The Lifeline Signal

by RoAnna Sylver

  He didn’t say any of this. He could hardly think of any words that fit. Except for one. “Centaur.”

  “No,” they said in the same nice, non-evil-sounding voice.

  “Dreaming?”

  “You’re not dreaming. But you probably have a very high fever.”

  “Oh.” It was only when Indra sank back down that he realized he’d been halfway to his feet, apparently ready to run. “Weird.”

  “Yes, this has to be a shock,” the strange, not-centaur person said, holding up their hands as if to show him they were empty and unarmed. And human. “Ordinarily we’d meet after you were more used to—us, but it looks like we had to get you in here right away.”

  “It’s—yeah okay, but,” Indra stammered, still trying to catch his breath. “Who are you?”

  “My name’s Rowan,” the strange person said, sounding more calm and level than Indra felt or could imagine ever feeling again. “You’re on a ship called the FireRunner, and you’re safe.”

  “You’re really not a centaur?”

  “No.” They didn’t seem to find the question strange. Maybe for them, it wasn’t. “But I am a doctor.”

  “Cool.” Indra still felt like he was trapped in the weirdest dream he’d ever had but, if he was dreaming, he might as well go along with it. “You can fix…” He gestured to his arm, then all of himself.

  “Yes. I’m here to help you.”

  “Good. Also, hi. My name’s Indra, and I’m here to…” He didn’t know, so he stopped talking and went back to staring.

  “You’re here to get better,” Rowan said as they moved—clip-clopped—over to a nearby cabinet, but Indra only half-heard. He couldn’t take his eyes off their horns, ears and—

  “Eyes? What are—what’s going on there?” He gasped. “The captain lady had those too!”

  Rowan lowered their eyelids, hiding their all-black eyes and looked quickly away. It seemed like a reflex, automatic once they remembered. “Yes, a few of us do. It’s not contagious or painful, but sometimes we do forget they look a little…different. Again, I apologize.”

  “But she had them too,” Indra insisted; about half of that had gone over his dizzy head. “Will that happen to me?”

  “Not unless you’ve been consistently exposed to Tartarus’ atmosphere, for years.” They shut the cabinet again. “When did this happen?”

  “Uh, yesterday, I think. Yesterday-ish.” His panic subsided a bit as he tried to remember the sequence of events.

  “Good, then you have nothing to worry about.” They came back and only now Indra noticed they had something in their hand that looked like an asthma inhaler. When did they—the cabinet, he realized, feeling very proud of himself for having solved that mystery. “What kind of exposure was it? It looks like very close-range.”

  “It breathed on me,” Indra said, nodding his head a few times—a mistake, because it made the room start spinning again. He shut his eyes until it stopped a couple seconds later. “A dragon. Ghost dragon. Dragon ghost?” Indra laughed, just a little hysterically.

  “Indra?” Rowan interrupted his latest round of half-panicked giggles, not unkindly. Despite their somewhat disturbing appearance, their face and voice were mellow and soft.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s going to be okay.” They smiled and, for the first time, Indra realized the small tuft of hair on their chin was…a goatee. Indra groaned softly. He couldn’t even appreciate a good visual pun feeling like this.

  “What are you going to do?” He made himself breathe deep and slow as Rowan gently lifted and examined his infected arm and peeling skin.

  “First, I’m seeing how severe the infection is and how far it’s spread. That’ll tell me how much antitoxin to give you.” They held up the inhaler. “Then you breathe this in.”

  “Okay. And that’ll fix this?” He tried to wiggle his arm, but the sharp pain made him stop. “Please fix this.”

  “The inhaler works from the inside,” Rowan explained. “It’ll help your entire system from the lungs out. But for skin damage like this, you need something more direct.” They held up their other hand and showed him another small object. It looked like an ordinary squirt bottle and Indra hadn’t known it existed until now. He must be worse off than he thought.

  “You’re gonna spray me?”

  Rowan nodded with a slight smile. “Just a small amount covering the damaged surface area. I know it seems odd, but topical works much faster than systemic treatments sometimes. We’re working on an even stronger form, an injection, but it hasn’t been tested—I don’t think you’re quite to that point yet, anyway. The inhaler and spray should work just fine.”

