The question was whether his interest was in her, or her art. And if he was pretending to be interested in her painting as a way to get closer to her. She wasn't sure she would be able to forgive that.
But she still filled a small secret sketchpad with images of him, and worried about how little sleep he got, and wondered whether it would be stupid to suggest they surely had enough time for him to rest occasionally. Her private challenge was to capture how he would pause sometimes to be amused at himself, and it discomforted her, in reviewing these attempts, to see just how much of her own emotions the pictures revealed.
Nash had noticed she was awake, and was smiling at her, at the way she was trying to look at Fisher's face without moving from his shoulder. Her sketchbooks really weren't going to tell anybody anything they didn't already know.
"What's the time?" she whispered.
"Twenty to one." Nash's voice was particularly delicious when he kept it low, and she regretted being unable to find a way to express the sound of him. "I promised to wake everyone to watch the challenge, but it can wait till there's something to see." He removed the power cord from his laptop and leaned forward to hold it and the headphones toward her. "Here is something you will be glad of."
Reluctantly abandoning her comfortable contact with Fisher, Madeleine stretched to take it. The screen showed the ABC website, an article with a headline of "Shocking Survival" below a video image of a woman with a soft brown bob and sun damaged skin.
Researchers from James Cook University have reported a breakthrough in the treatment of Blue-Green. Earlier this evening, a representative of the School of Biomedical Sciences made the first announcement of this critical discovery.
"Our preliminary results show a dramatic increase in the survival rate of the infected if they are shocked with shield paralysis as soon as possible after exposure to the Blue-Green Conversion," Dr Jennifer Elliman said. "A healthy subject, even among smaller mammals where mortality has been nearly one hundred per cent, has in the area of a fifty per cent survival rate with Green stain, and thirty per cent with Blue."
Madeleine skimmed the rest of the article, then played the video and listened to the woman answering questions, and insisting that it was early days for absolutes, and that this was by no means a cure, only a treatment method.
She'd felt Fisher shift while she was watching, and when she removed the headphones he said: "This will provide a counter-motive for those so eager to hand over Blues."
"Perhaps," Nash said. "But only so far as keeping one or two on hand. I still would not risk putting ourselves in another's power."
Madeleine closed the browser window, and found a second open page, headed: Leech Blues: Inevitable Murderers? Her eyes met Fisher's, and he reached unhurriedly to brush the trackpad, closing the window.
"How is your back?"
"Sore," Madeleine admitted. "I couldn't tell if it was bruised or not. Peering over my shoulder at the mirror isn't effective when everything is blue." She suddenly remembered him circling her taking pictures and had to look away. "I'll get Noi to check later," she added hurriedly, and saw that Noi was awake, watching with unabashed interest. "Or maybe now. It's nearly time for the challenge."
"And past time for midnight snacks," Noi said, stretching. "Even normal practice sessions make it hard to get through the night without getting up to eat, let alone yesterday's extravaganza."
She poked the pile of boy next to her while Madeleine woke Emily, and then they opened the door to let in a wash of chilly air. Nash offered to cook something, and Noi took Madeleine into the master bedroom en suite to examine her back.
"I should have suggested doing this tomorrow," Madeleine said, shirtless and shivering. "It's definitely getting to the end of Autumn."
"Yeah, pity we can't risk turning on the heating in this place. As it is I've been wondering if we'll end up having the power cut off by some automated you-haven't-paid-your-bill system." She poked Madeleine's shoulder blade gently. "Hurts here, right?"
"Yes. You can see bruises then?"
"I can see where the stars aren't. The only thing I know to do for bruises is put ice on them."
Madeleine shuddered at the idea. "Definitely not bad enough for that."
"Okay then. Look at me for a moment." Noi was standing, arms folded, eyebrows raised, lips lightly curved. "See me here, visibly restraining myself."
"Is that what you call that?"
"Did I mention I took photos? Didn't even wait till he was asleep." Noi paused to fully appreciate Madeleine's reaction. "He laughed. That makes him a keeper in my book."
"Noi..."
"I was going to point out that we could have died yesterday afternoon, that we could die today, or tomorrow. After all, we're not talking wear clean underwear because you might get hit by a bus – we're talking glowing flying buses hunting us down and trying to hump our legs. But, seriously, it's way too much fun watching you two dancing around each other with no idea what to do next. It surprises me, since Fisher's really very confident and assured for a Science Boy. I'm having to revise my stereotypes."
"We only met eleven...twelve days ago," Madeleine protested, pulling on her Singlet and tracksuit jacket.
"I guess so. Seems like much longer. Seems like centuries."
All the liveliness drained from Noi's face, and this time Madeleine didn't hesitate, but turned and wrapped her arms around the shorter girl. Noi started to pull away, but then leaned into Madeleine's hold, breath turning to gulps.
"We were so close to being lost, Maddie. All of us, any of us. There's no way we can make it through two years of this, and I'm just so – everyone's gone, Maddie. I can't stand it. They're all gone."
