Designation 261 (The Wholeness Project)

by Catherine Miller

  She didn’t want to think about what he was going to do, Cydrin wasting no time before approaching the device, while she contented herself with rubbing at her tired knees and reddened palms, wondering if he felt sore and pained as she did.

  And he did not have the benefit of the pain-relief injection he had provided earlier.

  But eventually she could not ignore their location any longer, curiosity bidding her to go forward, trying to catch some hint as to what the machine did.

  There was an emblem on the side, but she did not recognise it, but it must have been imported from somewhere because it certainly wasn’t for the Project.

  Finally, her deductive facilities failing completely, she chose to ask instead.

  “What does it do?”

  Cydrin did not stop in his work. He was carefully releasing small panels, the device issuing a hiss of compressed air each time he did so, a canister fitting neatly into place before he closed it again.

  “This,” he answered, opening yet another compartment. “Is responsible for life-support.” If she looked very closely, she thought there was the tiniest hint of a smirk about his lips. She would have liked the expression, if not for the reason for it being there. “It will be performing less than adequately today.”

  She wondered crossly why he did not simply break the machine entirely if he meant to suffocate everyone to death in a slow, tortuous death. It made his actions at the last facility almost seem merciful in comparison.

  A lump settled in her throat. She had thought, apparently quite stupidly, that he was softening because of her presence.

  Evidently she’d been wrong.

  “And your little friends there?” she asked, her tone a little shorter than she usually used with him.

  He glanced her way, his smirk replaced with the beginnings of a frown. “My only friend here is you,” he reminded her, and if she strained very hard, she could hear the beginnings of hurt in his tone.

  Guilt did come then, clashing horribly with the rest of her jangled emotions, and she pressed her hands against her eyes, trying to calm herself, trying to be cool and reasonable when all she felt was quite the reverse.

  He finished with the last of the canisters and turned to a control panel, fiddling with it silently, while she was left to deal with her emotions.

  And despite how nonsensical it was, the most pressing need felt like an apology to him for her short temper.

  “Look, Cydrin, I...”

  “The gas will be released shortly,” he interjected, reaching into his pack of many things and producing two masks. Proper ones this time, and she accepted the one offered to her.

  “Not going to tear up my clothes this time?” she asked weakly, hoping to smooth over their discord with playful teasing, since he did not seem to want to allow her proper apology.

  He would not look at her. “That did not seem to be your preference,” he answered stiffly before donning his own mask and gesturing for her to do the same.

  He must have tweaked something in the system if hosts of alarms would not indicate rising levels of... whatever it was he intended to pump through the station. Cydrin was always so thorough, so precise in his every action and word, while she so frequently lost control of her own tongue.

  “This is still hard for me,” she told him quietly, her shoulders slumping as she fiddled with the strap of the mask given to her. She needed to put it on, but she did not know if it would prevent him being able to hear her once she’d done so. “I want to help you because I... care for you, but I struggle with... with causing people to suffer.” She looked at him, hoping he would turn, could see her sincerity. “Even when I’m certain that many of them have caused even more.”

  He did glance at her then, and he took a step forward.

  And took the mask from her.

  A brief, panicked voice insisted that she’d gone too far, that she’d always known that he would end up tiring of her and clearly he had. He would subject her to the same fate as the rest of the crew. She’d had her window to impress him and clearly... clearly she had failed.

  But a far greater part saw a hint of warmth in his eyes at his approach, the way he always gentled his movements around her, never harsh, never hurting. Always so careful with her.

  Perhaps because he knew what it was to be cruel, knew what it was to be a prisoner, to be stripped of every right and freedom. And while there might be some similarities in their circumstances—she could not pretend that there had been anything willing about their first interactions—there was little comparison now.

  He brought the mask to her face and adjusted the strap, ensuring that none of her hair was caught in the fasteners. It was not comfortable, although she did not expect it to be. But it would keep her safe, and that was his aim.

  “They will sleep first,” Cydrin explained, his voice coming out with a slight artificial tinge as it was transmitted through the mask. “Before the end.” His eyes told her that was for her benefit, a sacrifice he was willing to make, to spare her another show of the violence that had affected her so deeply the first time.

  It did not change that many, perhaps all, would die today. But... it could have been a great deal worse.

  She very nearly released a dark chuckle at how her criteria had skewed over her time with him, but she could not quite muster the sound. Not when he was looking at her that way, and she felt utterly mesmerised.

  By him.

  Perhaps there was a wrongness in the sudden desire for closeness. For her to forget for just a moment what was about to happen and pretend they were sequestered on their little vessel, each day simple and... often boring, but doing no harm. Just talking and indulging in the occasional childish game, simply because she asked it of him.

  The cylinders began to click, the lights on the machine turning a more vibrant hue, as if acknowledging the change in composition. She didn’t want to see, didn’t want to imagine what would happen throughout the station.

