by TW Iain
She placed the sample in a bag and turned to the wound itself.
The fluid that still leaked was more plasma than blood. Or maybe pus would be a better word to use. She syringed up a couple of drops, and it was translucent—cloudier than normal plasma, anyway. When she zoomed in she could make out stringy filaments, and at a guess she’d say that was to help seal the wound.
But she would also say that the sealing was happening deeper down. When she delved into his lattice—and when she could circumvent the blocks that threatened to trip her and throw her out—she saw how blood vessels in the area were closed off a short distance from the wound. It was almost as if the fluid was keeping the wound open, but stopping Cathal bleeding out.
His lattice must be involved, because there was no way that was a normal biological reaction.
She called up stronger filters, and her vision took on the fragmented, almost pixellated texture she expected. It was never ideal, but some external light would smooth the worst of the edges.
Beneath the ragged incision was a bulge, similar to an internal bleed under a blunt trauma. She brought the tip of the scalpel closer, and applied pressure. Liquid seeped around it. She pulled down, giving the liquid a run-off so that it would not distort her view. She eased the scalpel further in, until it rested on the outer layer of that bulge. She paused, taking a breath, and then pushed once more.
The pop was audible, and clear liquid arced up, jetting over Ryann’s hand. It hit the glass of the torch. Tris let loose a yell, and the beam jerked away.
Tris didn’t have her training, and so she shouldn’t be shocked that he’d reacted as he did. He was young. She couldn’t be annoyed at him.
He brought the beam back down. The light was different, the waveforms clashing with her filters, and she considered asking Tris to wipe the glass. But that would only remind him of what had just happened. She’d finish her examination first.
The light dropped. And Cathal’s boot thudded against the wall.
Ryann didn’t see the movement, but what else could have made that sound?
And then his whole body spasmed. His arms and legs twitched, and the boot kicked the wall again and again. A hand slapped against Ryann’s thigh. She pulled the scalpel from his wound, heard it hit the floor, and placed a hand on his vibrating, lurching chest.
His skin rippled, pushing against her palm. And at the edge of the wound, bulges formed and receded, like bubbles.
Cathal threw his head back, foam creeping to the corners of his mouth. His teeth grinded, but that didn’t disguise the keening whine that seeped from his mouth.
Brice cursed loudly, and he was by Cathal’s feet, reaching down to pin them to the bunk, struggling as they lashed out at him. He swore, then threw his own weight across them, like he had in the cave.
Tris yelled, and the torch clattered to the floor, the light rolling around. It sprayed the wall with dancing shadows.
And Cathal’s convulsions stopped. The rippling of his skin abated, and the pustules in his shoulder faded into the surrounding tissue. His head stilled, only the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead a reminder of his exertions.
“What’s happening?” Keelin spoke, her voice small and cracked, and simultaneously Ryann heard her inner thoughts, bursting out uncontrollably.
But Ryann wasn’t sure she believed that.
Brice eased himself off Cathal’s legs. He smoothed the man’s trousers, and straightened one boot.
The rolling torch came to a rest, casting its beam into a corner, where two concrete walls met. Ryann followed them round, to the other corners, and then to the solid roof over their heads. Cold and unmoving, Ryann thought, and devoid of life.
“What just happened?” Brice asked. He knew this echoed Keelin’s question, but he needed an answer.
Ryann shook her head, as if that told him anything. She reached for a fresh dressing and sealed it over Cathal’s shoulder. Then she picked up his shirt.
“Keelin, a bit of help?” she said.
Brice watched them pull Cathal up and work his arms into his shirt-sleeves. Then they lay him back down and fastened the buttons right up to his neck. Ryann smoothed the material over his chest, and rested his arms by his side.
He looked like he was sleeping. If you ignored the blackness creeping up his neck, and the smell.
Only then did Ryann look at Brice. Her face was lined and pale. Maybe it was the effect of the light from the torch, and the shadows it cast, but Brice had never seen her looking so old.
“Okay,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, kind of like Cathal would sometimes do. “Our situation. We’re safe. That’s important. But we have problems.”
Maybe Tris sussed something, because she shot him a look before continuing.
“A summary. One, Cathal is sick. I’ve done what little I can, but he needs Haven’s experts. Two, the hold-out’s power is compromised. Tris, your thoughts please.”
Brice expected insults, but Ryann glared at the techie, and he spoke in a quiet, slow voice. “Power’s very limited. Far as I can tell, we’re running on auxiliary, but it’s locking me out of most of the systems.”
“Just so we all know where we stand, how long does auxiliary last?”
Tris shrugged. “Maybe twelve hours.”
“Okay. Third problem. Contact. Keelin, how’s our Proteus?”
“Still down.” Her mouth opened, like she wanted to say more, but her eyes dropped and her head shook.
“And I take it we can’t reach Haven.”
She didn’t phrase that as a question, but Tris answered anyway. “Not in this storm. And not since someone screwed the power.”
