Memory's Exile

by Anna Gaffey

  “No one should be denied this. No one. It’s such a powerful, clean feeling. Like rebirth, or resurrection.”

  Excerpt: personal ship’s log

  05 October 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

  22:25

  Come down, Con said. I am resigned.

  Rebecca laughed in his ear, startlingly loud and clear. Come down and kill us again.

  Kill me again, Santos added. You did, you know. If you don’t move, you’ll die. All alone, trapped in darkness, just like us.

  So what? Jake shouted. Why would I care about you, anyway?

  They’ll all die, too.

  Come down. Come down. Come down.

  One moment, everything was black. In the next, he was surfacing, wobbling up through the blackness and swimming shadows. Jake took a deep breath, and another.

  His chest was burning, and he couldn’t pull in enough air. His eyes ached. A stiff, leaking pain pounded in the back of his head. He couldn’t immediately figure out where he was. Not in bed, not in the infirmary, the beds were not nearly this rigid. But he definitely was lying on something uncomfortably corrugated. The floor. The corridor. No, the cargo bay.

  Okay, he was on the floor of the cargo bay. Nothing strange about that, nope, no sir. Jake tried opening his eyes, and oh, holy joes, that was a bad idea. The lights far overhead stabbed into him. He groaned and shut his eyes again. His head felt like someone had stomped on it.

  Silence surrounded him. The bay felt echoing and vast, but hadn’t there been someone there with him? He covered his eyes with one hand and reached out with the other. Nothing. He touched floor, more corrugated metal, and then his fingers met soft fabric, with solid body filling it out. He slid his hand over the fabric and touched flesh, knobbly bone, long fingers. A wide carved ring, rough like burred metal. Someone he knew wore a ring like that…Mick. Mick with his orange hair and nervous, rueful eyes. Mick with a frygun, trembling. The previous moments rushed back.

  He had to get up. Mick had been hurt. Nat was lurking somewhere. And Santos was gone, lost, he could fly a pod out and help to retrieve her.

  Sure you can. Look at you reclining there on your stellarcore featherbed. You’re in all kinds of shape to fly. You don’t even know how much time has passed.

  “Shut up,” Jake said aloud, and to his surprise, the voice stopped. That was a good sign. He could do this. He gritted his teeth and tried to sit up—

  No. Oh, dead gods and old-time demons, no.

  All right, sitting up was going to take a while. He let his head thunk back to the floor, and oh man, was that a wilder mistake. The shock reverberated throughout his skull, silvering his vision to static and black again, and then he was gasping back up out of the black at the faraway gunmetal ceiling.

  How many times was he going to wake up woozy and sick on his back? How many more skull wallops could he take before brain damage set in? But then, why was he still worrying about brain damage? The erasure and the chip were brain damage. Surely a little more couldn’t hurt.

  Yellow lights flashed overhead. Was he still seeing things? Jake blinked. No. They were the emergency lights. Out of nowhere, a figure loomed over him, and he cringed against the floor.

  “Are you in pain?” Nat asked. Her dark eyes were burnt holes in her face, lost and dull and bleak.

  Jake managed a small nod. His head throbbed angrily in response.

  She’d put on his pressure suit. The legs were too long for her, and she’d bunched them up and pressure-sealed them with green cargo tape to her own boots. The padded shoulders jutted out twice her normal size. Under one arm, she held his fishbowl helmet. She’d gnawed her lips bloody.

  Nat squatted down clumsily, her boot brushing his ear, and pressed his neck with the condensational circular kiss of a medkit patch. He flinched away, and she pressed harder.

  “What's in that?”

  “Nothing much. Just for the headache. Don’t want you in too much pain.” Her face was close to his, but her dead eyes were oblique and far away. The corners of her mouth turned down. “I’m sorry I hit you, Jake.”

  “That’s okay.” Still more evidence that he was definitely not thinking clearly, as if he needed any more. His feet were cold without his boots. Maybe Nat would bring them. She was still talking.

  “…It’s just that I can’t get away from it. It’s like a cloak.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” Jake said. He supposed he should care, but whatever she had given him was smoothing out the edges of the strobing yellow light, gentling it till it was soft and warm as sunlight. His eyelids felt marvelously heavy.

