PERSONAL RECORD: DESIGNATION ZETA4542910-9545E
PALLAS STATION
478.2.6.01
Subzero surface air hissed through the closing hangar doors, its sulfur burning my nose and its cold creeping through my inadequate black jacket. Nate spun me around once again, and grit and dust swirled around our legs. I coughed into my elbow before resting my bare cheek against his armored chest while the debris settled.
On the far side of the shuttle, the hanger doors thundered shut, and their magnetic seals clanged into place. Circulation fans roared, replacing the moon’s atmosphere with less noxious air and reducing the chill. Behind us, Jackson barked commands and a second warning for the marines to keep their helmets on, reminding me that Nate and I were not alone.
But I did not care who saw us. I had no desire to leave the hangar if it meant leaving his embrace. What was mere cold or potential illness? Thalassa remained in orbit about Pallas, and I had not lost my Nathaniel after all.
Even so, Nate stepped back and tipped my chin up. Behind his faceplate, those green eyes skimmed over me and lingered on the spreading, unhealed bruises on my neck and jaw. Perfect eyebrows drew together. “You’re okay?”
“You are here, my heart.” Each syllable emerged visibly into the chill in uneven puffs. My lungs tightened, whether from the frigid air or from my impulsive dash from the crematory to the hangar, I could not tell. But how could I have done anything except run to see him when we all had feared the shuttle had been lost? I caught his gloved fingers in my bare ones. “That is all I need.”
Nate studied my face. “Seems like we’ve got some things to talk about after you get warmed up.”
“Timmons.” Jackson’s gravelly voice rattled over his helmet’s speakers. “Get her back to civilization.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Though not a member of the marines, Nate saluted before guiding me toward the door.
I frowned. Jackson must have meant our center of operations. We were yet inside Pallas, one of the larger moons orbiting Krios, nearly a light-hour away from New Triton and Ceres. The underground research station was infested with behemoth insects and enemies of the Consortium, who wanted all of us dead, from Recorders like me to the Eldest herself.
Civilization was a gross overstatement.
When Nate released my arms, dizziness washed over me, and I wavered on my feet. He caught me and called, “Alec?”
“Yeah, Tim?” Alec answered from a knot of marines near the shuttle’s ramp.
“I’m taking her back to thaw out. Bring her suit as soon as you can.”
Behind his faceplate, Alec grinned, but the expression faded as he studied me. “She’s turning blue. Get her warm. I’ll bring it soon as we’ve unloaded the shuttle.” He took a datapad from a pocket and addressed the marine in charge. “Jackson, can you spare a few more hands to load the bot with food and medical supplies?”
Several of the marines cheered at the mention of food, but their noise was hidden by the growl of an industrial cleaning bot. The towering machine settled into a steady, low chug as it left its garage to remove debris blown in by the shuttle’s return. People dodged out of its way.
Across the hangar, near the small office, Jackson clapped a woman in marine blue on the back. “Smythe, Parker.” He nodded at the two men in the mottled grey-and-black of Consortium-sanctioned suits. “You.”
The woman strode toward the shuttle, the men close behind her. Alec entered a code on his datapad, and the cargo hold near the shuttle’s tail crept open. Dust swirled again as a squat transport bot lowered itself to the ground.
“I don’t see their drones. Your jamming devices still working?” Nate murmured, and when I nodded, he said, “Good.”
The woman averted her gaze as she passed, but both approaching Recorders—droneless, former Recorders—slowed as they approached. The talkative former Recorder who wanted to be named Daniel Parker welcomed Nate back before he joined Alec, but James, my first friend, paused. His silvery eyes flitted from Nate to me.
“You must exhibit more caution.” The helmet’s external speaker made James’s deep voice slightly hollow. His gaze darted to the newly arrived marines then fastened on my right shoulder. “You have not recovered, and moreover, you cannot with certainty trust them all.”
Without another word, he walked on.
Nate’s gloved fingertips grazed my cheek. “Recovered?”
I did not want to lie to my Nathaniel, so I remained quiet.
After two seconds, he tipped his head toward the marines. “They’re good people, but maybe James isn’t wrong. Regardless, do me a favor and wear your suit, okay?”
Again, I did not answer him verbally, only nodded, even though the light armor had done little to protect the people who had been injured by roaches over the previous ten-day.
