“Not much we can do against another natural disaster.”
He sighs and turns toward Maston. “She doesn’t believe in our visitors from outer space. How very naïve of her. Where does she think the tech advances have come from?”
Maston says nothing. He seems bored by the whole thing.
If I keep the doctor talking, Maston might grow bored enough to walk out. “There are always advancements,” I argue. “In any society technological breakthroughs can happen as a result of human intelligence. I might not have studied much history as a lowly servant, but you can’t tell me the invention of the telephone or the motor car were results of exposure to alien technology.”
“You fool,” he snarls. “The Upheaval changed the game, any idiot can see that.”
I don’t know what to believe. The Pelican showed the Company is serious about creating a force to fight someone, but powerful people like powerful armies whether they have an enemy or not. I’m not in the mood to be agreeable.
I shrug. “Whatever.”
“You’ll change your tune when they come. Then you’ll be wishing you’d listened to us.” He sounds positively excited at the prospect of invasion. He can be because he knows it won’t be him on the front lines.
And it won’t be me either. “How about we agree to disagree and I won’t lose any sleep over it?”
Any further argument he might make is cut off by Maston’s hand on his arm and a glance at the device. It’s all the doctor needs to remember the reason we’re here. His precious demonstration.
My hope that Maston might end this before it begins drifts away like smoke from one of the big fire pits set up to feed everyone at camp.
Camp. How long has it been since I left? I picture the council calling a meeting and discussing my failure. Maybe they’ve already agreed I should never have been trusted with such a task.
“Are you ready?” Doctor asks. His long, fine fingers play across the surface of the device, drawing my attention to it.
I get it now. He wants me to watch. This is his big moment in front of the boss, and he wants all the audience he can get for the show. Even me.
I don’t have to give it to him.
I stare at the table. What I thought was smooth black paint is actually a deep, dark stain on a solid piece of wood. There are faint grains meandering across the expanse from one end all the way to the other.
I will not watch.
I will not give him the satisfaction. The grains are my focus, they are all that exist. I stare until my eyes water, tracing the grains.
“Dance,” he cries.
Pain. Impossible pain. Rippling through my arms. They fly up, beyond my control, arcing in spasms above my head.
“Look at the puppet dance.” Doctor trips over his words with excitement.
I fight it. Straining the muscles in my shoulders, trying to drag my arms to my sides. More pain. The grain of the wood blurs as hot tears fill my eyes.
I can’t. Fight it. I can’t.
Minutes, hours, years. And then it’s gone. My arms fall like the invisible strings holding them aloft have been severed in one swoop. Light-headed from lack of pain, I struggle to stay upright. I flex my arms, stifling a cry when the muscles respond. They’re mine again.
But he’s not done.
“That was fun for a start.”
I make the mistake of lifting my head.
His eyes shine with delight. “Kneel.”
“No.” I push the refusal out through a throat clogged with emotion and teeth ground together.
Any pretense at playing mind games with him is gone. I have nothing left, no cleverness, no wily attempt to trick him into revealing more than he plans in case it gives me an upper hand some unknown time in the future. But I have my pride
“No.” I manage it a bit louder this time.
Sweat sticks my singlet to my skin. I can feel the damp pooling in every crevice of my body.
Knowing what to expect doesn’t help. His finger pulses and the pain slams on. All at once. Zero to oh-please-make-it-stop at the twitch of a finger.
But I don’t kneel.
“You will give in.” Doctor sounds so sure.
Speech fails me, but I jerk my head, so hard I taste hot copper of blood where my teeth graze my tongue. No.
The grains. I wind my eyes along that tiny, safe, and swirling path. Each one becomes a person in my head. A memorial for the lives I’ve left behind. Mother, Zed, even Tesae. And then I count more. Those waiting for me back at the camp. Samuai, Kaih. Lady, Keane, Toby … I trace more and more lines. Every person I’ve met or heard of gets one, and I force myself to follow each line as far as I can.
My body lies somewhere far away. I don’t know what it’s doing. All that’s left is the grains and the edge of the table and keeping some corner of my mind out of his reach.
He is the pain. The pain is him, and I know now this is it. It will never ever end and I can’t win but I can hold on to the grains and the lines and the piece of me he can’t reach with his device.
“Enough.” Maston’s order penetrates my brain like a merciful shot, putting me out of my misery.
And the pain is gone.
I fall forward, barely turning my head in time to stop my nose hitting the ground. Instead it’s my cheek and the hard, steady surface welcomes my skin. Cool against the fever burning me up from the inside. I wrap my arms around my knees, rocking slightly. A ball of jelly muscles and complete humiliation.
Maston’s first word in here is also his last. He stands and walks to the far wall. There, he swipes a palm across the door and waits for the doctor to accompany him. He glances down at me, prostrate on the floor. Our gazes meet and I think maybe there’s a spark of sympathy in his eyes, but I can’t be sure.
A moment later, I’m alone.