  “It’s too much. It’s unbearable. And the things it makes me think, and feel.” Nat closed her mouth and shook her head so hard her hair fanned out around her head. “It’s permeated the whole station, infected it and us. Unacceptable. I just want to explain to you that I have to get rid of it. Have to. Before it—before we all—oh, hell. Mick was right. We’re none of us safe. It was with you earlier in the corridor, I saw it. But now I can’t see it anymore. It could be anywhere.”

  Her eyes widened, and she pressed a hand to the floor as if to steady herself. “I can still feel it, Jake. Heavy. It’s soaking into my skin like damp in the air. And soon—soon it’ll be me. My skin won’t be mine anymore.”

  A warning claxon blared over her words. Jake’s headache rushed back full force, and he curled over onto his side. His legs were loose again, his arms lighter. He looked down and saw the grey of his station uniform. She had moved him; the green containers sat further behind Jake, and he could no longer see the door where he and Nat had entered earlier. Beside him lay Mick, quiet as a corpse, and alongside Mick stretched Mei. Was this the same violent hellion who’d maimed Carmichael? She looked even smaller and more ineffectual than she had in the infirmary, a purpling bruise spreading out from under her dark hair, and he could no longer summon apprehension at the sight of her, only sadness. A dangerous mistake, clearly. He supposed he could credit the head wound. He reached out and touched Mei’s brow. She was cool under his fingers. I will get us out of this, he told her. You and me and Mick. Tomorrow we’ll be laughing about this.

  Nat was still talking, and unfortunately he could hear her quite easily over his thoughts and the alarm. That the alarm was so quiet seemed…odd, to say the least.

  “I let Mei out of the infirmary, and it didn’t help. It didn’t stop this incessant…thrumming into my mind. It’s growing and growing, and I haven’t fed it knowingly. I’m not a traitor. Do this and that, it says. Come down, for heaven’s sake. So I’ve got to end it, you see. Mei wasn’t helping anymore. You can see that. She’s almost useless. And Mick couldn’t even use my medical override code properly.”

  “Your medical override code.” Jake felt incredibly stupid, and incredibly relieved. Lindy’s still with us. “Right. Of course. Though I thought they revoked those for psychs.”

  “Funny,” she said, still smiling. “Yes, my code.”

  “My suit doesn’t fit you.”

  Nat looked down at herself. “No. That’s against safety regs, you know. But it needn’t fit for long.” She swallowed visibly. “Mick had the right idea, but I don’t think he would have been capable of fully cleaning house, do you?” Her gaze shifted to Mick’s silent form. “He told me about some of his dreams, you know. Part of our sessions. I shouldn’t say, I suppose, it’s unprofessional, but what’s the harm now?”

  “You’re going to tell me about private sessions.” If anything could convince him Nat had lost it, that was it. “I thought that information was normally confidential between patient and doctor.”

  “They all tell me their dreams.” She smiled, almost tenderly. “So many drea
ms. They’re all different, and they’re all the same. Even mine. Selas, Selas, Selas. If we love Selas, we’ll come down. All the same. Except you, and yours. And you won’t talk about them.”

  “I’m strange like that,” Jake whispered. “I don’t suppose you feel like telling me why you’ve all gone insane?”

  Nat’s smile twisted. “Your opinion of what constitutes insanity tends to be less than convincing, Doctor, when it’s yours against those of everyone else.”

  “See, that there? Insane. Crazy. What are you going to do?”

  “Let’s see.” She rose and stepped away from him. “The station containment field is out, and four levels are impassable with halodine. Heart’s fumbling with environmental controls, but the total containment loss should knock out any chance of survival for the rest of the station. There’s already some particle damage to the upper levels. And the Harmon…” She paused, her face troubled. “I’m not sure about that. Perhaps, when the station fuel cells rupture, the ship will be encompassed by the blast. But I thought I’d drop the station out of orbit, in any case.”

  “The hell you will.” Nat had no technical space station experience outside the most basic cargo and docking procedures. “You don’t even know where the right controls are.”

  “I can read the manuals, Jake.”

  “Yeah. But can you understand them?”

  “Gods, you’re such a shit.”

