by RS McCoy
“Oh, no. We play to see who’s the fool? That’ll be you, Osip.” Georgie barbed.
Silas threw his head back and laughed more than he had in a good long time.
And that was that. Good food, shitty vodka, and a high-stakes card game. They were well on their way. They laughed heartily, teased each other, drank until their words ran together and their eyes glassed over.
Silas, too, was quite drunk when the galley doors burst open. Nick strode to the table with quick, angry steps. Something was wrong.
Then he remembered Maggie.
“I need to see you in my office. Now.” Silas only stared until he realized Nick meant him. The glass still in his hand, he pointed to his chest to be sure.
Silas handed his glass to Knox and stood. He buttoned his jacket closed as he followed Nick back out into the corridor. “You can’t keep doing this.” Nick whined like a parent who’d caught his daughter in the back seat of a car with a boy.
“I can and will continue to make this place a home for those kids.”
Nick spun. “They’re not kids. They’re recruits in a highly specialized facility. You can’t play drinking games in the galley!”
Mostly drunk, Silas pushed Nick against the wall harder than he meant to. “They’re kids, Nick. Not robots, not spies, not assassins. They’re kids. Scared kids who got ripped from their homes and landed here. They’re tornado debris, Nick.” Silas released him and smoothed out his jacket. “Now, what do you want to talk about?”
Nick clenched his jaw but was smart enough to hold his tongue. “Theo and Mable are back from their undisclosed vacation. You need to see this.”
Silas was reminded of Nick’s opinion of their departure. “See what?”
“His face.”
DASIA
CPI-GALLEY, NEW YORK
AUGUST 30, 2232
Just as she’d expected, Dasia was the durak, the fool, though she didn’t realize the extent right away.
She lifted the revolting vodka that tasted more like magma to her lips and shot it back as fast as she could.
They tried to keep the game going after Dr. Arrenstein left so suddenly, but it wasn’t the same. No one said it, but they knew something was wrong.
Her mind swam, not the smooth, gentle whispers of anth. The vodka was as graceful as a wrecking ball. It was as if someone had come up beside her and smacked the balance and coordination right out of her.
When she set the glass back to the table, it was so sideways it fell over and rolled to the edge. Her hand lashed out but missed. Georgie was quick enough to snatch it before it rolled off the table. He handed it back and laughed.
That was the last straw for her. “Thanks guys, but I think I’m done.” Once she thought of it, she wanted little more than to lie down. Sleep would be such a relief to this chaos.
Dasia took several unsure steps to get out of her chair and hoped none of them noticed.
“Want me to walk you up?” Georgie’s eyes were barely open. He was as bad off as she was.
“No, no. I’m fine.” She waved him off.
“I’ll go. I’m headed up anyway.” Dasia was a little surprised when Osip stood and followed her out.
“I said I could take her.” Georgie stood and put his hands on the table. Still, he reeled to the side before he caught himself.
“Just sit down before you fall down.” Osip pointed a finger to the floor and Georgie collapsed back into his chair.
Dasia saw her chance to leave. “Thanks for the food, Knox. It was really great.” She tossed a sloppy arm over his shoulders and squeezed.
“Anytime, celery stick.”
Dasia smiled wide and worked her way to the galley door. She’d never felt like this, this off, this uncoordinated. Her body lurched toward the wall. She reached out a hand to steady herself but only managed to crush it under her shoulder as she staggered.
“First time with vodka?” Osip put a hand on each of her shoulders and steered her toward the elevator.
Dasia tried to nod but everything felt like it was moving. “I had a few on the shuttle,” she stammered out.
“Ah, yeah. Dr. A likes to dose up new recruits. Says it makes them more relaxed when they arrive.” Faint traces of accent pulled at his words.
Dasia pushed away from him. “I don’t need any help.”
Osip put his hand around her ribs and pulled her up straight. In her ear, he whispered, “Let me help you.”
“Fine,” she huffed. She wasn’t in the mood to argue.
