by Ally Blue
They only waited eleven minutes—he watched them tick by one by one on the time display on the wall—but it felt like aeons before the computer announced the return of the go-cart. Another six minutes passed before the go-cart docked, the outer bay door shut and sealed, and the inner airlock door opened to allow the team back into BathyTech 3.
He slipped through the doors before they’d properly opened, and ran to the misshapen figure laid out on a hover stretcher and covered in plastic. “How did this happen?”
The tall, slender black woman whose name he didn’t know let out a deep sigh. “He tried to go into Richards Deep, who knows why. He ’bout knocked my helmet off when I asked him to talk to me, then he took his own helmet off when Mo asked him what he was doing.” She cut him a glance full of compassion underneath the awful memory of what she’d been forced to witness. “He just lost it out there. I know it doesn’t make it any easier, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
He smiled in sincere gratitude. “It means a lot. Thank you.”
“Armin. You shouldn’t be here.”
The familiar voice jerked his head around like a physical force. He stared into Mo’s grim face, the dark skin gone ashen, and wished he could’ve spared him the sight of Carlo’s horrific death.
A completely irrational anger flooded his veins. “I am not some little wilting flower, Mo. Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen this sort of death. Carlo is my colleague and my friend. Of course I came here.”
The shock on Mo’s face would’ve been funny if it weren’t for the horrible flatness of the plastic sheet over Carlo’s body.
Mo’s shoulders sagged. “Christ. I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” He lifted one arm. Let it fall. He seemed lost, Armin thought. “It is the first time I’ve seen somebody die like that, and it was pretty fucking awful, you know?”
Armin’s throat tightened. He vividly remembered the first time he’d seen someone crushed by the weight of the sea. Without a word, he went to Mo and hugged him hard. Mo’s arms went around him, holding him close. His hands shook where they pressed into the small of Armin’s back.
“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Armin kissed the cool skin of Mo’s neck. Buried his fingers in Mo’s damp hair. “It’s a terrible thing, I know.”
“Yeah.” Mo pulled back enough to look into Armin’s eyes. Horror and guilt dug new lines into his face. “I would’ve saved him if I could. I wasn’t quick enough to stop him.” He gestured toward the woman who stood a little way to the side in silent support. “Yvie can tell you. There was nothing we could’ve done. Right?”
He sounded desperate, as if he didn’t believe his own words, and Armin’s heart went out to him. “Of course not. Who could have predicted that he would do such a thing?” He touched Mo’s cheek, then reached out, grasping Yvie’s hand and squeezing it. “Thank you both for trying. Truly.”
Yvie nodded. “I wish it would’ve turned out different.”
“So do I. But there’s nothing anyone could have done differently.” Leaving Mo to commiserate with his friends, Armin knelt beside Carlo’s body and rested a hand on what was left of his chest. The plastic rustled beneath his palm.
“I’m sorry.” He pressed down until the chill from his dead friend’s corpse seeped through the shroud into his skin. Should that happen? Should Carlo feel so cold already, as if he’d been in a freezer? “I wish I could have stopped this from happening. I’m so, so sorry.”
The flesh beneath his hand shifted, a nauseating roll like a nest of newly hatched snakes.
He scrambled backward, landing on his hip with bruising force. His pulse thudded in his ears, muffling the variations on What’s wrong with him? coming from the people surrounding him.
Naturally, it was Mo who crouched beside him, rested a hand on his back, and peered at him with concern. “Armin? Are you all right?”
Am I? He looked down at the floor. Breathed. Looked back up. Carlo lay there dead beneath a plastic sheet, his body flattened by the weight of the ocean and as motionless as only a corpse could be. Guilt and grief squeezed Armin’s heart like a hand.
“I’ll be all right.” He met Mo’s gaze with a faint, forced smile. “This is . . . stressful.”
Sorrow flowed over Mo’s features and bowed his shoulders. “I know.” He stood and held a hand down to Armin. “C’mon, Doc. Let me walk you to your quarters.”
Armin put his hand in Mo’s and let Mo pull him to his feet. “I need to find the rest of my team first and tell them what’s happened. And don’t you have to give a report or something?”
