by E L Strife
They couldn’t understand why she wanted the material.
“To study it,” she’d said.
Atana had called in a collection sweep of Mercy for any Verros weapons. She had also spoken with Bennett. He confirmed the scrub team was already on scene, and he would coordinate with them. His report on the altercation calmed her concerns. It ended soon after you left, a couple shots, and the few Verros remaining fled.
She shifted on the bench to check on Josie. The woman’s rigid form hadn’t moved from the glass in hours. She looked like a droid waiting for a command. Like Cutter. He fought without concern for his own body, in a self-sacrificing, guilty sort of way, something Atana related to.
“If he pulls through, are you going to hold up to your word of love?” Atana asked.
Josie sucked in a sharp breath. The nurses were cleaning up as Panton was wheeled out and another shepherd took his place.
Atana hung her head. “Forgive me for being so blunt. I am learning where to draw the line.”
Licking her lips, Josie turned and sat carefully beside her. In the emptiness between them, Atana could hear the muffled chirps of diagnostic equipment and people shuffling around. The LED lights seemed harsher every time she was in the infirmary for a reason even though she knew they were the same ones as yesterday.
Josie’s hands knotted together in her lap. “The Topaks had overrun Nugredi. Our village had a suicide pact. We got the land, or no one got it. When the last-line perimeter went off, my parents and two brothers piled on top of me. I am the only survivor—of both clans.” She wiped her running nose on a sleeve, a do-not-tell-a-soul gleam in her eyes. “I know what love means. UP pulled me from their bodies, buried in the rubble.”
“Does he know?” Atana asked.
With a dolor hum, Josie straightened her legs and rolled her shoulders. “Josh’s father left when he was little. His mom got sick from the toxins in the water when he was seven. He walked twenty miles barefoot to get her medicine. One way. She passed before he made it home. He spent a few years in an orphanage. Something happened he won’t talk about. I know he was forced to round up the other kids and evacuate. He hid everyone for a month in the mountains before UP found them. Command’s tried to put him in a leadership position.” She arched a brow. “He refuses to ‘ever do that again.’”
Josie scooted closer, eyeing the shepherds talking in the distant hallway. “I was impulsive our last night on Agutra. I haven’t been able to be close to him since we’ve been back. He’s been askin’ me why. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know why.”
Atana hung her head. She’d cracked and argued with Bennett, threatening everything they’d worked for. Something about their fight felt more like dancing, their attacks and defenses seeming almost too perfectly timed like they were preprogrammed or at least identical patterns. Maybe Yashina and Sensei trained together?
She brushed the images of Bennett away. This was about Josie and Panton.
“We were all impulsive up there. The serum wasn’t strong enough to counteract all the workers’ emotions and also fight our own too. As soon as the door opens into the emotional world, it’s almost impossible to close it. That’s why UP won’t take us after twelve. We are easier to train and control when we are younger, before we grow into our hormones. It’s also why none of us have been mandated on serum since we’ve been back.”
“Oh.” Josie paused. “You seem close with Command.”
“They’re intimidated by me, nothing more.” Atana didn’t want delve into such a complicated situation. “As for us, we’re just going to have to learn control.”
“Ma’am?” A young, male nurse appeared in the hall, looking at Josie. “You are Sergeant Panton’s co-shepherd?”
Josie stood, grasping her elbows. “Did he make it?”
The man’s pause seemed to stretch forever. “Yes, follow me.”
“Thank you, sir.” Josie jogged down the hallway as Cutter and Tanner burst in from the staging area. Forcing her stiff legs to put her upright, Atana intercepted them.
Cutter peered around her. “Did he pull through?”
“Yes. We need to let them have time together.”
“Oh?” Tanner hid his grin behind a hand. “Copy. I’m going to go get some dinner before working on the collectors. Anyone else hungry?”
“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Atana said.
Cutter inspected her for a long second before nodding to Tanner, who shrugged and left.
She gestured to a private bench by the ocean windows. “Please, walk with me.”