“There’s still a lot of particulates in the air,” Nate continued, “and you can’t go running around without some sort of respirator. Jackson was hollering about contamination when we stepped off the shuttle. I’m not sure what he was yelling about.”
Guilt propelled the admission: “I am.”
His full attention snapped to my eyes and then my bruises. “What do you mean?”
My heart seemed to constrict, and when unexpected vertigo slammed into me, I widened my stance to stave it off. A lack of balance would exacerbate his concern. I wished there was no risk, no need for helmets, respirators, or armor, so I could touch his cheek and soothe his tension away.
“It is a story best left for after you have met with Jackson and the others,” I said. “But keep your suit on while you are outside the clean rooms.”
Nate’s lips compressed into a thin line.
“Do not worry, my heart,” I said with utmost sincerity, though the adjuration implied more truth than it held. “When I have a suit, I shall wear it.”
As one, we traversed the open floor, our boots scuffing through occasional shallow drifts of fine silt. The industrial bot continued to prowl near the giant double doors, rumbling like external anxiety.
“Nate?”
“Sweetheart?”
The term of endearment brought a flood of contentment. People had called me Recorder, Zeta, Izzy, and several less-kind epithets, but when Nate called me sweetheart, the word felt more like my name than any other bestowed on me thus far.
I cleared my throat. “James said Thalassa’s usual channels are down. No one on Pallas knows what happened.”
“They’re down, sure enough.” Nate exhaled sharply. “Pirates, or whoever they were, hit Thalassa with an EM cannon strong enough to knock out the main computer, comms, and the engines. Followed it up with a missile to the main external comm array. Nothing else, though. No attempts at cutting through the hull, like pirates usually do. It’s more like they wanted us out of the way, though that doesn’t make much sense.”
But it did. Those people who had kidnapped Kyleigh and effectively killed Freddie and Lorik were not here for anything on the ship. They were here, like we were, because of the virus now swimming in my veins. “Thalassa was merely an obstacle to their goal.”
“If it was, they shut her down pretty well. She’s still a bit of a mess. Backup systems are running at a third normal power. The captain has crews replacing the comm unit so we can contact New Triton.”
“Contacting marines or marshals stationed at Krios Platform Forty-One would provide more immediate assistance.”
“That too.”
We walked another seven meters before I said, “Adams was in a medical tank. Others were injured. Are they well?”
“Miller and Adams are fine. The chem generators kept the infirmary and basic life support going. Thalassa’s artificial gravity was uneven for a while, which caused its own problems, but the tanks sealed right away, like they’re supposed to. Medical nanites in the tanks weren’t affected.”
“Because they are bioelectrically driven,” I stated unnecessarily. “I had forgotten.”
A single eyebrow rose at my admission. “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t forget things.”
“I . . .” I should have told him I was not well, but I could not. Not then, not yet. I refused to surrender the temporary peace I felt being at his side. Instead of explaining that the injury on my neck was from a jet injector loaded with the virus we had traveled to Pallas to defeat, I selected my least alarming symptoms. “I have a headache and have not been sleeping well.”
His long strides slowed. “Your eyes are a little bloodshot. They should’ve found a suit for you by now.”
“Kyleigh needs one as well.”
“She has one. Freddie painted flowers on it.” Nate angled toward me. “Why does she need a new one?”
“It is a longer story than I have breath to tell.”
“That doesn’t sound promising.”
I did not answer.
“Well, once you have yours, keep the helmet on and let its air filtration reduce the dust and clean out your lungs.” The crack of a single shot echoed down the concrete and rock hall, and we increased our speed. “But you’re right about nanotech working fine. Kinetic and bioelectric systems weren’t affected.”
Nagging concern pressed a question from me as we reached the door leading into the station’s inner network. “Was no one harmed?”
“It would’ve been bad if anyone had been undergoing surgery, but everyone’s fine.” A dark shape on the ceiling snared our attention. He tensed, but the shadow was merely cast by ductwork. “Everyone except the ship’s Recorder.”
I had not enjoyed any interaction with the woman, but memories temporarily blinded me to my surroundings. My drone’s destruction. The Recorder who had taken the name Rose Parker curled in a knot of pain, then going limp. “She lost her drone. Did she die?”
