War in the Fringe - Chris J Pike
Page 26
Kylie just didn’t want to break any hearts in the process.
* * * * *
The small break room was well lit, and one wall was painted in a cheerful meadow scene. There was a vending machine, and Kylie purchased a cup of coffee, two packages of beef jerky and a chocolate bar.
She set to them, new energy flushing through her body as the carbs and protein went to work. Kylie wolfed them down, and then sat for all of thirty seconds before she rose and paced across the room.
She read some of the information holos on the wall and then sighed with impatience and walked out of the room.
Back in the corridor, she considered walking through the ER once more, but decided against it, she’d had enough of the haunted eyes for now.
Kylie turned right, headed for a side exit that would lead her back to the lifts. Maybe she could pay a visit to Trigg and go for another round with the woman.
As she turned a corner, her foot slipped on a puddle. Kylie’s hand shot out and grabbed a door jamb to keep from falling.
A grisly sight caught her eye through the door’s window, and she glanced at the sign.
The morgue. Today just gets better and better.
It occurred to her that the bodies from the apartments might be in the room. They’d been removed by the time she had made her return visit.
“Perhaps there’s a clue to be found,” Kylie whispered as she pushed the door open and stepped into the room. The cold air blew across her face, but Kylie ignored it as she approached a row of gurneys in the center of the room.
Each held a body with a sheet overtop and Kylie pulled them back one by one. None looked familiar, and she turned to the back wall, where rows of tubes stood in racks.
Kylie couldn’t help a small laugh. Marge was nothing if not upbeat—even in the face of everything they’d been through these last few days.
Kylie made her way around the table.
Kylie peered into the tubes, looking for a specific one. When she found it, Kylie lay her hand on top of the tube and gazed through the window at the serene face of Liberty—the one who had drawn them to Chimin in the first place.
Kylie took a deep breath and let Marge’s words sink in. Here she thought everyone responsible for the attack on her life had been killed. Well, wasn’t that interesting…
Kylie said.
Kylie said. She stared down at the button to open the pod and her hand hovered above it. Slowly she lowered her finger.
Exactly what Kylie was thinking. Everyone was so busy, maybe she could move the D-tube without anyone asking her any questions…. She glanced around, looking for a hover pad when a voice called out from behind her.
“What are you doing in here?”
Kylie turned to see Nicole standing just at the entrance of the morgue, hands on her hips, fire and curiosity burning in her eyes. The odds of Kylie getting the stasis pod out of the morgue now were pretty slim.
“Sorry,” Kylie offered her a contrite smile. “Guess I got bored.”
“So, you want to hang out in the morgue, huh? Aren’t you a funny one.”
“What can I say? Standing still isn’t my strong point.”
“I have time for that cup of coffee now if you’re still interested. Not much, but I need a quick breather,” Nicole motioned toward the door and Kylie readily complied. Kylie followed the good doctor out into the hall where the chaos was beginning to die down. If they didn’t make their move soon, Kylie might lose sight of Liberty for good.
Kylie thought back to Lana on board the old Dauntless and how they thought she had been dead, too.
Nicole had Kylie back into the breakroom and poured two cups of coffee into disposable cups. She handed one to Kylie and motioned to a small square table in the center of the room. Kylie spun her chair around and sat with the back against her chest. She sipped the steaming hot coffee before setting it down on the table service.
“Sorry the coffee isn’t that great,” Nicole apologized
Kylie shrugged. “I’ve had worse, almost on a daily basis.” While Kylie was renowned for brewing sludge, at least she respected the bean before running just a modicum of water through its grounds. This coffee had that burnt taste with no discernable coffee flavor what so ever. Still, given how much people hated her coffee, Kylie wasn’t in a position to complain. “The patient? Will he make it?”
Nicole nodded. “Seems like he will. Others aren’t so lucky. I’ve never seen so many cases of blindness before. Mostly, I treat kids and industrial-related injuries. A lot of these people have boils so bad it’s like their skin is bubbling off. Some can barely form a simple sentence.” She paused to sip her coffee. “Do you know what happened to them?” she asked with equal amount concern and curiosity.
Kylie took a deep breath. Sometimes to get information, you had to give it first. “Well, you said you got samples of whatever they were working on. You may know more than us before long. Turns out that anti-AI radicals had taken over the CSF and shut down Facility 99. I don’t know what that substance does, but I imagine it—or some of its components—are what caused this. I don’t know what they plan on doing, but you can bet your bottom dollar that it’s for nothing good.”
