Transformation Space by Marianne de Pierres Page A

step.
    One more.
    One.
    By the time his hand touched the base of the catoplasma wall, Catchut was moaning with distress, and even Randall didn’t have
     the energy to tell him to shut up. She pointed to the far side. ‘Should – be – stairs.’
    The two of them crawled along to the edge, dragging Catchut behind them. To Jo-Jo’s relief, stairs jutted from the side.
    As Leah burst above the horizon, they crawled up the stairs, clinging to the shade of the building overhang.
    Randall made the top first, turning around to pullCatchut up behind her. The injured mercenary rolled into the doorway. By the time Jo-Jo joined them, Randall had popped the
     door seal and dragged Catchut inside.
    Jo-Jo resealed the door after them and fell back onto the floor, alongside the others. The cool wash of air was like a fever
     breaking, allowing him to sweat. The environmentals were still working.
Thank fucking Crux!
    But after a few desperate lungfuls of cooler air, Jo-Jo gagged. The place stank of death.
    None of them spoke, though Catchut retched as well.
    Jo-Jo rolled away from the other two and fell into an immediate exhausted sleep. Cramps woke him at some stage and then he
     fell back to sleep, dreaming that his legs were trapped in the hardening Extro gel. He started awake again, thrashing.
    A sharp kick to his thigh stopped him. He scrubbed his face and coughed out watery vomit.
    ‘Get up. I’ve found some food,’ said Randall. ‘You been out for hours.’
    She was standing an arm’s length away, leaning on the railing of a stairwell. Closer to him, Catchut was sitting up, eating
     something that looked like dry dough and drinking from a bucket.
    ‘Hope you don’ mind,’ Randall drawled sarcastically, nodding at the bucket. ‘They’re a bit short on cups.’
    Jo-Jo took the container from Catchut and gulped down some tepid liquid. ‘Cheers.’
    Catchut broke off some stale dough and gave it to him.
    While Jo-Jo ground a piece between his teeth, he marvelled again at Randall’s resilience. Hair caked withdirt and clothes ragged with filth, her lean face still looked alive and determined.
    ‘Most stuff’s intact here,’ she said. ‘Even a place to wash. Haven’t found an AiV yet, but a coupla days holed up here should
     give us some recovery time. Might even be able to listen in to the ’casts if we can get the comms working.’ She glanced at
     the ceiling. ‘That’s if anything’s goin’ on up there that we can follow.’
    ‘Can’t believe we’re still fuckin’ alive, Capo,’ said Catchut, weakly. ‘Any chance we could find some boots somewhere?’ His
     feet were blistered and bleeding from the rock climb.
    ‘Sure thing. Plenty of bodies. Could have you dressed like an aristo, Cat. What you say?’
    ‘Never said no to a dead man’s clothes, Capo. He got no use for them.’
    Randall gave a screwy grin. ‘Life’s been kind to us, fellas. We’d ended up in here a few weeks ago, we’d be spewing our guts
     up at the stink.’ She sniffed the foul air. ‘They’re mostly dried out – just a little bit of dead left now. Rest is dust.’
    Jo-Jo wondered if Randall had ever felt any reverence for the dead, or whether that part got lobotomised along the way. ‘You
     think the Saqr are likely to come up here? There was plenty of ’em down at the port.’
    ‘Can’t see no sign that they’ve been back here since the first attack. They’ve eaten and left. We just need to keep real quiet
     until we work out what to do.’
    Jo-Jo nodded. With stiff shaky movements, he got to his feet. First things first: he needed to take a piss, real bad. ‘Where
     can I wash?’
    ‘Up the stairs, next floor, other end. Few bags of bones along the way.’
    Jo-Jo followed her directions to the bathroom, stepping over several robed bodies showing signs of mummification. Randall
     was right – a few weeks ago the stench would have been unbearable. As it was, Jo-Jo still wanted to heave up his newly ingested
     stale