Dasia stumbled and pressed her hand to his chest for support. The silk felt smooth against her palm. “Why do you always wear this thing?” she asked about his vest, though it probably sounded worse than she meant.
“I don’t know. Why not?” She could hear the laugh in his tone. “On one of my surface trips, I saw a guy wearing a suit like this. He looked pretty put together. Had a pretty girl on his arm. I figured, that must be what a guy’s gotta do, right? They said we could be anyone we wanted. This is who I picked, I guess.”
Dasia had to admire that about him, that he could change so easily, forget so easily. He was pliable where she was rigid.
Osip’s arms held her upright enough to inch toward her room. At least, that’s where she hoped they were going. “It’ll get better. It’s always rough your first time. Back home, we’d sit around and drink all night. You learn to hold your liquor after a while,” he said with a laugh.
Dasia pictured Osip in a pool of crystal clear vodka, doing the backstroke.
She didn’t want to feel like this. After weeks of sobriety, the screams of vodka were too much. Her stomach turned uncomfortably, as if she might be sick soon.
Slumped against the elevator wall, the quick rise felt like a rocket taking off. She covered her mouth with a fist.
“You all right?” Osip asked. She thought he looked concerned, but there were so many of him it was hard to tell.
Osip’s shoulder appeared beneath her as he lifted her arm over his neck to keep her up. The rocket stopped moving as the elevator beeped. The doors slid apart and Osip dragged them into the corridor toward the recruit rooms.
He brought her to a door, maneuvered it open, and pulled her into a room she recognized as her own.
Dasia realized he had played out this very scenario many times. The way he slid her arm off his shoulders to lower her to sit on the bed, the way he supported her back as he pulled her feet up on the bed. The way he lowered her down without a second’s hesitation. Osip was a professional.
“If you think you can get me drunk and—” And what? She didn’t know what he intended, but surely it was unsavory.
Osip let go of her and laughed. “If you think I need to get a girl drunk to get into her room, then you’re sadly mistaken. I’ve got plenty of game.” He continued laughing.
Guilt hit her like an arrow. “Sorry.” Her body fell, floating through the air for a long moment.
Her head hit the comforting familiarity of her pillow. “Thank you,” she breathed out.
“Sure thing, D.”
Dasia was sure she lay still as stone, but the room spun and turned like a horror vid. Osip disappeared, but she could hear glass clinking, water running, feet shuffling on the floor. She had no idea what he was doing but didn’t have energy to really care. Dasia closed her eyes to block out the motion.
When they opened again, she ached with the stiffness of sleep. It was probably a good thing, too. She felt dramatically improved from her earlier condition, though that wasn’t saying much.
Her comforter was piled on top of her oddly, and she realized she lay on one half. A glass of water rested on her metal nightstand. When she saw it, she noticed the desert in her mouth. It tasted as if she’d swallowed sand.
Dasia chugged the full glass but only felt momentary relief. She could drink a gallon.
Stepping out of bed, she knocked over the small trash can from her bathroom. It made a loud noise as it struck the tile, loud enough to startle Osip from her desk chair.<
br />
“Hey, you’re up.” He yawned and rubbed his eyes.
“How long have you been here?” Dasia wrapped her arms around her chest. She wasn’t used to waking up with a boy in her room. Not anymore.
“I don’t know. Maybe an hour? I didn’t want you to wake up and not know where you were or something. Cheap vodka can play tricks on you if you’re not careful.” He smiled and rubbed his palms over his face. “How you feeling?”
“Terrible,” she admitted.
Osip’s smile widened. “That’s the best part about this place.” He stood up and stretched for a moment, his joints cracking after so long in the stiff chair.
“What is?”
“Come on. I’ll show you.” Osip held out his hand and helped her off the bed, though she could have managed on her own.
They waited for the elevator, and when it opened, both were shocked to see Dr. Arrenstein.
His hair was mussed and his shirt wrinkled. He leaned his back against the elevator wall with closed eyes. He looked to be in pain.
