PERSONAL RECORD: DESIGNATION ZETA4542910-9545E
CTS THALASSA
478.2.7.07 – 478.2.9.01
Pallas Station was four days behind us the morning Nate returned my jacket, freshly laundered and folded but without the note. He said nothing about its absence, and though I wanted to, I did not ask. The knowledge that I kept a secret from my Nathaniel burned and spat at me like sodium dropped in water. But to tell him with Elinor Williams in the room? I could not.
I focused on Bustopher instead of confessing. The cat accompanied Nate each morning, twining about Nate’s ankles as he brought breakfast, tea, and coffee. I always greeted Bustopher with as much respect as he required, but on the first morning, he walked in with his nose high in the air, regarded me from a distance, turned his back, and sat facing the door with his tail curled precisely around his paws. Thereafter, though he still came voluntarily, he greeted Williams, snubbed me, and resumed his statuette position. The fundamental rejection was depressing.
“Bustopher will come around,” Nate said as he unpacked the bag that seventh-day, setting each item on the table as he listed it. “Tea, as usual, but with almond raspberry scones this morning. And fish loaf.”
I stared at the packaged meal with all the revulsion it deserved. “I do not require additional protein this morning, Nathaniel.”
He chuckled, leaned across the table, and kissed my forehead. “Not for you. For him.” He nodded at the cat.
“A bribe?”
“Bribes are completely ethical when cats are involved.”
Williams inclined her head. “Excellent idea, Timmons.”
The plan, however unappealing, worked. By the time I had finished my breakfast, Bustopher had accepted my offering, cleaned his whiskers, and jumped into my lap where he kneaded his paws and settled into what Kyleigh called a “cat-loaf.”
Nate drained his coffee and eyed me for a moment. “So how’s the wrist?”
The purring cat shifted as my tension ratcheted up several notches. Reluctantly, I held out my arm to Nate.
Though his touch was gentle, his voice was rough when he asked, “Shouldn’t that have stopped bleeding by now?”
Williams wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Yes.”
Nate frowned. “I don’t like that.”
“You worry too much,” I said. “I have not had another episode thus far.”
His communications link chimed, and he stood without answering it. “I’ve got to head down to engineering, but I’ll be back later. I’ve got a surprise for you, and before you ask, no—if I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
He touched my cheek and left.
I could not force the heat in my face to dissipate. “I am not fond of surprises.”
“In that case,” Elinor Williams said, “I shall tell you in advance that I have asked Zhen to stop by during her lunch break and bring needles and yarn.”
“I enjoy the sound of her knitting.”
She dusted off her hands and began to gather the remains of our meal, and when I protested that I would clean up, her expression softened. “No, for now, a purring cat is the therapy you need most. But later, you are learning to knit.”
That evening, Nate brought a young man to visit, which was indeed a surprise. I had not expected additional company. The young man, perhaps in his midtwenties, cupped his hands loosely to his chest and beamed at me.
“Sweetheart, this is Ken Patterson.”
My brow furrowed as I searched my memories. “The marine who was bitten? I am glad you are recovered, Ken Patterson.”
“Ken, ma’am, and thank you,” the marine said. “I was pretty lucky.”
Nate glanced at me. “You might want to wear your jacket, just in case. To protect your wrist.”
“Does Elinor require a jacket as well?”
“No, just you.”
Elinor Williams shrugged one shoulder, so although I wanted to ask why my wrist would require protection, I complied. Nate settled me at the table, then nodded at the young marine.
Ken’s smile widened. “Hold out your hands.”
When I did, he lowered his own and gently placed a tiny, tiny cat on my palms. My eyes widened.
“Hunter had a litter shortly after I got back,” Ken said. “I’d had some training as an animal tech back on Ceres before I joined up, so I volunteered to keep an eye on her. She’s been in my quarters, and good thing, too, since this little one came out breech.”
I could not answer him. All my attention riveted on the creature in my hands, its black fur fuzzier than Hunter’s grey, its pin-sharp claws pricking my palms, and its bright-blue eyes, bluer even than Elliott’s or Julian’s. The kitten took a wobbly step. For no discernable reason, my breath caught.
“Don’t worry,” the young man added hastily, perhaps mistaking my silence for disapproval. “Hunter won’t reject him if people touch him, or anything, and I’ll get him back to his mum in time for his next meal.”
I touched the little cat’s tiny ear to my dry cheek. “I am not worried.”
“Good surprise?” Nate asked softly.
Why a kitten would fill my heart to the brim, I could not say. I lifted my eyes to Nate’s. “The best.”
We fell into a routine as Thalassa, power back at full and all systems repaired, raced to New Triton.
Every morning, Nate brought breakfast. Bustopher sometimes stayed and sometimes left when Nate did, and Williams and I would work on pointless reading therapies and strengthening exercises for several hours. Max stopped by midmorning, ostensibly to check on my progress so he could report to the Recorder-doctor, though sometimes, we simply played chess with his personal wooden set. The dark smudges under his eyes had grown fainter, and he smiled more readily. Though when he and Williams—I did not always remember to call her Elinor Anne—spoke of Edwards, the lines returned to his face.
Zhen, and sometimes Alec, would arrive with lunch, and afterward I would attempt to “cast on stitches,” which was much more difficult than Zhen made it appear. Contrary to my expectations, she was patient with my slow progress.
Some evenings, Ken Patterson brought the kittens, sometimes singly, sometimes in pairs, though Tia, Eric, and Cam never visited me when any cat was present. Williams explained that Tia was worried about the parasite the cats carried, and even though Williams said it would have been safe, I understood Tia’s concern. The little one she carried was too valuable for even the smallest risk.