Chapter 41
“STOP TRYING TO TEAR IT OUT!”
Josie stopped in the doorway, seeing a nurse slap Panton’s hand away from his face.
“You need this to breathe,” the woman said, adjusting the nasal cannula back into position. “And don’t you dare touch the IV again, or I’ll be forced to get Rowan. She’ll put you in restraints without hesitation.”
“Fight—” Panton wheezed.
Tearing off three strips of tape, the nurse tacked down the IV feeding into his hand. “You’ve done your job, soldier. You must accept this, or you will never work again.”
The door clunked shut behind Josie. When Panton looked, his shaking hand fell to his lap. “Yalina?”
“Hi.” Josie’s initial shock settled into amusement.
His nurse turned around. “Oh good, the specialty sergeant has arrived.” She smiled with relief, stopping by Josie on her way out. “We train them so well they almost won’t listen to anyone but you.” The woman pointed at Panton. “Don’t let him touch anything.”
At Josie’s acknowledgment, the nurse left the room.
Seeing him propped up against the raised back of the bed, loops of tubes and cables connecting him to an arch of machines, she hid her salt-burned eyes behind her hands.
Panton took a long, whooshing drag on his oxygen feed. “Don’t cry, baby.”
“It’s the-the antiseptic smell is strong.” Waiting until the last tears had freed, Josie wiped her face dry, straightened her posture, and shuffled over to him.
Panton’s head tilted, his dark brown eyes locked on her. “Terrible liar.”
She cleared her throat and sniffled through a half-smile. Pulling his chart up on the screen attached to his bedpost, she scanned his surgery report and restrictions. “How are you feelin’?”
“Much better.” He paused to take a breath. “Now that you’re here.”
A different nurse carried in a tray with some soft, clear foods for him to eat.
“No steak?” He gargled out when the young man set the tray on the rolling bedside table.
“Sorry, sir. Clears for the next two hours because of the light sedation. Somebody kept trying to get up during surgery.” With a jerk of his head, he suggested Josie assist and left.
Slowly drawing the stool from the side of the room, Josie sat beside him. She’d been replaying the events in her mind since they’d loaded the transport. Every time she uncovered the courage to tell him what she’d decided had to change, she chickened out again.
Panton visually scoured her face as if he were memorizing it. He lifted an index finger.
“Right, sorry.” She hovered a hand over the tray, reading the labels. “Apple juice, peach gelatin—”
“Peach.”
She selected the cup and a spoon.
“The truth.”
Looking back to the finger, she realized he was pointing it at her, not the food. Lowering her head, she couldn’t get the image of him bleeding out. “It’s my fault. If I’d been on serum if I’d not been distracted—”
“Tried it.” His eyes held a mixture of disappointment and rejection.
“Why?” she asked.
“Doesn’t matter.” He drew in deep. “Didn’t work. Two-hour fade.”
The weak rasp to his voice made a fresh tear slide down her cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
Panton lifted the hand closest to her, freeing the dro
plet from her skin with the back of a tender finger. He smiled. “I’m hungry.”
She sniffled and popped the lid on a cup of peach gelatin. Filling the spoon, she gestured it toward his lips, doing her best to steady her voice. “I guess you got your wish. You get to have dinner with me.”
“I can feed myself,” he sputtered.
“Bull. Your chart says you ain’t supposed to move.” She pulled the spoon back. “I can’t take the stress again. I’m—however weird it is to say this—glad it was a normal bullet.”
“What do you mean?” His traced her silhouette, admiration curling his lips. “Don’t you like me?”
Her shoulders fell. “Josh, I can’t even begin to count the shepherds we lost today because of the Linétens’ weapons.”
Panton took a deep breath from his cannula, his nostrils flaring with sudden anger as he scanned the bleached sheets.
Josie lifted her hands with urgent insistence, realizing her mistake. He hated hearing how bad a situation became after he left, no matter the reason. He would dwell on it for the next week, pick it apart one movement at a time. “It isn’t your fault. We were entirely overrun.”