Ryann’s hand shot up, and she gave him another look.
“But we still have twelve hours of power, right?” Brice said, thinking how twelve hours would take them through the night. Things always looked better in daylight. “And even without power, we can cope. Aren’t the hold-out’s supposed to be fully equipped?”
Ryann nodded. “Enough to survive for a week. But the lack of power limits us. No power, no atmos control. These buildings are designed to be air-tight. We do have the emergency hatch, but that brings us on to our fourth problem.” Ryan paused. “We open that to let air in, but what else comes in?”
Brice swallowed dryly. He didn’t want to answer that question.
“So this is what we do,” Ryann continued, putting her hands on her hips. “Power’s priority, so Tris, see what you can do. Keelin, you help. Brice,” and here she nodded towards the storage units, “give us a full inventory.” Then she turned to the rear of the hold out. “I’ll recon outside.”
“No!” Keelin said, the word sharp, tumbling out like she couldn’t stop it. “I mean, you…we don’t know what’s out there. What if…”
Ryann held up a hand, and Keelin trailed off.
“We need to know the situation. Without power, we have no external sensors. And I’m the tracker. If I sense anything, I won’t even open the hatch. And if it’s safe, I’ll only take a quick look anyway. Believe me, I don’t want to go out there unless I have to.”
“But if we get the power back on, we’ll have sensors. We don’t need to rush.”
Ryann glanced at Cathal. Brice wasn’t sure if anyone else caught the movement.
“We don’t know how long that will take. We nee
d maximum data in minimum time. We work round any problems. It’s what we do.” She hesitated, then stepped towards the rear door. “Let’s do this.” The words sounded like an echo of Cathal. And like an echo, they had no substance of their own.
The door shut behind her, and Brice turned to the storage units.
The torch Tris had dropped was still the only source of light in the room, so Brice first opened the drawer with the torches and pulled out another one. He turned it on, running through the settings. He couldn’t understand why they made these things so complicated. He could change the angle and intensity of the beam, and even the make-up of the light itself. There were coloured filters, but also different wavelength settings. One was even supposed to mimic night-vision, which seemed particularly useless—surely having a light source did away with the need for night vision?
Brice selected a bright beam with a harsh blue hue, which he knew would hurt his eyes after a while, but it did a great job of banishing the shadows wherever he pointed it. Far better than the yellow glow from the torch Tris had been using, before he let it fall like a frightened child.
He didn’t even use the wrist-strap. Brice wondered how Data-monkey even got through basic training.
Tris was by the door. He’d removed the wall panel around the controls, and was prodding around inside. Keelin stood, practically touching him, and every now and then she’d bring a hand up and point.
Techies and pilots always stuck together. Brice had noticed that back in training, even before the final lattice tweaks, when specialities were still supposed to be wide open. It was like they had their own language, like they couldn’t use normal words for stuff. Keelin and Tris would be using this technobabble now, sussing back and forth. It wasn’t like they even needed to suss, though. Brice wouldn’t understand a word of it.
He turned back to the stores. He had his own job to do, even if it was the kind of thing anyone could do. But it was grunt-work. It was a job to keep the greenest of the green out of the way.
Ryann was as bad as Cathal. No, worse. She wavered too much. She didn’t have Cathal’s solidity.
But, technically, she was in charge. He had to follow her orders, as pathetic as they were.
What else could he do?
The supplies in the hold-out were predictable enough that Brice could keep a list in his head, even without access to data banks. He found toolkits, a step up from basic but nothing special. Another drawer held five lashes, with double-strength power-packs. Below this were knives, each one in a separate sheath, and also sealed in clear plastic. It looked like they’d never been touched.
He carried on. Medical supplies, a few hygiene items, spare clothing and blankets. Everything was a bland grey colour, all standard issue. The blankets reminded Brice of Cathal’s quarters back on the Proteus. Serviceable was the word that came to mind. This stuff, all the supplies—they’d do the job, but they were nothing to get excited about.
Even the food was bland. Brice ran a finger across the rows of foodpacks, reading the labels. Each one had a name, then nutritional information. Ingredients came last, because they were not important. Who cared what it tasted like, as long as it supplied the required amount of energy or whatever?
But there was an allergy warning, as ridiculous as that was. When was the last time anyone had an allergic reaction to food? The body’s lattice would compensate. It could isolate toxins and ejected them from the body. The need to put such pointless information on a foodpack made Brice laugh out loud.
“You playing about over there, or doing something useful?”
Brice brought the torch up, shining it straight at Tris. The data-freak cursed, and shielded his eyes. Keelin put a hand on his shoulder and dipped her head. Brice lowered the beam.
“You fixed the power yet?” he said, trying to keep his tone light because he knew this would wind Tris up.
“Not after the way you screwed it.”
“Better get back to work then.”
“You think you can do any better?”
