Memory's Exile

by Anna Gaffey

  “Jake,” Santos murmured, pressing his shoulder. “You’re drunk.”

  “Aren’t we all? Mei, listen to me, you’re going to be—”

  “Just stop,” Santos snapped. Her face had gone tight and grey. She cast a quick look around the mess at the frozen crew. “Toby? Call Lindy. We need fluid packs for everyone.”

  “—Mei honey, come on. It’s okay. We’re here, we got you.”

  “We do,” Nat enthused. She leaned down to stroke the woman’s hair, and Mei shuddered away from her. For a moment, Nat looked stung. Then she drew her composure back up with a nervous smile and held her hands up. “Just ease, just relax. Where’s the nearest medkit? I think we should sedate her.”

  Where was Jake’s commbud? His fingers felt numb and stupid as he dug into his pockets.

  “Let’s save that for Lindy.” Carmichael had found his commbud first and he jammed it into his ear. “Jake, pick her up.”

  “Okay.” Jake reached down and gathered up Mei as best he could. She was an awkward armful: his arms felt like rubber, and she was small but heavy with muscle. Her trousers stuck wetly to his arm and he almost bobbled her. “Sorry, Mei. Hang in there, hon, we’re going.”

  “Infirmary, you read? This is Carmichael. We’re bringing in Dr. Chen.”

  “No no no.” Mei hissed into Jake’s ear.

  “Mei Chen. Yes, again. We’re bringing her in now. Express the lift for us, we’ve had—we’re—just have some fluid packs ready.”

  “It’s okay,” Santos was saying. “Jake? Do you need help?”

  “Not yet. Let’s go already,” Jake snapped. Between Mei’s weight and wagging head and his own benighted sense of balance, he didn’t know how long he could stay upright. The walls were beginning to blur.

  “No no no no wait.”

  “What?” Carmichael leaned closer. “Wait. What, Mei?”

  “I—no no no.” she said, and took a deep breath. “Don’t you see it?”

  “See what?” asked Carmichael. Nat and Santos leaned in, too, and Jake could feel Con’s hand hard on his shoulder. He’d almost forgotten Con was there.

  “See it crawling. Look how it comes. It’s alive.” She shivered and tucked her chin into her chest, and then, without looking, extended a hand toward the far corner of the mess. “Don’t let it near you, let it touch you. It wants in. Like me.”

  Jake followed her wavering hand, and saw the empty, shabby walls, the stacks of chairs, the garish party decorations. Mei’s shivering took on a rapid, shocky rhythm. Jake’s arms began to burn with the strain. He looked back to the others. “Do you see anything?”

  Carmichael shook his head, his eyes troubled. “We’ll get her to Lindy now. Security next.”

  He turned to look at the rest of the new crew. They had finally unfrozen, mostly. Some of the newts fidgeted or whispered, while others still stood petrified with alarm, their plates of food overturned, their chalky faces stunned. Vetted or not, Jake thought foggily, there were entirely too many of them, and all of them unfamiliar.

  Carmichael finally spoke. “Report back to the cargo bay till further notice. And, well.” He coughed. “Welcome to Selas Station.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “...project goal is still in sight. We had a wake-up drill instead of a break this morning, which is why I’m logging. The pilot assures us that it was just a drill and, as we have an hour-long stasis break each week, he wanted to practice emergency procedures. Scared some of the newly contracted, especially a young man named Arsène. I helped him clean out his berth, but his arms are still dreadfully scored from the broken lid. Med techs on board have turned out to be very inefficient in many ways. They were unable to fill my earlier request for the dampening cocktail…”

  Excerpt: personal ship’s log

  03 August 2242

  Dr. Alice Silverman

  Clinical pathologist

  Personnel Carrier Leah Harmon

  United Worlds DS 2150-1

  En route Selas Station, Satellite, Eos System

  [Data recovered 02 Dec 2242, Gunaji rights per salvage]

  1 November 2242 AEC

  02:13

  The infirmary was cool and smelled of antiseptic cleaning fluid. They waited in the main recovery area outside the Observation room, alongside the row of empty beds sealed with tightly anchored sheets. The quiet hums and clicks of monitoring machinery wove in and out of the muttered conversations around Jake. Carmichael was speaking softly on the comm to the newly assigned security crew while reviewing data on a tablet. Santos stood off to one side conferring with some newt cargo crewmen, also via comm. Con had taken the manifest for the Harmon away from Jake—just as well, really—and was accounting for and organizing the new recruits when Nat and Dr. Lindy emerged through the swinging doors to Observation.