His face relaxed, and he looked down at his bandaged chest with distaste, a shallow sigh parting his lips.
She sent the gelatin into his mouth before he could object. “If you get uncomfortable, I’ll move or massage anything you need me to.”
Refilling the spoon she looked up to see a curious expression hiding in his half-cocked smile.
“Anything?”
“Josh!”
He chuckled once, and it threw him into a weak coughing fit.
A nurse rushed into the room, shaking an inhaler and shoving the canister in his mouth. One puff and his lungs relaxed.
“So much fuss,” he whispered, clearing his throat. “Jeesh. I’m not dyin’.”
The nurse frowned in annoyance. Her nametag read Rowan. “You almost did, twice. So shut it, big daddy, before I have to open up a can of whoop ass on your little butt.”
She threw Josie a wink before leaving them alone again.
“Feisty—” he grumbled.
“That’s what it takes to handle your little butt,” Josie teased, trying to feed him another spoonful.
Panton shook his head. “I’m not little.”
Josie’s shoulders slumped in exasperation. “You’re a Sniper Guard.” She shook her head. “Sarcasm, Josh.”
“I mean,” he rasped, “I’m not—little.”
Her neck flushed. She glanced at the white blankets covering his lap. “Whatever they have you on is making you daring, Josh Panton.”
“It’s good shit.” He grinned broad enough she could see a few bottom teeth.
She gestured the spoon, to which he shook his head again. “What do you want, Josh? Anything, I will get it.”
His apparent delight faded into a vacant expression of defeat, his voice filling with a heavier anguish. “They sent in the bullet sponges.”
She rested the cup and spoon in her lap. “What did you see?”
“The gung-ho Kronos humans were the distraction. The Linétens came in after the commotion started.”
Josie tilted her head, thinking back. “The man I took out wore a Kronos bandana. It seemed like gunfire was first. Then I suppose I heard more of the blade-ball clanks after.”
“I watched long enough to notice something.” His look was so serious, a chilled knot formed in her stomach. “They knew our positions, all of them.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
He nodded. “They knew which buildings we were scouting from. And I heard the nurses chattering about shepherds being brought in without their wristbands, arms intact.”
“Someone took them?” Josie planted a fist to her mouth, contemplating the security breach. “I’m sure their codes have been locked out already but still. It sounds like we’re under watch, from the inside.”
“I agree.” Scrunching his eyes at the door, he lowered his voice. “If Verros are more tech-savvy than the Kronos, and I’m guessing they are, based on their unusual weaponry, they might be capable of reprogramming the bands.”
“Let’s hope you’re wrong,” she muttered.
He wheezed a gasp. “Shot and discredited in the same day.”
Josie protested with an annoyed scowl. His large, callused fingers feebly drummed the side of the bed next to him. With laughing eyes, he directed her closer in silent expectation. Placing the cup and spoon on the rollaway table, she sat on the mattress.
“Were you serious ‘bout what you said, earlier?” he asked.
She looked down at his chiseled chest, bandages and sensors taped to his flushed skin. She’d said it in a desperate confession, in case those were the last words he’d hear from her. It was how she felt, but staring at the products of her distraction, she wasn’t sure she wanted to encourage it again.
“Yalina—” The backs of his fingers caressed the insides of her forearms, crumbling her walls.
“Yes.”
His heart rate monitor beeped in rapid succession.
The door whooshed open, and Josie looked to see Nurse Rowan glaring at him. In her hand was a can with a piece of paper wrapped around it and a hand-written Whoop Ass. "You don't want to know what's inside. Trust me."
“Sorry. Sorry!” Panton gargled out with a calming breath. “Ah.” He tilted his head back for a breath. “Apparently, I was makin’ jokes to the crew and said something about Atana finally giving one of us the finger.”
“Josh!” Josie sat back, hiding her emerging grin behind a hand. “Don’t let her know you said that.”