  “Cydrin,” she began, not knowing what she meant to ask. To stop this. To take her away, to... “Will you hold me?”

  For once, her cheeks did not burn. She did not cry. She simply asked, sad and tired, wanting to feel the steady presence of a person surrounding her, if only for a moment.

  He did not move at first, and readied for his refusal. His mind was occupied with his work, and it was doubtful he would be willing to disengage even for her. But his eyes met hers, and though he made no movement toward her...

  His arms opened.

  And Clairy closed the distance between them.

  And felt his arms settle around her, hesitant at first, but growing more certain. Her cheeks were covered in the mask and the air was filling with fine mist of gas in any case, so she closed her eyes and simply relished the feel of it. To be held again, to be embraced.

  Something she had not felt since she left home.

  She remembered how tightly her parents clutched at her before releasing her to the transport ship, her mother nearly stealing her breath her grasp was so firm.

  But this was different. Not the quiet indulgence, the teasing roll of the eyes as she told her mother she would be in contact often and she shouldn’t worry. All the while knowing that Clairy would miss her just as much.

  It was not even like hugging her father, though their statures were much more similar. Clairy always felt like a little girl again when they embraced, a remnant of a childhood long abandoned.

  Of clamouring onto a lap to be held and read to, for lessons in phonetic structures and patient enunciation.

  With Cydrin...

  There was so very much wrong with him. But something in her responded to him in ways she could not name. A longing was there, for him to be happy, to be better than what he’d been created to be, and surely there was some good in that?

  Or maybe she was simply being seduced like so many, overlooking faults and terrible flaws, excusing the terrible things he’d done because he’d been kind to her.

  She
wasn’t sure she cared anymore.

  Not when there was such peace when she was in his arms, his body firm and protective as he surrounded her, caring for her in ways she hadn’t thought to ask for.

  How long before the entire station succumbed?

  She would cry for them, later. Alone in her bed, surrounded by the finery he had bought for her. She would mourn any innocents among them that had not deserved the wrath that the others faced.

  But she could admit that she was hardening toward the rest of them, if only a little. The more she learned, the more she saw... there were no excuses. It was a terrible thing, unnatural in the extreme, and yet she could readily believe they had filled themselves with justifications, purging any thought to conscience.

  “It might not reach all of them,” Cydrin said at last. “So we will have to be careful as we move through the facility.” He did not release her, but there was something disheartening knowing that he did not relish the contact as much as she did. Or, at least, not enough to keep his full attention for long.

  “All right,” she confirmed, though she wasn’t certain why she bothered. It was not consent he craved, and probably not even approval. But he did not like to fight with her, and she did not want to quarrel. Not when it did so little good.

  She drew back first, because she was coming to realise he would hold her for as long as she liked, simply because she’d asked it of him. He made her heart hurt all the more, unable to make out what to think of him.

  How to feel about him.

  What would her mother say?

  She didn’t entertain the thought. Her mother wasn’t here, and she would never know the truth of it. They had bought time, yes, but there would have to be some excuse after that. Cydrin had never promised she could return home, and she could only use the claim about transporting deadlines for so long before they would no longer be believable.

  What then?

  A dull throb was beginning in her temple, and she wondered if it was from the recirculated air of her mask or too many thoughts swirling about with no distinct conclusions to be had from them.

  Other than she’d liked being held by him.

  And she liked holding him.

  Her arms about his middle, her head pressed against the lines of his chest.

  Not a child, not like with her papa.

  But a woman.

  Being held by a man.

  Her cheeks did pink then, but they were covered by the dull black screening of her breathing apparatus, just as his was. “Thank you,” she murmured, suddenly feeling shy. “For... for taking the time to do that.”

  Cydrin merely blinked at her. “I did not find the experience unpleasant,” he answered, and she shook her head, wanting to smile. Wanting to cry. Such a flattering answer, one that made her skin itch with self-consciousness, but that was foolish. She looked down at the metal rivets on the floor, partially obscured by the gases, though they were beginning to diminish as they spread throughout the narrow room.

  And then he was there, his hand coming to twine with hers as she had done in the lift. But while hers had been sheer impulse, his was full of intention and purpose, enough that she looked up at him, too curious not to do so.

  “If you require such contact again, I would be... gratified to provide it.”

  And she did smile then, and gave his hand a squeeze.

  And the rest fell away, if only for a little while.

  Just as it always did with him. When he was sweet and kind and tender.

  When he tried.

  For her.

  Imperfect in the execution.

  But sweet in thought and desire.

  “We have to go,” she commented, regretful. Wondering what would happen if she allowed them to stand there for just a little longer, her eyes flitting between his eyes and his mouth, covered even as it was by the mask.

  “Yes,” he agreed, though he did not move either.

  Did he want to? Or was he content to be here, just a little longer, away from all the horrors doubtlessly occurring throughout the rest of the station.

