PERSONAL RECORD: DESIGNATION ZETA4542910-9545E
PALLAS STATION
478.2.6.02
Unlike when Jordan, Zhen, and I battled inertia and a malfunctioning microantigravity device to tug my defunct drone from the medical bay, transporting Lorik’s drone took little effort. With the marines’ more powerful units, the drone glided smoothly down the dimly lit hall, but the ease of moving it did little to alleviate my concern.
Despite my insistence that the drone could put her in danger, Zhen refused to let me reactivate it alone. Though she was armed, she focused primarily on the controls for the microantigravity units. The drone itself floated in front of us, right behind Lars. The possibility that it could injure someone looped through my mind, as omnipresent as the pain in my head and my shortness of breath.
James remained at my side, the bag of tools in his hand. Though I had argued against it, he and the talkative former Recorder—Daniel, I reminded myself—had convinced Jackson that they would be able to assist me, should I falter once the drone was active. Strangely, Kyleigh had not disagreed. She, of course, had no such reason for accompanying me, but after she promised to return when ordered, no one protested her presence. Daniel’s quick steps followed behind us, and occasional glances over my shoulder proved he held his rifle ready.
Given the potential of roaches, gratitude for an armed presence remained foremost in my mind, followed closely by the assurance that Kyleigh and James would be escorted back to the control room once I had activated the drone in a secure location.
We had taken but two turnings when Lars stopped us before a hinged door with an old-fashioned knob.
“Unless the station map is incorrect, this is not a conference room,” James said in an undertone.
I bit my lip. The probability of James failing to recall something was unlikely.
“It isn’t,” Lars said. “Figured close was better than a longer trip into bug zones.”
When James answered that his supposition was correct, Lars beamed.
Zhen tapped the datapad in her hand, and the drone hovered at her side like a floating silver egg. “As long as it has power and we can secure the door, it should work.”
“Power was on earlier.” Lars glanced at Kyleigh and me. “We started sealing the vents today to keep the bugs out. It should be fine. I took care of this one before lunch, so the fumes shouldn’t be as bad.”
“Our suits have air filters, Lars,” Zhen said.
He grunted. “Point. Tristram, you’re heading back with me and New-Parker?”
“Daniel Parker,” the talkative former Recorder reminded us.
“Right,” Lars said. “Dan.”
Kyleigh’s short-lived smile did not reach her eyes. “Yes. I’ll head back to the control room until we leave to get the equipment from Georgette’s lab. I just came to make sure my friend was all right.”
The lack of sparkle in her eyes prevented me from reminding her that an armed presence would do more to ensure my safety than Kyleigh’s observations.
Lars gave her a quick nod. “Good. Wouldn’t want you to be sad or anything, Tristram. Wait here.”
He motioned us back and pushed the door open. The room’s lights flickered on, lending a warm hue to the corridor’s cool, dim grey. He entered alone.
While James watched the door, Zhen and the talkative Recorder—Daniel, I repeated internally—scanned the hall, up and down, as alert as any drone could have been. Mere seconds ticked by before Lars stuck his head back through the doorway.
“Clear.”
Zhen ushered the drone into the room. I followed, but the contrast with the sterile, empty halls jarred me to a stop.
While investigating the incident leading to the deaths on Pallas Station, I had utilized Thalassa’s VVR to walk through recordings of several locations. Neither Charles Tristram’s cluttered workspace nor John Westruther’s austere one resembled this.
The office itself was as large as the conference room where we had first secured my drone after fleeing the insects in the medbay, but buttery-yellow matte paint transformed the grim concrete walls. Framed watercolors of flowers altered them further. Overhead, a delicate fitting of cut glass replaced the standard fixture and softened the glare, splitting full-spectrum light into tiny rainbows. Underfoot, orange flowers and olive-green vines twined around gold geometric designs in the thick carpet that muffled our footsteps.
Slippers, perhaps a size and a half larger than Kyleigh would wear, rested between a chaise lounge and wooden side table. Pale residue clung inside the abandoned glass resting on a crocheted coaster, and warm, incandescent light spilled from a delicate ceramic lamp with a creamy fabric shade. As if it waited for its owner to return, a lacy cardigan draped over the back of the overstuffed chair facing the wooden desk. On the back wall, lacquered black frames boasted of academic accomplishments and commendations, and gilded frames displayed pictures of children alike enough to be siblings.
Over two years’ worth of dust overlaid everything in a thin film, belying the office’s comfort. I suppressed a shudder. Whoever had chosen these amenities was long since dead, as surely as the skeletal fern that crouched in the corner, its splayed, twig-like stems reaching over the dry, brown mound of leaves littering the thick carpet.
Lars pointed between the fern and the desk. “Power strip’s back there.”
While Zhen settled Lorik’s drone onto the carpet, Daniel let out a low whistle. “This is where you found that chair, isn’t it? I thought you were exaggerating when you said it was posh.”
Zhen retrieved the equipment from James, but she said, “Lars, keep an eye on the hall.”
“Watch for bugs. Right.” Lars gave Zhen a salute and strode to the door.
Daniel, the talkative Recorder, studied the room. “I haven’t seen anything that flaunted credits like this since I was assigned to the Founders’ Hall in Albany City.”
Zhen dropped the duffel beside the drone and arched a brow at him. “You were assigned to the government center? How did that go?”
His chuckle seemed out of place in the office’s soft desolation. “It did not work out well. I was there for less than three ten-days before I was sent to tribunal.”
