by Ally Blue
“I was trying to raise Mo on the com, but he’s not answering me.” Leaving the link open just in case, Armin strode toward the door. “I’m going to his quarters.”
“That could be dangerous.” Poole’s tone suggested he wouldn’t mind if Armin met with some sort of peril.
Youssouf nodded. “Get someone to go with you. Gordon’s recruited an ad hoc security force.”
“And for God’s sake be careful. We don’t want anything happening to you.” Mandala shot an icy glare at Poole, who ignored her.
“Don’t worry. I certainly don’t intend to let anything happen to me.” Armin patted Poole’s shoulder on the way out. “Sorry, Doctor.”
Poole hmphed. Mandala gave Armin a crooked smile.
Out in the hallway, the crowd of makeshift security personnel all turned to stare at him at once. Jemima Knang and Edie Ling had accompanied him and the other scientists from the med bay to the lab, which meant four people now guarded the lab door. It seemed excessive, but who could tell?
Armin spoke before anyone could question him. “I’m going to Mo’s quarters to check on him. The situation being what it is, I’ll need an escort. Who would like to go with me?”
Mo’s boss stepped forward. “I will.”
Armin wasn’t surprised. He’d only known the woman for a few hours, but he’d already learned that she was smart, fearless, and intimidating as hell in spite of being half his size. No wonder Mo respected her so much.
“Good. Thank you.” He looked at Gordon, who was in charge since he was the only actual security person BT3 had. “Dr. Youssouf, Dr. Poole, and Dr. Jhut are staying here. I should be back soon.”
Gordon nodded. “We’ll look after ’em.”
Knang strode down the hall ahead of Armin. He didn’t argue. After all, she was the one with the gun, and the training and experience to use it if need be. His prideful wish to not need protecting could get them both killed in a situation like this. She was right not to indulge him.
As they went, the hallway’s lighting became dimmer, flickering like ancient gaslights. The spot between Armin’s shoulder blades burned with the sensation of something creeping up on him.
There’s no one there. Ignore it.
He did, though it was difficult. He and his escort reached Mo’s rooms without incident. Knang bypassed the auto-port with a distrustful scowl and banged her fist on the door. “Mo? It’s Jem. Your boyfriend’s here to see you.”
Armin’s cheeks went hot, but he said nothing. He didn’t care if Mo teased him. All he wanted was to see Mo for a moment. Talk to him and make sure he was all right.
Only Mo didn’t answer. Seconds crawled by. Mo’s door remained closed, a blank gray barrier shutting Armin out.
Knang frowned. She lifted her hand to hammer on the door again.
“Wait.” Paying no attention to her incredulous stare, Armin stepped up to the auto-port. “This is Dr. Armin Savage-Hall, invoking medical override to enter the quarters of mining specialist Maximo Rees. Acknowledge.”
“Acknowledging medical override on the authority of Dr. Armin Savage-Hall,” said the auto-port in its usual smooth, bland voice.
The door opened. Knang literally shoved him to the side so she could go in ahead of him. He understood—right now she was security, charged with keeping him safe—but it still rankled. His need to see Mo, to ensure he was safe and whole, had become desperate.
He saw the back of Mo’s head over Knang’s shoulder at the same time as she lowered her weapon with an irritated sigh. “Fucking hell, Rees, you had us worried sick, you bastard.”
Mo turned from the 3-D display—frozen on a shot of static out of which an unidentifiable, amorphous shape attempted to solidify—and favored her with a crooked grin. “Sorry, Jem. I was watching the mermaid vids and I guess I was a little caught up.” His gaze—strangely empty, without his usual spark of passion and rebellion—rose, roamed, and refocused on Armin. The grin widened. “Hey, Doc. I hope you didn’t leave your work ’cause you were worried about me.”
He had, of course, but that wasn’t important. “It doesn’t matter. I’m just glad you’re okay. You didn’t answer your com and I was afraid—” Armin broke off when he saw Mo’s wrist. He went to Mo’s side, snatched his hand, and pulled the injury into the light. “What happened here?”
“Huh? That?” Mo laughed and waved his other hand at the two side-by-side punctures on the inside of his right wrist. The wounds oozed little streams of blood from their macerated edges onto his pants. “Daisy bit me.”
