PERSONAL RECORD: DESIGNATION ZETA4542910-9545E
CTS THALASSA
478.2.6.04
I pulled the suit over my Consortium tunic and leggings by rote, nearly unaware of the room about me, seeing instead the holding cell on Agamemnon. If the other ship arrived before I returned to Pallas Station, I would not endanger my friends by resisting arrest. Another holding cell would be my fate.
Nate had assured me that the other ship would not arrive for several hours, but fear for my friends and fear of confinement sped my movements as I tugged on the skullcap and fastened the helmet. Then the drone’s statement flashed through my memory, and momentary relief flickered.
The network was down.
If it had not been and I had attempted to upload new identities when the Consortium was this close, they might have witnessed the switch. I would have condemned us all in an attempt to create safety.
My fist tapped my armored thigh.
If I could . . . but could what? If I returned to Pallas, would I not lead the Consortium straight to James? If they knew I had Lorik’s drone, would it not be worse? And even though both former Recorders had jamming devices, the range was small. Unless they, too, hid, the Consortium could find them.
My stomach churned as I proceeded through the vestibule. When I exited, I had found no solution, though I had wrestled my fears to manageable levels.
Cam waited for me outside the door, but his salutation died on his lips when he saw the drone. He wiped his palm on his pant leg and said, “The captain wants to talk to you.”
“Very well.”
“I suppose you know you’re going down to Pallas later?”
“Yes. Timmons informed me.”
“Tia got the incoming message last night.” Cam’s attention ranged the empty hall, as if he scanned for adversaries. “The busted comm array garbled it, and Smith couldn’t—Eric says wouldn’t—figure it out.”
Pride lifted my heart. Tia had done well.
Cam’s lips pinched, then he asked, “What did Timmons tell you?”
“That the Consortium is on its way.”
“It’s not their ship, though, not like Agamemnon. Marshalcy. SGS Attlee, out of Krios Platform Forty-One.” His jaw tensed. “But Tia says they have Elders and Recorders onboard.”
I suppressed a shiver.
“Evidently, they knew something went wrong days ago. Authorities suspected pirates, which is why they’re sending Attlee.” Cam exhaled heavily. “I don’t know if I should say this in front of a drone or not, but I rather wish that when they show up, they blast those murdering, genocidal terrorists into atoms.”
I did not tell Cam that a murderer walked beside him.
We continued to the meeting room in silence, and when we reached it, people were dispersing into the hall. The marine from the shuttle nodded at me as she jogged past, but when Nate followed her, dressed in his usual black but with a green-and-white mourning band on his upper arm, he did not greet us. Archimedes Genet exited the room beside a woman in engineering blue, and inside the room, Edwards himself gathered a stack of slim datapads.
“All I can say is that if they have parts and food, they’re more than welcome.” The woman’s jaw muscles jumped. “Without assistance, we’ll be lucky to limp back to the closest Krios platform, never mind making it all the way to Lunar One.”
“I’m well aware of that.” Archimedes frowned. “And yes, Attlee has technicians and parts.”
“And more Recorders.” The woman shot a glare in my direction, then nodded at Archimedes. “Captain.” She strode away, already discussing repairs over her communications link.
Datapads cradled in the crook of his arm, Edwards emerged into the hall. “I am certain this will be a good thing.”
The datapad in my thigh pocket buzzed, and I pulled it out.
>>Suspected untruth.
Nate raked his fingers through his hair, which flopped back down over his eyebrows. A lump rose in my throat. I wanted to touch his hair, to hold his hand, to hear his heart again, but the virus, my gloves, the drone, and the constant threat of event after event prevented those small acts. For the space of two seconds, the inequity of our situation blazed.
“Ah, there you are,” Edwards said, bringing my attention back. “Did young Rodriguez inform you that a tribunal of Elders assigned to the closest mining platform noticed that the Consortium network went down nearly a ten-day ago?”
“He told me that they knew.”
“They’ll be here in about six hours.” Nate’s jaw tightened. “But you won’t.”
I straightened as indiscernible emotion hit me, though whether it was selfish hope for myself or fear for his defiance, I could not tell.
