PERSONAL RECORD: DESIGNATION ZETA4542910-9545E
PALLAS STATION
478.2.6.07
Blue safety lights blurred into a solid line as the drone’s speed increased. Behind me, footfalls faded until only the drones’ whirs remained.
I pulled out my datapad. >>Faster.
The drone complied.
>>Ease from red-spectrum to full-spectrum light.
>>Complying. Danger.
“I know,” I said. “Stay the course.”
The drone took the next turn too quickly, and my datapad flew out of my hand. A sharp crack echoed as it hit the wall. I cried out, but it was gone. Before I had too much time to regret its loss, the drone slowed. The other two caught up. Moments later, the scritch of insectile feet on concrete and the hollow tap of limbs on ductwork echoed.
“Down,” I ordered.
It did not obey. I twisted and tried to enter the command but could not reach the panel.
When the drone tugged me tighter against its underbelly, I realized the noise of the insects’ movement had stopped. I craned my neck to look up.
Perhaps nineteen meters ahead, a man lay in the middle of the hallway. A large roach stood over him, its head raised, its multifaceted eyes seemingly fixed on me.
“Get away from him.” My mouth was too dry to do more than croak the words, even though it was irrational to expect an insect to listen. “Elliott!”
One foot twitched, and horrified relief tumbled like rocks in my stomach. He lived.
The roach touched his head with its antennae. The others—How many? Why could I not count that high? Surely no more than a dozen?—cocked obscenely large heads in my direction. One jumped from ceiling to the floor with an awkward thump and scurried closer.
In the space of two heartbeats, the drone raised me overhead. The drone’s screen remained a fingertip out of reach.
>>Danger: Protect, scrolled continually.
I squirmed, straining to enter a command.
A nauseating crack reverberated through the hall. I could not see Elliott, but I could see the wings of the insect nearest to him.
Bracing both hands on the drone’s arms, I pulled myself forward two centimeters. My fingertips brushed the entry pad. >>Donw.
>>Reenter command.
Mercifully, it lowered me to allow me to enter, >>Down.
>>Compliance violates Elder Eta4513110-0197E’s directive.
“Put me down!” I cried. “They killed the Elder. We cannot allow them to kill Elliott, too!”
The screen went blank before the drone acknowledged my statement. >>Roaches destroyed Elder Eta4513110-0197E.
My vision blurred as tears splashed from my eyes to the faceplate. “Yes. They ate him, drone, and you were not there. You did not save him.”
>>Failure noted.
But it did not release me. “We must stop the roaches. You must. Doing so will fulfill the Elder’s directive.” Perhaps my logic was faulty, but I demanded, “Set me down.”
The drone lowered me several decimeters but kept its tendrils around my waist. >>Not Consortium.
How could I get it to understand? “He provided the information that helped stop the virus. He saved us. We must save him.”
>>Reconciling directive to remedy error.
In another heartbeat, I was on my feet. Lorik’s drone released me and lowered itself to eye level.
>>Will comply.
A roach scuttled closer. The drone’s arms retracted, then shot like spears through the closest roach. Tendrils enfolded it and sent a visible reprimand through the insect. Smoke wisped from the exoskeleton as the drone hurled it down the hall where it collided with the one standing over Elliott.
I stood, temporarily frozen, as the dead roach and the writhing live one skidded to a halt three meters past Elliott’s motionless form. The Elder’s drone drove arms into one roach after another, electricity snapping like lightning between its tendrils. Blindingly sharp light pulsed. The roaches scattered.
It had cleared a path. The other two drones on my right and left accompanied me as I dashed forward and looped my arms under Elliott’s, linking my hands around his chest. Adrenaline granted me strength, and I dragged the young man’s limp body down the hall, leaving a trail of bright red from his left leg. Then, my vision fogged, and I tripped.
Elliott’s not inconsiderable weight pinned me between a pulsating abdomen and one hideous, jointed leg.
My right arm prickled. I whimpered and tried to push him aside so I could stand and pull him away from the insects. The impact must have pinched a nerve, for this time, I could not lift my arm. When I kicked to get out from under Elliott and away from the roach, my right leg would not respond, either. I tried to call for the drones, for Nate, for anyone. I could not. My mouth did not work.
Down the hall, sparks and the crash of exoskeletons against concrete receded. The abdomen behind me throbbed, and in my peripheral vision, the roach’s thick leg twitched as if trying to gain traction.
I could do nothing, and armor was meaningless against the insects. Michaelson’s loss of limb had proved that.
Elliott lay, unresponsive, on my chest. I tugged my left arm free, unfastened my helmet, and leaned my cheek against Elliott’s bare head and held him close. At the very least, he would not be alone.
A flash of metallic grey descended, and a reprimand tore through me, stealing my breath.
The roach stopped moving.
Elliott’s weight lifted, and seconds later, long, mechanical arms wrapped around me as well.
A drone’s comforting whine covered the diminishing thuds, and air moved past my face, perhaps like wind. I would not truly know. I had only felt the breezes of fans.
I had wanted to feel the wind, too.
Pounding grew louder. Boots thundered to a stop, someone swore prolifically, and Nate cried out.
“Put them down,” Jordan ordered somewhere to my left.
“Wait, I got it,” Zhen said.
The safety of tendrils was replaced by strong hands. Gloved fingers touched my face.
“Sweetheart.” Nate’s voice cracked. “Look at me.”
Green eyes glistened behind a faceplate. I wanted to tell him I was looking, but the words would not emerge. Instead, I blinked up at him.
He lifted me against his chest, and he whispered, “Thank you.”
“Is she—Elliott!” Eric. That was Eric.
“He’s alive, but between the bite on his leg and the bullet . . .” Quincy trailed off. “Stars, I need Ramos here. I’m no good at triage. Put Elliott on the gurney.”
I lifted my left hand, which was so very heavy, to Nate’s helmet. He clasped it.
“Put her on the platform,” Zhen said. “Tuck her between the paintings so she won’t fall off.”
“No.” It sounded as if the single syllable had been torn from Nate’s throat.
Jordan appeared beside him and placed a gloved hand on his arm. “You can’t carry her all the way back, Tim.”
“The void I can’t.”
“Nate,” Jordan said softly. His eyes left mine. “We’ll get her to Max sooner.”
I wanted to tell them to take Elliott first, that I only suffered from dizziness and a pinched nerve. I would be fine.
Instead, darkness welled around me and carried me off as surely as any drone.