  “Well?” Jake asked, pushing off from the wall. “How is she? Is it something related to this morning? I mean, yesterday morning? Anything for me to test?”

  “For Vedas sake and all the known mythologies,” Lindy said, frowning. “You too?”

  She stalked up to him and slapped a heavy detox fluid patch against his neck. “That should sober you up. I would’ve gotten you sooner, but I’d expected someone to stay clear, bacchanalia or no.”

  “You are.” Jake blinked back tears as the electrolyte-chem mix kicked in with a cold, stiff push and a roaring in his ears. Lindy shook her head with an expression of disgust.

  “So you’re relying on me to save the station’s ass now? No planet visits for a month.”

  “This really isn’t the time,” Carmichael said over Jake’s shoulder. He had moved closer, and at his look, Santos came to stand beside them, still muttering into her comm. “Lindy, if you don’t mind…?”

  “Not for you, Toby. I’ve sedated Mei. Except for the shock, she’s fine physically. Negligible booze in her bloodstream, and no other foreign compound.”

  “No physical cause?” Carmichael rubbed his forehead. “We’ve just knocked back that ‘flu, we got in a host of new crew—”

  “And all of ‘em with clean health certs attached to their profiles before we let ‘em in the door. They passed through decon. If anyone had so much as a sniffle, we would have seen it.”

  Carmichael’s commbud squeaked and he tapped it. “I said one moment, Mick.” He tapped it quiet again, and beckoned at Lindy quizzically. “Something mental, then.”

  “She started talking coherently. To Dr. Ticonti, that is.”

  Jake pounced on that. “What’d she say?”

  “That information is normally confidential between patient and doctor,” Nat interjected. “I’d appreciate—”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Of course!” Nat was indignant. “I have authority in these matters.”

  “Come off it, Nat, this is Mei. She’d want us to know. And it’s a security issue. Your authority isn’t valid right now.” She flinched, but Jake couldn’t stop. No, he didn’t want to stop. She made him so unexpectedly angry, with her silly little unthinking dogmatic rules and the toss of her head and her complete lack of understanding about anything real and horrible outside of herself. He could feel his mouth moving against his will, and for once he didn’t care. “Keep out the dirty details about childhood trauma or sexual fantasies, if you can. But how do you expect us to figure out what happened—”

  “Jake.”

  “—if you just duck behind rules and regulation regardless of the situation?”

  “Jake.” Carmichael gripped his shoulder, and the sharp hot pinch of it brought Jake back. He snapped his mouth shut.

  “That’s inappropriate,” Carmichael murmured. “And unnecessary.”

  Lindy tutted under her breath. “Fluid patch overload. Among other things.”

  “Okay. You’re upset about Mei. We all are. But I need you of all people thinking, not flying off the handle.” Carmichael gave his shoulder another iron squeeze and turned to Nat. “I’m only going to ask you this once, Nat. What did Mei
say?”

  Nat glared at Jake, her eyes full of angry tears. Then she heaved a tremendous sigh. “You’re in charge, of course. The details are still no one’s business and—and I won’t be bullied.”

  “No one is going to bully you, Nat. Not even Jake.”

  “Not until after the witnesses leave,” Jake said.

  “Jake.”

  Jake tried for a jokey smile, but he couldn’t really muster anything convincing. Nat’s frosty expression told him he’d failed. The heavy, nasty rage, patch overload-induced or not, still lingered in his chest.

  Nat pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Mei told me she came out of the cooler, she went to get some food, and she saw something.”