“Not yet, but it isn’t pretty. Edwards isn’t a surgeon. She needs Max.”
My headache pounded, likely worsened by my impulsive dash and the hangar’s cold. When I returned to the quarantine room, however, Williams or Max would have medication. The pain was a small price to pay for walking at Nate’s side.
“Other than the Recorder and a ruined meal, the worst of it was the cats.” Nate’s dimple made a brief appearance when he grinned. “Cam Rodriguez and Eric Thompson had a time and a half cleaning up the cats’ room, even with bots. Seems the cats didn’t do well with sudden absence of gravity.” He chuckled. “And I thought their waste box was bad. Cam and Eric scoured the walls and floor, then scrubbed the cats themselves—which they didn’t appreciate in the slightest. No one wanted anything to do with either young man until they’d showered. Twice.”
“And Tia Belisi?” I asked. “And Edwards?”
“Edwards is overworked. Tia . . .” His expression tautened. “She’s doing well, but . . .”
“But?”
“She shouldn’t have come. Don’t know why they let her.”
Anxiety threaded through me. Perhaps I should have inquired after the other people I knew, but instead I asked, “Bustopher is well?”
“Unhappy, but well. That cat keeps escaping their room and prowling the infirmary.” Nate quirked a smile. “I think he’s looking for you.”
The warmth of being wanted almost drove away the lingering chill from the hangar. My nose tingled, and I dug through my pockets for the tissue I had brought to Freddie’s undocumented memorial service. I ducked my head to wipe my face. Red seeped through the flimsy paper. My nose was bleeding? Like Freddie, like Lorik, like Rain? I hid the tissue in my pocket again. Nate watched me closely but said nothing.
We reached the junction leading deeper into the station and took the left passage which led away from the control room. Nate nodded at the marines at the corner. They deactivated the laser barricade, but their sharp attention never left the halls, flickering back to a crack in the ceiling eleven meters to our right.
I drew closer to Nate, trusting that the hallway’s bright light would suffice to ward off the behemoth insects infesting the station. We should be safe.
Nate hefted his weapon as we passed the fissure. “You’re not wearing your commlink.”
My hand flew to my clavicle where the communications link he had given me last ten-day should have been. “I must have forgotten to put it on.”
He frowned. “You’re forgetting a lot of things.”
“There was no need to wear it to the crematory,” I protested. “Not with the marines in attendance.”
“Crematory? Stars, sweetheart,” he said sharply. “What happened down here? Who was cremated?”
Suddenly all too aware of how cold I was and how my head throbbed, I wrapped my arms around myself. “Jordan, Zhen, and Kyleigh are well.”
The faintest lift to the corner of his mouth hinted at a dimpleless smile, and he tapped the side of his helmet that housed his communications link. “I know that much from Zhen’s ongoing commentary. Alec’s had an earful, as well.” His expression shifted. “What? Freddie’s dead? We brought his meds, and—”
When he halted, I did as well.
He stared at my neck.
My stomach clenched. Zhen DuBois must have told him the truth: Freddie had died after he, the Elder, and I had been dosed with the virus.
“What on all the worlds are you doing out here?” Another shot rang out. Nate’s eyes darted toward the fissure behind us, then scanned the ductwork and piping overhead, checking for any sign of insectile movement. The hall was clear, and he focused again on me. “You’ve been injected with that virus?”
“This is why Jackson warned of contamination.”
“Why aren’t you in bed?” he demanded. “What happened?”
I wanted to shrink, though I had not done anything wrong. Well, nothing entirely wrong. Kyleigh assured us the virus was not airborne, and I did not regret running to greet him. “What else did Zhen tell you?”
“Freddie died after you both were dosed with that virus by”—Nate’s jaw tensed, then his smooth tenor roughened—“Ross? Tell me she’s joking. That voided waste of carbon is back?”
“Your statement is not entirely accurate,” I began, ignoring his personal criticism of Julian Ross. “He protested when his colleague injected Freddie. He himself did not inject anyone. Other members of his group did.”
“Other . . .?” Nate growled an imprecation. “Walk and talk.” He motioned down the hall, but his tone gentled. “Unless you need me to carry you?”