Archimedes Genet inclined his head. “Unfortunately, as Timmons and I were discussing, you won’t be here to greet them.”
“It is entirely my fault that you must return to the surface,” Edwards put in, but his pale-blue eyes twinkled. “I will need someone with a scientific background to take medical supplies to Dr. Maxwell and relocate equipment, allowing further research into the virus’s origins.”
I did not comment on the flimsiness of his excuse. The datapad in my hand buzzed again, but I ignored it.
“The shuttle will be arriving in an hour and a half. I want you on it,” the captain said. “However, Nathaniel Timmons has brought it to my notice that we need some information from you.”
“She’s done more than comply,” Cam interjected. When Archimedes Genet quirked a brow, Cam flushed. “Sorry, sir. Out of line.”
“She has, but we do,” Nate said, following up on the captain’s comment. “We need a full medicomputer scan.”
Archimedes nodded. “Since you were exposed to the virus but haven’t succumbed, you’ll head to the infirmary for that scan and to have blood drawn. They need more samples.”
I opened my mouth to protest. Nate’s compressed but indecipherable expression stopped me.
“When you board the shuttle,” the captain continued, “any and all Consortium tech will remain behind.” A thin tendril twined around my neck, and his face grew taut. “Whomever the Consortium sends will collect it when they arrive to take the incapacitated Recorder from the infirmary—”
“I still say we send that Recorder to Max.” Edwards straightened to his full height. “If they take the ship’s Recorder back—”
The captain said, “No,” and the datapad buzzed simultaneously.
“She’ll die,” Edwards argued.
“For those few moments she retained her faculties, she demanded to be returned.” The captain shook his head. “We not only have to acknowledge her final wishes, but also that she’s Consortium.”
“But”—Nate’s eyes focused on me—“you aren’t.”
Archimedes Genet glanced at the drone. “You’ll leave that tech aboard when you head down to Pallas.”
“I will not.”
The drone eased what would have been a stranglehold, save for the armored suit, and rose several decimeters to hover directly over my head.
Nate’s jaw ticced, and Cam sucked in a breath. Even the captain took half a step back. Only Edwards had no visible reaction.
“I cannot,” I said more gently. “We have work to do.”
“We?” Edwards asked.
I did not answer. If they insisted that I relocate to the surface, I would. Whatever they thought, however, I could not abandon Lorik’s drone on Thalassa where the Consortium representatives would retrieve it. My discovery of personal logs within the drone’s memory made it more dangerous than my friends believed, for I had not deleted Lorik’s records.
Beyond that, somewhere, deep within the station Recorder’s logs lay the possibility of evidence regarding Kyleigh’s father’s murder. I could not walk away from that small favor, not when she had already lost even more with Freddie’s death.
My head throbbed. I did not have enough time, and concentration grew harder and harder. It was then that, like a lead weight in heavy gravity, my stomach seemed to drop.
“Zeta?” Cam asked. “You went white as a sheet. Are you all right?”
The corridor blurred before me, overlaid with a memory of the cavernous Hall of Reclamation. In addition to all else, all records of James and Daniel must be cleared from Thalassa’s databanks. It was absolutely necessary to ascertain that the ship Recorder’s drone carried no information that would contradict the falsehoods I had created to facilitate my friends’ escape.
The drone sent a mild reprimand, merely a hint of pain, sufficient to pull me back.
Nate tapped my shoulder. “Hey, look at me.”
I raised my eyes to his, despite the drone’s presence. “I am looking.”
His mouth opened, but he clamped it shut, as if to halt words that could not be unsaid.
“Timmons. Rodriguez,” Archimedes said.
“Sir?”
I, too, turned to the captain.
His forehead creased. “Get her in that scanner as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir,” Cam said.
Nate’s jaw muscle pulsed, but he made a sweeping motion, almost like a bow. “Shall we, then?”
Nathaniel’s gesture nearly brought a smile. Then, realization struck, and I sobered. My friends were risking themselves to save me.
I, in turn, would bear anything to save them.