PERSONAL RECORD: DESIGNATION ZETA4542910-9545E
PALLAS STATION
478.2.6.02
When I was a child at Consortium Training Center Alpha, the Elders and Recorders had frequently expounded upon the importance of patience. Waiting for others to speak allowed the free exchange of information, but the quarantine room’s unnatural quiet settled more heavily than a weighted blanket. When minutes seemed to stretch past their allotted sixty seconds, I began to doubt the reliability of the Elders’ assertions.
In all the time I had known her, Kyleigh’s verbosity had been a constant, even when her unexpected transitions confused me. Yet now, though she cast furtive glances in my direction, she said nothing.
About an hour after Nate’s departure, a chime from her computer preceded a staticky voice I recognized at once. Despite the situation, I smiled.
“Hey, Kye.”
“Tia! How’d you sneak access to comms?”
“I didn’t sneak,” Tia Belisi protested. “Captain Genet gave me permission to chat for a few minutes. Maybe he feels bad I spend most of my time shadowing Officer Smith.”
Kyleigh groaned. “Having been on a ship with Adrienne Smith, the captain has a point.”
Tia chuckled, then sobered. “Are you two all right?”
“I am. Just a little cough once in a while, but Max says it’s mostly debris from the tunnels and I’ll be fine soon enough.” Without turning to ascertain my status, Kyleigh lowered her voice. “She’s resting.”
“But . . .” The word wisped over the speakers. “We heard she’s better?”
“Max thinks so. Her fever’s dropped, and she seemed more like herself, except she blasted Dr. Clarkson. I’ve never heard her that angry before.”
“She can put people in their places pretty well,” Tia said. “She did on Agamemnon, at any rate. But, yes, Clarkson was complaining about ‘that unRecorder’s inappropriate opinions’ and ‘sass’ pretty loudly at dinner. Eric and Cam were about to tear into her, but what’s-his-name from engineering shut Clarkson down. Over half the people there cheered when he did.”
Kyleigh hid her face in her hands. “Tia, it was awful. Like Freddie all over again, except her eyes weren’t bleeding.”
Unwilling to allow them to worry unnecessarily, I said, “I am well enough.”
“Stars above!” Kyleigh spun on her stool to face me.
“Zeta!” Tia exclaimed.
“Indeed.”
“It’s good to hear your voice.” Tia paused. “Cam, Eric, and I have been worried about you.”
Nate’s concern for Tia echoed in my mind, and I struggled to formulate an adequate response.
“I’d better go,” Kyleigh said abruptly. “She needs to rest.”
“Right. I’ll check back tomorrow, if the captain lets me. Send me updates, Kye? For both of you.”
“Sure.”
Tia signed off, and Kyleigh swiveled back around. Her fingers resumed tapping at the old-fashioned keyboard.
The unfinished faces of Freddie’s mural stared blankly at me, and after several minutes, I ventured to Williams’s computer to work on . . . On what? Scrolling aimlessly through files would create new lives for neither James nor the talkative former Recorder. I tapped my thigh with my right fist and returned to my hoverbed. Dizziness snagged my vision, and the room seemed to tip. Kyleigh half rose as I caught my balance on the railing, straightened my covers, then crawled under them. When I met her eyes, she looked away. Still, she did not speak, though her typing slowed.
I stared at the ceiling, the murals, the vent’s dried sealant, and Kyleigh’s back. It seemed all I had done in the past quarter was wait between periods of frenetic activity and panic. Nate sent no news, and neither Max nor Williams informed us of the injured marines’ fates. I was tired of waiting.
The chronometer on the wall clicked toward seven, yet sleep did not come. I rolled to my side and watched the green light over the door, sitting up when it turned red eleven minutes later, but Kyleigh must not have noticed. She did not look away from her data. I watched the indicator, hoping for my Nathaniel but expecting Williams to emerge with needles and Kyleigh’s equipment. Instead, when the light flashed green and the door opened into the downdraft of cool air, James strode in, a large, sealed bag in each hand and a third over his shoulder.
Kyleigh jumped. “You startled me, James.”
His growing brows—as straight and angled as his father’s—lowered behind his faceplate. Moving slowly, as if precision would better accomplish the task, he set the larger bags on the floor beside her desk. “Such was not my intention, Kyleigh Tristram. I shall send notice next time.”
“I didn’t mean . . . I didn’t know anyone was coming. Hold on.” Her fingers clattered over the keys, and the streams of data pixelated and disappeared. “There. Just had to save my work.”
“It is well.”
“I didn’t mean you had done anything wrong. And you can call me Kye,” she said with an imitation of a smile. “I see you’ve come bearing gifts. You didn’t bring dinner by chance, did you? I haven’t eaten in forever.”
“I did.” James pulled the smaller bag from his shoulder and placed it precisely on the desk. “Prepackaged meals have adequate nutrition and calories, though the quality does not compare to meals onboard Thalassa.”
James pushed the bag toward Kyleigh, who opened it, skimmed the package labels, and groaned.
“Fish and potato casserole,” she said, then added hastily, “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, just that fish is much better fresh than in a sealed container. Still, it’s better than isopods.”
He dipped his head once. “I shall remember.”
Intent on their conversation, neither seemed to notice that the light over the door turned red again.
“I didn’t mean you did anything wrong, James,” she said.
His silvery eyes widened.
“It’s just that everything keeps getting worse, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it.”
“I have confidence in your efforts,” he said, “and do not believe the current disaster cannot be undone.”
“Disaster’s about right.” Her gaze dropped to the packaged food in her hands. “Deep down, I know it isn’t my fault, but if I hadn’t run off to get the paints for Freddie . . . I should’ve stopped to think.”
