“Bloody bastard of a dung weevil,” Noa muttered, because the fungal infection fit that description, and also because she didn’t want to think about that emotional rush.
Hisha’s delicate features drew into a frown. “It isn’t particularly contagious. It usually only occurs when the immune system is weakened. Even Oliver is in no danger from it.”
“Would severe malnutrition make me susceptible?” Noa said, looking down at the tattoo on her wrist, mind wandering back to the disgusting gruel that she’d devoured at the camp. She almost shuddered.
“Yes, it would,” said Hisha. Noa noticed the doctor looking down at the stumps on her hand. She closed her fingers instinctively.
“I’d like to do a complete physical,” Hisha said. Her voice was soft, but the concern in her words rang loud and clear.
James took a step closer. “That sounds like a good idea.”
“Sure,” said Noa. She knew it was a good idea, too, but instead of admitting it, she glared at James and said, “Happy now?”
James said in that deadpan voice of his, “Yes, I am overjoyed that you have a potentially terminal lung infection.”
“I’ll let you undress then,” said Hisha quickly. Turning to James, she raised a hand as though to put it on his sleeve but then stopped. “Let’s give her some privacy.”
James looked over Hisha’s shoulder, obviously wanting to say something to Noa. Since the doctor’s back was turned, Noa stuck out her tongue at James. He wasn’t Fleet, after all; and she didn’t have to be professional. He raised an eyebrow, and said, “Very mature,” as though he hadn’t stuck out his tongue at her just a few minutes before. He was out the door before she could offer a witty comeback.
As she undressed, she heard Manuel getting ready to leave, and Eliza reassuring 6T9 that it would be best if she went to “meet some people” alone. Eliza and Manuel were going to round up the crew. It was dangerous, letting Eliza drive—dangerous to Eliza, passengers, pedestrians, and other drivers—but they were desperate. They had very little time to put together a crew, and Eliza’s semi-celebrity status as a first colonist gave her some leeway with the Guard. If Noa, James, or 6T9 were captured in a random hover stop, the mission would end before it began; and so they were staying put. Noa needed to use the day to come up with a firmer plan. Hisha had a day off and had intended to stay home to watch Oliver.
A few minutes later, Hisha came back into the room. Noa could hear a kid’s holo playing before Hisha shut the door, and guessed that was what Oliver was up to. What followed was a physical exam and all the questions Noa would have expected: Did she need to be screened for sexually transmitted diseases? It was a nice way of asking if she’d been raped. She hadn’t, and she told Hisha so. Was she having trouble sleeping? Yes. Did she want something for it? Not yet.
After the physical exam and routine questions were completed, Hisha said, “Aside from the lung infection, the malnutrition, and your hand injury, you seem fine.”
Noa slipped on her shirt. She was actually relieved. The lung infection had been a shock, although it shouldn’t have been; all the signs had been there. After the diagnosis, she’d wondered if her body was harboring other dark diseases.
Hisha touched her lips, eyes on the scar on Noa’s abdomen. “Mr. Sinclair … he’s not from Luddeccea. His augments are extensive and they look cosmetic, too.”
Her accusatory tone gave Noa pause. But then she remembered her own first impressions of James—she’d thought of him as “too perfect.” On Luddeccea, even doctors like Hisha frowned on “frivolous cosmetic augmentation.” When she had first met James, Noa had thought he—or his family—had gone “too far.” But she’d ceased to think of his enhanced features very much at all. It was strange how even perfection became normal and invisible after a while. She blinked down at her fingers on the buttons of her borrowed shirt. It wasn’t just that his perfection had become invisible—somehow, over the past few days, she thought of him less and less as Tim’s doppelgänger. She wasn’t sure if she liked it.
“You’re sure you can trust him?” Hisha asked, startling Noa out of her reverie.
“He’s saved my life a few times now,” said Noa, carefully keeping her voice light.