The pod’s medical doctor had apparently entered when Armin wasn’t paying attention; he spoke up now, regarding Armin and Mo with a weary solemnity while two assistants activated Carlo’s hover stretcher. “Not yet. I’ll need to examine Dr. Libra’s body before I know what, if any, questions to ask. I’ve advised Yvonne to take the rest of the day off, go to her quarters, and rest. I’ll give you both the same advice. I know Dr. Libra’s death wasn’t easy to witness, nor is it easy to lose a friend and coworker in this manner. Dr. Savage-Hall, I know you and your team are probably anxious to get on with your work, but I think you should all take some time off, at least for today, to process what’s happened. Let me know if you’d like to set up a group therapy session to talk things out. I’d be happy to do it.”
Armin smiled, both touched and amused. “I didn’t realize you were a psychiatrist, Dr. Palto.”
“I’m licensed to practice in psychiatry, general surgery, and general medicine. Down here it’s a requirement of the job, since we have no easy access to consultants.” Dr. Palto glanced toward the stretcher rising off the floor. “If you’ll excuse me, I must see to Dr. Libra now. Please accept my condolences.” He turned on his heel and followed Carlo’s body out of the bay.
Armin watched him go. “Well. I suppose I should find the others now and tell them.” God, he didn’t want to. The dread of it sat like a rock in the pit of his belly.
Mo gazed at him with eyes full of sympathy. “I’ll help you.” He shifted his grip on Armin’s hand—he hasn’t let go, all this time and he hasn’t let go—to weave their fingers together. “Where do you think they’ll be?”
He ought to know. Mandala had said something before they’d all left the lab for the day. Armin could see her face in the foreground of his memory, could hear her talking, but her words slipped through his mind without sticking.
He shook his head, frustrated and feeling dangerously close to collapse. “I don’t know. I should know, they told me, but I can’t remember.”
Mo nodded. “Understandable. You’ve had a hell of a shock. It messes with your head.”
Armin’s heart turned over. He wanted to tell Mo how much his empathy meant. How much Armin admired the strength of a person who could lend comfort and support to someone else when he himself had just watched the sea crush a man to hamburger.
In the end, he could only force a whispered, “Thank you,” past his tight throat. But he thought Mo understood.
As they left the bay, Mo kept Armin’s hand firmly in his.
They found Dr. Douglas and Dr. Jhut in the cafeteria. After Mo suggested looking there, Armin had remembered Dr. Jhut saying the three of them might grab something to eat while Armin was checking on Dr. Libra.
Mo figured he’d relive Dr. Libra’s skull collapsing to a red pulp in his nightmares for years—never mind the sight of his pancaked body when they got him out of the walker—but his heart hurt for Armin and the rest of his team. They’d known Carlo Libra. They’d worked with him. Losing a friend and colleague in such a sudden, violent way must be awful.
“But why?” Dr. Jhut glanced from Armin to Mo to Dr. Douglas like one of them might know the answer. A fierce frown dug between her eyes. She rubbed circles on the surface of her coffee mug with her thumbs. “Carlo never showed the slightest tendency toward psychosis or suicidal ideation on any of his tests. It makes no sense whatsoever.” She cast a blank g
aze from Armin to Dr. Douglas and back again, radiating confused anger, as if the unlikelihood of Dr. Libra’s suicide bothered her as much as the simple fact of it.
“No. It doesn’t.” Armin hunched forward over the table, where he’d clasped his hands together so hard his fingers had gone pale. He seemed to have aged ten years in as many minutes. Grim lines framed his mouth and his skin was grayish under his natural golden-brown complexion. His gaze was unfocused, staring at nothing. “How on earth am I going to tell Miko?”
Mo’s stomach rolled. “Is that his wife?”
Dr. Douglas shook his head. “Ex-wife. They got divorced several years ago, after their little girl died. But they were friends, eventually, even though it took a while. This is going to be hard for her.”
“Christ.” Dr. Jhut frowned at her coffee. “Armin, I hate to bring this up, but has Dr. Palto considered that this might be some form of contagion?”
The idea made Mo feel cold inside. He kept quiet and hoped like hell Armin would tell Dr. Jhut all the reasons why she was wrong.