Brice wanted to come back with something strong, but he knew Tris had him there. And the moron’s supercilious grin just added to his frustrations. He thought of ploughing a fist into that smug face. He imagined the baby crying out as he staggered back. There wouldn’t even have to be any blood, and Tris would be beaten. He was pathetic.
Keelin’s other hand came round, so she had one on each of Tris’ shoulders, and she moved her face in front of his. She didn’t speak, but Brice knew she was sussing. Tris looked at her, glared back at Brice, and then nodded. His stance softened, and he snorted before turning back to the wires behind the door controls.
Keelin turned to Brice, shaking her head. He tried to read her expression, but hair hung over her eyes as usual. She didn’t smile. And then she, too, turned her back on Brice.
He looked at the foodpack in his hand, and the allergy warning wasn’t so funny now.
Tris and Keelin sussed privately, cutting Brice out and leaving him on his own. His muscles ached, because his lattice was doing nothing to aid recovery. He felt cold, his clothing held too much water, and the grit and silt and whatever else irritated his skin. He was the grunt, but without his lattice he was even less.
And without his lattice, he had no protection.
The foodpack in his hand was a curry, and it listed nuts as a possible risk. Was Brice allergic to them? He had no idea.
He pictured the scene—a meal in the semi-dark, and Brice convulsing as the nut paste or whatever it was attacked his body. He imagined the others rushing to his aid as he collapsed on the floor, shaking as violently as Cathal had done. He imagined how he’d go into a coma. Maybe Ryann would have to shove something into his mouth to keep his airway open, or stop his throat swelling and blocking.
Maybe she’d be too late.
But even if she was in time, his chances of survival were low.
Two unconscious crew-members. If the remaining three couldn’t carry them both, they’d have to make a decision—the commander or the grunt.
Brice had no doubt which way they’d go.
He wondered if Ryann would give him something to end it, or if they’d leave him in the hold-out. Maybe they’d send someone out to retrieve his body once they were safely in Haven.
And would anyone care? Ryann might act upset, but that would be because she couldn’t keep her crew together. Tris would probably be pleased. And Keelin?
If Brice thought she cared, he knew he was kidding himself. She was too close to Tris, too wrapped up in their techno-crap.
Brice was nothing.
Ryann had to get out.
Was that selfish? She wasn’t sure. All she knew for certain was that the walls were closing in, and that she couldn’t think. She needed space. She needed to get out of that tomb.
She was failing. She had no idea how to prevent Cathal’s condition from deteriorating. Without power, she had no way of calling for help. And she could do nothing to stop the animosity between Brice and Tris.
Her crew was falling apart. And all she wanted to do was run away.
In the space behind the door, she took a long, deep breath. The air was close and still, almost stale, but above her was the hatch. Maybe a lungful of the night air would help. Maybe the rain on her face would wake her up.
She climbed the metal rungs, noticing how polished they were. She didn’t know if that was because they hadn’t been used, or because this hold-out had been tended recently. With the lack of power, there was no way of accessing the building’s data.
Ryann reached the hatch, and she paused, pushing out with her lattice, reaching through the thick concrete and the harsh metal. Beyond the hold-out, the signals were fluid, more animated, and she searched for familiar traces.
There were no warths but there was something else.
She closed her eyes and focused. The trace was strong but indistinct, and that indicated a number of beings at a distance. So there was more than one of
those creatures. Ryann concentrated, but she couldn’t get a firm grasp. She had no idea how many there were.
But none of the creatures were close to the hatch. There was no risk. She had to do this.
Ryann spun the rotary plate on the hatch. Then she clicked the clasp open and pushed.
Water ran down the walls before she’d pushed the hatch fully open, and the roar of the storm washed over her. Rain stung her face, and the sky lit up as a peal of thunder followed the lightning. Tree-tops whipped back and forth, the rustling of the leaves angry and agitated.
And Ryann welcomed it all.
She pulled up filters to combat the darkness, and checked the traces again. The creatures were still at a distance, but they seemed…interested. She imagined they must have noticed the hatch opening.
Ryann climbed a rung higher, and her head cleared the hatch. Water splashed on the concrete roof, pooling in places so that it looked almost alive. She looked to the edges of the hold-out, and out into the trees. There was too much movement, but she could sense patches of stillness, like the void that surrounded the creature in the cave.
Ryann realised she’d felt that in the hold-out, too. Not from the forest, but from Cathal. His lattice fought hard, but beneath the heat and energy was a similar dark limbo.
She knew what that had to mean, and it terrified her.
She steadied her feet and turned, making a full three-sixty. She scanned, reading the forest to the best of her abilities. She’d told Keelin they needed data, and so she pulled as much in as possible. She mapped the trees, and the landing pad. Further out were paths, and Ryann caught the traces of warths, maybe a few days old.
But they were not as strong as the signals from the creatures that surrounded the hold-out.
They evaded her sight, but she knew they were there. They hid in the shadows, at ground level and higher up. She could not detect individuals, but felt them like a being with many parts, like a connected pack.