I think I could lie here forever. There’s an ache in my face and I realize it’s from grinning. The absence of pain feels too good to do anything else.
Lying here and not moving feels like the best damn idea I ever had, but ten seconds is all I give myself.
At the end of the mental count, I push myself upright on protesting arms wobbly with aching muscles. I won’t be alone for long. When he comes I will be waiting with my head up and back straight if it kills me.
By the time I manage to get to my feet, I’m afraid it might.
I’m just in time. There’s a swish, and the door I came through opens again and Davyd is there. I stink of sweat and I fear I pissed myself when my mind sought sanctuary from my body. Davyd will notice. Nothing escapes him and the mess I’ve made of myself will be no different. My cheeks burn, but I force my chin up and look him in the eye. “Piece of cake.”
He laughs. A rumble that washes over me and soothes like a rough hug.
I sway.
He crosses to me in two strides. “You’ll return to your room until you are next required for questioning.”
“More?” No sound comes out when I ask, but he reads my lips.
“Possibly.”
But his eyes say no, and I cling to that inside to keep upright because right now I simply can’t do more. I’ve done enough.
I nod and shake off what I think is about to be an arm offered to help me walk. Leaning on someone would be nice but it would let him see how much the questioning took out of me. I take a step toward the door and don’t look back, afraid I’ll see bodily fluids on the ground where I fell.
I make it out of the door before he speaks again. “Collapse,” he mutters.
“No.”
“This isn’t the time to show how tough you are. What you did in there was enough. Now it’s time to play sick prisoner.”
He saw it. Shame tries to find a foothold but I left it somewhere after the puppet show. “Or what?”
“Or find yourself in the holding cells instead of the medical bay.”
The cells, I saw them down the other end of this corridor. �
��Why is there only one guard?”
“Did you see the archway?”
“Yes, so?”
“Think of it as a Q wall generator. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall, all at the flick of a switch. It isolates the cells from the rest of the Company’s operation.”
“I’m resistant.”
“You are as far as you know, but you’d want to be sure such a blast wouldn’t do damage.”
He’s right. Being close to the Company doctors and scientists are my best hope of getting my hands on something I can take back to camp. It’s clear even to me the security in the holding cells could only be higher. Closer objective and more chance of escape—I don’t need any more convincing where I’m better off.
I hold his gray gaze a moment more, ignoring the usual sparks that result. I want there to be no mistaking that this is a choice I’m making.
I roll my eyes back and crumple. Knees liquid and arms jelly, I head for the floor. The hard, shiny floor. Oh but it’s going to hurt when I land. As much as I can without giving the act away, I brace myself and plan to roll to soften the impact.
Strong arms come out to catch me. Davyd’s arms. There’s no gentleness in their grip. He jerks me upright so my head collides with the hard muscle of his shoulder. “Get the medics,” he shouts. “She’s shutting down.”
Chapter Twelve
[Samuai]
Keane’s dark eyes appraise me, and I fear everything I know is written on my face. Then he shakes his head. “Women, huh? But I’d rather you didn’t lead Megs on if you don’t return her feelings. She’s been through enough.” There’s a threat in his tone.
It’s like I’m going out of my way to make an enemy of this man. Digging up his secrets, conspiring with his prisoner, and now messing with a girl he seems to consider family.
“I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Megs.” This, at least, isn’t a lie. I care about her way too much.
He nods, turns, and strides away toward camp without looking back. Once he’s out of sight and there’s nothing but me and the mountains and a stretch of fence heading in either direction, I fumble in my pocket for the note. The dirt-smudged scrap is tiny, torn, and on it is one word written in something suspiciously dark brown. ‘Go.’
To the other ship. I shred it and scatter the pieces on the wind. A one word order. Like it’s that easy.
Easier than being a prisoner?
Again I picture her curled up on that mattress, gagged and with eyes so full of sadness they hurt to remember. It’s not as though I haven’t heard the whispers of what might happen to Kaih. Everyone is so terrified by the internal fighting and the uncontrollable tempers, that they’ve turned on her without questioning the green robes’ proof.
Promising not to tell all I know about last night and looking for the ship is something I can do. For her. For Asher. For Zed. As always, the weight of him is heavy on my shoulders. Maybe answering this will make up for what I’ve done. The times I should have spoken but didn’t. The truths I kept locked inside.
Anything is better than sitting here in camp wondering what the green robes have planned, waiting for a Company attack or worrying the truce existing between the Lifers and the Fishies could be destroyed over a bowl of stew.
I take two steps before reason kicks in. Not yet. I have to wait until the right moment to leave. I must prepare and slip out without a fuss if I want to get all the way to the other side of the city.
Preparation isn’t my only delay. Before I can go, I have an appointment to keep with Charley.
***
The waiting room in the medical center is empty of patients when I head there after my watch. I enter to the sound of a soft bell. A nurse smiles at me and tells me to wait while she gets Charley. I don’t sit on one of the chairs lining the walls. Instead, I pace the length of the small tiled area. As much as I want answers, part of me hopes Charley puts off our conversation.
