PERSONAL RECORD: DESIGNATION ZETA4542910-9545E
PALLAS STATION
478.2.6.03
“Like blazes you will,” the bearded marine growled. “Let her go, and I won’t kill you.”
The man who held the jet injector to the unconscious medic’s throat laughed.
“I don’t think so,” Skip said. “And where did you get an active drone? You don’t have Recorders left, and that Elder should be dead by now.”
No one responded. Alec’s wheezing continued, and Zhen jumped to her feet, her weapon up and aimed at the knife-man.
Jordan’s voice, low and even, came over the communications link: “Easy.”
“Ah-ah,” Skip said. “Do it, and your pretty girl gets a vein-full of bioweapon. Hand over the trolley.”
Jordan flipped a switch on her weapon but said, louder, “We don’t negotiate with evil.”
“And yet here you are in the company of Consortium tech.” Skip pulled out another injector and clicked his tongue. “Cord.”
The man holding the medic depressed his thumb, and the subsequent hiss seemed as loud as weapons’ fire. He dropped it, then caught the one Skip tossed his way.
“That’s part one.” The man who had killed Freddie and Lorik and tried to kill me locked his gaze on Jordan. “Cord has part two now. Do you want her to die like the others? Give me the trolley.”
“Why?” The question emerged before I could stop it.
Skip moved to the side, his attention skimming over all of us until he found me. “Consortium? How are you not dead? Should’ve grabbed that one, Cord.” He tapped his wrist and spoke over a channel I could not hear.
I sidled farther behind Nate and pulled the datapad from my pocket.
>>Not Elder Eta4513110-0197E, cycled across the screen. >>Citizens are prohibited from wearing Consortium attire, per AAVA section 1.37.11.
>>Stolen from Elder, I typed. >>Monitor channels.
>>Documenting.
Still fighting afterimages, I ordered, >>Notify Jackson.
A second passed, and the drone informed me, >>Notified.
Skip’s voice resonated through my communications link once more. “Right. So we’ll take her, too.”
“Over my dead body.” Nate’s voice was low and taut.
Behind his mask, Skip bared his teeth. “If you insist.”
The man holding the medic hit the second injector’s button. A nod from Skip, and a knotted rope tumbled from the ductwork overhead. As the knife-man shimmied out of sight, a storm of weapons’ fire filled the hall. Echoes masked the number of shots.
I cowered behind Nate as projectiles hit the drone with sharp, metallic pings and exploded into the wall beside me.
My Nathaniel held fast, his shoulders jerking in time with painful spurts of noise. Shards of glass flew from the cart.
Nate staggered, knocking me against the drone. Something flew at me and chipped my faceplate. I lost my balance. The charger crunched against the wall.
Too many—too bright—too loud.
Zhen cried out and crumpled. Did she roll to her back and raise her weapon, or was I imagining it?
The man was dragging the medic away. The hall’s stark light illuminated the sole of her right boot, where the tread had worn unevenly, primarily on the outside and back of the heel. That meant something, though what—
But these men could not be allowed to take her.
The drone.
More debris pinged off my suit, but I ducked between the drone and the wall. I checked its screen: power levels had faded to red-orange.
Skip snarled an order in my ear—no, in the communications link—and the trolley exploded. The fire alarm blared. Water sheeted from sprayers above, beating down the flames.
My hands shook as I typed the command: >>Retrieve the medic at all costs.
Metal struck against my upper arm, and the datapad crashed to the floor.
The drone turned sideways, unspooling and unfolding all twelve appendages. Tendrils-first, it flew out of the fire suppression’s downpour at the man holding the medic. Tentacles encircled his helmet. A scream tore at my ears stopping abruptly as a sickening crunch echoed, even in the chaos. The medic slammed onto the ground, and the man crumpled next to her.
Bile rose. I had not meant—
Descending on the medic, the drone cradled her in its jointed arms, but after a few meters, it slowed, lowered her to the ground, withdrew all appendages, and settled daintily beside her bare head.
Another curse, another shout. Skip and his men ran. One of them tripped, his unsecured sidearm skittering across the floor. He abandoned it and pelted after the others. They disappeared down the hall, leaving the two injured and the one Skip had called Cord. How many had there been altogether? I could not remember.
Motion-activated lights flickered off behind the fleeing men, enclosing the hall in shadows. The alarm stopped abruptly, and the water slowed to a dribble, dripping down my faceplate like tears.
For the second time in my life, I was sick inside my helmet. Despite the virus’s threat, I tugged it off, wiped my mouth, and raised my face to the ceiling. Droplets fell from the sprayers, dampening my cheeks and gathering on my eyelashes.
Voices sounded in my communications link, but I did not wish to hear them. I pulled off the cap as well and tossed it aside. The water had not completely purged the pungent odors of chemicals and smoke from the air, and fumes singed my nostrils.