Madeleine wondered if the reason Noi had stopped pursuing Pan had less to do with his age than it did Noi's fear and grief. There was still nothing she could say which would make Noi's loss easier, though she told her she was sorry, and stroked her back as she struggled with her tears. After yesterday's fight, it wasn't surprising that Noi's control had frayed: Madeleine was only surprised that the lot of them hadn't kicked each other awake having nightmares.
"You don't have to be the strong one all the time, you know," she said, when the storm had begun to pass.
"Don't I?" Noi took a deep breath and straightened. "How will Millie cope if I'm having dramas all over the place? She's just a baby. How will it help anyone if I sit in a corner rocking back and forth?" Turning away, she dashed water into her face, firming her mouth.
"Does it have to be one extreme or another?" Madeleine paused, then added: "We made a good team yesterday. I don't know if it's enough to get us through this, and I don't like to think about how I now have a bunch of people that matter. I know I rely on you a bit much – I don't think ahead in the same way – but you don't need to..." Madeleine stopped. Who was she to dictate how Noi coped? "Anyway, I'm here if you need anything. And you can email me those photos."
That brought back Noi's smile, and then the scent of cooking drew them downstairs. Madeleine let herself be the entertainment by sitting next to Fisher so she could peek at what he was typing. Surviving the next two years wasn't just a matter of successfully hiding: it was being brave without losing your head, and squabbling a bit but not too much, and having two people around not managing to hide that they liked each other, because watching that was a happy thing.
"Do you think they're being deliberately dickish?" Pan was eyeing the television, which had switched from thousands of people gathered in a candlelight prayer vigil to a sunny parkland, and another gathering of Moths.
"Is that some kind of trick question?" Min asked, derisive. "What is not dickish about invading someone's planet so you can play games?"
"Yeah, yeah." Pan threw a mock-punch. "I just mean picking a religious icon for this challenge. Are they going to go for the Spring Temple Buddha next, or play chasies in a mosque?"
"Given they started with a golf course..." Min said.
"That was the Manila Moths," Pan s
aid. "These are the Rio Moths. We know not all Moths act the same because of the way some go out of their way to destroy any webcams in their areas, while others don't care. The London ones wave when they pass. Maybe the Rio ones are trying to make a point today, rubbing our faces in how we just have to sit here and watch."
"Or maybe the Rio Moths were trying to decide on a challenge, looked about and saw a great big statue on a hill?" Min's acid tone was leavened by a grin. "How about, you do my next turn at the washing up if I'm right and they don't destroy the thing?"
Pan held his hands in a warding-off gesture. "I'll pass. You've already got me doing your laundry and cleaning your room."
The great big statue was called Christ the Redeemer and its appearance on the challenge website had caused a new wave of upset, at least among Christians, who were convinced that the goal of the challenge was to destroy the statue.
"Do you think they're going to destroy it?" she asked Fisher.
"I don't believe they'll care if they do." He stopped typing to glance at the television, where the Mothed Blues were lining up near a long row of cars, then turned the laptop toward her. "There's been another Rover sighting. Again it's a city which gained points during the first challenge. But look at it."
He started a video, and within a minute everyone was hanging over his shoulder having him replay it. The Rover they'd killed had stood as tall as a human, but wider, and its tail had extended a couple of metres. The video, an elevated street view, showed a Rover which was taller than the size of an ordinary door, so that it had to crouch and crawl to get inside the building it was trying to enter, its curling tail trailing behind like a swimming snake's. Several Blues followed it in.
"Who filmed this?" Nash asked.
"A Green who returned to Berlin after the Spire stopped singing. She's been documenting Blue activities."
"Damn. Above and beyond." Pan shook his head respectfully. "What've you been saying?"
Fisher paged down the comments, where his new net identity, 'Theo', had been making suggestions about fighting Rovers. "I don't dare outright say what worked for us," he explained. "Too big a flag. But I tell enough. Important, since the Rovers do appear to be tracking Blues."
"I'm not sure we could fight one that big," Madeleine said.
"There's every chance we won't have to." Fisher flipped through the mixture of photographs and drawings he'd collected in the short time before and after urgent rest. "The first sighting of a Rover is soon after the Manila challenge, and if we look at the progression of sightings, each larger than the previous, it's not unreasonable to conclude that the Rovers were some form of prize. That suggests a scarcity."
"With Nash, we have a chance against these glowing things," Noi said. "I'm more worried about what we do if Blues come after us. Greens we can shield paralyse and run. Blues – Mothed Blues fight far better than we can, and if Nash drains them, well, from what we've seen that will probably kill the host as well as the Moth. Are we all willing to do that to people? Are we willing to do that to Gavin?"
Silence.
"Ho-ly shit!"
Pan almost catapulted himself into Fisher's lap, gaping at the muted television, though by the time Madeleine looked there was only an image of three fighter jets, moving into formation as they streaked away over a tree-dotted city.
"They shot a Spire! They shot a Spire!" Pan said. "Turn on the sound!"
Min dived for the remote and a woman's gasping voice said: "...there an impact?"
"Get higher," a second woman said. "In case they're coming back."