“Nathaniel.” I set a hand on his arm and peered up at him, studying the features I already knew by heart. “I have not yet succumbed, and for the most part I have regained my sense of balance. I can walk under my own power.” A smile crept out of my heart and onto my face. “After all, I ran to see you.”
“You did.” He checked our surroundings again before continuing, “Come on. I’ve got a rogue Recorder to get back to quarantine.”
While rogue Recorder was not as pleasant a label as sweetheart, somehow, when Nate said it, I did not mind.
The hall grew busier as we neared the quarantine room where Kyleigh and I were staying. The occasional percussion of weapons’ fire echoed through the drab hallway. I hoped they were practicing, not clearing another incursion. Perhaps it was better not to know.
Then without warning, sounds, movement, and colors blurred. I blinked hard, but dizziness hovered at my side like a drone, encircling me with invisible tendrils. We had not gone far when my knees buckled. Nate dropped his weapon to dangle on its tether and caught me before I hit the floor. The grey hall and its blue safety lights swam. He scooped me up, and the pounding of his steps seemed like hammers on my temples.
“Stay with me, sweetheart.” Nate’s voice seemed to come from a distance, though I knew he held me close. The discrepancy disordered my thoughts.
He spoke again, but not to me. A few steps further, and the quarantine room’s vestibule door swung open. While we waited, chemicals rushed around us to clean potential contamination. Warm liquid dripped down my upper lip; my nose was bleeding again. Blood trickled down the back of my throat, and I choked.
“Tip your head forward. Pinch your nose,” Nate ordered, but his voice shook.
I tried, but red seeped through my fingers. Tissues. Why did I not carry tissues? No . . . I had. But they were in my pocket, and I could not reach them. The vestibule narrowed around us.
“Max, she collapsed, and her nose is bleeding . . . I don’t know! How would I possibly know if she has—”
I gagged and coughed into my sleeve, grateful the black fabric hid any red.
The inner door flew open, and cool air whooshed from above.
“Over here. We’ll get that stopped easily enough.” The doctor’s deep voice soothed my rising anxiety.
Nate lowered me onto a hoverbed, and Max gently pried my hand away. I clenched my eyes shut. A sharp puff up one nostril made me flinch, and a gloved hand caught the back of my head.
“You’re doing fine.”
Another puff, then a damp cloth wiped my mouth and chin.
“There. And Timmons? Clean off the blood before heading out.” Max spoke calmly, as if my blood on Nate’s grey-and-black suit was a simple, meaningless thing. As if the blood might not summon the roaches. As if it might not be a precursor to the virus devouring me from the inside out.
“Not heading out yet, Max.”
“I know,” the doctor answered quietly. “Kye, see if you can find a clean tunic for her in that stack over there.”
Teal, white, and green flashed as Kyleigh, uncharacteristically silent, dashed to the tidy box of clean clothing. Her hazel eyes grew huge as she handed a marine-blue tunic to Max.
Freddie’s incomplete murals, which covered most of the grey wall behind her, seemed to writhe, but I concentrated on them until their flickering stopped.
I should have reassured her, but not knowing what to say, I remained silent while my fingers fumbled with the closures on my blood-stained jacket. Nate eased it from my shoulders, then disappeared from my line of sight. Kyleigh helped me into an unsoiled tunic, but when a sharp light shone directly into my eyes, I jerked away. Max steadied me, then helped me settle back on my pillow. The monitor in the headboard chimed.
His suit clean, Nate stepped close and rested his gloved hand on my head. “Hold on,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”
Selfishly glad for his presence, I closed my eyes while Max administered pain medication. My coughing fits became more frequent, and when they struck, all air seemed to vanish from the room.
I could do nothing but wait, wait, and wait again. Seconds, minutes, and hours lurched forward in heavy, uneven bursts before slowing to a lethargic crawl, dragging me behind them like a reluctant child.
Nate dozed at my bedside until Max ordered him to leave, eat, rest. The room spun when I tried to say goodbye. His fingers brushed my cheek, and he promised to return.
Kyleigh took Nate’s place at my bedside, and Williams arrived before Max left. When pain intensified, Williams dosed me again, her safely gloved fingers precise and steady.
Sometime later, Kyleigh retreated to her bed, and I heard her crying. I had dim memories of Nate, though I could not be certain he was truly present.
No, time did not function as a constant while I waited to find out if I would die.