  “Lemme guess, won’t hurt a bit, right?” Indra made a weak attempt to smile back.

  “It can burn depending on how bad the infection is,” Rowan said. “But I’ve seen an incredible range of contagion intensity. Yours doesn’t look severe, so the pain shouldn’t be either.”

  Indra started to shiver. He didn’t know if it was from the infection, or because he was getting nervous, or both. “Hey, thanks for just telling me the truth.”

  “It’s your body. You go into this with your eyes open or not at all.”

  “How much do I do?” Indra eyed the inhaler nervously. Somehow, inhaling a strange substance seemed riskier than spraying it on his skin.

  “Just one puff, at least for now.” Rowan studied his arm again. “And two sprays should do it. I know it looks bad and must feel worse, but this is really one of the less severe cases I’ve seen.”

  “I’d hate to see the bad ones.” Indra gingerly took the inhaler with his undamaged left hand, wishing for the first time that he was born a leftie, or… another word he couldn’t remember, when both hands worked just as well. “Shake it, right? That’s what people do on TV.”

  “It’s the same in real life.” Rowan nodded. “Give it a good shake, hold it in your mouth, then push the top down and take a deep breath. Try to keep your mouth shut and hold your breath for the count of ten.”

  The puff of vaporized antitoxin tasted vaguely of citrus and made the inside of his mouth tingle. Not in a bad way; it felt like he’d just used some very minty mouthwash, cool and refreshing. The feeling traveled down his throat and into his lungs; it felt like he’d taken a deep breath of icy winter air. When he let it out in a rush, the feeling didn’t fade completely.

  “Not bad,” he said appreciatively, as if he’d just tried a new food and was now considering seconds. He held up his arm with an only slightly loopy smile. “Spray it on me, doc.”

  The medicine came out in a fine, amber-colored mist and had the same kind of cool, clean tingling where it landed on his burned-looking skin. This time it was more intense, the feeling intensifying until it stung a bit.

  “Ow, yeah, that’s happening!” Indra grimaced. Still, he was glad to feel anything aside from the constant burning from that arm. He’d been afraid his skin was so damaged it might never feel anything else again. He was about to say as much to Rowan, when he noticed something that made his eyes widen in wonder. “And so is that…”

  The infection was healing before his eyes. Like a time-lapse video, the burnt top layer of his skin started to flake off in papery pieces and fall away. Underneath it was raw but healthy-looking skin. The edge was receding as well; just a few seconds ago, the infection had come all the way up to the inside of his elbow, but now barely reached halfway down his forearm.

  He stared at the seemingly magical transformation, then looked up at Rowan, face lit up in an excited grin. “You’re seeing this, right?”

  “I certainly am.” They nodded, seeming unable to keep from smiling as well after seeing his joyful reaction. It was a nice smile, Indra thought. Not demonic at all. “It’s looking very good. How are you feeling otherwise?”

  “Better,” Indra realized with some surprise. “Not as dizzy, or out of it. No more room spinning—wow, I can actually think.”

  “I’m so glad,” Rowan said, s
etting the inhaler and aerosol bottle aside. Although their tone and face stayed around the same level of calm and it was a little hard to read their all-black eyes, Indra did get the feeling that they meant it. “You might get very sleepy in a minute and that’s fine, also normal. You’ll sleep like the dead for about a day and wake up feeling more alive than ever.”

  “Okay.” Indra was still staring at his now almost-completely-healed arm. Then he remembered something else, not nearly as good, but just as strange. “Uh, I’m sorry for yelling when I first saw you.”

  “Think nothing of it.” Rowan shook their head—slowly, he noticed, because of the big, heavy-looking horns. Instead of being angry, they seemed almost about to laugh. “You’re far from the first and probably won’t be the last.”

  “Yeah, I blame the fever,” he said, giving his fingers an experimental wiggle. They were still a little sore but no lances of pain shot up his arm, which was now smooth, if raw and tender. But no hint of the burnt-paper texture and no black veins underneath. Even his fingernails were their right color again. It was bliss.