The image dipped and bounced as whoever was filming ran, and there followed a confused jumble of stairs and biohazard suits.
"I didn't see any explosion," Pan said.
Noi had an iron grip on Madeleine's shoulder. "Let it work," she breathed.
"But why would they think–?" Madeleine paused. "Of course. The Moths bring the shields down to go through for the challenges."
The camerawoman had reached a roof and provided a shot of a placidly unperturbed Spire standing in the middle of a very long, straight park.
"The Spire which rose under the Washington Monument," Fisher said.
His tone and expression were no more than thoughtful, but sitting beside him Madeleine could feel the tension behind the relaxed appearance. She touched the back of his hand, and he looked at her blankly, then managed a semblance of a smile. "The most likely result is that they just bombed Rio de Janeiro."
"Damn, Fish is right," Pan said. "No sign of any damage on the Spire, anyway. Does anyone have the Moth transmission still up? Any explosions?"
"Wherever those missiles went, it wasn't to Rio," Min said, holding up a tablet. "The Moths aren't acting like they've even noticed."
"Here they come!" gasped one of the rooftop women.
The image jumped sideways, then focused on the three jets, approaching in a tight triangular formation. A giant tower made an easy target, and each jet fired and peeled off in rapid succession.
"Shield's back."
Noi, voice flat, let go of Madeleine's shoulder as the blooms of fire died.
"And now we find out if they meant it about 'reprimands'," Min said, trying for his usual caustically delighted tone, but lacking the enthusiasm for it.
Madeleine drew her feet up, wishing she'd brought a blanket down, and then murmured gratefully as Nash handed her a bowl of steaming pasta shells. The television divided its time between the video uploaded by the two uninfected women, and the challenge in Rio de Janeiro, which seemed to involve several hundred people scrambling for the nearest vehicle and racing off. A full stomach and not enough sleep combined to make this a lullaby, until Fisher woke her to a room darkened and emptying.
"We're going to finish the night in the study," he said. "Now that the challenge is over, it's possible the local Moths will pick up any search for their Rover."
She sat up, neck stiff, rubbing at her eyes and glancing at Pan and Nash tidying in the kitchen. Fisher gauged her winces as she straightened.
"I'll get you an icepack," he said. "We shouldn't have left your back untreated."
Ice was no less revolting a concept than when Noi had suggested it, and so Madeleine had to smile at herself obediently taking off her jacket, turning it to cover her front and slipping her arms back through the sleeves. She was sore, but more interested in an opportunity for another small step forward into something new. She felt increasingly certain, too, that Fisher was finding chances to take them as well.
"Shoulder blades primarily?" He'd brought two folded tea towels, and prodded her gently to lean forward so he could rest them both against her back. Cold seeped through her Singlet, and she shivered.
"Not that giving you a chill is ideal," he said, lifting and turning the packs. "After a couple of days you're at least able to switch to hot packs."
"What happened with the challenge?"
"It was a straightforward race. The base of the statue was simply the end point."
"It all seems so petty." Races and competitions – played with a distinct lack of care for the possessed hosts, but still games which hardly seemed worth the immensity of death which preceded them. "And the attack in Washington?"
"No sign of any immediate response." Fisher's voice was composed, but the pressure on her back momentarily increased, and she knew that if their positions were reversed she would feel the roil of frustrated energy in him.
"You and Noi are so alike."
"Noi?" he repeated, startled, then stopped and gave the idea some thought before saying: "I don't see it."
"You're both always trying to hide how really worried or upset you are. All stressed and pressured, as if you were responsible for looking after the rest of us, and so can't show when you're overwhelmed. You must know we're not so unfair as to expect you to produce some miraculous solution."
She couldn't catch any response. The icepacks remained steady, and the only sound was Pan and Nash putting dishes away.
"I
expect that of me, though," Fisher said finally, voice almost too low for her to hear. "Call it ego, or...I had so much I wanted to do, and it's been taken away from me, and I seethe and grind my teeth and shake with this need to sow vengeance and regret."
He paused, took an audible breath, then said: "For that we need to bring down the Spires. I have ideas on how to find a way to do that, but I keep coming up against what it will take to gain the information we need. And my courage fails me."
It was an admission, weary and subdued. Madeleine wished she could see his expression, but resisted the impulse to turn, instead asking: "Did you feel that way in the first days after the dust, when you were trying to identify the best way to treat Greens?"
He turned the icepacks again. "I knew I would kill people." A simple statement of fact. "Dividing up boys of about the same condition, and giving one group sugar water and one saline sounds innocuous, but what if the Conversion was more efficient with an infusion of electrolytes? What amount of energy did their bodies need to survive? Raise their temperature or lower it? Keep them active, keep them still? When one option appeared more promising, I couldn't just switch them all to it immediately, had to keep a control group in case it was a false positive. I had constant nightmares about the data I was accumulating, this logic puzzle of life and death written in permanent ink, with no option to erase it all and start over. I will never forget the faces of those in the groups where treatment clearly wasn't helping. Never. But the knowledge that that was just the first wave, those exposed in the first hours, drove me on. Doing nothing was the worst option.
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