“It was not your doing, Kyleigh Rose Tristram. It was theirs.” James took the brown-wrapped meals from her and placed them beside the keyboard.
“It doesn’t feel like that.” Her voice was very small. “It feels like I killed him.”
“You did not. You are not to blame for others’ evil actions.”
A tear tracked down her cheek. “I’m responsible for my own choices, which put him at risk. I put them all at risk. Freddie and the Elder are gone, and my friend”—her voice dropped—“is dying.”
She did not glance in my direction, as if I were not there, as if I could not hear her. Perhaps she assumed I was asleep. Perhaps my presence was a reminder of all she had lost, bringing her more pain. But whether or not I was dying, the fault was not hers. It was I who had charged thoughtlessly into danger.
He reached toward her, then withdrew his hand. “Despite my limited experience, I believe I understand.”
Teary eyes rose to his. “You do?”
“Yes. Last quarter, I acted in violation of my training, and though my actions saved citizens, there was a cost.” James’s deep voice emerged in a monotone, and his gloved hands fisted. “My choices condemned me and cost a citizen her life.”
“No, James. You saved them.”
His breath caught, and the sound propelled me upright. Had Max not told him who he was? If he had not yet learned—
“You did the right thing.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I’m sorry that your mother died, but she couldn’t have saved them by herself.”
“You . . . you cannot know.” He moved away from her. “I did not reveal illegally obtained facts; I have told no one.”
“Oh.” Her eyes went wide, and she dropped onto the stool.
“How is it that you know my name?” James asked. “Since we arrived here on Pallas, people have addressed me by the name my mother said my father had chosen, but such knowledge cannot . . .” He paused, then began again, “I have done my best not to respond, not to convey awareness, as if it were mere coincidence, but how do you know how my mother died?”
My pulse pounded, and Kyleigh’s cheeks flushed, then drained of color.
“How . . .” My first friend drew a deep breath. “How do you know who I am?”
“Stars above.” Kyleigh’s hands rose to her suddenly flushed cheeks. “I’ve done it again.”
Whether or not it was my story to tell, I shoved the blankets to the foot of the bed and stood on unsteady legs. “I told her.”
They both turned toward me. Behind his faceplate, James’s silver-grey eyes met mine, then lifted to somewhere past my right shoulder. His posture grew unnaturally rigid, and his hands curled tight.
Kyleigh shot to her feet. “James?”
He did not respond.
“James?” Her eyes sought mine. “He’s so still.”
Holding onto my bed’s railing for balance, I shuffled toward him, all attention on my first friend’s vacant expression. “It is well. You are safe, and our knowledge will endanger neither you nor us. Indeed, it is one of the reasons Freddie bequeathed his identity to you.”
James did not move.
“I viewed the record.” I counted the seconds as they passed—sixty, ninety, one hundred twenty, one hundred thirty-seven—then spoke evenly. “I am sorry the Elders stole the incident from your mind. I am sorry for the reprimands and for the pain of a memory download, which I viewed in the records. After watching the woman assert you were her son, I verified her claim. It was not my place, but I had other reasons for my search.”
“Other reasons,” he repeated blandly.
Relief surged that he had finally spoken, but it was quickly supplanted by the conviction that I had no right to tell the rest of the story.
He drew a shuddering breath and refocused on me. “So you know also of my sister.”
I nodded.
“Do you . . .”
When he did not finish, Kyleigh stepped to his side. In the oversized shirt, she seemed very small beside his broad, armored shoulder.
“Do we what?” she prompted as gently as a Caretaker would a frightened novice.
“She is missing,” I said to forestall his answer, “but only presumed dead.”
“I know. I viewed that information.” He clenched his hand, then relaxed it. “And my father?”
Kyleigh touched his forearm. “You don’t know?”
“No. The Elders stopped me before I learned who he was.” His gaze locked on hers. “But you do?”
She nodded. “He’s been searching for you since your mother gave you both away.”
The memory of Max’s ashen face when he realized he had met his son rose before me, but a whoosh of air interrupted us.
Zhen DuBois stormed in, glanced down at the bags by the desk, and pursed her lips. “Good. You brought the suits.”
At her abrupt arrival, my thoughts scattered.
James said, “I did.”
“Is that what’s in those bags?” Kyleigh asked.
“Indeed. I have brought the Recorder’s and a spare for you, Kyleigh Tristram. Pallas Station is not safe without some level of protection.”
“So.” Zhen faced me. “It turns out, you were right. I found a way there, but we need you after all.”
Kyleigh folded her arms and leaned back against her desk. “Where?”
“To get the equipment. We’ve got a problem.”
“Which is?” Kyleigh asked.
“Access. Unless you want to send your retinas separately, Kye, you need to suit up. Don’t worry, though. I’m going with you, and Jackson is sending a couple of marines.” Zhen’s voice softened slightly. “Recorder-who-isn’t, you need to suit up, too. I don’t like it, and Tim will kill me for taking you out of here, but we need your help.”
“I am unsteady, Zhen,” I said.
She glanced at the sealed packages of food and huffed. “You haven’t eaten yet? Moons and stars, but you two need as much supervision as children.” She grabbed a package, ripped it open, and handed it to Kyleigh. The nauseating, briny smell of overprocessed fish seeped through the air. The filters’ hiss grew louder, and the odor faded slightly. Zhen tore open the second package and crossed the room to hand it to me.
James watched her but said nothing.
“You’ll be steadier with calories to burn.” Zhen steered me back to the bed and placed her hands on my shoulders, gently forcing me to sit. “Eat.”
The unpalatable tray of food glistened oddly in the overhead lighting. “I do not understand. As you and Nate discussed, you are more than capable of—”
“I can do a lot of things, but not this.” Zhen folded her arms. “As much as I hate to say it, we need a drone.”