Vick is channeling.
I DROP my spoon on the red-and-white-checkered tablecloth covering our kitchen table. It’s another example of what Vick terms “nesting,” and she’s right, but I don’t have time to consider it now. I’m too busy running for the bathroom on the far side of my bedroom. I make it with seconds to spare before I vomit the broccoli and cheddar soup I’d made for dinner into the toilet bowl.
Panting, I prop myself against the wall and let the chill of the white tile chase the remainder of the nausea away. I stand on shaky limbs, run some cold water in the sink, rinse my mouth out, and splash some in my face. Then I stare at myself in the mirror.
That wasn’t the soup. That wasn’t even me.
It was Vick.
My comm is in the bedroom, and walking proves more difficult than I expected. Whatever set her off, it isn’t over. My stomach roils with each movement, but without the element of surprise, and recognizing the source, I’m in control now. I hesitate to raise my walls against our connection, but I need to be clearheaded, not distracted by nausea and whatever else might be behind it if I’m going to help.
I set the blocks in place, picturing solid steel doors closing her out a bit at time, then leaving a small gap between them. Cutting her off entirely would defeat my purpose as her emotional support partner and the woman who loves her. I pick up my comm from the bedside table, tap in her code, and wait.
It buzzes multiple times, and I’m thinking she won’t answer and I might have to override and barge in when there’s a soft click and her hoarse voice says, “I’m fine, Kel.”
I roll my eyes, even if she can’t see it. She hasn’t activated visuals, so either there aren’t any cameras VC1 can commandeer in her current location, or she doesn’t want me to know how bad off she looks. I suspect the latter.
“I’m not,” I return, sinking onto the edge of the bed. “I just threw up perfectly delicious broccoli and cheddar soup that I made, and I’ll probably end up throwing the rest out because of the association.”
Vick groans. “Geez, Kel, don’t talk about food. I hate broccoli to begin with.” She’s trying to lighten the situation, but I can hear the truth beneath her words. She’s still not well.
Reaching with my empathic sense through the opening in my walls, I seek out the aura of the blue line that connects us. It’s faded, so she must be on the civilian side of Girard Moon Base, but I can follow it if necessary. “Talk to me or I come find you,” I warn. I don’t like forcing her hand. Vick needs to believe she has free will and independence even with the way the Storm limits both. But a reaction so intense that it reached me this far away is one I have to look into.
Vick sighs, a long, weary sigh that belies things kept hidden from me for some time. She’s been struggling with her recovery and what she saw in the surgery mirrors, but this is something more.
I sigh right back at her. “I thought we were past secrets,” I say, keeping my voice calm and soft.
There’s a long pause, and I can almost hear the wheels turning in her head. I cover my mouth to stifle an inappropriate snort of amusement. With VC1, Vick sort of does have wheels turning in her head. But she won’t appreciate me finding her decision-making process funny.
“We are,” she says at last. “I’m in the restroom at the Purple Leaf. Probably won’t be by the time you get here. At least I hope not. Check the alcoves in the rear first. I’m with Helen Sanderson. Don’t ask. I’ll explain what I can when you arrive. It’s her shitshow.”
“Wait. Really?”
“Really what? That I’m in the sex club? Look, I’m sorry. It was Sanderson’s idea, and—”
“No,” I say, interrupting her apology. “I mean, you’re really going to clue me in? I won’t have to drag it out of you?”
Silence. Then, “Not this time. You need to know what’s happening. Your life might depend on it.”
I swallow hard. “Ten minutes,” I tell her, then cut the connection.
I make it there in seven, my heart pounding from the jog across the base. I’m out of breath when the bouncer at the door asks if I’m carrying any weapons, so I shake my head. He passes a scanner wand over me anyway, then waves me through the entrance. A few uniformed men and a couple of women nod and smile as I pass. One points to her drink and raises a questioning eyebrow, offering to buy me one, but I politely thank her and move on.
The blue line between me and Vick is clear and bright, guiding me straight to the centermost secluded alcove in the back, though the raised female voice coming from within would have directed me just as well.
“—be here any minute. I can’t believe you told her to come. This is all classified information. She’s going to freak out when she sees this. I don’t need more people capable of inciting panic. What do you intend to tell her?” Officer Sanderson. Helen. Not happy. I like her well enough, and I’m glad Vick has a buddy to do… buddy things with: watch games, drink beer, talk weapons. Lyle and Alex are great, and sometimes Vick hangs with them too, or all three, but it feels like in Sanderson, Vick has found a kindred spirit. I’m happy for it.
But Sanderson also has an annoying tendency to view me as fragile, naïve, and innocent, and it plays up Vick’s inclination to do the same. Vick’s grown a lot toward treating me like the professional I am and remembering I’m not so breakable anymore, and the fact that she’s bringing me in on this is testament to that, but when those two are together….
I hover outside the curtain, waiting for Vick’s response.
Something thuds hard against a surface, maybe a mug on the table? Then Vick’s voice. “I’m going to tell her everything you told me and maybe more than that. I can’t make you share the photos. They’re your property. But I’d like you to. I’m going to give her all the information and hope that forewarning will help keep her safe.”
“You can’t—”
“I damn well can and I will. Unlike my bosses, you can’t shut me up with a code. Look, Helen, this isn’t what you bargained for when you brought me in, and I’m sorry. I still intend to help you. But these images change everything. I’m telling Kelly because she’s my friend, my partner, and more than all that, I love her, and I’m not keeping dangerous secrets from the woman I love.”
My entire body warms with that statement. I reach for the edge of the curtain.
“I just hope she can keep a secret,” Sanderson mutters as I pull it aside.
“I can,” I tell them both, noting the slight grin on Vick’s pale face. There’s a sparkle of mischief in her eyes, and I’m wondering how long she knew I was listening.
Probably the entire time, given her enhanced hearing and VC1’s penchant for tracking everyone and everything in her vicinity. Knowing that doesn’t lessen the impact of Vick’s words. I get the distinct impression she said them more to stop Sanderson’s arguing than to earn my favor.
I slide onto the couch next to Vick, taking her hand in mine and resting both on her thigh. Her entire body relaxes into the seat. She’s stressed. Very stressed. I’m glad my presence helps, but my worry ratchets up a notch. “Okay,” I say, looking from Sanderson to the woman I trust with my life and my heart. “What’s going on?”