  “Something,” Jake muttered. “Helpful, that. I suppose there’s a code of specificity among shrinks, too—”

  “I am getting to it.” Nat straightened her shoulders. “I’ll take my time, shall I? So that I don’t say something I’ll regret. She wanted more food, so she went out to get a plate. She looked up, and there was, she says there was something—crawling. Something crawling along the ceiling.”

  “All right.” Carmichael crossed his arms. “Specifics.”

  Nat was turning a deep maroon. “I hardly expected particulars, sir, given her present state of emotion. It was dark, she said.”

  “The mess?” Jake shrugged. “Looked pretty well-lit to me.”

  “It. The crawling thing. It was dark. Like a shadow. And alive.” Nat shook her tablet at them, and then read from it. “I quote. ‘It crawled at me. At my face.’ Does that satisfy you?”

  Jake craned his neck until he could see Mei’s bed. Tightly swaddled and motionless under a crisp white sheet, she stared up at the ceiling with wide, opaque eyes. His heart clenched. “I thought you said you sedated her.”

  Lindy exchanged a look with Nat. “I did.”

  “She said she needed to see it coming.” Nat pressed her tablet to her chest. “She should be out—rather, asleep soon.”

  “Hells.” Carmichael massaged his scalp. “Well, this is all nicely vague.”

  Santos spoke up. “I’ve been talking to some of the others who were in the mess at the time. They didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

  “I’m sorry, Rachel, but that’s just not good enough. We’ve got a crewmember with no reported history of mental illness—” Carmichael looked askance at Nat, who gave him a dirty look. He snapped his fingers, and after a beat, she nodded unwillingly.

  “No history of mental illness. The flu’s out. Contaminants are out.”

  “Some other kind of disease, then?” Jake offered. “Some kind of infection our decon system doesn’t recognize. And I don’t think I’m being odd man out here by reminding you that there’s always Leech.”

  “Decon does acknowledge Leech,” Lindy said. “I tested the latest upgrade myself. And the last reported case in a controlled environment was, oh, a damn century ago. So unless it came over on the Harmon in a test tube, I’m skeptical.”

  “I know it’s far-fetched. But all we really know right now is that she’s seeing things. Isn’t that enough symptomatically to warrant further tests?” Jake didn’t want to mention Con’s tip, though it wasn’t exactly that. More of an assumption, given Science’s sudden lust for Restore. What the hell could they possibly want with it, other than the obvious? Had all the corpses reanimated or resurrected, Leech and fancy-free?

  “Of course.” Lindy crossed her arms. “The incubation period would give us just enough time to kiss each other’s asses goodbye. But I’ll test for it.”

  “I think that’s the best course,” Nat chimed in. “But I doubt it’s the answer. We were all imbibing.”

  “Our being drunk doesn’t explain her flipping out,” Jake retorted. “And you’re pretty quick to dismiss anything other than a totally out-of-character breakdown which, I might add, slots her neatly into psych jurisdiction—”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Carmichael interrupted. “Jake, you’re being unprofessional. And an ass.”

  “What? I am?”

  “You are,” Nat hissed.

  “Well, damnations.” Jake leaned against the wall. “This is a new experience for me.”

  “Quiet.” Carmichael slapped his tablet against his palm. “Nat, you’re not helping, either. I don’t want to hear any more from either of you for at least five damn minutes.”

  Nat crossed her arms, fairly radiating fury. Jake stuffed his hands into his pockets and sealed his lips. Carmichael regained his maddening calm in a blink.

  “Now. Listen carefully, because I’m going to tell you what I want, and then we’re going to do it. The end.”

  “Wonderful,” Nat said.

  “Fine,” Jake countered.

  “Brilliant,” Nat barked.

  “Fantastic,” Carmichael snapped. “I want updates on Mei sent directly to my tablet, Lindy, and I want you to hail me immediately if her condition changes. If she speaks again or shows any sign of improvement, I want to know about it.”

  Jake’s fluid patch was really beginning to kick in. His fingers steadied, and the edges of his vision sharpened, too much so. He rubbed at his temples and was unnerved to see Nat and Santos unconsciously mirroring the movement. Carmichael’s voice continued, and he tried to catch up to it.