Osip laughed immediately. “Hey, Dr. A. Rough meeting?”
Dr. Arrenstein blinked wildly, wincing against the harsh light of the elevator. He looked at Osip and then Dasia, then closed his eyes and returned his head to rest against the wall. “Hello, Dasia. Privet, Osip. I haven’t gone yet and you can shut up and go to hell.”
Dr. Arrenstein’s complaints only served to spur Osip further into laughter. “You’d think an experienced alcoholic like Dr. A would be able to hold it together a little better,” he told Dasia. Turning to Dr. Arrenstein he added, “I know little girls who don’t look so bad after a few rounds.”
“Uh, I believe I told you to shut up and go to hell.” This time Dr. Arrenstein smiled a little. “I’m in a hurry. Nick wants me to see some catastrophe.”
“But you’re too drunk to deal with it right now?”
“Something like that,” Dr. Arrenstein admitted, though he didn’t seem all that ashamed.
When the elevator landed on the first floor, Osip led the pathetic pair to the cleaning station. “Want me to cue you up the usual?” he asked Dr. Arrenstein as he walked into the first room.
“Full dose, comrade,” they heard before he shut the door.
Osip laughed and shook his head. He led Dasia into the next room and instructed her to lay on the table. His hands made quick work of the controls on a panel by the door. The lights dimmed and a machine began to whir above her head.
Dasia’s heart pounded. She’d been in cleaning before, but had never seen this set up. What the hell was this thing? Her hands lashed out for the edge of the table.
“Hey, calm down, D. Just takes two minutes. Just wait.” He rested a hand on her forearm to settle her as the machine started whatever it was doing. A metal hoop appeared around her head and moved down to her toes, then back up to her head.
Dasia never felt a thing, but when the machine quieted, her mouth wasn’t as parched and her stomach didn’t ache. Her head was clear as if she’d never had a single drink.
She hopped off the table completely renewed. “That was amazing.” She felt her arms and stomach to make sure everything was still there.
“Told you.” Osip beamed.
Filing back into the hall, Dr. Arrenstein emerged similarly replenished. He pointed a finger at Osip. “This never happened, clear?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Osip smiled before adopting a blank, blinking stare and innocent shrug.
Dr. Arrenstein looked at Dasia and smiled. “You did good, kid. I’m proud of you.” Then he walked down the hall and returned to the elevator.
Dasia only stared. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
MABLE
CPI-AO-302, NEW YORK
AUGUST 30, 2232
She’d never been to Nick’s office, nor had she any intention of going, but somehow that’s where she ended up. It was a boring, basic thing, the mirror image of Arrenstein’s and right across the hall. Still, it gave her a chill, as if she didn’t belong there.
Arrenstein said play by the rules. So that’s what she was doing, or at least, she was trying. Though Arrenstein making them wait so long wasn’t making it any easier.
Theo sat in the stiff metal chair beside her, silent in dread. For whatever reason, Theo liked the worm Nick, and worse, cared about his opinion.
Mable didn’t have any respect for that.
The door pushed open, though it had never really been closed, and Nick entered, followed by Arrenstein. His eyes found her and stayed with her for several seconds, looking her up and down.
“I’m fine,” she told him, guessing his concern.
Then he looked to Theo, at the purple, pink, and black regions that marred both cheeks. She had to admit, it looked pretty bad, probably a concussion. He’d slept for most of the shuttle ride and she’d programed the pod to take them back to CPI so he could rest. If they weren’t already here, she would have begun to worry about him. As it was, an inquisition was the last thing he needed.
“Do I even want to know?” Arrenstein asked with a sigh. He walked around to face them, leaning his hip on the front of Nick’s desk, a steel monstrosity.
“Probably not.” Mable crossed her arms.
“They won’t tell me anything, but obviously he was attacked,” Nick whined from behind her. She didn’t even give him the courtesy of a death glare.
