"No one," Daelen said. "No one does that."
"Right!?" Susanna said, missing that Daelen meant what he'd done was exceptionally thoughtful.
"It just seemed like he was so attached and just wouldn't let it go until I told him plainly that it wasn't going to happen," Susanna said. "Even then, I could feel his eyes, watching me. What a creep! It was hard sometimes, working with him. I guess now I don't have to worry about that, do I? I mean, they're not going to let him back, will they?"
"Not likely."
"Good. To be honest, I don't feel bad at all for what I did to him."
"Pressing charges?"
"No," Susanna said. "When he was on top of me, the only thing I could do was bite his arm. Even though I couldn't stand the thought of his blood in my mouth, I bit down as hard as I could and didn't let go until I thought his pulling away would tear out my teeth. It'll leave a scar, I'm sure." Susanna smiled, pleased with herself. Daelen smiled back because it was clear Susanna was looking for an indication that she'd done right by the sisterhood of women. For what she went through, Daelen didn't mind giving her that much.
However, despite Susanna's claims about Jude, which clearly were the skewed perception of a young, beautiful girl, it didn't seem right. Daelen knew Jude, and none of this made sense. Tom didn't make sense. The masses walking into medical who currently were waiting in the front room didn't make sense. Something was going on, and unlike everyone else, she couldn't dismiss it all as fluke or coincidence or something that would go away on its own.
Daelen wrapped bandages around Susanna's arms and finished treating her, making notes on her link, which then retreated into a file stored on the Atlas' servers.
"Keep the bandages fresh and clean. Change them regularly. Come back if you have any problems."
"Do you think I could just rest here awhile?" Susanna said. "You might not get it, but I feel embarrassed. I don't know that I could face anyone else right now, especially since, well, you know how people on this ship talk."
Daelen understood. She was sure gossip had become a raging firestorm across the Atlas. Even Susanna Barton, a relative stranger, had heard about such a private matter as Daelen losing her baby. She wouldn't be surprised if someone had made T-shirts and stickers in Susanna's honor, and of course, despite the good intentions, Daelen understood how unbearable that kind of thing would be. Everyone would try to be there for her, and she would just want them all to leave her alone.
"Stay as long as you need," Daelen said.
She walked out into the hall, and it was as if everything, right down to the very bones of the Atlas, had changed. She surmised it was what people called an epiphany.
Three
Nothing betrays a man like his own body, and although wise men know they are at the mercy of biology, the illusion of control leads young men to believe they can brush off ailments at will, as if they can walk through the fires of mortality and come out the other side without feeling the lick of flame.
But at a point in every man's life, he acknowledges vulnerability and powerlessness. Life is like falling through an abyss, and wisdom comes with learning there is a bottom. It's only a matter of time.
Rick Fairchild understood all of this. However, he also understood living was fighting, and he didn't merely roll over and accept that he would one day perish. Cuts and bruises didn't concern him. If he could move it, it wasn't worth seeing a doctor for, a stubbornness he shared with the rest of his rough and rugged kind. But something in his body was broken, and he could feel it. No bone sent bolts of pain searing up his spine. No nerve burned to indicate torn flesh. Yet, he could sense something inside of him, growing and twisting.
Something was wrong, and he intended to fight it.
When he walked into medical, he found the intern, Margo, examining a young man. Others waited patiently, sitting on exam tables. He didn't come to medical often, and when he did, it wasn't for treatment. But the number of people waiting there had to be out of the ordinary. Daelen and Margo couldn't possibly treat that many people every day. They filled the room with the musty smell of human sweat and sour breath. Most of them were quiet and didn't speak, but their occasional shuffles, scratches, and coughs created the sound of a crowd, growing more restless by the moment.
Margo engaged the people in her exam room as doctors, the good ones, do. He imagined Daelen had taught her well and that she had already learned much from her mentor. He thought Daelen must have been proud of her apprentice.
Their eyes met, and she motioned to him to have a seat on one of the other exam tables. He was disappointed that he couldn't find Daelen. He'd hoped he could speak with her, not because he didn't trust the intern, but because Daelen was his friend, and he felt embarrassed for seeking medical attention.
"Keep it clean and dry, and change your bandage once a day," Margo said to her patient, a young man with a gash above his eye. "If you want, you can come back, and I'll change it for you." Rick didn't recognize the young man. He'd never been good with faces and names. Rick knew machines.
The young man hopped off the exam table, and Margo escorted him to the door. When she turned back toward Rick, she offered a half-enthusiastic smile, the kind of smile he could tell she felt obligated to make.
"Rough day?" Rick asked.
"Busy," Margo said.
"A bug going around?"
"No," Margo said. "Lacerations, bruises. People fighting. I'm afraid we might run out of disinfectant and cold packs. It seems to be calming down now, though. What's the trouble with you?"
"I believe they were here before me," Rick said, motioning to the others.
"I've already seen them. I'm running triage out here, and Daelen comes and brings the ones who require her attention to the back."
"There are more people here?"
"Some are waiting for Stellan. He needs to talk to them about the incidents they were involved in."
