I AM disturbed.
VC1 advises us that there’s a break in the almost perpetual storms for the next few hours, so I dig a pair of work boots out of a maintenance closet and toss Kelly a pair for herself. We set out to gather wood first. It’s all soaked through, but that doesn’t matter. My laser pistol from the shuttle will still ignite it if I set it hot enough. Then, using shovels also from the maintenance closet, we dig a shallow grave for whatever doesn’t burn off and for the implants. This we hide just past the tree line where the freshly disturbed earth won’t be noticeable by the rescue party.
It’s midday when these tasks are complete, so we take a quick break to fortify ourselves with energy drinks from the scientists’ stash. VC1 assures me that the high sugar and vitamin C content will help with my tiredness and lethargic mood, but I don’t think those have to do with my body chemistry.
When we reach the base of the still lowered entry ramp to the yacht, I freeze.
“I’d offer to do this for you,” Kelly says beside me, “but I’m not strong enough to lift… you… and I’m not sure I can keep it together if I see you that way again, especially if you’re not alive beside me.”
I nod. Even in my weakened condition, I’m stronger than she is, and VC1 can draw on my reserves to enhance my strength for the time it will take to move the body to the funeral pyre we’ve built.
You can do this, VC1 says in my head. I will help you.
“Wait here,” I say. “Go back in the research station if it gets to be too much.” Without another word, I put one foot in front of the other and board the crashed yacht.
The smell hits me first. Life support ceased functioning during the crash. It’s hot and humid, and the body… my body… has begun to decay at an alarmingly fast rate.
The ship is dark and silent, the power having automatically shut down when all life forms left the vessel, one way or another. I move along the corridor to the cockpit, my footfalls impossibly loud and echoing off the metal interior. The hatch to the forward compartment is open.
When I step into the cockpit, I cover my mouth and nose with one hand. I haven’t even looked at the body yet and I’m already gagging, then vomiting the energy drink in a reddish-gold puddle behind the copilot’s empty seat.
Oh, this is going well.
Brace yourself, VC1 warns.
I turn toward the pilot’s chair. No warning could have prepared me for the sight of my own corpse. I felt the damage. I knew how bad it was. But actually seeing it is something else altogether.
The visible skin is covered in red, angry burns and blisters beginning to blacken around the edges. I’m slumped to the side in the seat, and my eyes are closed, thank God, but my own breath is coming in quick, shallow gasps as I mentally relive the lightning strike, impact, and pain.
I can’t, I say, stepping away to grab a breath of marginally clearer air outside the cockpit hatch. I can’t do this. I’ll black out. I can’t.
I can.
I blink, realizing what the AI is offering. I can give her control. She can take care of my remains and then….
You will put me back in charge, right? Earned or not, it’s a fear I’ve always had about VC1, that she will like controlling me so much she refuses to let go.
You have my word. We work better that way.
Without further discussion, I release my grip on my sense of self, turning everything over to her. VC1 arranges my consciousness so that I don’t even have to watch the process through my manufactured eyes. Instead, she blocks off my access to the outside world entirely. I see nothing, hear nothing, smell nothing, and feel nothing.
I will remember nothing of this event.
It’s frightening, being completely cut off, and I have no sense of the passage of time, but I think, for the sake of my sanity, this was the right course of action.
When I return to myself and retake control of my functions, I’m standing beside a much smaller funeral pyre, the wood mostly ash, some remnants of bone and metal all that are recognizable of the person I once was.
It still turns my stomach, but I swallow it down and steel myself.
Kelly stands beside me, her hand lightly holding my elbow. She turns to me. “Welcome back,” she says. She must have sensed the resurgence in my emotions through our bond.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t handle it. I didn’t mean to leave you alone, but I couldn’t think of another way. Did you… watch?”
She shakes her head and nods toward the pair of duffel bags beside her and a pile of my tactical combat gear VC1 must have stripped off the corpse. “I spent my time gathering everything we might need. VC1 handled the rest. When I came back she’d already lit the fire, prepared the body, sealed it in a medical bag from the lab, and made sure it was taken care of.”
“I still should have been here for you.”
She puts her arms around me and holds me close. “You are here for me. That’s all that matters. Let’s finish this.”
Together we retrieve a second storage bag from the facility and use the shovels to scoop the minimal remains and implants into it. I seal the bag, take it to the makeshift grave, and cover it over with soft earth. VC1 deals with any sensor recordings from the yacht that might suggest my demise.
As far as anyone else will ever know, we both survived the crash.
It’s raining again when we scatter the remnants of the bonfire across the meadow so it’s not noticeable to the rescue crew. I run the combat gear through a lab sterilizer specifically designed for cleansing clothing and equipment and put it on. When I slip my pistols into my thigh and back holsters and store a knife in each boot, I finally feel like myself again.
Kelly changes out of her lab wear in favor of her own resort clothing retrieved from the yacht, and we’re good to go by the time the heavily shielded rescue ship lands in the clearing beside the wreck.
I don’t expect it when Lyle and Alex stride down the ramp from the ship, but they explain that the crew who had it out stopped by Girard Base to refuel before coming to get us, so they swapped places. I do accept their hugs of greeting and feel something warm bloom inside my chest. They have news, too, that I’m going to have to adjust to yet another new lead doctor on my medical team. Apparently Dr. Alkins vanished shortly after word of my unplanned landing on Elektra4 reached the moon base.
You know anything about that? Did she go to the secret research base on the outer rim?
There is no evidence that she did so. I left a remnant of my program there to monitor their processes. The research facility remains unmanned, VC1 informs me. Her tone feels concerned.
So am I, but it’s a problem for another day.
I’m also going to have to adjust to a new department. Seems our team has been transferred to the undercover ops division. The guys are ecstatic. The move comes with a substantial boost in pay, additional leave time, and more freedom to decline offered mission assignments.
I’m not fooled. They might have the ability to turn a job down. I’ll have to go with my loyalty programming and take whatever the Storm throws at me.
And Kelly will insist on taking it right along with me. I hope I can continue to keep her safe.
Before we seal up the science station and board the rescue ship, Lyle stops, puts his hands on his hips, and whistles long and low as he scans the yacht’s wreckage. “Shit, Corren, you survived that and the Infinity Bay crash? You must have nine lives.”
“You have no idea,” I tell him and stride up the boarding ramp with Kelly, her hand firmly grasped in mine.