PERSONAL RECORD: DESIGNATION ZETA4542910-9545E
PALLAS STATION
478.2.6.02
“You brought a second bed?”
“We knew about Lars, and you shouldn’t be on your feet yet,” he said. “It makes sense. Don’t want you to overdo it more than you already have. So, either you use it, or I carry you. While I wouldn’t mind holding you, it’s been a long day.”
I would not burden Nate.
He helped me to my feet and switched on my communications link, and I did not protest. The marines’ orders, responses, and quips filled my helmet, and the influx of sound made me flinch.
James followed Kyleigh out the door, and when Zhen activated the microantigravity devices, she and Daniel accompanied the drone into the hall. By the time Nate and I crossed the threshold, everyone else was waiting. Zhen shut the gouged door and locked it from the outside before whipping out the datapad. The drone floated through the knot of marines, who edged away.
Lars craned his head to look behind him. “Not sure I want that thing where I can’t see it.”
“Nobody wants to see it,” someone responded. “No offense, Recorder.”
“She isn’t a Recorder,” Zhen retorted.
My failure and my uselessness ate at me like acid, but I said, “I am not offended.”
“Then let’s go.” The tall marine medic patted the empty hover gurney.
Nate lifted me before I could climb onto it, and the medic grabbed the three-centimeter-wide straps to secure me, as she had Lars.
I panicked.
The last time I had been strapped down while wearing a suit, fire and carapaces had rained down on me, and the memory engulfed me as flames had filled the hangar. Oxygen came in shards, like the broken lamp, and I batted her hands away. Words of protest rose in my throat, but all that emerged was a strangled, “No.”
The marines’ comments faded to dim threads of sound, then disappeared as Nate moved between me and the medic. “Hold up, Ramos.”
“Safety regs require—”
“He said to hold up,” Zhen flung at the medic as she, too, inserted herself between us. “She knows the regs better than you ever could.”
“We run into more trogs with guns or more bugs, and she’ll fall. ‘All persons being transported—’”
“Stop it.” Zhen lowered her voice, as if doing so would prevent me from hearing her. “You’ll agitate her, and she could start hemorrhaging again.”
The woman stilled.
“It’s okay,” Nate soothed. “We won’t tie you down.”
“James and I will walk on either side,” Kyleigh volunteered, and my first friend nodded in agreement.
The medic pursed her lips. “I’m on record as not endorsing this.”
Zhen and the drone appeared at the foot of the bed. “Feel free to disagree, if that makes you happy.”
“None of this makes me happy,” the medic said. “Fine, I won’t tie you down, Recorder. When we reach the quarantine room, I’ll see if you need any pain meds, but since the point is to get you there safely, lie still.”
I nodded.
“Can you untie me, too?” Lars asked.
“No.”
“At least give me back my weapon,” he protested. “I can shoot just as well on my back. I’ve practiced firing prone—”
“Not if I’m standing in front of you,” a woman quipped.
Lars groaned.
“Save the chatter,” the medic ordered, though I did not know what gave her the authority, especially when she had chatted only moments prior. “Move.”
Nate tapped my arm. “I’m right behind you.”
And he disappeared.
Once more, exposed ductwork, conduit, and fire suppression systems seemed to glide overhead, until we came to a stop. Most of the marines left us when we passed the laser barricade, but the remaining few accompanied us to the temporary infirmary first. One marine guided Lars’s gurney through the door, and ten meters away, the light over the quarantine room’s vestibule shone a steady green.
My bed came to a stop, but Daniel and Zhen continued down the hall. Still held aloft by the microantigravity units, the drone followed almost as closely and obediently as it would have for a member of the Consortium.
Thwarted responsibility prompted me to ask, “Where are you taking it?”
“Somewhere it can’t torment anyone,” Zhen said over her shoulder.
“The other drones have been secured in a storage closet,” Daniel added. “No one wanted them lurking in the control room, and keeping them together is reasonable.”
“Perhaps,” I said, “Lorik’s drone will be safer in the quarantine room.”
Zhen snorted. “I don’t think so.”
“Not that I would mind all that much”—Kyleigh eyed me closely—“but why?”
Zhen did not grant me the opportunity to respond. “Why doesn’t matter because it’s not going to happen.”
“And Max is waiting for you,” the medic said as she lowered the hover gurney’s railing. “Timmons, take her in.”
Kyleigh raised her hand. “I’ll do it. I’m going in there, anyway.”
“You’re not in much better shape, Tristram,” the medic said. “He’ll be able to catch her if she wobbles.”
James cleared his throat. “I shall wait with you, Kyleigh Tristram.”
“Thanks.” She offered him a wan smile. “Though, you need to rest, too.”
“There will be time to do so before we attempt the use of another drone in the morning.”
The vestibule door slid open, but I placed a hand on Nate’s arm. “Wait. James, to whom do you refer when you say ‘we’?”
“Daniel and I have discussed reactivating our drones, but he has found a place. I shall leave my jamming device behind after breakfast and reconnect.”
A chill swept over me, despite my suit’s thermoregulatory design.
My Nathaniel crossed his arms. “That isn’t an option, James.”
“We have not decided who goes and who stays,” Daniel added.
“And I told you back in Christine’s office that there has to be a better way.” Kyleigh flung out the words as if doing so could create a shield to keep the men safe. “Neither of you will even look at those drones.”
James raised his chin. “As I said, Daniel Parker has a purpose now. I do not.”
“Of course you do,” Kyleigh argued. “Besides, you’re officially dead. If you go and plug that thing back in, you’ll be caught and taken back to the Consortium. They’ll put you in a tank and kill you before you could snap your fingers.”