Knang wrinkled her nose. “Damn spider.”
“How did that happen?” He knelt beside Mo’s chair to inspect the wound. It was red and swollen, and an ugly bluish bruise stretched for about half an inch around both puncture marks, but there was no streaking, no odor, and no signs of putrefaction or infection.
“I was feeding her, and she bit me.” Mo shrugged. “My own fault. I got too close. It happens.”
He’s lying. That fact blared like a trumpet in a harp solo. Armin had watched Mo feed Daisy before. He’d dropped the cricket through the barely open top of the cage, then snatched his hand back as though the spider might eat him if he didn’t move fast enough. Even if he’d accidentally gotten too close somehow, Armin found it difficult to believe the Mo he knew—the one who strongly disliked spiders, if not actively fearing them—would be this calm about a bite.
He kept all of it between his ears because voicing his suspicions could only make things worse. Instead, he rose and went to retrieve the first aid kit from the wall niche beside the bed. “I’ll clean and bandage that bite. Is Daisy still in her cage?”
“Oh, hell yeah. Not getting out of there anytime soon, let me tell you.” Mo held out his wrist so Armin could clean it. “And she’s been fed now, so she ought to be pretty docile for a while.”
“I can take her back to my quarters, if you want.” Knang eyed Daisy with blatant mistrust, but didn’t take back the offer. “I won’t be in there much—but hey, she’ll be safe, and spiders don’t need company.”
For half a heartbeat, Mo’s dark eyes blazed with a fierce, possessive light. Armin’s chest tightened. Then Mo smiled, and he looked like himself again. “Thanks, Mama, but it’s okay. She didn’t mean to hurt me. And you know her bite isn’t dangerous to humans anyhow. I’ll be fine.”
Knang’s eyes narrowed. She took a step backward and stood watching Mo in silence. Her stance was relaxed, but her finger hovered near her weapon’s trigger.
Armin felt her tense, vigilant presence at his back as he washed the spider bite with sterile saline, applied antimicrobial healing gel, and wrapped it in breathable, dirt-and-microbe repellent gauze. Lastly, he took the two sublingual anti-inflammatory disclettes from their waterproof pouch and handed them to Mo.
“Put these under your tongue and let them dissolve. They’ll keep the swelling down and help the pain.” As Mo popped the miniature discs into his mouth, Armin reached up to touch Mo’s cheek. The skin there felt cool, the stubble rough against his fingertips. “Mo? Are you sure you’re all right?”
Mo met his gaze, and for a heart-stopping second he saw all the things that might’ve been, all they could’ve meant to each other, if none of this had happened. He ached with the sense of lost possibilities. Then Mo blinked, a lazy sweep of his thick black lashes, and the moment passed.
His smile still in place, Mo bent and kissed his lips. Soft, sweet, tender, but detached, and the vague worry in his gut twisted tighter. “I’m fine. Just kind of fuzzy-headed from watching those damn vids a dozen times in a row.” He gave Armin a playful shove. “Go on. I know you have shit to do.”
It was true. Plenty of work still waited at the lab, and Armin could hardly expect his colleagues to handle all of it. But he didn’t want to leave. Something about Mo felt off. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it made him want to stay. To protect Mo, somehow, from the wrongness he couldn’t quite define.
Since he had nothing concrete to
go on, however, he forced a smile, pressed Mo’s hand, and stood. “Promise you’ll com me if you need me.”
“I promise.” Mo’s smile widened into the familiar little-boy grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look almost normal again. “My hero.”
Jemima snorted. “Smart-ass.”
Mo rose, yawning. “I’m gonna sleep for a while. I’ll program you into the auto-port, Doc. Come join me when you’re done.”
The thought of sleep beckoned Armin like a lover. God, what he wouldn’t give to lie down, close his eyes, and forget about everything for a while.
Knowing he’d see Neil’s toothy, purple-eyed ghost in his nightmares alongside Carlo’s mangled corpse kept him upright, open-eyed, and well away from Mo’s bed.
“I’ll talk to you soon.” He touched Mo’s hand. “Sleep well.”