But every evening, Nate returned with dinner. James and Kyleigh joined us frequently, and Jordan and Max usually brought dessert.
Kyleigh seemed tired, but as days spun into each other, she regained some of the effervescence she once had. The fifth evening, she stopped midsentence and exclaimed that she knew what she must do and bolted from the room, James following her like a security guard. The next morning, she arrived before Nate brought breakfast.
“Don’t get your hopes too high,” she cautioned me unnecessarily, “but I’ve got an idea. I didn’t train under Dr. Georgette SahnVeer for nothing, and I am determined to find a way to get rid of those infernal clumps in your blood.”
Elinor Williams swiveled her chair away from the computer and studied Kyleigh. “How?”
“I’ve thought of a design, a sort of nano-macrophage thing, to eat them.”
“Is that possible?” I asked.
“I won’t know until I try.”
Elinor Williams tilted her head to the side. “If you manage it, you will save more than our friend.”
“I know. Recorders, staff, citizens . . .”
“With terrorists infiltrating society, you will need a secure location to manufacture it,” Elinor cautioned.
“I’ll figure that out later. It’s just an idea right now, but if I’m late for dinner, don’t be too surprised. I’ll need to stay to work on this so Ross won’t find out, just in case.” She paused for a moment. “To give him credit, he really is working on an antivirus, even though they already have Clarkson’s treatment based on the parasites. I guess backup is good.”
“It is,” Elinor said.
Kyleigh exhaled. “I don’t like working with him in the room, but it’s actually better than working with Dr. Clarkson. You saw the research, Elinor. It’s only fair Ross gets some sort of credit since she used his theories on viral therapies to find the treatment, even if it is based on parasites instead of germs.” She turned to me. “And then there’s all your blood samples that she stole from the infirmary.”
“I do not mind,” I said.
“Well, to hear her talk, she created the whole thing from thin air. You know, I’m glad Imogene Clarkson was gone before you got back, if only because it spared you her self-congratulatory speeches.”
A fraction of a smile appeared on Elinor’s face. “Did she claim sole ownership of the discovery?”
“Yes. She was insufferable.” Kyleigh rolled her eyes. “Inescapable, too. Everywhere I went, there she was, shoving data about the cats and toxoplasmosis in everyone’s faces.”
“That would not go over well with Shiro,” Elinor noted.
“It didn’t. She outright alienated him, and then she offended the Elder on Attlee. I was worried they’d refuse to take her with them, but she did understand it best. To make matters worse, though, she almost took the cats.”
“All of them?” When Kyleigh nodded, I clenched my jaw at the thought of that woman stealing Bustopher. I did not wish to imagine Thalassa without the cats.
“Cam and I put a stop to that plan.” Kyleigh paused, then added with emphasis, “He and I saved every single scrap of cat waste and presented it to the Elder in a box for ‘research and preventative measures.’”
A genuine smile lit Elinor’s face. “Did you?”
“Yeah, and I suspect that was what made Attlee’s captain change his mind.” Kyleigh drew a deep breath. “Right then. Save me some dessert.”
She darted off and, after that, was frequently late for dinner.
Altogether, when I did not think of our arrival at Lunar One, or when I forgot that I could not leave the room without the Recorder-doctor finding me, or when my wrist no longer pained me, I was more than content. I was . . . happy.
Happiness, I decided, was not irrelevant after all.
Seventeen days into our journey, Nate, James, and Kyleigh arrived shortly after Ken Patterson did, and light sparkled from James’s ears. I blinked twice and pushed myself to my feet, careful to avoid the tumbling kittens. James wore Freddie’s diamond studs. An unexpected wave of grief washed over me, and I did not truly hear Kyleigh’s comment, only Elinor’s quick, “Your pardon?”
“Not yours, Elinor.” She waved a hand at me. “Hers.”
Nate regarded me closely but asked, “What about it?”
Uneasiness crept past the contentment the kittens usually brought.
Kyleigh set her hands on her hips. “It’s getting long.”
“What is?” I asked.
“Your hair.” She grinned. “It’s long enough to braid, if we keep it tight to your head.”
For a moment, my wish to have braids like Jordan’s tugged at me, but just as quickly, the aspiration vanished. “I-I cannot.”
Kyleigh’s hands fell from her hips. “Of course you can. Mine isn’t as long as yours, but I’m having mine braided tomorrow.”
“That’ll be pretty,” Ken blurted, then turned beet red.
James’s mouth tightened, but Kyleigh flashed Ken a smile.
“Thanks.” She turned to me. “Whyever not?”
My gaze fell, for I could not bring myself to explain.
Williams touched my shoulder. “Your scars?”
I could not even nod.
“Not that it’s my call,” Nate said slowly, “but I like the idea of leaving those curls loose.”
I glanced up at him. How had I not noticed that my hair drooped over my eyes?
Nate leaned close and lowered his voice. “To tell the truth, I like running my fingers through your curls.” Warmth flushed through me, and my heart sped up. He tucked a curl behind my ear. “And those scars?”
“What of them?” I whispered.
“They’re proof you’re one of the bravest in the system, sweetheart. They’re beautiful.”
All evening, his words repeated through my faulty memory, and that night, when I changed into the rust-colored sleep shirt, I studied my head in the water closet mirror. I still did not like the welts that encircled my skull, but I found that perhaps, I did not mind my scars after all.