I grabbed the railing and slid to my feet. “They are correct. Neither of you will activate any drone. In the morning, I will try again.”
“I don’t think so,” Zhen said.
“If either of you reactivates your drone, both of you will be exposed.” When neither answered, I continued, “Which will bring the Consortium’s scrutiny on everyone here. Everyone.”
“You’re putting yourself in danger again,” Nate said quietly.
“I am putting my training to use. But this is more than protecting Daniel and James. More than protecting each of you.” I resisted a wave of dizziness and squared my shoulders. “You have forgotten the terminal sequence of my designation number: 9545E. They were training me to act as an Elder, and as such, I can serve. I know the codes—”
“Then you shall tell me, I shall do it, and you shall heal,” Daniel said.
“Tell us,” Zhen added.
“That might be a good plan tomorrow, but not right now. It’s almost midnight, and we all need rest,” the medic said firmly. “Recorder, you need sleep, food, and meds. In.”
Nate locked gazes with James. “The marines are stable. We’ll discuss this tomorrow.”
Though James nodded once, Daniel only grunted. That concession would have to suffice.
Nate led me into the vestibule. The door shut. We stood in silence as our suits were scrubbed clean, and Nate braced me whenever my balance faltered. When we entered the quarantine room, Max greeted us with a tired smile. My navy-blue datapad rested on my pillow where I had left it, and the air filtration units hissed, as if nothing had happened.
After removing my helmet, cap, and lightly armored suit, I crawled onto my bed, and the monitor’s steady beep indicated that my cardiovascular system functioned within acceptable parameters. Nate collapsed in a chair at my side, his elbows on his knees.
“You should rest,” I told him, but he shook his head.
“In a bit.”
“Thank you for trying.” Max handed me a cloth to clean the dried blood from my upper lip. “You’re doing much better, but no one should have asked you to go.”
The door opened again, and Kyleigh entered alone. Her eyes went to Max, who offered her a smile.
“I’ll need to check your vitals, too, Kye.”
She trudged to her computer and removed her helmet and cap, setting them next to the old-fashioned keyboard. “James wanted to make sure I was all right, even if I’m not the wobbly one. I convinced him to rest.”
“Good.” Max reviewed the data on her hoverbed. “You’re doing well. Have some water and a snack, then get some sleep.”
“Max?” She chewed her lower lip. “I didn’t say, exactly, but in a way I told him.”
Angled eyebrows pulled down. “Told whom what?”
“Before Zhen showed up, when he brought us dinner, I called him James, so he asked how I knew—how we all seemed to know—his name. I didn’t say who you were.”
Max dropped heavily onto the foot of her bed.
Kyleigh watched him. “He doesn’t know?”
He did not look up from his interlocked fingers. “I don’t think so.”
“Why, Max?” she asked. “You need to tell him.”
“We haven’t solidified a way to get him out of the Consortium. Telling him who he is, that I’ve been searching for him his whole life, that his mother gifted him and his sister without my consent . . . Doing so would put him at greater risk.” He glanced at me. “I know you’ll do your best, but I can’t condemn my son. And the longer I wait, the harder it is.”
“Deferring the conversation will limit the time you have to know him better,” I said.
“But is it truly necessary?” His hands fisted on his knees. “I don’t want to force a bond on him that would make escape more difficult.”
“I would want to know.” All three turned to me, but I focused on Max. “Before I left Thalassa, I had the chance to search for my mother. I did not take it. Discovering why I was unwanted would be a burden I could not bear. Her files might contain evidence she changed her mind, but reading those files would be an invasion of privacy. But if she regretted her choice, if she or my father still wanted me . . .” A lump formed in my throat. “If they changed their minds, I would want to know.”
Nate’s eyes caught mine. “I want you.”
A flicker of warmth tried to melt that lump.
Kyleigh sniffled. “We all do. You matter.”
“Thank—” A yawn interrupted me.
Nate squeezed my hand. “That’s my cue, isn’t it? Max, you’re dead on your feet. You coming, too?”
Max adjusted something on Kyleigh’s monitor and glanced at mine. “You two are as settled as you’re going to be, but if anything changes, comm me or Williams.” He patted the foot of my bed, then walked to the door, pausing to switch the full-spectrum light to red.
Nate leaned down and touched his helmet to my forehead. “Good night, sweetheart.”
“Good night, Nathaniel,” I whispered.
The vestibule door closed behind them both. Kyleigh rolled over to face the wall and gave me a muffled good night.
Quiet settled about the room. I stared up at the ceiling, both full and empty, the antipodes of emotion mingling with questions, all churning in an exhausting vortex.
What had made this time with Lorik’s drone so different from when I had controlled the drones on Agamemnon? When I had used the dead Recorder’s drone to take down the roaches?
Again, I saw Nate’s face soften and heard him say he loved me.
The nightlight’s red bathed the room, its warmth softening the incomplete mural, and I remembered Freddie, his thin face furrowed as he studied the wall but smooth and relaxed as he painted. I identified Kyleigh in his broad brushstrokes, but his ultimate goal in those faces was forever lost, though the foundation had been laid. I would not let him be altogether forgotten, no matter that he had asked to be.
Fatigue swelled, but resolution gripped me.
No matter how I had failed before, in the morning, I would try again. Somehow, a solution would present itself. Somehow, I would find a way to convince them all to allow me to reactivate a drone on my own. Somehow, I would keep them safe. Max would save Lytwin and Patterson, and I would save James and Daniel. Then, together, we would find a cure.
In the quarantine room’s gentle red glow, hope expanded from a thread to a rope, and I clung to it.