“Maggie?” Arrenstein prodded.
She shook her head. No good would come of it. She didn’t want to explain it and it wouldn’t change anything anyways. There was no point to all this.
“Kaufman?”
Theo, too, shook his head, for which she was grateful.
“Why not? What’s the big secret?” Arrenstein asked pointed questions, but his tone was more curious than anything.
“She told me she preferred if we kept it between us.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
Theo nodded. “I am. It’s not a big deal. We were never in danger, but if she wants the specifics to remain private, then I’m comfortable with that.”
Arrenstein smacked his palms against the top of his dress slacks. “Well, I guess that’s it then. You two can get back to work.”
“That’s it?” Nick’s voice was one octave from horror.
“No,” Arrenstein answered simply. Then he turned to Theo and said, “Kaufman, get yourself down to cleaning and get that fixed up before the others start asking questions.”
Mable curled her lips to try to hide her smirk, but it was hardly effective. She got up and darted out before Nick and Arrenstein started some sort of lover’s quarrel.
Theo and his technicolor face appeared in the hall a few seconds later. “Thanks for not saying anything.” She fell into step beside him, determined to see him to the cleaning station.
“You’re welcome.” He smiled, though she could see a vacancy in his eyes she was sure hadn’t always been there. Theo had certainly looked better.
“Come on.” Mable tugged at his shirt and drug him toward the elevator. She didn’t want to dwell on the fact that he had every chance—and every right—to dime her out to his buddy Nick, but he’d chosen not to. There had to be something to that, but she didn’t want to think of what it might be.
She deposited him to the woman in lavender and selected one of the chairs by the door.
Twenty minutes later, Theo emerged from cleaning like a brand new baby. His skin was smooth and dark, his injuries perfectly healed. More than that, he had long dark hair that touched his shoulders, shimmering and smooth.
“Whoa,” she let slip before she could help herself.
“Like it?” An expert hand combed through his new locks. He offered her a shy smile.
“Sure.” She tried her best to sound disinterested. This was definitely not a good development. He looked downright handsome.
Bad, bad Mable.
“I thought I’d have to wait months for it to grow out again.”
/> “You had hair this long before?” She was tempted to reach out and touch it. Instead, she kept her hands balled at her sides.
“Yeah, I only had it shaved the day before I got here.” He batted his eyes.
“Ah. Scholar Academy.”
“Yeah. Are you going to get your scar fixed?” Theo nodded toward the exposed side of her head.
“Not today.” She didn’t tell him how uneager she was to experience cleaning again.
Theo shrugged. “Okay. Ready to go up?”
For the first time, the prospect of spending day in and day out with Theo, of researching bugs and extracting them from hosts, didn’t seem so bad. “Yeah, let’s go.” She smiled and turned back toward the elevator. It was time to get to work. It was time to figure out this problem, one bug at a time.
End of The Killing Jar.
The Lethal Agent released August 2016.
Works by RS McCoy
The Sparks Saga
Sparks
Spirits
Schism
The Luminary Chronicles
The Lightning Luminary
The Sea Shade
The Alder Tales
Blossom and the Beast
Raene and the Three Bears
Hale and Gemini
The Snow Owl
The Extraction Files
The Killing Jar
The Lethal Agent
RS McCoy on Amazon
About RS McCoy
Rachel McCoy is a Texan living in New Jersey. Between binge-watching MTV reality shows and baking gluten-free treats, she writes paranormal fantasy and science fiction novels.
She is the self-published author of the Sparks Saga trilogy, The Alder Tales series, and The Extraction Files Part One and Two. Back when she lived in the real world, Rachel earned a degree in marine biology, which contributed to her die-hard love of manta rays.
To connect with RS McCoy (or swap recipes), visit her on her website (www.rsmccoyauthor.com) or check out her Facebook page (www.facebook.com/AuthorRSMcCoy). You can also join her newsletter to receive release updates, free stories, and bonus extras (http://eepurl.com/YItp1).