  “I know damn well Mick can read, but comprehension’s another story with him. Why are you any different?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Gobi’s manual predicts that, without constant boost and containment, station orbital decay will occur at a rate of 500 kilometers per—”

  “Fine.” So she knew Gobi, enough to quote. That was not fine. That was nowhere near fine. Jake could feel sweat forming on his brow. “I gotta hand it to you. That’s a pretty thorough plan. Better than Mick’s.”

  “I suppose so.” She tilted her head. “I’m going to ignite the cells myself after you’ve gone.”

  She was talking about vaporizing them in her careful, clinical little girl’s voice. “Gone? Where am I going?”

  She thumbed over her shoulder at the docking portal. “Out there.”

  Jake tried a grin, but it crumbled on his lips. “That’s direct.”

  “I’m certainly not going to drag the three of you down to the manual docking ports. And I tried doing it myself, but apart from surprise smacks, I’m really not cut out for that sort of direct violence. Buttons are more my cup of tea. They’ll be the easiest way to keep you from being a nuisance, I assure you.” Nat shook the wrench over him, and Jake recoiled. “I’d rather not use this again. So you stay put.”

  “Why bother giving me the meds?”

  “I may dislike you personally, Jake, but I have no desire to cause you gratuitous suffering.” She magnetized her boots with the suit’s arm controls, and a giggle escaped her. “Oh. That’s very good. I always wondered about EVAs. But I think I prefer the simulation.” She pressed another button, and the boots released with a soft whir. Then she carefully placed the helmet over her head, and peered down at him through the glass.

  “Well.” Her voice was muffled. “Goodbye, then.”

  She turned and walked toward the glassed-in console.

  It occurred to Jake that this was it. It didn’t matter how big his dumb brain was, or how many things he’d invented, or what he’d discovered on Selas. Whatever he’d done, known and unknown, back on Earth or out here, none of it mattered. He was going to die, right now. She was going to depressurize the bay, and he’d lose consciousness before his skin swelled and his heart sped up until it burst. No horror show. No big masterful scene of recrimination and self-sacrifice, either. Just death.

  He had once thought that, when the moment of death hit him, he would crumple, weakened by terror, his brain would fail him, and he’d gibber like a baby. He’d imagined fury, a big chaotic scene. Spitting, petulance. Rage against the waste caused by the adulterating of his brain with the implant. He’d never dreamed he’d feel this, this…bland, padded numbness. He could feel the cold floor leaching his body’s heat through the thin cloth of his uniform, and nothing else.

  Of course, all that detachment could be a reaction to the painkillers.

  He had a sudden desire to apologize to his former self, the bright-and-shiny one who thought he was going to save the human race. The poor bastard had no idea what was in store for him.

  And present-Jake? Himself? He no longer had any idea what was happening, only that it was unrelated to Con or Silverman or himself, or Science or Defense. That intrigue seemed unimportant compared to whatever Mick, Mei, and Nat were smoking, something strong enough that Nat was preparing to blow up a two-hundred-year-old station worth millions in Science funding. And Kai and Lindy were up in the labs, without any clue to what was going on. As far as they knew, he and Nat were still staging the ambush of the century and saving the day. Lindy’s medical monitor might tell another story, but not until it was too late.

  Jake rolled to his other side. Would Nat have bothered to strip their commbuds? He ran his hands over the sides of Mick’s head. Stubble, sideburns, earlobes, check—but no commbud. So no contact with Lindy or Kai or even the Harmon, unless he could get to a console. He let his hands drop down and rolled back away from Mick.

  Distantly, he could still hear the claxon ringing, and the red throbbing pain in his head intensified. Had either ever gone away? They rang together, he was the ringleader, the ringer, ringing the bob minor at old-time Liverpool, long pre-Leech, of course, and then he knew in a flash why the alarm sounded so odd, why it was so quiet, so anti-claxon, so gently reprimanding compared to the usual earsplitting WARNING DANGER GET OUT OF HERE IDIOTS clamor. It wasn’t the bay breach warning. Nat hadn’t even gone through the prelim keys for that. His memory rolled over and clicked, and a laugh bubbled up inside as he realized what it was.