"Oh," Rick said, feeling a little awkward about having to talk to someone so soon after arriving. He didn't know why he felt this way, but he had expected to have some time to acclimate to the environment, which wasn't as unfamiliar to him as he expected. There were plenty of tools, which intrigued him on a mechanical level. He wondered what purpose they each served, if there was something as ubiquitous as a wrench or hammer, something that had been a mainstay for hundreds of years because the design was so perfect and appropriate for its use that innovation had hit a ceiling. Some things were just so perfect they never changed because they never needed to.
"Well," Rick said. "I was hoping to talk to Daelen. No offense."
"None taken," Margo said. "As I said, however, I'm performing triage examinations, so if you want to see her today, I have to insist you tell me your symptoms."
"You all are that overwhelmed?"
"Yes and no," Margo said. "She needs to take things easy, so I have to do the best I can on my end."
"Is she all right?"
Margo nodded. "She needs time, but she will be. That's all I am at liberty to say."
"Understood." Unlike Susanna, Rick hadn't heard about Daelen's miscarriage because, unlike Susanna, Rick didn't engage in gossip. If he had heard about it, he would have come much sooner, and he wouldn't have come for himself.
"If it would make you more comfortable, I can record your symptoms and have Daelen contact you when she's able," Margo said.
"No, no," Rick said. "That's all right. After seeing what Edward went through, I don't want to wait another minute."
The mention of Edward caught Margo off guard. His name was like a seed in her head, growing guilt. Talking about him reminded her that what had happened had been real, and she could not escape it because she felt like it was her fault.
"Why do you bring him up?" Daelen said from the door to her office. Rick and Margo turned to her in surprise. She looked good, as strong as ever, like nothing had happened. Although, her spirit remained crushed, and what they were seeing was pure willpower to keep going.
&nbs
p; "Because," Rick said, eyes darting around the room at the faces that were watching him.
"Why don't you come on back?" Daelen said. She led him to an empty private room and motioned for him to hop up on the exam table. Daelen sat in a chair beside him, folding her hands in her lap. Margo accompanied them and stood in the corner to observe. Along with the privacy, the room looked and smelled cleaner, untainted by the cloud of so many bodies. Rick could breathe easier.
"Is this better?" Daelen asked.
"Yes," Rick said. "Thank you."
"So why do you bring Edward up?"
"Because," Rick said, still hesitant. "I think I have what he had."
"That isn't likely," Daelen said. "From what we know about the black madness, if it exists, and we don't even know it exists outside of known psychological illnesses, which can develop regardless of environment, it isn't communicable. You can't catch it like a cold."
"What if you could?" Rick asked.
It was a scary prospect because she knew if such a thing could be transmitted when they had no understanding of it, the Atlas would be doomed. There would be no stopping it. In the pure isolation of the black, the only thing that would stop it would be the Atlas' hull, and it would eat away at them until there was nothing left.
"What symptoms are you experiencing?" she asked, opening a notepad application on her link. The holographic window danced and reflected off the lenses of her glasses.
"I've been getting the chills and the shakes, like the flu," Rick said. "I've been feeling run down but having trouble sleeping. Fever dreams. Memory loss."
"Memory loss?"
"Yeah, I just was somewhere and didn't know how I got there. That's never happened before. I'm not a worrier, understand, but I can't help ignore that something's wrong."
Daelen typed furious notes, and her eyes pulled away from what she was typing long enough to see something so obvious she stopped and almost smacked herself for missing it before.
"What happened to your hand?" Daelen asked with a concerned wrinkle on her forehead.
"Oh, that," Rick said, massaging his bad hand with the fingers of his good hand. "I know it's a terrible bandage job, but duct tape really does fix anything. Take my word for it. I happen to be an authority on the matter. You know we once duct taped a crane arm so well it was usable? Of course, halfway through the pickup, the tape gave, and the broken arm shot right out the bay and speared a chunk of refined earth mid-flight. The safety director would have had a fit, but you should have seen the son of a bitch, like the Atlas launching a javelin. And this other time—"
"Rick," Daelen said. "The hand."
"Oh, right. Back on the Shiva when there was that accident, I tried to get a flashlight between one of the men's teeth. You know, to keep him from biting off his own tongue. I slipped, and he nipped me a little." Rick grinned. "It's not so bad." Daelen humored him with a smile of her own and looked at Margo uneasily. The accident was when Tom started to act strangely, and since the accident, they'd seen increasing frequency of injuries from crew conflicts.
"Let's run some tests," Daelen said. "I can give you something for the fever and something that will help you sleep. Do you mind if we keep you for observation?"
"No," Rick said. "My job on this run is mostly done anyway. There are some things I need to take care of but nothing that can't wait." He actually felt relieved to have someone keeping an eye on him. It meant he wouldn't go tearing up any more equipment that he'd have to figure out a way to explain later.
"Margo, can you compile all the names of the patients you saw today? I might want them in here for another look."
"Sure thing," Margo said, eager to please, and left the room, happy to have a mission in which she could deliver.