Hisha flinched. “He seems … different … the authorities, they’re saying that aliens are infecting augments. If he is somehow contagious … ”
Noa froze. Her skin crawled. Of course, Hisha was worried about Oliver; with parents, every decision would always come back to their children. Nonetheless, she didn’t respond at once. A day ago she would have jumped to James’s defense immediately, but after last night … When people felt emotions, electrical activity occurred on the surface of the brain. Nanos could pick up the location of the activity, transfer a similar electronic pulse to nanos in another human via hard link, and they could in turn “feel” a shadow of that emotion. The emotion James had transmitted last night had hit her like a bright lance of light; that was the only way she could describe it. Her brain hadn’t been able to recognize the pattern. She’d even had a brief hallucination … the ground had fallen out beneath her, and James was trying to hold on to her. She thought that the hallucination was a product of her confused brain trying to make sense of what James felt. It had been surprising, intense, and … alien. Her lip curled in disgust, not at the memory of the strange emotional charge, but at her own reaction to it. That she could even think that way about another human made her ashamed. She met Hisha’s gaze. “The same authorities saying augments are being possessed by aliens would rip your son’s arm off without anesthesia and let him bleed to death.”
Hisha’s face became pinched. “My son’s augments are necessary.”
Noa secured the last button. “James was in an accident back on Earth. He fell from high enough to crush bones and pulverize internal organs. On Earth, they don’t feel the same way about cosmetic augments as we do—but he would have needed them just to look human.”
Hisha bit her lip. “His mannerisms … I’ve never seen anyone so … composed and unemotional.”
Smoothing out the sleeves of her shirt, Noa took a breath. “More recently, our friendly Local Guard shot his hover out of the sky. The facial reconstruction augments he received were damaged. He may not appear to feel emotions, but he has them.” And no one would ever think him unemotional after feeling that bright charge of pure feeling he’d hit Noa with last night, but she’d never say that aloud.
Hisha didn’t precisely look convinced; but instead of questioning Noa further, she said, “I’m going to have to go into the hospital to get you the treatment.”
Trying to smooth over the last few awkward moments, Noa gave her a respectful nod. “Thank you.”
Opening the door, Hisha gave her a tight smile. “I can’t have you passing out when you’re piloting the ship. I can tell them that Oliver’s death has made me not want to be at home alone.” Leading Noa down the stairs, Hisha cleared her throat. “Of course, I need someone to watch Oliver.”
Noa felt her nostrils flare as they stepped into the kitchen. Hisha was a civilian, and she didn’t understand what they were up against. She tried to keep from snapping at her. “I can’t watch him. I have to work out a plan with James for commandeering the Ark. Now that we have the protest marches to factor in, we’ll be able to change our strategy.”
“But he’s too young not to have supervision,” Hisha protested, going over to Oliver. Sitting in the corner of the kitchen in a bouncer contraption and sucking on his knuckles, he barely looked up at Noa. He was gazing intently at a holo.
Noa’s eyes fell on James. He was eating a bowl of what looked like oatmeal with a fist-size helping of shredded coconut and a giant square of butter on top. Carl Sagan was at his feet. Noa would need James, preferably not hungry. She didn’t distract him with a joke about his culinary choices. Her gaze flicked to 6T9, standing unblinking in hibernation mode, and was hit by inspiration. “6T9, wake up!”
The ‘bot’s eyelids fluttered a
nd a soft hum came from his chest cavity and his head.
“No,” said Hisha, apparently guessing her intentions. “No, no, no … ”
Noa turned to her. “You said that you’d do anything so that your child could live.”
Hisha took a step back. “But I can’t let a se … a ‘bot watch my son. Who knows what he might do to him? And he’s unclean.”
Noa rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he’s been bathed since his last escapade.”
“I have indeed,” said 6T9 brightly.
“And he’d never have sexual relations with a minor,” Noa supplied.
6T9’s jaw dropped, and he stood up straighter. “Indeed, I would not. That goes specifically against my programming.” It was the first time Noa had heard 6T9 sounding so affronted. Come to think of it, had she ever heard him sound affronted?