Instead, Armin let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know. But I’ve wondered the same thing. That being the case, I’m sure he’s thought of it too.”
Mo was about to ask what made them think they were dealing with an infectious organism, when a shout from the other side of the room cut him off before he could say a word. He turned to look. To his surprise, Ryal had one of the miners from the shift opposite Mo’s—Karen—backed into a corner, a steak knife at her throat.
“Oh my God.” Leaving the scientists to their conversation, Mo ran toward the crowd gathering around Ryal and Karen. “Ryal, stop! What’re you doing?”
Ryal glanced toward Mo. A flash of blue black shone from his eyes for a fraction of a second before Karen punched him in the jaw, sending him stumbling sideways. The knife clattered to the floor. He snarled like an animal and leaped on her, taking them both down.
It only took Mo a couple of seconds to navigate through the tables and chairs to reach the pair fighting on the tiles, but in that time they’d already bruised and bloodied one another. When Ryal straddled Karen’s thighs and leaned over her, hands around her throat, Mo took the opportunity to hook his arms under the smaller man’s armpits, break his hold on Karen, and haul him away from her.
“You fucking piece of shit!” Karen lunged for Ryal, screaming, her voice raspy. A couple of people from the crowd grabbed her and held her back. “You’re going down, motherfucker. Or up, I should say. ’Cause there’s no fucking way you’re staying down here after Youssouf finds out what a psycho you are.”
Ryal grinned. For one sharp, crystalline moment, his long black teeth glinted like obsidian scythes in a mass of flabby white flesh. Mo shook his head. Blinked. And Ryal’s face went back to normal, minus one eyetooth.
“Bitches who don’t wanna get cut ought to keep their filthy mouth shut.”
Ryal’s voice emerged cold and ugly, silencing everyone around him. Because it wasn’t him. The words, the tone, all of it—not Ryal. Even Karen stared at him with round eyes full of fear not for herself, but for him.
She turned to Dr. Jhut, who’d walked up near her. “I didn’t say anything.” She kept her voice low as if trying to ensure Ryal wouldn’t hear her. “I didn’t even talk to him.”
Mo glanced around the room and found Armin’s steadying gaze only a few meters away. Armin nodded, and Mo knew they were on the same page. They had to get Ryal out of there and into the med bay. Ideally without any more bloodshed.
Easing his grip on Ryal, Mo slid an arm around his shoulders. “You need to get those cuts and bruises looked at. C’mon, I’ll take you to see Doc Palto.”
Ryal narrowed his eyes at Mo. The strange bioluminescent gleam flared and was gone before Mo could decide if he’d truly seen it. “I’m fine.”
“You lost a tooth.” Mo answered Ryal’s suspicious glare with his best I’m your friend grin. “Ryal. Come on, man. How do you ever expect to impress the ladies without that winning smile?”
For a second, Ryal’s face went blank. Then he snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Fine. Let’s go.”
Mo’s legs sagged with relief. He hid it and led Ryal toward the exit. A swift backward glance showed Armin already activating his com, presumably to call Dr. Palto and his team to meet Mo at the med bay.
Outside, Mo smiled and laughed and joked with Ryal while they strolled along the corridors. Inside, he begged every deity he didn’t believe in to save his friend from whatever had invaded BathyTech 3.
Armin watched Mo lead the lab tech—Ryal?—out of the cafeteria as he murmured into the com link on his wrist. “Dr. Savage-Hall calling Dr. Palto. Urgent.”
The delay wasn’t more than a few seconds, but it felt like forever. He shuffled from foot to foot, anxious.
Finally the doctor answered, sounding impatient and put out. “Palto here. What is it? I’m about to begin an autopsy.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. But I think we may have a situation.” Armin glanced around, noted the curious looks cast his way, and strode out of hearing range. “There was an altercation in the cafeteria. One of the lab techs, Ryal, pulled a knife on one of the miners because he thought she insulted him.”
“Miners and science personnel aren’t exactly best friends down here, for the most part.” Thoughtful pause. “Although it’s been a while since we had actual bloodshed. And weapons aren’t usually involved. Hm.”
“She claims she not only didn’t insult him, but in fact didn’t say anything at all.”