  “Exactly. But even without it, I wouldn’t blame you. I still scare myself in mirrors sometimes. It’s the horns mostly.”

  “I probably would too,” Indra said, taking a better look at Rowan’s face for the first time, instead of any of the strange animal-ish additions around it. They had curly hair the same reddish-gold color as their fur. Or maybe it was wool. But aside from this, and the sound of hooves instead of footsteps when they walked, Rowan appeared entirely human. Pale skin with a few freckles, pinkish on their cheeks and nose—sunburn, maybe, from the harsh Tartarus sun. “But you seem pretty chill about—oh.”

  “Does it still hurt?” Rowan asked in response to Indra’s wince and soft groan.

  “No,” he said in a small voice, feeling, appropriately, sheepish. “Uh, I’m sorry about the centaur thing too.”

  “That’s also fine,” Rowan said and their small, almost-smile came back. But for the first time, Indra noticed the dark circles under their darker eyes. “You’re not the first there either.”

  “Satyr,” Indra said suddenly, something else clicking in his increasingly clear brain. “That’s what I was trying to say. Centaurs have horse legs. Four of them. And… aren’t real. Probably.” He was starting to wonder.

  “I’ve never seen one, but you never know in Parole. Satyr or faun comes close for me, though. Goat hooves, ram horns. Not much horse.” They paused for a moment, then amended, “‘Rowan’ is also good.”

  “That’s right.” His fever was fading, but he still felt a little warmth in his cheeks. “You said that before, didn’t you? Sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” they said with another faint smile. “Thank you for remembering, actually. Most people don’t remember a thing when they’re that feverish.”

  “You’re wel—wait, no, I should be thanking you!” At least he thought he should. The worst might be over, but he was still exhausted and foggy.

  “It’s what I’m here for,” they said easily, taking the inhaler and aerosol bottle back to the cabinet across the room.

  “Wait, are you leaving?” Indra’s voice shook, and he felt a small surge of panic for the first time since his arm healing. “Can you stay for a little? At least until I sleep, right? Like I’m supposed to?”

  “Yes, of course,” they said, coming back to stand beside his bed. “I’m right here. And so are you.”

  “I’m really gonna be okay?” He was already fighting to keep his eyes open. The wave of exhaustion seemed to come out of nowhere, as if all his fatigue had been saving up to hit at once.

  “We were very lucky, and caught it early,” Rowan assured him. Like everything else they’d said, he believed it. “When you wake up, you’ll feel much better. And if you don’t, we’ll do it again.”

  “Good…” Indra murmured, eyes closing. “Yeah, I feel the sleepy.”

  “That’s normal. You’ve been through a lot, but you’re safe now. It’s all right to sleep.”

  “Be here when I wake up?”

  “Either here, or very close by,” they said. Again, Indra somehow felt better hearing the truth instead of a comforting absolute. “I’ll certainly be here as much as I can. If I’m not, just call, out loud, and I’ll be back in just a minute.”

  “Shiloh…Annie?” he managed to say, eyes opening just a crack.

  “They’re safe too.” Indra was awake enough to notice the slight hesitation, but not awake enough to know what it meant. “I’ll let them know where you are and they’ll come by later.”

  Indra didn’t answer. His eyes were closed again and his chest gently rose and fell. Pulse normal. Color starting to return to his face. Instead of lying unconscious, he rested in a peaceful, restorative sleep. Stable.

  With Indra asleep and out of danger, Rowan stepped away from his bed and stood by themself for a moment in the now-silent room. Once they were alone, a change seemed to come over them. Their shoulders and head sagged, as if their horns were too heavy to hold up anymore. Once poised and attentive, now their entire being seemed weighed down with deep-seated exhaustion and sadness. They turned, quietly left the infirmary and closed the door behind them—then stopped dead.

  Annie stood in the middle of the corridor outside, as if she’d been waiting. She said nothing, and held just as still as Rowan. She also held the large, fluid-filled jar and pancreas she’d been carefully guarding for thousands of miles.