“Can you make sure the minor doesn’t harm himself?” Noa asked.
6T9 smiled. “I am programmed to recognize harm, even self-harm, and to stop it with physical restraint if necessary, and a call to the authorities.” A light buzz came from his chest. “Although, with the ethernet down … ”
“You could call for James or me,” said Noa. “We’ll be upstairs.”
“Oh, yes! I could call for James or you,” said 6T9, eyes widening. He smiled and nodded, as though that was the most ingenious idea he’d ever heard.
“No,” said Hisha. “He doesn’t know how to take care of a toddler!”
Voice dry, James quipped, “I’m sure he knows lots of games.”
Forcing herself to frown instead of laugh, Noa shot a glare in his direction. The cheeky bastard raised an eyebrow.
“Indeed, I do know a lot of games!” 6T9 chirped. He frowned. “Although most I could not play with a minor, as they would violate my programming.”
Sighing, Noa said, “You can throw a ball, right, Sixty?”
“Yes.”
“Make hover noises?” Noa supplied, remembering watching Kenji when he was a baby.
“Actually, yes!” said 6T9.
Noa nodded. “You’ll have to do.”
“No, he won’t!” Hisha stamped her foot. “He needs instructions on feeding, and potty training, and nap time.”
“Then give him instructions,” Noa snapped.
“But make them simple,” said 6T9. “I’m dense. Literally and figuratively.”
Hisha glared up at Noa, and Noa swore the smaller woman trembled with rage.
Leveling her gaze at her, Noa said, “If you have problems with 6T9 watching your son in your kitchen, you better be ready to park yourself on this planet and stay behind. These are ideal conditions compared to what we’ll face soon. If you think your son would be better served by staying here, then you say so, now.”
Hisha’s mouth opened as though she was about to speak. But then she snapped her jaw shut.
Noa let her stance soften and spoke gently. “I’m trying to save everyone’s lives, not just your son’s.”
As Noa expected, the doctor deflated a bit at that. She turned to 6T9 and started to give him instructions for feeding, naps, and nappies. Noa took a deep breath and felt a sting in her lungs. Thank the universe, the rest of her crew would be military and disinclined to confront her over trivialities.
Motioning for James, she headed to the stairs. Grabbing a piece of fruit, he followed. “And that is why I didn’t want a child on the ship or anywhere near this mission,” she half-muttered, half-panted as she climbed the steps. She paused to catch her breath at the top of the landing.
“Maybe he won’t survive the commandeering,” James said.
Noa’s head snapped in his direction. His tone was so flat, she couldn’t tell if he was joking … if it was a joke, Noa couldn’t imagine it being in poorer taste.
“What?” said James, with no eyebrow raise and no expression in his lips, of course. A shiver swept through Noa, and she didn’t think it was just because the Manuels kept the air conditioning too damn high.
“What is it, Noa?”
Somewhere, an air vent clicked off. “You don’t sound as though you care, either way,” she said softly and then mentally castigated herself. It was just his damaged augmentation—of course he cared, even if he couldn’t express it.
“I should care?” said James.
Noa wanted to step back, but her back was already to the wall. The situation suddenly felt wrong, backward, and inside out. “Yes,” Noa whispered, hairs on the back of her neck rising.
James’s head dipped. The air vent clicked again, and she heard air rushing into the other room. “You care,” said James. A slight crease appeared between his brows. “More than you would about an adult.”
“The death of a child is the death of hope,” Noa whispered, her hands fluttering to her abdomen. “It would be terrible for morale.”
“Oh,” said James. He shifted on his feet. “Have you caught your breath?”
Noa started at the lack of segue, but then she shook it off. They had too much to do, and too little time.