Daelen reached into a cabinet and retrieved a syringe to take a blood sample and another to administer a sedative and fever reducer. She placed them on the counter and then loaded one with a vial for Rick's blood. She loaded the other syringe with a cartridge of the drug she would administer.
"I'm sure you'll be gentle," Rick said, "but I hate needles."
"Don't be a baby." Daelen wiped his inner elbow with a disinfecting swab and took a blood sample. He winced, but when he realized it didn't hurt as much as he expected it would, he watched with wonder as his blood spurted into the vial. With the other syringe, she injected the sedative into his shoulder. It self-administered the drug, whirring into Rick's flesh and then retracting.
"I know the accommodations are lacking," she said, packing up her tools and carrying his blood to the door, "but try to get some rest."
Rick lay down on the exam table, already feeling the effects of the drug and the comfort that he was heading off an illness before it had gotten too bad. Daelen knew how to make him better, and everything would be all right. He would just close his eyes for a little while and let her take care of everything. After all, it was what she did. She made people better. She fixed people. She saved them.
Daelen forced a smile because she felt obligated, though it appeared as genuine as any smile Rick had seen before. The difference between a medical professional and an intern was their ability to fake it for the sake of their patients. As she left the room, she closed the door with a swipe of her link over the holographic control.
She tried to be quiet as she tapped the controls, cursing digital and mechanical technology that did not compute subtlety and stealth. The locking mechanism slid into the doorframe with a pop, but she found some relief in the knowledge that Rick had probably drifted far enough into his subconscious already that he hadn't heard a thing.
Four
While Daelen was with Rick, Stellan arrived at the medical deck to question the victims of the attacks. However, there was something he had to do first, something more important to him. He hadn't seen Wendy since the shooting.
The room in which she rested was dark, calm, peaceful. He liked that she had such a place away from the growing chaos. Stellan could make out her body lying in the dim, cool blue light that emanated from some medical equipment and bounced off a mirror on the opposite wall. The light cast a sheen on her upper arm and the curve of her cheek, and he couldn't tell if she was breathing. For a moment, Stellan feared she had died quietly in her sleep, and it wasn't the vanity of his sacrifice that dropped anchors in his heart. It was simply the thought of failure.
"Hey," she whispered. Her voice sounded foreign to him. Normally it jumped with energy. Still, hearing her speak filled him with joy. He knew the pain of a wound to the abdomen and thought it was a miracle she was even conscious.
"Hey," Stellan said. "How you feeling?" He pulled a chair up beside her bed, careful to not let its legs drag on the floor.
"All things considered, not bad," she said. "Your wife has the best drugs. I'm firing my dealer."
Stellan laughed. She managed a smile.
"I heard about what happened," Wendy said. "How are you guys holding up?"
"Haven't had much time to deal with it."
"You'll never have enough time if you don't make time."
"Wise words," Stellan said. "Some philosopher say that?"
She considered it for a moment and then shook her head. "Rick."
Stellan could tell she wanted to say something and was mustering up the courage.
"I know you had to choose," she said. "Why me?"
Stellan didn't know how to respond because he wasn't sure himself. Was it that she had a better chance of survival? Or he couldn't bear for her to suffer? No, he figured it was that the other situation was too complicated. On some level, it just made sense, and he was sure Daelen felt the same way. They sacrificed themselves for their crew.
"Because I love you, kid. I couldn't let you go."
She fell into silent reflection, and Stellan knew all about survivor's guilt.
"I'll do right," she said. "I'll earn it."
"No," Stellan said with a wave of his hand. "None of that. You have nothing to make up for. Thinking that way is unhealthy. Tr
ust me."
"At least let me apologize for yelling at you," Wendy said. "When you missed the game. That stuff doesn't matter anymore. Family comes first. You were right to look after Daelen."
"You think you're not family to me? I should have been there."
"You're there when it matters."
"Not always."
The darkness and calm air made the passing moments of silence between them easier to bear. It felt nice to just be in that room because, although Wendy had been shot, she had lived. Stellan hadn't let her down entirely, and he found comfort in that thought.
"Stel?" Wendy said.
"Mmm?"
"I was curious about something before but was afraid to ask. Now, I feel like I need to know."
"What is it?"
"That scar on your shoulder. While you were still out after saving Edward, I visited you. Daelen pulled your shirt up to check something, and I saw it. What happened?"
His scars were evidence of another life in another time, a life he no longer thought relevant because that person no longer existed. Wendy didn't know about the person Stellan had been, and he didn't think she needed to know. History had a funny way of changing perception of the present, and he liked the way she looked at him then. He didn't want it to change. He didn't want her to see him another way. If she knew about the things he'd done, he was afraid she might think he was a monster.
"Experience," he said, but he could tell just by the look on her face, the way she glanced down toward her own belly, that she knew it was a gunshot wound. It was a connection she suspected they shared, and she wanted to share it, to feel company in it. Stellan couldn't give that to her, though. She didn't know how deep his wounds went. She didn't know that it would be too much for her.
He understood when she wasn't satisfied with his answer. He hadn't meant it to satisfy her curiosity, but he hoped it would be enough.
"I have another question," she said. "Do you fear God?"
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