they had banned AIs in UAR space? I had never run into an AI-controlled ship before, and it was making me extremely uncomfortable.

“Put down your knife, Sergeant Camila Hernandez of the UAR Space Marine Corps,” the AI said. “I will not harm you.”

“Just Camila is fine,” I said, fed up. I grasped hold of that frustration and anger and wrapped it around me like a cloak. Angry, I could face anything without feeling sad or scared. It was a nice, comfortable blanket in which to shelter.

“Camila put the knife down. I rescued you; I will not harm you,” the ship insisted. Feeling like I had little choice—and since the ship had complete control over my surroundings and there was little I could do. I put my knife back and tried to relax.