“That is not long.” I frowned. “The Elders should have found you a position that better matched your temperament.”
“Not if they wanted to be rid of me.”
Before I could respond, Lars spoke from the hall. “Sounds shady.”
“The official I was sent to assist did nothing illegal,” Daniel said, “but standards of moral conduct should supersede mere contracts.”
Kyleigh still faced the empty, dust-covered chaise lounge. “Tia and I talked about that on the trip out here.”
When she did not elaborate further, Daniel continued, “I refused to ignore predatory behavior and filed an incident report. He countered that he had not violated any contract or law, and therefore, I displayed bias. The Elders agreed with him.”
Zhen huffed. “That doesn’t mean you’re wrong.” She narrowed her eyes, but I could not tell whether her apparent displeasure was aimed at Daniel’s remarks or at the drone. Tools clattered as Zhen searched through the bag. She motioned to me. “Am I doing this right? I studied the one in the control room, but I’ve never handled a functioning drone before. I don’t want to get zapped.”
Of course. The drone.
I took two rapid steps, but dizziness loomed again. I dropped to the floor beside Zhen, thankful for the carpet’s cushioning effects.
“Be careful. I need to get you back to the quarantine room in one piece,” she said.
“Do not be alarmed. We cannot be ‘zapped’ until it has become active.”
“Well, it’s that Elder’s machine, there’s probably some sneaky Consortium wiring going on. Kyleigh, I need . . .”
Her words petered out as her gaze lingered on Kyleigh, who stared vacantly into the room, arms tightly crossed against her chest.
James touched Kyleigh’s arm. “Are you well?”
“I’m fine,” Lars said.
“Not you,” Zhen snapped. “Kye?”
“Yes. It’s . . .” Kyleigh blinked rapidly. “This room is the same, but different. Like when you find out that the meaning of a poem you’ve learned by heart is the opposite of what you thought.”
For a moment, Daniel’s posture softened. “You miss your friend.”
“Christine Johnson wasn’t my friend.” Kyleigh crossed to the overstuffed chair facing the desk and ran gloved fingers over the upholstery. “I don’t think she liked many people other than herself and Ross, though sometimes I felt like she was using him, too. She was rude to Elliott when Ross wasn’t watching and tolerated me because she worked with Dad. She was decent enough to Freddie, though his dad was the station director. She wouldn’t have wanted to get on John Westruther’s bad side. Not that he had one.”
James tilted his head, silver eyes intent on the young woman by the chair. “And yet, you mourn her?”
“I suppose I do. This room—it’s so Christine.” She picked up the lacy sweater and folded it carefully. Rather than returning it to the chair, she held it against her chest. “I wonder if it still smells like flowers. She used to wear expensive perfume, but I can’t recall what kind.”
“Probably smells like dust now,” Lars commented from the hall.
Zhen rolled her eyes before pointing at the cabling. I double-checked. She had done well: only one attachment required adjustment.
I made the correction. “That will suffice.”
“Sufficient, it is, then. Where’s your datapad?”
My hand went to the pocket on my thigh, but it was empty. “I . . . I must have left it behind.”
Zhen’s attention locked onto me. “Right, but you needed it before to find the frequency for those jamming devices. We don’t need that now.”
Kyleigh resumed as if we had not spoken. “She paid extra to have her furniture brought here. Freddie, Elliott, and I placed bets about what ridiculous item would arrive next. I lost a week of dessert to Elliott over this chair, although Freddie gave me his when Elliott wasn’t looking.” She sighed. “She was kind of like me in that she didn’t have any family.”
“You still have your mother,” Zhen said.
“I haven’t seen Mom in years. She was supposed to join me and Dad here.” Kyleigh placed the sweater on the desktop and smoothed the fabric. “Mom was waiting for me at Lunar One, but with the restrictions, I never saw her. Archimedes tried to convince someone to let us communicate, but the authorities thought it was a security risk.”
Zhen snorted. “That’s rubbish.”
Kyleigh rounded the desk to straighten the infinitesimally crooked pictures. “This is Christine here, the blonde, with her older sister, Agatha. The toddler is their little brother, Xavier. She told me her sister died years ago.”
“While I’m sorry about her sister, if she couldn’t see you for who you are, I don’t care how smart she thought she was. Christine Johnson sounds like a drossing idiot.” Zhen uncoiled the thick black cable, stretching it toward the power strip at the base of the wall. “Here we go.”
“We should wait until they leave,” I said.
Eyes on the access panel, she made a noncommittal noise. “If it doesn’t work, you and I will have to walk back alone. That didn’t go well for Michaelson when that voided bug about chewed his arm off. First we find out if it works, then they go. With this drone, you and I will be a little safer from the roaches.”
“Zhen DuBois,” I said, and she shot me an incomprehensible look. “I do not agree.”
“Too bad.”
The cabling connected with a click, and the drone’s power light flashed from red to orange. I settled on my knees. Slowly, as if surfacing through a viscous liquid, the drone lifted from the floor, the microantigravity units magnetically attached underneath like fist-sized parasites. The underbelly’s panels slid open, and the tendrils began to unspool.
Zhen jumped to her feet. “I think that does it. Nothing to do now but wait.”
“They should leave.” My helmet’s speaker scattered my words through the air. “You should leave, Zhen DuBois. I do not know what it will do.”
“I don’t think so.” She turned to the door and said, “Lars.”
He glanced back. “Yep?”
“You and Daniel escort Kye and James back to—”
Sharp, percussive shots echoed in the hall, and Lars doubled over.