  Giggling, he rolled onto his side and looked back from where Nat had dragged them. The frygun was still there, half obscured by the green shipping container. There were long faint scrawling trails of darker red to follow, and he pulled himself up to his knees, crawled along them, his hand smearing through the path. He wanted to scream. Mick, Mei. But they would be all right, because he would stop her. Would she see? Hurry, hurry. His vision was fuzzing again, and he crawled by feel, following the wet daub until he reached the scarlet loom of the first container. He fumbled, but it was there, the cool slickness of the frygun, and he wrapped his fingers around it and turned and crawled back toward the console chamber.

  Nat was still keying in commands with her back to the chamber entrance as he hauled himself up and leveled the frygun at her.

  “I discharged it,” she said without turning around, her voice clear and tinny through the suit’s speakers. “But feel free to test it out.”

  Jake mashed down on the firing button. The frygun made a sad, weak fizzle, and the muzzle emitted a tiny cloud of azure smoke.

  “I did tell you.”

  “Worth a shot.” Jake tossed it away.

  “You always thought I was a chittering little prat, didn’t you? A little know-naught fresh from the Courses.” Her gloved fingers flew over the keys, and the buttons on the console lit up with twinkling colors. “Well, so you’ve a couple thousand IQ points on me. And you have your special memory thing. Or should I say, had? Lindy’s been a little loose-lipped about certain…problems, of late? Doctor to doctor, obviously.”

  Normally the idea of Nat and Lindy, of anyone discussing his chip would have chivvied under his skin. Jake touched the back of his head with careful fingers. “I always knew your doctor-patient confidentiality stance was bullshit.”

  “Just for felons. Regardless. It doesn’t prevent you being an arrogant, small-minded, selfish, shortsighted—” She paused. “Even if you proved yourself rehabilitated, you must have known you could never go back.”

  “Go back where?”

  “Earth, of cours
e.”

  Jake laughed so hard his knees buckled and he stooped back down to the floor. It was uproarious anyone thought he’d jump at the chance to return to Earth. And yet it kept coming up. Con, Toby, now Nat. Such a strange common ground for them.

  Nat scowled at him. The glow of lights reflected in her helmet and surrounded her gaunt, perplexed face like tiny stars. “Yeah. Laugh, you bastard.”

  She flipped open the casing covering the bright orange COMMIT button. “Any final words? I can’t guarantee they’ll live on or reach anyone, of course, but most people find comfort in baring their souls at the end, so to speak.”

  “Maybe you don’t know half as much as you wish you did.”

  “No need to be rude.” She frowned at him. “Though I don’t know why I’m surprised. That’s your standard modus operandi when it comes to me, isn’t it?”

  “Pretty much.” Jake rubbed at his temples. It didn’t clear his vision much. “So there’s nothing special about that proximity alert alarm?”

  “Proximity…I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Didn’t I just get done saying that?”

  “Explain.”

  “Affirmative, robot girl. The proximity alert alarm is standard cargo bay procedure 4F dash 2, when an unauthorized vessel supersedes the docking ring and goes right to the main bay doors. Happens all the time. Happened when you arrived, if I remember correctly, but maybe you don’t remember.”

  “You’re lying.” Nat was breathing heavily. “You’re lying to buy time.”

  Jake smirked. “Obviously I’m trying to buy time. So that they’ll dock before you can open those doors and I get sucked out into the great black beyond. And considering that alarm’s been going off for, oh, how long now? Ten, fifteen minutes? Just how long does it take the Harmon to dock?”

  Nat chewed on her raw lower lip. Then she slammed her gloved palm down on the orange button.

  The docking doors shot apart like grey wings and the cargo bay came alive with an invisible gale, even as he lunged for her. He hadn’t meant to push her—hadn’t really thought he could, but it didn’t matter. He saw the bodies of Mick and Mei smash against the opening like oversized dolls, and then they slipped through into the endless dark, leaving dark smears behind. A pale arm, Mei’s, caught in the crevices of the door. It beckoned. Then machinery and chunks of equipment and material whipped past to slam against the doorframe, hiding Mei’s dead gesture from view. The larger containers strained against their buckles in the sudden dampening of pressure, sound, and air.