PERSONAL RECORD: DESIGNATION ZETA4542910-9545E
PALLAS STATION
478.2.6.03
After less than six hours of sleep, I jolted awake, clearheaded, with both the solid conviction that I needed to access Lorik’s drone and the knowledge of how to control it.
Quietly, so as not to disturb Kyleigh, I tiptoed to the water closet. After I washed my face, the mirror caught my attention. My reflection seemed hollower, my cheekbones more pronounced, my brown eyes shadowed. While nothing could be done for those, I ran my fingers through the curls in an attempt to control them, and the underlying welt-like scars made me shudder. I dipped my head to the side and checked. Dark curls hid the raised skin. Relief belied my lack of vanity. The scars were immaterial, except as evidence that Max had removed my neural implant. Even so, I tried again to smooth my hair, then straightened my tunic and slipped back into the room.
Two prepackaged meals remained on Williams’s desk, and I opened one with care, casting glances at Kyleigh when the wrapper crinkled. She made a tiny noise, rolled over, and curled into a fetal position.
While I choked down most of the underseasoned beans and rice and the monochromatic, cooked fruit salad, I duplicated the information from my blue datapad to the former station Recorder’s green one. Setting my meal and the datapads aside, I searched the cupboards for pyrimethamine and analgesics but could not find any. Medication would have to wait.
Instead, I retrieved my armored suit and, for two minutes, stared at the mottled grey-and-black. It provided no true protection from the roaches, but it would keep others safe should the virus in my blood be airborne after all. And if Skip and his allies appeared . . . After yesterday’s incident, the suit’s benefits outweighed its restrictions, so I tugged it over my leggings and tunic.
My nose wrinkled. Despite the specially designed antibacterial lining, the sharp tang of human stress tainted the material. It would need a thorough cleaning once we returned to Thalassa. At least, I told myself while tugging the beige cap over my head, the filtration system would purify the air in the helmet.
Although there had been no reason to doubt them, I silently conceded that James and Zhen were correct: consuming adequate calories had made a difference. After sleep and a meal, I was not unsteady on my feet, even when I shoved them into the heavy boots. I donned my gloves and gathered both datapads, storing them in the slim outer pocket on my thigh.
Pausing at the door, I pulled out the navy blue one to message Kyleigh regarding my intent, lest she worry. A soft ping sounded from her computer, and confident of the message’s arrival, I returned the datapad to my pocket. Tucking my helmet under one arm, I palmed the door’s access panel.
It did not open.
My brow furrowed. Locking us in the quarantine room was a safety hazard, given potential malfunctions and possible intrusions. My skin prickled at the thought, and I glanced at the vent. The thick metal plate seemed secure enough to prevent insectile invasion. Although, with terrorists skulking in Pallas Station’s darkest passages, perhaps the decision to lock the door made sense.
The panel must have been coded to require specific identification bands. Thalassa had similar systems, and I smiled briefly. Whoever they were, if they thought to confine me, they had erred. Without a drone, the standard, well-hidden slot for Consortium access was unusable, but the keyboard was not. I set the helmet at my feet and waggled my fingers before attempting to crack the code. My first seven assays failed, and frustration had me tapping my leg twice. Circumventing security should not have been so difficult.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I spun around.
Kyleigh glared at me from under a halo of tight, untidy curls, and unexpected guilt sparked through me.
“You’re trying to sneak out to mess with that drone again.” She pushed aside her blankets and hopped from her bed. “The answer is no.”
“I am not sneaking.” I waved an arm at her computer. “I sent you a message relaying my intent.”
“Bet you didn’t tell Timmons, Jordan, or Max.”
I opened my mouth to rebut her statement, but she was correct.
“Or Jackson,” she added.
Indignation prompted me to protest. “I do not report to Kyle Geoffrey Jackson.”
“Down here, we all do.” Her huff reminded me of Zhen. “Especially given that the marines are our best chance of getting out of here alive.”
My mouth twisted. “I concede your point.”
“Of course you do.” She tapped her chin. “So. The drone. That’s your plan, isn’t it?”
Chagrined, I could but nod.
Kyleigh padded to the door on stockinged feet and, when I moved back, inserted herself between me and the exit, hands on hips. “What makes you think that six in the morning will be any different from ten last night?”
I pulled out my datapad. “This does.” She did not ask for clarification, but I gave it anyway. “Each time I have interacted successfully with a drone, even the rogues on Agamemnon, which is a Consortium vessel, there was a connection with our network.”
She eyed the datapad.