Nicole’s eyes widened and she leant back in her chair. “I wasn’t completely honest with you before. I heard rumors, I mean everyone here hears rumors every day. Usually it’s the normal crap you talk about when you’re isolated. Busy work, but lately…people have been talking about miners going missing. Families disappearing. Thing is, with all the chaos in the system, people are coming and going, refugees in, and anyone with money out. Hard to keep track of anything.”
“But it made you nervous.” Kylie squinted for just a moment. “Didn’t it?”
Slowly, Nicole spun her coffee cup in a circle. “A little bit. Something in the air felt different. When you’d hear how the corn shipments were late or locals w
ould complain there was no beer left, you start to wonder. But I’m a doctor. I’m not here to investigate. I heal the sick. I just wish we weren’t seeing so many sick here today.”
“Did you hear anything about the CSF? That something had happened to them?”
Nicole shook her head. “No. What happened to them?”
Kylie sighed. “Let’s just say they’re out of commission. Someone replaced them…entirely, I think. Mapped their faces to look like them.”
Nicole’s mouth dropped open and she gasped, horror washing over her face. “That’s…terrible.”
“I’m trying to find out what happened, who these men are, and what we can do to stop them. For all intents and purposes, Chimin is without a security force—minus me and my crew. You need to keep that hush hush, though. If it gets out, there will be riots in no time.”
Nicole’s hands seemed to tremble as she crossed her arms, a vulnerability in her eyes that made Kylie think back to those early days when she first rescued Nadine. She had been fooled once, she wouldn’t be fooled again. Her jaw clenched without thinking about it.”
“I don’t even know who you are.”
“Kylie Rhoads.” Never had Kylie felt so much apprehension at stating her name before.
Nicole’s eyes widened. “That Rhoads?”
Well, here they went again. “One and the same. He was my father, but I don’t hold the beliefs he did. His…legacy isn’t mine.”
If only that was true. It very much was.
“I didn’t mean to insinuate anything…I was just surprised.”
“I’m here trying to right some wrongs, Nicole. If it’s not asking too much, can you share what you learn, from your labs, and any autopsies? There’s still more of this stuff out there.”
“Is Chimin City still in danger? Did you capture all the men that did this?”
It wasn’t a response to her question, and Kylie wondered if Nicole was hiding something.
“Not all of them. There’s still some danger, but with any luck, we won’t be bringing you any more bodies.”
Nicole nodded. “I hope not. I’ll get the lab on it soon as I can.” She stood from the table and Kylie took that as her sign it was time to move on.
Kylie rose and shook Nicole’s hand. “When you have any news, you can contact me over the Link. If you run into any problems here, if something happens and you need backup support, don’t hesitate to call me.”
Slowly, Kylie released her hand.
“Thank you,” Nicole said, then led Kylie out of the breakroom. “I have to admit, you’re very much different than I thought a Rhoads would be.”
“Yeah,” Kylie’s voice had a hint of bitterness she couldn’t shake, “most of us come with horns and forked tongues.”
Nicole’s face fell and flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” she sighed, and her voice dropped. “I guess you’ve been taking a lot of heat for what your father did. I didn’t mean to make it worse.”
Kylie really hadn’t meant to make Nicole feel so uncomfortable. She smiled. “Apology accepted.” As they passed by the entryway to the morgue, Kylie wondered if Ricket had gotten Liberty out and back to the Barbaric Queen OK.
Nicole saw her to the ER’s exit. “I’ll be busy for a few days here, but maybe if you’re still around, we could grab dinner.”
Kylie was surprised that Nicole would be so forward. Was this how regular people went on dates? It had been so long since Kylie had been asked out like a normal person that it shocked her. She and Nadine had been shipmates who’d just started sleeping together. Maverick had owned her, enough said on the subject.
No, her last date was with Grayson when they’d still been SSF cadets. There had been actual romance and chivalry—enough of it to make a woman curl her toes. It made her think about him, made her wonder if he was all right.
“Sure. Sounds nice.” If she needed intel, turning Nicole down might be the wrong move; Kylie needed to keep her actions open.
Nicole bit her lip and backed away, before pivoting and striding toward a woman moaning on a gurney.
Kylie stared after her for a minute before turning and walking out onto the concourse.
Kylie hadn’t taken three steps before a voice called out behind her. She turned to see a nurse beckoning for her to follow.
“One of the men you brought in is awake. He’s asking to talk to you.”
People talking was just what she needed. Maybe now Kylie could finally get down to business.