  They stared at one another—Annie wide-eyed, tangibly nervous and more-than-vaguely sick, and Rowan just looking shocked. Awed. At her, at the jar, at seeing both of them here in the hall. Neither of them could move, but finally she was the one to find her voice first.

  “Here,” she said, holding up the jar with shaking hands, voice shaking as well. “Here, it’s—”

  The rest of her sentence was drowned out in a flurry of hoofbeats as Rowan ran the short distance between them and threw their arms around her, pausing only to ensure they didn’t send the jar flying.

  The moment she realized what was happening, Annie let out a soft cry, eyes squeezed shut. “I brought their—it’s Zilch’s—”

  “Pancreas, I know,” Rowan whispered, stroking her hair. “Shh. You made it. You’re safe now, everything’s all right.”

  “No it’s not, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “He’s—I’m so—”

  “I know,” Rowan’s voice broke. “I know, I know…”

  “Outside Meridian,” Annie gasped, still trying to force the words out. She wrestled one arm free, digging at her shirt collar, pulling out the chain she wore under it. The shark tooth. “This. This, here, take it—”

  “No.” Rowan pushed her hand—and the tooth—back and away but didn’t let it go, their own hand curling around hers, holding it tight. They spoke through clenched teeth. “Just… who?”

  Wordlessly, again, she held up the chain and the large tooth held tight in both of their hands.

  Rowan couldn’t speak. Neither could she. The tooth and chain fell from her shaking hand, clinking softly against the jar.

  Annie buried her face against Rowan’s chest, curling her fingers into fists around the soft, clean fabric of their shirt. Her mouth hung open in a silent wail as Rowan pulled her closer, the precious jar held tight between them. Together they half-stumbled down the corridor toward a room away from the infirmary and sleeping patient, where their grief didn’t have to stay silent.

  * ☆ *

  As soon as Indra was physically able to get out of bed, he did. This ship begged to be explored. There were things to see and people to meet and he couldn’t wait for another single second. Annie had been waiting just as eagerly, only too glad to introduce her new friends to her old ones.

  Shiloh thought the tour would have started on the upper decks and gone top to bottom. But Annie surprised them by leading the way down several decks, into the deepest parts of the ship, through twists and turns and squeezing through tight tunnels. It had the feeling of burrowin
g deep into some industrial rabbit’s warren or wending through forest paths, finding secret passageways and discovering something precious few knew about. The constant hum of the ship’s engine made the metal floor vibrate and xie quickly lost track of every tight turn. Annie seemed to know exactly where she was going, though, and led them with complete confidence until they reached a small, round metal door, like something that might be on a submarine.

  “Hang on. Listen,” she said as she paused outside. She pointed down; the door was slightly ajar, and a narrow beam of orange light came from inside, along with an indistinct girl’s voice.

  “…But you probably don’t want to hear about all that,” the voice was saying. Shiloh couldn’t help but think it sounded very familiar. “And frankly, I don’t really want to get into it—again! I’d much rather listen to you. Seriously, I’m still here, not going anywhere. I’m listening!”

  Very slowly, Annie reached out and pulled the door further open until they could see inside.

  The small, round room was lit with a warm orange light and filled with radios, microphones, and a few old, bulky TVs, constant static snow on each screen. In the middle of it all was a chair. It looked softly padded, with thick arms, and its back was to the door, making many more details hard to see. Still, there were two clearly unusual things about it. First, it seemed to be hovering around three feet off the floor. Secondly, a pair of legs in pink leggings dangled over the back, feet constantly jiggling. The feet’s toes were painted bright pink too and they were also in continuous, wiggling motion.

  “Once again, this is Radio Angel, on board the Radiance ship FireRunner out of Parole, coming to you live from… somewhere on the way, way far-out outskirts of the Tartarus Zone. Sorry I can’t be more specific, but I don’t have a window in here.”

  Slowly, the chair rotated until they could see who was in it and Shiloh caught xir first glimpse of the face behind Parole’s ever-present guiding voice.