  “I also want the mess emptied and for a security team to do a complete sweep of the station, starting there. Central scan first and then on foot. Including access tunnels. Santos, that’s you and me, but I’ll take point this time. Those two newts I mentioned, grab them and we’ll make a team. Get me set up, and I’ll take it from there.”

  Santos covered her comm and nodded. “Already on it.”

  “What about me?” Jake asked.

  “I’ll get to you.” Carmichael turned to Nat. “Dr. Ticonti. Nat. I need you to get me official statements from all current personnel, not including our new crew. Not yet. That should be eight total.”

  “But I already spoke to everyone,” Nat protested. “Except for you and Jake.”

  “On the record?”

  “Well, no. But I feel I can more than adequately interpret their statements to create an amalgamate account.”

  “Unfortunately, that won’t hold up in court. We’re official from here on out if we want to keep our jobs. I’ll be reporting this to the central Science hub on Earth, so we need to follow regulations to the letter.”

  Nat lifted her chin, but she subsided.

  “Next. Griffin.”

  “What can I do?” Con asked. He was leaning negligently between the hazmat suit containers that lined the infirmary wall. How could he appear so calm? Jake wanted to shake him, but Carmichael only gave him a considering look.

  “Apart from my security detail, I want you to put all new personnel back on the Harmon.”

  Con started forward, a look of surprise on his face. “Uh—back, sir?”

  Carmichael spread his hands. “You know them. Better than I do, I admit.”

  “Well. A little, I guess. But they’ve been over here. They’ve transferred. Technically.”

  “Transfer them back. We need as few people on this station as possible to get our bearings.”

  “Okay.” Con scratched his head, then turned and dissected Jake with a gaze far too alert, even for someone with an empty fluid patch flapping lazily against his neck. “I have to ask for an exception, though.”

  For himself, Jake thought. Which Carmichael would instantly find suspect, judging by his disclosure in the labs about Internal Audit fears. But it made sense for them to keep the visiting ship’s pilot in the loop. He tried to insinuate via meaningful look and shrug that Con should under no circumstances bring up their own conversation or anything regarding Marathon, Science plots, or the Restore serum. Con mouthed, what? Jake tried to sign more explicitly, saw Santos watching him, and subsided into an oh-so-casual lounge against the nearest cot, which was unfortunately further away than he’d thought.

  “That’ll keep.�
�� Carmichael turned back to Santos. “And you’re also in charge of accounting for all current station workers. There’s so few of us, it won’t take long. Check us in, and run us all through the infirmary. Coordinate with Nat so she can take their statements at the same time. Jake.”

  Jake’s comm sing-songed. He pressed the talk button. “What is it?”

  “Jake.” Kai’s voice filled his ear. “We need to talk about your samples.”

  “This is not the time, Kai.”

  “All right, that’s it, this has gone beyond ridiculous. I’m sending my report to UWS tonight, you bast–”

  Jake disconnected and turned to Santos. “Respectfully suggesting you put Dr. Murakami to bed first. Sounds like he’s down in the lab.”

  “He’ll lock me out.”

  “I’ll give you my lab override privileges.”

  With a glance at Carmichael, Santos sighed and gave him a mock salute. “Affirmative, Your Illustriousness.”

  They’d been giggling in the mess cooler over cards not half an hour ago. Maybe they were dreaming, all passed out on the floor with the flu or in their quarters hallucinating this chaos, Lindy included. The idea made Jake’s neck prickle, and he blinked hard until he was firmly back in his skin and reality. Back to Nat, whose elaborate eye makeup had smeared gold and black over her temples, and Santos back in her starched uniform, ice-cold and ready with eyes sharper than Jake’s. Back to Mei, locked in her loop. He wanted to break something. His head was killing him.

  “We’ll all sleep when we know what’s going on,” Carmichael rumbled beside him. “So get to it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nat said. She looked as though she wanted to say more, but then she tightened her lips and tapped her commbud instead.

  “You didn’t assign—” Jake began, but Carmichael held up a hand.

  “Jake. I want you to go over Mei’s test results with Lindy and then draw some, well, some blood.”