CLOSET
STELLAR DATE: 11.05.8948 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Unknown
REGION: Unknown, Hanoi System (independent)
Winter’s eyes started open, consciousness returning courtesy of the intensifying pain in his gut. Not only that, but his skin was hot. And not just a little hot, but burning-in-fire hot. He groaned, his arms spread out and his back arched while his fingers splayed, feeling around at the outline of a bed.
No, not a bed. A damn box. A tube of some kind.
He screamed—partly from the pain and partially from terror—the feeling of the small space compressing around him. Winter stared up and peered out of a small window. The only thing he could make out was a light on the ceiling, so bright it hid everything else around him. Winter didn’t know his location, didn’t know where he was or how he’d gotten out.
It took Winter a bit to realize his lack of motion was as much due wrist restraints as the small space he was crammed into. Tensing his muscles, he wrenched at the straps, but there was no give, no chance of release.
The space was too tight, too small, Winter couldn’t breathe. The pain in his stomach surged again, like fingers squeezing his guts from the inside out. His breath came hard, rapid, as fear formed a lump in his throat. He gritted his teeth, trying to hold back the terror, but it wouldn’t abate. And Winter screamed.
And he kept screaming as the memories came flooding back.
* * * * *
His momma had always smelled like vanilla and lavender. He remembered her scent even when it was covered up with whiskey and smoke.
On that particular day, she bustled around the bedroom getting dressed and he knew better than to watch when she was naked, preparing for a ‘gig’.
“Jameson,” she yelled—the memories bringing back his childhood name, back when he was only seven-years-old. In those days, he’d had long brown hair and a tan complexion. He’d clutched a toy mag-lev in his hand while staring out of the small apartment’s window into space.
He turned to her, suddenly remembering how in those days he had a round belly from getting too many treats from the dock workers because he’d swear on command.
Momma wore a golden lace bra beneath a black silky robe tied loosely across her middle. Her look was completed with fishnets, black boots, and way too much makeup on her face that only covered up how beautiful she was.
She held the closet door open. “Inside now. Join your sister. Don’t make a peep this time.” As he walked by, she squeezed his cheeks and kissed his lips. “We need this money.”
He nodded, never one for too many words. Winter bent down and climbed beneath the dresses, and into the hole in the closet Momma had set up for them. Their special hiding spot, she called it.
There was a light and a few toys, not much else. Winter couldn’t sit straight up inside so he lay flat on his belly beside his pig-tailed sister. She didn’t say anything either, only gazed at him with sad brown eyes.
“It’ll be OK,” he said to her, listening to Momma board up the hole, twisting the screws back into place. Momma would let them out, she always did.
Except for that one time—but that was a different memory. Jameson had no idea what was coming. But Winter did, and it terrified him, the anguish pulling pain-filled
memories to the fore.
Back then Jameson did what he was told. He didn’t say anything after the few words to his sister. He kept quiet because the walls were paper thin. He heard Momma with her clientele, as she called them. The sex was rough, and Momma cried out in pleasure, being loud when ordered, quiet when commanded. Doing what needed to be done to pay the bills.
It had been like this ever since Winter’s dead-beat dad had left them behind, marooned on a god-forsaken space station that was no place for a single woman or her children.
But sometimes…sometimes the fake cries of pleasure turned into real screams of pain. Whenever that happened, Winter put his hands over his sister’s ears.
“Don’t listen, Jenny,” he whispered. “Don’t listen.”
Even though he was only seven, he knew they weren’t sounds a young lady should hear. He didn’t want Jenny to grow up like Momma.
* * * * *
Time had passed. Things hadn’t changed. Momma promised she was saving money to get off the space station, putting credit aside to get tickets to start a better life. But as two years, maybe three, went by, Momma smelled more of whiskey all the time. The vanilla faded into the background, a good memory nearly forgotten.
Then one day, not long after the earlier memory, Winter and his sister were crammed into their hiding spot—a space rapidly growing too small, their legs banging into the wall, their elbows poking each other—the small space began to fill with smoke.
Winter remembered pounding his fists on the wall, beating them until his knuckles grew bloody, all the while coughing into his shirt. His lungs felt tight, every breath seemed not enough. Winter gagged on the smoke, panic tightening his chest even more.
They’d die in there if help didn’t come soon. Winter looked down and let out a cry of terror to see that his sister wasn’t moving. He placed a hand on her chest and felt a slow rise, but it was shallow, far too shallow.
“Jenny…” his voice was hoarse as she shook her; she hadn’t spoken in over a minute. “Jenny!” He rocked her back and forth, tears streaming down his cheeks.