PERSONAL RECORD: DESIGNATION ZETA4542910-9545E
PALLAS STATION
478.2.6.02
“Down!”
Zhen darted around the drone to Lars’s side. Kyleigh dropped behind the desk, but I froze, as if my knees had been welded to the floor. A high-pitched buzz in my ears rivaled still-deafening shots.
Lars shoved himself upright. Another series of bursts shattered the air. He staggered sideways, steadied himself, and raised his weapon. Brutal sound stabbed my ears as he edged into the office.
Despite the gentle flow of oxygen in my helmet, I could not breathe.
Daniel was at the door, sighting down his weapon, and sound punched my chest. Sparks flew from the metal doorframe. The ceramic lamp shattered. Words—short, terse, and incomprehensible—penetrated the chaos, and James’s deep voice responded. Grabbing my upper arm, he pulled me behind the drone, which became our barrier from the door, though its dangling tendrils provided no true protection.
Numbers. Someone—Daniel?—listed unsequenced numbers.
Kyleigh left her hiding space to crowd with James and me between the drone and the wall. She removed my arm from James’s grasp and turned it wrist up, flipping open the communications panel. Voices disappeared, and weapons’ fire dulled to pops.
Ignoring the drone and its emerging tendrils, Kyleigh rotated me to face the wall, then caught my helmet with both hands. In the absence of sound, I watched her lips. After she repeated the same thing twice, I understood.
“Two. Three. Five. Seven.”
She paused, waiting.
“Eleven, thirteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty-three,” I continued.
Kyleigh gave me a tight smile, then said—or mouthed—“Breathe.”
James cast a quick glance at the door and stood. Panic bit at me. I reached to yank him down, but Kyleigh put a firm hand on my shoulder and climbed to her feet as well.
The drone jostled me as it ascended. I grabbed it, and it tugged me upright.
The door was shut. Daniel was closing the small access panel beside it, and Lars leaned against the wall. No blood leaked down his suit’s marine blue, but two deep scratches ran across the left thigh, and the right shoulder was scuffed. He rubbed his hand over an uneven divot marring his chest plate.
Zhen turned to Daniel, who bent his head toward the chaise lounge.
How long had it been? Minutes? Seconds? I had not counted.
The drone slid from my grasp as the ovoid machine drifted up. Thicker tentacles unspooled from their interior cavities, and its four jointed arms unfolded. Its tentacles dangled underneath and pooled on the flowered carpet, but its extended tendrils writhed wildly. It came to a stop, hovering at shoulder height, tethered to the wall by the black cable.
One hand splayed on its silver side, I whispered the code the Elder had told me before he died, flexed my fingers, and input the numbers and letters, hesitating but once. The small screen on the top flashed.
>>Assigned Elder not detected. Network not detected. Enter CDN.
Again, my breath caught.
Did I enter my own Consortium designation number, or did I enter Lorik’s?
Whether due to my delay, the charging process, or a malfunction, the words pulsed across the screen: >>Enter CDN.
Three whip-like tendrils twined around my ankles.
Which identification number?
Indecision swelled. The Consortium must know Lorik died. Without the neural implant, without the network, with our physiological differences, the drone would immediately identify me as an imposter. I was no longer a Recorder training to become an Elder, and surely, the drone would recognize my number. To proclaim my identity when I was considered an aberration and a rogue would surely activate security protocols.
>>Enter CDN.
I clenched my jaw, then entered, >>Zeta4542910-9545E.
>>Unauthorized. Access Denied.
One long tendril slithered up my legs and around my torso. Another twisted its way to my neck.
James grabbed my shoulder, and a tendril reached for him. The drone issued a reprimand, and sudden pain made my eyes water. Kyleigh tried to pull me back, but when I pushed her hand away, one of the appendages encircling my legs released me and snaked toward her. The one around my neck tightened, but whatever happened to me, I would allow neither James nor Kyleigh to be harmed. The tendril around my waist wound higher, but before it could pin my hand to my side, I entered the universal stop code.
For the space of two breaths, nothing happened.
Then, the tendrils withdrew, disappearing again into their internal pockets. The tentacles wound back into the interior, and its arms folded into tidy cubes. As the drone floated down to rest again on the microantigravity units, its screen flickered off, though the orange charging light still glowed.
I sagged backward. James caught one arm and Kyleigh the other. My nose tingled, and I sniffed back a trickle before lifting my gaze from the drone’s smooth surface.
Zhen met my eyes from across the room. Slowly, she lowered her weapon. Daniel seemed coiled like a spring, ready to rush to my side. Lars had maneuvered himself upright. All color had drained from his face, and his weapon shook in his gloved hands.
Whether or not my error lay in giving my identification number instead of Lorik’s, without the drone, we could not access the equipment. Without the equipment, no one would be able to discern whether or not the medgel necessary to treat the injured marines would instead end their lives. The tingling in my throat grew stronger as the weight of unmet responsibilities pressed down, crushing me as surely as a singularity.
The marines and my friends had overestimated my abilities, and Lars had been shot. Now we were trapped in the elaborate yellow office with its cut-glass fitting while unknown assailants fired at us.
My limitations and lack of control over my physical responses had led us here, trapped, with a drone I could not control. I did not wish to return to being a functional Recorder. I wished to help the others.
But as light split over two years of dust in the abandoned office, I could do nothing at all.