“I will.” Mo yawned again, stretching his arms over his head. “Bye, Doc. Jem. Be careful out there.”
With nothing left to say or do, Armin followed Jemima out the door. It slid shut behind them. He cast a glance at its featureless surface as they walked away, and felt hollow inside. Mo was uninjured. The worst Daisy’s bite could do was make him slightly ill. They’d see each other again soon enough, and Mo was safer in his quarters than anywhere else on this pod.
So why did he feel like he’d just said good-bye?
The minute Armin and Jem left, Mo got moving.
Go now. Daisy’s voice echoed in his head. Mustn’t waste time.
Mo didn’t bother to answer. The consciousness speaking through Daisy knew every idea and emotion, every question and fear tangling like snakes inside him. He pulled on socks and shoes, shrugged into a light jacket, and went to Daisy’s cage. Following her silent commands, he lifted her in his palm and tucked her carefully into his jacket pocket.
If Armin and Jem saw him right now, they’d drag his ass down to medical isolation. Hell, not just isolation—heavy tranquilizers for now and hardcore psychotherapy once they got him upside.
The thought sent a hard chill up his back. The last thing he needed was to be locked up and helpless. Especially now that he was about to learn the secret behind this whole crazy business.
Cupping one hand protectively over Daisy’s pocket, he opened the door, peered out, and hurried down the empty hallway.
He reached his destination without running into anyone, and disabled the security cams and alarms with disturbing ease. If they all survived, he’d have to find a way to tell Youssouf her security system sucked without confessing what he’d done.
Of course, that was one big fucking if. Him living to return to BathyTech in the first place was another. One he was trying hard not to think about.
A quick search confirmed what he’d already known. “We don’t have anything for me to carry you in.” Talking to Daisy—or, technically, whatever was communicating with him through Daisy—felt weird, but what else was he supposed to do? “Can you talk to me from the cart?”
No, she—it, whatever—answered inside his mind. Share the suit. I can.
In spite of whatever squick-suppressing drug she’d injected into him along with the knowledge serum, Mo couldn’t help a shudder of revulsion. Picking her up was one thing. Even carrying her in his pocket, he could handle. But the thought of her in his walker suit, dragging herself along his nude body with her long, hairy spider legs, made his skin crawl.
She moved inside his pocket, reminding him that she heard his thoughts. Do not be afraid. Soothe your fears, I will. Hurt you, I will not.
Something in the cadence of the mental—imagined? No, real, real—voice eased the clammy-cold waves rippling over Mo’s arms. He let out a short, sharp laugh. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”
Hurry. We must. They. Will. Stop you.
Part of him wanted to be stopped before he went too far.
He crushed the thought and its accompanying panic, hoping like hell Daisy hadn’t picked up on it. I want to know! he screamed in his head, trying to drown out the traitorous stray whispers. I need to know. I need to see. I need to learn. Show me.
From Daisy he felt a wave of smug contentment, but didn’t dare acknowledge his relief. Instead, he focused on the very real curiosity simmering in his gut. The lifelong desire to know things no one else ever had. To lay bare the secrets of the dark, even if they burnt his mind to a cinder.
Holding his breath, he opened the go-cart he’d spent so many hours in over the past few years. Nothing happened, and he let himself relax. Sure, he knew how to kill the alarm, but this was the first time he’d actually done it. He settled into the pilot’s seat, opened the bay door, and dropped the cart into the black, icy deep.
The fact that no one had shown up yet to check the camera function told him nobody was watching the feeds. Blank screens wouldn’t raise the same level of panic as someone taking a cart without permission—which was why he’d disabled the cams and alarms in the first place—but it should’ve meant at least one of the tech crew showing up to check it out. In fact, they should’ve caught him before he could get away, if they’d been paying attention. Meaning they weren’t. Which he’d been counting on, of course. Things had gone to shit in there.
Judging by the poorly hidden fear in Armin’s eyes, though, it must be worse than he’d thought. What had they found to make Armin look like that?
The more Mo thought of it, the more it bothered him. Maybe he ought not to be out here right now, chasing mysteries. Maybe he ought to turn around and go back, before anyone discovered him missing. Before they learned he’d stolen a cart and headed out into the deep alone.