  She was being silly and far too fanciful. This was Cydrin after all.

  Perhaps she was simply clinging to an idea to distract herself from the reality of what was going on, and the thought gave her pause. She couldn’t romanticise this. Couldn’t pretend it was something that it wasn’t. What was happening here was serious and she would face it will all the solemnity it required, not indulge girlish fantasies.

  But even so, she could not bring herself to pull her hand from his as he led her back.

  Because there was work still to do.

  And he would not be satisfied until it was finished.

  15

  Cydrin hoped he would not come to regret his chosen method of elimination for this Project and its members. There was a delicious tension to his previous attempt, an imminent demise that saw the need for quick movements and needful departure.

  But this...

  He could take his time.

  Always at the ready lest someone prove immune to the gas’s effects, or if they were not quite dead. But it was safer for Clairy, and that was what mattered. There would be no errant misfires from enemy blasters, no possibility of her being recognised and retrieved from her rightful place beside him.

  A part of him wondered if she had been hoping for that. If her seeming contentment as his companion was merely an artifice so he might grow more lenient. But she’d had her opportunity for outburst and still she’d remained silent on the subject, and surely that counted for a very great deal. Or so he assured himself.

  Clairy was grave as she walked with him, eyeing the bodies as they passed by. Most lived, even now, and Cydrin was only slightly concerned that perhaps he had miscalculated the dosages and that few would succumb in the end. Leniency was not his purpose, and he would be severely disappointed if such was the case. But he supposed it would prove less grim for Clairy to move amongst the living, even if he would have preferred they be otherwise.

  The bustling room of engineering was now an eerie place, filled with crumpled men and women, with no discrimination between rank and position. Even the obvious echelon of the order succumbed just as quickly. Each of the bodies were slumped, one against the wall, another appearing simply to have collapsed the moment the drowsiness took hold of him.

  Blood pooled from a wound in his forehead, and there was no rise and fall of his chest.

  Good.

  He did not expect Clairy to chatter, but her silence was unnerving. If they were settled in his vessel, it would be a certainty that something was wrong, but here...

  Perhaps it was nothing. Regardless, now was not the time to care about her delicate emotional state. He had a purpose and it was not fulfilled. Then why did he keep wondering if Clairy was all right?

  He’d been forced to surrender her hand when descending back to engineering made it a necessity, but he regretted it now. It was easier to coax her into communicating when touch was involved, but he was always leery of instigating such an exchange.

  It was far too easy for her to say no, and though the prospect of that should not trouble him in the least...

  It did.

  He knelt beside the man with the head wound, crimson oozing sluggishly toward the finery of his uniform. He’d been important if the braiding against his chest and shoulders was to be believed, but Cydrin had never seen him.

  “Clairy,” he intoned, drawing her attention away from the back wall. He followed her attention, but saw nothing of importance, confirming the niggling concern that something was troubling her. He suppressed a sigh.

  “You will not want to witness this.”

  The Clairy he knew from the ship would have archly remarked that he should not have drawn her attention if he was just going to have her look away again, but this Clairy nodded, moving off a short distance and kept her attention on the lift doors.

  Her mind was a difficult place, and he knew she was prone to accepting guilt that was
not her own. Perhaps he had allowed her to help him too much and she could not comfort herself with her innocence any longer.

  Ridiculous as that was.

  Surely she knew that if it was not for him, she would not be here? It never would have occurred to her to do what he had done. And she was only there at all because of him.

  He would seek to absolve her, just as he had always done.

  He grimaced when he produced the laser scalpel and cleanly removed the man’s hand, but that was not the reason for his expression.

  For the first time, he found himself considering if Clairy’s reaction warranted an alteration to his original plans. He had made concessions already, ensuring that the majority of those on this station would pass painlessly—an end they had not earned given their actions in life. But he’d made it, for her.

  How far was he willing to go, simply to please her?

  The thought was an unsettling one, because his immediate response was not one he wanted to contemplate. Not seriously.

  Because surely he wouldn’t do anything. There were always limitations. Higher priorities that would dictate different ends. He couldn’t abandon his work simply because...

  Because it made her miserable.

  He looked over at her again, the tight line of her jaw, the slump of her shoulders as she maintained her guard. He tucked the hand away, hoping it would not be needed, but knowing it likely would be. What came next was necessary. Unpleasant, perhaps, but even Clairy would see the need.

  This was easier before. When determination had brewed in his belly, fuelling his action and blinding him to everything else.

  But standing beside the environmental controls, he could not pretend he was anyone else but Cydrin. Her Cydrin. And it was strange to be torn in his purpose, to want two different things so completely. And not know which was the right to choose.

  He stood.

  Finish the job. Decide the rest later.

  He did not bother to ask for her attention once more, not when he would prefer she not catch sight of the handless man and wonder at her companion more than she already did.