Another pause. “So you believe he might be hallucinating.”
It wasn’t a question. “It certainly seemed that way. He was acting in a very irrational and paranoid manner.”
“Where is he now?”
“On the way to the med bay. Mo’s bringing him.”
Dr. Palto cursed. “He should’ve called for medical assistance.”
Armin swallowed the lump of guilt in his throat because, damn it, he should’ve thought of that.
Palto continued before Armin could speak. “Oh well. What’s done is done. What about the miner? Does she need medical attention?”
Armin glanced her way. She’d sat back down and was finishing her meal in brooding silence. “I don’t think so. They’re both a bit banged up, and Ryal’s lost a tooth, but neither seems to be seriously hurt. It’s Ryal’s state of mind Mo and I are worried about.”
The doctor drew in a sharp breath. “You believe he’s had a psychotic episode similar to Hannah’s.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of, yes.”
“Another one. Good Lord.” Palto sighed. “All right. I’ll activate the emergency medical protocol. I’ve already pulled one of my ad hoc staff out of the biology lab to help me with this autopsy, so she’s available immediately, and Tomás can be here shortly. We’ll be ready. Thank you for letting me know, Doctor.”
“Of course.”
The connection cut out. Armin rubbed his dry, burning eyes with the heels of his palms. God, he was tired. Dropping his hands, he turned to Neil and Mandala. “Where’s Ashlyn? I need to tell her about Carlo.”
“She left a few minutes ago. Said she had some stuff to take care of.” Neil’s eyes were red, his mouth uncharacteristically downturned. He pushed his half-eaten potatoes around his plate with his fork. “I can’t believe this. Why would Carlo do that?”
“I wish I knew.” Armin reached over to give Neil’s hand a squeeze. “Did Ashlyn tell you where she was going?”
“No, she didn’t.” Mandala cast him an apprehensive look. “She has her com link. She should be easy enough to reach. Do you think something’s wrong?”
She didn’t say it, but Armin knew she was thinking of Carlo.
“I don’t see any reason to think so, no.” He activated his com. “Dr. Savage-Hall for Dr. Timms. Urgent.”
By the time Ashlyn’s answer came, he was on the verge of heading off on a room-by-room search for her. “Armin? What is it?” She sounded
stiff and utterly unlike herself.
Uneasy, Armin frowned. “Where are you, Ashlyn? I need to speak to you. In person.”
“I’m in the lab.” She paused. Her breathing sounded shaky and loud through the com link. “Could you come down here? I’m afraid I can’t leave.”
Her voice was halting, stilted, thick as tar. Alarms clanged in Armin’s mind. He glanced at Neil and Mandala, and saw his fears echoed on their faces. “Of course. I’ll be right there. Out.”
“Something’s not right.” Neil drummed his fingers on the table, his forehead creased with obvious concern. “What’s she doing in the lab? We just left there. She’s got no reason to go back.”
“And why can’t she leave?” Mandala shook her head. Worry framed her eyes and mouth with thin lines. “I don’t like it.”
“Come with me, but stay outside the lab while I talk to her.” Armin held up a hand to stop their protests. “None of us know what’s going on, which means we need to be careful. But one of us has to talk to her, and I think it should be me. I want the two of you to be ready to call medical if need be. All right?”
Neither looked happy about it, but they nodded. Satisfied, Armin led the way out of the cafeteria.
The hallway to the lab seemed to go on forever, winding around sharp curves he couldn’t remember having taken before. Armin felt as though each step he took added another meter to navigate.
“Is something wrong with the lights?” Neil cast a nervous look around as the three of them followed the corridor—which should definitely not have had this many twists and turns. “It seems darker than usual.”
“You’re imagining things.” Mandala’s tone was terse.
“I don’t think he is.” Armin glanced over his shoulder, certain he’d heard a voice that shouldn’t be there. The corridor was empty except for himself, Neil, and Mandala. “It seems dim to me as well.”
Mandala shot him a cautious look, but said nothing.
She truly doesn’t see it.
He peered around, wielding his skills of scientific observation like a shield. Illumination that should have been bright was dim, yellowish, and sickly. But Neil had seen it too. Which meant Armin wasn’t imagining it.