His dark eyes crinkled in the corners. “If the med staff are on serum, it’s a low dose.”
Josie giggled. “Can you control yourself? Just nod.”
He shook his head.
She laughed abashedly, checking the bandages wrapped around his body.
“Yes—” he whispered, his breath falling against the side of her face.
Josie lingered in his warm breeze, a sign of life. “You better be sure. I don’t want to get kicked out.”
“Kicked out to live with you forever?” His eyes danced between hers. “I don’t think life could get any more beautiful.”
Two days felt like an eternity since they’d last shared a private moment. Being cautious of the oxygen tubes feeding his nose, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his.
Panton pulled back, letting out a slow deep breath. The chocolate brown halos in his eyes fell to her lips. “You are way better than steak.”
She snorted a soft laugh.
“For the first time, Yalina, I have to admit a weakness to you.” His voice trembled. “After I took the hit, I started worrying about dyin’ and leaving you alone. Would you get rematched? Would you go on alone like Atana? Would Rusty come after you?” He sucked air in through his teeth and leaned his head back, closing his eyes, lungs heaving weakly from the effort of talking. “I don’t trust anyone else to protect you the way you deserve.” He paused for a breath. “Or to pick up on your signals. I’ve never felt so in sync with another sniper, Josie. We click like we’re designed for each other.”
Josie chewed a lip to shove back the urge to giggle. He was never this chatty. “I would refuse a rematch.”
“I’m scared.” A tear broke free from his eyes. “Scared to lose someone I love, again.”
She wiped the wet streak from his face. “Me too.” Leaning around his sturdy neck, her small, plump lips left a lingering touch of affection under the angle of his jaw.
“Oh, baby, why do ya have to feel so good?” The fingers closest to her thigh lifted enough to graze the fabric. “You’re makin’ this too hard on me.” He let out another slow, controlled breath. “I guess, I like you too, Yalina.”
She sat back and scoffed. “Josh!”
Panton’s stubbled cheeks spread around a tired, but bright grin. “You know what I mean.”
Chapter 42
CUTTER’S BA
CK TENSED as he rested beside Atana on the bench. Her movements were calculated like someone who had been in pain for a long time. She had pulled him aside which meant it was something dire, requiring her version of Bennett’s Sanction.
“Any more attacks?” she asked.
The soft blues and oranges of the sun rippled in the inky waters as it set far overhead, calming the violent reds he’d seen all afternoon. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”
“How’s your leg healing?”
“Fine. Please, the point.”
She dropped her voice to a whisper. “The serum stopped working for you on Agutra, didn’t it?”
Cutter fidgeted on the seat. He was too concerned with the others to give any decent length of thought to his own issues. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play coy with me, Sergeant. It’s disrespectful to yourself. You’re hiding an open wound in the dark where it will rot and fester until it kills you from the inside out, without your knowledge.”
His spine chilled so fast, he worried, if he moved, he might snap. Pissing off an H-bomb like Atana was a bad idea to begin with, and they were entombed in an underwater prison.
“Your memories, the ones that—haunt you—came forward, when the serum faded,” Atana said it more to herself than him.
Cutter looked at his hands, freckled with blood and tar. The Agutra fields pulled out different aspects of each person’s self-repressed behaviors, things serum never touched. But he had seen the common flashes of emotion in others’ eyes: the helplessness of watching lives bleed out without a way to stop it, the anger brewing after, and the fatigue and depression to end the ruthless cycle of a battle. They all kept working despite how they felt because they were sworn in, promised on their lives to protect those who could not fight for themselves.
The shepherds who had gone up for the mutiny were the least affected, compared to the team. Most were back to normal upon their return to Earth with the help of a serum booster despite the mandate release.
Cutter tilted his head, looking away from her, not wanting to discuss his past. It was how he kept himself in check. Part of his obligation as a psychologist was to monitor the team and assist where necessary. He couldn’t do that if he was wallowing in pitiful self-reflection.