“Yesterday,” I continued, “with the jamming devices operative, the drone had no external connection to the Consortium.”
“So it panicked when it woke up in a vacuum?”
“That is possible, in a manner of speaking.” When one of her eyebrows rose sharply, I added, “Even probable.”
“And your datapad will help?”
“If I wire it into the drone’s access panel and utilize the codes Lorik gave me, it should be enough to allow control.”
I did not tell her that when it was active, it would remain at my side, nor did I confess that usurping an Elder’s drone would anger the Eldest. With lives in the balance and my own fate predetermined, what did that matter?
Briefly, the thought of holding Nate’s hand and the memory of his repeated assertion that he loved me warred with my decision.
My jaw tightened. This was more important. The lives of those injured marines and thousands, perhaps millions, of people depended on gaining access to Dr. Georgette SahnVeer’s equipment. We needed that drone. It was not that I had no choice or that my short life held no value. Rather, my decision was driven by the weight of souls.
“That seems—” Kyleigh smothered a yawn. “Tell you what. I’ll call to see who’s on duty and get an escort. You aren’t leaving alone, not while roaches and those horrible people who shot Lars are out there.”
“I would prefer to endanger no one else.”
“Well, I prefer that you don’t die,” she countered. “I’d prefer that no one does.” Her voice grew firm. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’ll eat something while I get ready and swallow some food. Then I’ll ask for someone to come with us, and we’ll face the drone together.”
“Kyleigh—”
“Because if you don’t cooperate, I’m calling Jackson, Jordan, and Timmons, and they’ll lock this room down so fast that you won’t be able to brush your teeth without a marine present.”
“You are being unreasonable.”
“Unreasonable or not, it’s what you get.” She regarded me steadily. “Do we have a deal?”
“This is not a deal. It is coercion.”
“Good. I’ll take that for a yes.” She glanced at the leftover beans and rice that glistened in an unappetizing fashion on my bedside table next to the two datasticks. “Go finish that, and we’ll be out of here before you can recite the Founders’ oath three times.”
I had no desire either to recite the oath or to eat more bland food but finished my breakfast, nonetheless. She hurried through her morning ablutions, pulled on her suit, and tore open her own prepackaged meal.
“Stars, but it’ll be good to get back to Thalassa and real food.” She hesitated, a forkful of rice halfway to her mouth. “You don’t suppose it went bad when the power went off, do you?”
The thought gave me pause. “Nate did not tell me it spoiled. A journey to New Triton with nothing but meals like these . . .” I grimaced. “I hope it did not. The freezers would remain cold for many hours, and the nonperishables would be unaffected. They would have brought additional supplies for the added number on board, from scientists to marines.”
Her eyes widened, and she gulped down a bite. “Marines! I forget everything.” After guzzling some water, she tapped the link on her wrist. “Kyleigh Tristram, here.”
Jackson’s gravelly voice came thinly over the external links in our suits. “Go ahead, Tristram.”
She cast a glance at me and drew in a deep breath. “The Recorder-who-isn’t wants to try accessing a drone again.”
“When?”
“Now—or as soon as possible.”
“Is she up to it?”
“I am,” I said as firmly as I could.
“You sound better, Recorder, but I’ll send someone to verify that.” A brief click, and he continued eleven seconds later. “Glad you’ll try. Don’t want to lose Daniel.”
Kyleigh’s thin face pinched. “Like we need to lose her? Or James?”
“Didn’t say that,” he stated. “But we need that drone. Now.”
Kyleigh lowered her voice. “Something happened.”
“Lytwin.”
The beans and rice clumped in my stomach. “Is he . . . did he die?”
“No, but he took a turn for the worse. Maxwell and Williams are with him and Patterson right now, so our medic is on her way to check the Recorder’s vitals. Can’t afford another collapse like yesterday. Sending someone to escort you as well.”
Jackson clicked off without a word of closure, but Kyleigh did not seem offended. Perhaps his abrupt conclusion was for efficiency’s sake.
Kyleigh moved her food across the small tray. “I guess it’s a good thing.” Before I could ask her to explain her meaning, the light over the door went red. “That should be what’s-her-name. The medic.”
I choked down my last bite, and we fell silent, Kyleigh to her breakfast and I to my thoughts. I mentally reviewed my past mistakes and their potential corrections, setting aside the intrusive images of Lars doubling over and the tendrils snaking past me toward my friends. Lars was fine, and the drone had not harmed anyone. I disposed of my breakfast’s wrappings and utensils in the biohazardous waste container. Kyleigh finished her meal and was cleaning her area as the door slid open and the medic entered.