Well. Alone except for the tarantula in his pocket. Like that was going to make him look anything but crazy.
He sat there in the pilot’s chair, staring out at the organic detritus drifting like ash through the beams from the go-cart’s headlights and waging mental war with himself. The soft touch on his ear startled him into a shout. If he hadn’t been strapped in, he would’ve leaped out of his seat. As it was, his sudden movement knocked Daisy off his shoulder where she’d evidently climbed while he wasn’t paying attention.
He’d been so distracted he hadn’t even noticed. That really scared him. Distraction could be deadly out here.
Mo slumped, shaking in reaction. “Fucking shit. Don’t do that.”
If the entity borrowing Daisy’s body heard him—or cared what he thought—it didn’t let on. The spider clambered up Mo’s leg, making him shudder, and onto the narrow shelf above the readouts. Its black eyes watched him with a weird purplish-blue glow and a spark of intelligence that definitely did not belong there. Not go back. Others. Would not. Like it. Not understand.
Mo rubbed at the ache in his temple. Much as he hated it, she was probably right. The damage was already done. When he went back, they were going to look at what he’d done, label him insane, and lock him up. They’d tell him it was all for his own safety. He might as well see whatever he’d come out here to see while he still had his freedom.
It’s lying, whispered the part of him still able to think clearly. Go back now, before it’s too late. Find Armin. Talk to him. He’ll listen.
The presence in his head expanded in response to the thought. Grew heavy and smothering as toxic smog. He clutched the arms of his seat and fought to breathe.
Not go back, repeated the thing that wasn’t Daisy, its voice deeper now, thick and sluggish as the liquid rock far, far beneath them. Only forward.
For the first time, Mo understood how little choice he had in what was happening.
Lucky for him, he’d always been good at rolling with the punches.
He sat back and breathed slow and steady until his confusion cleared and the tension seeped out of his muscles. Once his fear eased, it seemed obvious to him where he needed to go, so he brought up the 3-D map and entered the coordinates. Daisy crouched like a hairy little statue on the dash and said nothing, but Mo knew the instinct guiding him came from her. Or rather, through her. Somehow. Directing him away f
rom the familiar terrain surrounding BT3, away from the vents, into unknown territory.
He peered out into the black water, watching the patterns of light and shadow play over the ripples of the ocean floor. Now that he’d stopped fighting the inevitable, a dark excitement familiar as a pair of worn jeans took over, making his heart pound and his armpits prickle with sweat.
He’d felt it before, countless times. The thrill of the new, the strange, and the illicit. The abandoned building hiding drugs and money, the dead man in the school basement, the subway tunnel where the gangs skinned people for fun. He’d thrown up when he’d seen the flayed, bloody corpses and caught the smell of raw meat, but finding the place after hours of exploration in underground gang territory had still given him the shock of discovery he’d always craved.
All his life, the things he wasn’t supposed to know had called to him. He’d gone after them, he’d experienced them, and he’d learned. And now here he was, chasing probably the biggest revelation of all.
A few meters ahead, the sea bottom began a gradual downward slope. Richards Deep. Mo grinned. Why had he been afraid before? This was the best kind of adventure.
Whatever’s down there, it’s directly responsible for at least three deaths. Maybe more, if what’s happening here is related to what happened on the Varredura Longa. This isn’t a game. It’s life and death.
Mo shook his head, irritated. His sensible side had never been this much of a problem before when he was out to satisfy his need to learn unknown things. And why did that damned inner voice sound so much like Armin?
Not hurt. The Daisy-thing spoke with a gentleness that magnified the alien grind of her voice in Mo’s mind. Only show. So much. To show. We have.
Sensible-Mo didn’t believe it. Adventurer-Mo, always the more dominant part, ground Sensible-Mo into nonexistence beneath his heel and smiled at the spider hunched in front of him.
Mo drove the cart down the slope and into the Deep for half a klick or so, until the seabed began to morph from mud and silt to rock, and the walls of the Trench started to rise around them. He stopped when his gut told him to, put the go-cart on trickle power and anchored it to the ocean floor. Daisy hopped onto his knee as he unbuckled, then climbed on to his shoulder. This time, her presence there felt right rather than creepy.