Free The Burning Dark by Adam Christopher

Carter returned, she’d nearly finished her tray. Carter dropped into his seat, spork hanging from his mouth and fresh mountain of something grayish green on the table in front of him. He pulled the spork out with a wet sucking.
    DeJohn tore his eyes off Serra. “Been around the hub lately?”
    “Nope,” said Carter, hunched over his new tray. “Why?”
    “Heard that fuck Cleveland shifted his shit around to the end of the officer’s row on Omega Deck. Fucking prick scared as shit.” DeJohn laughed.
    Serra and Carter exchanged a look. “King said to keep away, remember?” Carter said before popping another mouthful.
    “Fuck King,” said DeJohn. “And we can just take a look. I wanna know what that prick is doing here, anyway.”
    Serra frowned and turned back to her plate.
    “Carminita?”
    Serra looked up. “What?”
    Carter and DeJohn slowed their chewing. Carter raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”
    Serra bit the inside of her cheek. She felt cold, and … somehow she didn’t feel alone. She was in a canteen full of crew, sharing a table like she always did with Carter and DeJohn, but she had this feeling that there was someone else, somebody sitting in the empty chair to her right.
    And she looked, just to be sure. The chair was empty, of course.
    “I think we should stay away from Omega Deck,” said Serra, her voice almost a whisper. She blinked and turned back to her food.
    Where did that come from? She didn’t know. Then again, she didn’t know where the voice was coming from either.
    DeJohn sniffed loudly. “There’s a good little marine. The marshal asks you to suck his dick, would you do that too?”
    “It’s not King,” said Serra. “We should stay away because … just because,” she said, feeling stupid. She stopped eating and pushed her tray away. She saw DeJohn scratch his ear, his eyes flicking between her and Carter.
    “Not this shit again,” said DeJohn. Carter frowned at him and leaned over the table toward her.
    “What’s up?”
    Serra held his look a moment, then shook her head and returned her attention to her tray.
    “Anyway,” DeJohn said, “there’re better things to do off shift, right?” He nudged Carter, but his friend ignored him.
    DeJohn chuckled, low, deep, his eyes crawling over Serra again. She sighed, then stood and began to walk away, empty tray dangling from one hand.
    “Hold on, I’m coming,” said Carter. She could hear him quickening his pace as he fought to clear his second tray.
    Serra nodded but didn’t turn around. By the time she’d dumped her tray on the collection trolley by the canteen’s doorway she was unsteady on her feet. But only when she reached a little farther down the corridor, where there were no people around, did she allow herself to lean on the wall. She bent over, hands on knees, fighting the dizziness.
    Someone called out her name again, the name only her long-dead grandmother used, but she ignored it, took a deep breath, and then stood up straight and kept walking.

5
    Ida found Izanami six hours later, as the Coast City ’s artificial day cycled toward midmorning.
    After he’d cut the connection to Fleet Command, Ida sat in his room in the dark for what felt like a thousand years. There was a hell of a lot to take in.
    Stuck in a space station full of jarheads was, in a way, like being back in the academy. All it took was someone taking a dislike to someone for rumors and stories to spread. Ida had seen it happen before. But picking out Ida as a liar who hadn’t earned his medals was a surprisingly specific storyline for DeJohn to take up. Ida wondered who had started it. Carter, no doubt. He was the leader of the engineering team DeJohn was in, and the most senior noncommissioned officer left aboard. Maybe that was part of it—Ida had seen the silver bar of the Fleet Medal on Carter’s tunic too. The Fleet Medal offered certain privileges that Carter no doubt enjoyed, only now there was someone else aboard—someone with