James watched Noa’s avatar prowl through a three-dimensional map of Prime generated by his app. Her avatar’s face was lit from below, her hands were clasped behind her back, and as usual her avatar wore her Fleet grays. James’s avatar, this one in more casual Earth attire—a long tunic and loose slacks—walked along beside her. In the physical world, they were sitting across from one another, cross legged on the bed, Noa leaning slightly against the headboard. Occasionally he diverted his attention to the sound of her breathing. As she’d rested, it had become less ragged. He was worried about what lay ahead. He knew the first treatment for the infection would give her improved lung function immediately, but she still would be far from well. He didn’t let that concern, or any other emotion, cross the hard link. She kept her feelings to herself as well.
“A disturbance there should divert the Guard,” Noa’s avatar said, pointing at the entrance to the museum complex.
Her words brought his full focus back to the mental map he’d conjured. Their avatars were in the courtyard of the Tri-Center where the Ark was docked; the mental model of the Ark rose just to her hip. She was pointing at the restricted wing of the complex where Luddeccea’s spaceport and Central Authority were located. “With the protests going on, the ranks of the Guard will already be thin—they’ll have to divert some forces to protect the rest of the city. The Guard left behind will fall back to protect the Central Authority wing or go to the main gate, if they detect a disturbance. That’s when we’ll have to move in.”
James tilted his head. “What sort of disturbance were you thinking of?”
“I’m sure with Manuel’s help we could improvise a bomb,” Noa’s avatar said, tapping her chin.
In his mind, he ran through his near-contacts with the Guard, remembering in particular that they were solicitous when not threatened. James took a step closer to the gate. “Maybe we should use another sort of distraction, something that won’t immediately be perceived as an attack, that generates confusion instead of aggression?”
Noa’s avatar snapped her hands behind her back again. “Agreed. Have any ideas?”
Instead of answering, James expanded the scale of the map until the main gate was as high as the walls of the room; it was still only one-quarter of its real size. The gate was an antiquated-looking structure of metal bars embellished with decorative curling ferntree leaves. Looking out from the museum campus, it was possible to see traffic streaming by. Luddeccea’s Tri-Center was in the heart of Prime. The First Families had built outward from the Ark’s final resting place, a few kilometers from the sea where it had landed. There were Guard posts on either side of the main entrance. Each post shot beams of light into the sky at a thirty-degree angle. A stone fence connected to the gate and continued around the museum complex port and the central headquarters; the fence emitted a circle of similar beams. Altogether the beams of light created a funnel-shaped fence of light in the sky. To cross the beams was to violate a no-fly zone. Only
ships specifically authorized by the Port Authority were allowed to take off and land. Hover craft approaching the port, museum, and Central Authority were allowed to do so, only at ground level.
“It’s slightly blurry,” Noa said, indicating the gate and the hover traffic staying low, carefully avoiding the beams of light.
James nodded. “This is from my memories, before I fell. I was just a child when I visited the Tri-Center.”
A brief surge of emotion sparked over the link from Noa—sympathy—and he felt his neurons jump, as though he’d been waiting for exactly that. He wanted to pause everything, to examine that feeling; but there was no time. In his mind, the countdown clock to Manuel’s expected arrival ticked along, unstoppable. He focused on the present, and mentally opened the gate. Luddeccea had no history of insurrections, so the gate was seldom closed. Blurry shapes of hovers swept in and turned, either to the left toward the museum complex and Central Authority, or to the right toward the space port. Noa’s and James’s avatars were standing in a pedestrian area, backs to the museum. There was a stone wall between them and the Ark, and enormous stone bollards between them and the main gate.
James tilted his head, studying the bollards and the traffic speeding through the gate. “What if we caused a hover crash pile up at the gate?” he said. “We could make it look like an accident—”
Emotion sparked across the link again from Noa, causing James’s neurons and nanos to spark with so much electricity that he couldn’t identify the feeling. And then he did. Happiness. It sparked through his nervous system like a drug.
Her avatar beamed. “We could program hovers to crash. None of our team would even have to approach the gate.” Her brows furrowed. “But if the hovers were unmanned, the Guard would know immediately that it was a ruse.”
Rogue Stars Page 27