Though it was not my concern, I blurted, “Is Lars well?”
“That isn’t—” The medic’s mouth pursed. “He’s taped up. Wicked bruising and a cracked rib. He’s lucky those trogs are bad shots and didn’t get him in the throat.”
Kyleigh paled. “Were they caught?”
“No. Trogs got away.” The woman frowned. “I don’t like this, not after yesterday, but Lytwin’s fever is too high. Intravenous antibiotics, pain meds, and fever reducers aren’t making a dent. I’ve told them he has to go in the tank, but”—she turned from Kyleigh to me—“if you’re right, that’d seal his fate sure and certain.”
Anxiety and determination filled me simultaneously. “This is why I must activate the drone.”
For five long seconds, the marine medic regarded me closely, then crossed to my bedside. “Not if I say you don’t. You look better than last night, but looks can be deceiving.” Her faded bag, marked with a peeling red-and-white medical emblem, thudded onto the foot of my bed. “Jackson thinks it’s worth a shot, but I don’t know that it’s a good idea. You were sick as all get-out twenty-five hours ago, and sure didn’t handle pressure well last night.”
“I feel much stronger today,” I said, hoping I did not sound as defensive as I suspected I did.
She searched the bag’s sections. “You ate something?”
Kyleigh spoke up. “We both did.”
The medic raised her head. “You aren’t coming, Tristram.”
“Oh yes, I am. You might know medicine,” Kyleigh argued, “but I know nanotech, and I have the right retinas. As soon as that drone is ready to go, we need to head to the lab to get that equipment. If those two marines are as sick as you say, we don’t have time to waste. I need my lab set up last ten-day.”
“Jackson didn’t say anything about you.”
“So?” Kyleigh shot back. “I’m right. Check in with him, sure, but I’m going, like it or not.”
I did not like it, but she was not incorrect.
The medic scowled as she switched off her external speaker.
“Two can play at sneak-talking.” Kyleigh hit a button on her wrist. “J?”
“Kye?” Venetia Jordan’s alto sounded from Kyleigh’s suit’s speaker.
Kyleigh glared at the medic. “J, I need backup.”
“What’s going on?” All fatigue vanished from Jordan’s voice. “What do you need?”
“The Recorder-who-isn’t needs to access that drone—”
“After yesterday’s episode, that’s not—”
“Lytwin’s dying,” Kyleigh interrupted. “Jackson already approved her going because they need that equipment, and the medic is here checking her out.”
There was a brief pause. “Jackson’s sending an escort?”
“Yes, but I don’t know who. That’s not the problem. The medic says I won’t be going, and I have to.” Kyleigh reiterated her reasoning.
“I’ll see what I can do. But Kye?”
“Yes?’
“Don’t be rash.” A click sounded, and the connection was gone.
“I won’t,” Kyleigh whispered to the silent link.
We both watched the medic. Her expression darkened while her inaudible discussion continued for two more interminable minutes.
“. . . sir,” she finished, then turned to us, eyes narrowed. “You can’t go running to Jordan and undermine my authority like that, Tristram, but you won this one. Jackson says you’ll both need medtrackers.” She huffed, then pulled two microdatacards, less than a centimeter square, from a pouch in her bag and said to me, “Look up.”
I obeyed.
After a brief snap of sound and pressure on my collar, she said, “You, too, Tristram.” She inserted a microdatacard into a slot on Kyleigh’s neckband. The medic dusted her gloved hands. “That will connect your suits’ readouts directly to mine.” She surveyed us. “You’re both good to go. Vitals are fine today.”
Kyleigh stared at her. “You can do that? Why can’t Max and Williams? It would save lives.”
Behind her faceplate, the medic smirked. “Proprietary tech.”
I intervened before an argument ensued. “May we leave?”
The medic nodded. “The vestibule holds two people, but Quincy will be waiting for you in the hallway. Recorder, you go first. We’ll join you. I’ll have a word with you, Tristram, without a Recorder present.”
Kyleigh winced.
It was my turn to narrow my eyes. “Medic, I find your statement suspicious.”
A spot of color appeared on the medic’s cheeks. She glowered down at me, but although she was indeed much taller, I had been trained by the Consortium. She looked away first.
“I’ll be fine,” Kyleigh said in an undertone. “Do you have everything you need?”
I checked for the datapads. “Yes.”
Whoever Quincy was, he waited in the hall, and Lorik’s drone waited beyond that. I fastened on my helmet and entered the vestibule.