How can I believe anything she tells me?
The air here is thick with bleach, the bulk kind they use to clean the floors after people like me are sick on them. Was that only yesterday? It seems forever ago.
“Samuai.” I look up at the sound of Charley’s voice. She crosses the room with her hand out in greeting. “I’d begun to think you weren’t coming.”
I swallow, and have to force my hand out to touch hers.
You’re a liar.
I think but don’t say the words, fighting a hot rush of anger. This is going to be harder than I thought. I believed in Charley, but her performance last night at the council hurt. If the green robes are screwing us all, then part of the reason they have the opportunity is the faith I put in this woman. Her and Keane.
But at least I always knew he’d do anything to get what he wanted. I thought Charley was above persuasion. Like being a doctor made her immune to being human. I thought she was a good person.
“Are you okay?” she asks. “Your hand is clammy.”
“I had to run from the fence line.”
Her brows gather. “You should have been exempted from watch. If you overdo it, you could open yourself up to getting sick again.”
“We all have to do our part.”
“I know.” She turns and leads me toward her office, but I imagine I hear the weight of the world in those two words. Or maybe it’s that I can’t quite let go of the idea that she would be able to stand before the council and lie about Kaih and feel no remorse.
Her office is the second door in a short hallway. Unlike the one I explored with Kaih, everything here is bright white and clean. Same in the office. The old and dented walls are newly painted. The scent lingers in the room now that we’ve left some of the bleach smell behind.
She shuts the door and gestures me to take a seat on one side of a white table. No ornate wooden desk here. Everything is bare and open. The room of a woman with nothing to hide. She sits opposite and leans toward me.
I take my time looking around the mostly empty room. There’s one painting on the far wall. A bland seascape with tiny birds on a stormy sky. Other than the table and chairs there’s only one piece of furniture.
“Pretty small filing cabinet,” I say. Then wish I hadn’t. What is it with me? I don’t want to give away that I know about the secret areas of the hospital but my mouth has other ideas.
I’m daring her to lie to me.
She blinks and looks down at it. “Thankfully we haven’t had too many patients so far, and we do have some tech available. No point keeping paper copies of everything.”
“Right.”
This is insane. Any second I’m going to say something about other files in another room not far from this one. Something I can’t explain away. Sitting opposite her with her wise eyes and clever mouth and knowing that it’s all lies scrapes at the raw parts inside me.
I press my nails into my palms. Anything to keep my focus on the here and now.
Her fingers steeple in front of her. “So, I promised you answers, what did you want to know?”
I almost laugh then. Instead, I cough until my eyes stream and breath comes in gasps. Charley kindly pours me a glass of water from a jug on the edge of the desk. I take the glass and sip. Too soon. I suck in water instead of air.
I double over, and I cough until I’m weak from it.
Charley’s hand striking my back is somewhere between a pat and a thump. It works, and I can breathe again.
Afterwards, she perches on the edge of the table. Her black pants and white shirt make her appear every inch the professional, trustworthy doctor. “Shall I check your wounds first?”
I nod because the alternative is to say I don’t want her hands on any part of me.
She unwraps the bandages to reveal clean lines on my forearms, pale pink and puckered where once they were open, red, and dripping pale green pus.
Her brows lift. “These have healed faster than I expected even considering what we know about injuries to people on board the s
hip.”
“A lot can happen in a night.”
She winds the bandage around her hand. “So it seems.”
Again I think I hear something resembling regret in her voice but it’s probably my imagination playing tricks. She probably lied about Kaih without a qualm and is about to do the same about the results of the test she did on me.
“What’s the diagnosis?” I ask, because I think that’s what the me who still believed in Charley would have asked.
She straightens. “These look good, but you’ve had a big couple of days. Maybe we should save this conversation for another time.”
Yes. I could delay. Head out to get my own answers and leave this place and the green robes far behind. It would be so easy, but easy is what made me leave the Pelican in the first place, running from Asher and Mother and the expectations of my role as a Fishie. I don’t want easy any more.
I jerk my head. “No. Let’s do this now.”
She walks around the table and sits again on the other side. She takes a moment to place the neatly rolled bandage on one corner of the table and then pulls a thin screen from beneath a pile of paper. A swipe of her hand and the black becomes a whole load of figures I can’t read upside down let alone understand.
“The first thing you need to understand,” she begins, “Is that the events of the last few days have rendered many of our theories about you obsolete.”
“How?”
“These samples were taken from you, we believe only a few days after you left the ship and all that entails. The self-destruct anger response has only kicked in recently. Weeks after you all stopped being exposed to whatever it was neutralizing the violent urges.”
Despite myself and my distrust of everything that comes out of her mouth, I’m curious. “It changes things?”
“Significantly. First, how familiar are you with brain chemistry?”
My ignorance must show on my face because she chuckles. I laugh too, forgetting for a second that this woman lied about a murder.
Temper Page 14