Nate remained at my side, and a quick glance showed that Jordan and Quincy stood alert, weapons ready. Kyleigh huddled in fetal position, her gloved hands over the sides of her helmet. Zhen knelt beside Alec, her attention flickering between him and the ductwork above.
Alec’s writhing stilled.
When I wiped my face again, what might have been red glinted on my gloved fingers. I crawled away from the wall, away from the destroyed trolley’s debris, then stopped, unsure of where to go. To Zhen and Alec, or to Kyleigh? Or to the medic? Or to . . . or to the man who lay beyond my drone?
Kyleigh slowly uncurled, then picked up the medic’s helmet and clasped it to her chest. The blue safety lights along the base of the wall reflected eerily from her faceplate.
Slick with chemicals, water pooled on the floor, glimmering with out-of-place beauty in the midst of ash, splinters of glass and metal, and the crumbled concrete from the damaged walls. Jordan, Nate, and the bearded marine still stood, weapons out, scanning the area, but Zhen lifted Alec’s head onto her lap. When his fingers curled around hers, my heavy heartbeats calmed, if only a little.
Footfalls sounded again. Too numb to move, I did nothing when Jackson’s marines arrived.
Two faced the dark hallway down which the men had fled. One knelt by the medic, and another crouched next to Zhen and Alec. The other trained her weapon on the round holes torn through the metal ductwork.
Nothing dripped through the perforations. The knife-man must have escaped.
Another storm of boots thundered, and more people arrived with hover gurneys and platforms.
The marine near the medic waved an arm, but I did not watch them lift her carefully and strap her down. Nor could I watch them secure Alec, though a sliver of guilt told me I should.
Instead, an endless cycle of the drone grabbing the man and his subsequent death replayed in my mind. I wrapped my arms around my legs and set my forehead on my knees.
“Sweetheart?” Nate did not say anything else, only raked gloved fingers through my damp curls, then cupped my chin. Fingertips whispered over my lips, wiping away whatever stained them. Then he crushed me close with one arm, and I buried my face against his scratched armor.
Time lost all its minutes and seconds, becoming both instantaneous and eternal, as the marines loaded the fallen attackers onto platforms and affixed microantigravity devices to the drone and what remained of the trolley. Nate released me and helped me to my feet, and Kyleigh handed me the green datapad. I slid it into my pocket, ignoring its pitted and scratched screen.
Once Alec was buckled down, Zhen retrieved the fallen knife and slipped it into a strap on her thigh. Her eyes burned like dark fire when they met mine, and she nodded tersely before returning to Alec’s side.
The marines escorted us to the . . . to whatever that section was. I walked under my own power the entire way back, surreptitiously wiping my nose lest Nate worry. Concern for the way he cradled his arm nagged at me.
We left Kyleigh and the medic at the quarantine room and continued to the storage closet, where Nate and the others waited in the hall while Jackson’s marines and I secured Lorik’s drone. I found a receptacle in the back of the closet and plugged in the two undamaged chargers, leaving the scuffed one unplugged, since charging a damaged device could be dangerous.
Once the marines left, I stood alone in the closet, staring past the drones at the bland grey wall. The equipment Kyleigh required had been destroyed, and I had no idea where we must venture to find replacements. Against my will, the events in the hall replayed in my mind: my inexact command, the drone’s compliance, the sound—
My stomach clenched, but so did my fists.
Despite my part in a man’s death, Lytwin and Patterson remained in danger and needed Kyleigh’s help. The moment they located the equipment, Jackson would give the command and we would leave. Lorik’s drone must be charged. I bit my lip because ready power meant nothing without instantaneous control, even if I only had temporary access. How long did that status last? Surely it was days rather than hours. It had to be.
Resolution steadied my hands as I attached the cables and activated the drone. I answered its appeal for identification, then shut the door and left it to charge where it could harm no one else.
Nate escorted me back to the quarantine room before leaving to have someone check his injuries. I removed my suit and set the helmet aside to be cleaned. Teeth brushed and face washed, I exited the water closet to find Kyleigh staring blankly at Freddie’s murals.
Williams had trundled the medic onto Freddie’s bed, and the young woman answered Williams’s calm questions in a strangled undertone. Snatches of their conversation penetrated the fog obscuring my thoughts: good as dead, medication, don’t care. Williams uttered soothing responses as she gave the medic water and pills. After checking Kyleigh and me, Williams left us to assist Max with treating the others, and time continued to have little meaning.
No news came about Alec or anyone else.
At length, Kyleigh said, “What do we do now?”
Wordless, I stared at the metal plate over the ventilation shaft until my eyes burned, but all I saw was the drone grabbing the man’s helmet.
The hiss of the air purifiers answered her. I did not.