by K. Gorman
But Hopper put his netlink away, moving it to a pocket. After a few seconds, he glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve got another eight hundred people in need of her help. Then she can go to the Enmerkar. They’ll wait.”
“Ah, a labor camp. Wonderful.” Soo-jin raised an eyebrow. “I assume I’m not part of it?”
He grunted. “We’ve got medics.”
“So I’m just here for the ride?”
“Sure.”
Karin narrowed her eyes. That didn’t sound right. And, by the sharp suspicion in Soo-jin’s expression, she thought so, too.
She cleared her throat. “What if I don’t cooperate?”
“Then we start removing pieces,” Hopper said without hesitation. “Fingers, maybe toes.”
This time when he glanced back, he gave them more attention. His expression went hard, his mouth down-turning in an ugly manner. “There are a lot of things that can happen to two women alone on a station to ensure their cooperation.”
Her jaw stiffened. She’d expected some kind of threat—even half-expected this one. The Alliance had strict human rights regulations, and Caishen should be well within their umbrella, but she had long ago learned that people did not operate within parameters. Especially not when the lives of their friends and loved ones were at stake.
Nomiki would kill him, she thought. She’d kill him and not even feel bad about it. Just another day’s work for her.
But Nomiki was not here. She was on her own.
“I assume you’re referring to manicures and spa treatments,” Soo-jin said, her placid voice dry as an Old Earth desert. “Because those would make me really cooperative.”
Hopper gave her a look, obviously not missing her sarcasm. “I’m not entirely heartless. You’ll get better rest here than what you’ve been getting, now that we’re not on a time limit. Five hours rest before the next shift. I’d give you more, but I need to get my operations back up and running.”
“And do we get a master suite with our break, or a jail cell?”
“I’ve set up a cabin for you. Sharon will bring food.” A small chime dinged, and his hand twitched toward his netlink. “If you cooperate, this can be very pleasant for you.”
As he turned back to the front, she and Soo-jin exchanged a look.
Oh, I doubt that.
But the sides of her mind pinched together, and she winced as the threat of a headache became more than just a threat.
Sleep sounded pretty nice, just about now. And it wasn’t as though she could do anything about the current situation. It hadn’t escaped her that this was all her fault and, as shitty as she felt about the whole thing, she found she couldn’t bring herself to care about it.
I’ll never go without sleep again.
True to his word, Hopper led them to a cabin on the security deck. She recognized the hallway from the last time they’d been aboard, when he’d shown them the Lost his wife had turned into. Sharon had been one of the first people she’d healed, and Karin caught a glimpse of her watching from the far end of the hallway. She had a tired look on her face, with deep grooves marking the space under her eyes. Her stare remained placid as she watched Hopper escort them into the cabin.
He left them after, and the door panel flashed red. Locked.
She and Soo-jin stared at the door for a few seconds after. He hadn’t put them in restraints, but she still rubbed her wrists. Her forearms had a strained, worn feel to them. It felt a little different from the ache and stiffness in her back, but she assumed it related to the repetitive, hunched-over work she’d been doing.
Several packets of food and water lined the counter next to a sink. Beside it, a symbol on the wall marked the panel as a pop-out toilet.
Great. She and Soo-jin were about to get really personal.
Soo-jin made a disgusted noise in her throat. “‘There are many things one can do to two women to ensure cooperation.’ Clio, what a fucking tool.”
“Wonder if he talks to his wife like that.”
Wincing, Karin squinted against the light, extending an arm as she made for the nearest bunk. The cabin had two folded out from the wall, already prepped with mattresses and beddings. Two more hid in the panels above them. The whole room felt like it were moving—as if she could feel the rotation of the station. It only worsened when she closed her eyes.
“You should ask her, next time you see her. Would you believe I’ve heard worse?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Fuck, my head is killing me.”
“You need to sleep.”
“I will as soon as I can get painkillers again.” Bowing her head, she settled down on the bed and held her temples in both hands, gaze angled down on the floor. The roughened, beveled plastic made for a softer feel than the metal, but she missed the carbon steel floor plates of the Nemina. “Have you heard anything? About Marc or the cruiser?”
He should be about a day out now. Time enough to receive and respond to the Ozark's updated message, given how close the Nemina would be to the relay. They should have gotten another message. An update.
Of course, everything relied on the Ozark having actually sent the message. She hadn’t seen anyone do it. Only had Nick and Christops’ word. And her capture had gone over too smoothly.
“They weren’t supposed to have guns,” she said.
“Yeah, someone on the Ozark fucked us.” A cupboard hinge squeaked, then banged shut. The light shifted on the floor as Soo-jin checked other places. “More than one someone, I assume. Hey, there’s a medkit here.”
She perked up. “Painkillers?”
“Yes.” The shadow shifted again. Next thing she knew, Soo-jin held out two pills and a water packet for her. “My money’s on Charise.”
Karin took it. Wincing against the light, she popped the pill into her mouth and ripped into the corner of the water packet. The stale taste wetted her mouth, and she took more than a few sips, washing down the dry, sticky feeling she’d had since waking up. “I hate people.”
“Is that why you signed on with us? Anti-social space voyages?”
“Sort of. Was more looking at the off-grid part of the anti-social space voyage. I wanted to stay hidden, remember?”
Soo-jin snorted. “Well, you sure screwed the pooch on that one.”
“You gonna say ‘I told you so?’”
“No. I think the rape threats were enough.”
Soo-jin’s tone had changed. When she glanced up, her expression had sobered. Turning her gaze to the other bunk, she considered it for a second, then made to sit. Faded nail polish chipped her fingernails as she ran a hand through her dreads, catching the elastic she’d used to pull them back and taking a moment to work it loose. A second later, she’d pulled them all forward to spill over one shoulder, a tumble of beads and pastel colors. As she put her hand back into her lap, a thin scar on her right became visible, working its way up the underside of her wrist and over her thumb.
“I’m sorry,” Karin said. “We shouldn’t have come here.”
“It was a good idea. A noble idea.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think this universe has enough room for good and noble ideas anymore. If it ever did.” The room swayed again, and her vision slipped, blurring around the edges. She stifled a yawn. The pain in her head had lessened. “The people who raised me seemed to think it did.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. They thought it had been pure, before.”
“Sounds like something from a religious text.”
“It was.”
Soo-jin remained silent for a minute, but not for lack of words. The atmosphere had turned casual between them, and Karin could see the quiet thinking behind her eyes.
“Well, maybe they were right. I mean, they did manage to get you having powers.”
“Powers weren’t their main focus.” She slid down, feeling the edge of her bed for the pillow. “More of a side-effect, I think.”
Another silence. Karin felt her eyes on her, studying. She closed hers, stret
ching out on the bed. The smell of detergent came up through the sheets.
The last thing she heard before the room faded out was Soo-jin’s voice, and a soft sigh.
“Well, maybe they were only half crackpots, then.”
Chapter 21
She was older now. Taller. They’d finished their last levels of secondary school last week, and the hot summer outside had already scorched the grasses in the fields around the compound—but the inside remained cool as ever. Without classes, and with nearly everyone outside, they’d switched off the lights. Natural light, tinted green by the trees close to the building’s wall, filtered in through the high, narrow windows just below the ceiling and made a soft illumination over the basement hall.
Karin crept up the hallway, steps light and quiet. With the lights off and a hush of silence that filled the air, it felt like she was intruding.
“Dr. Sasha?”
She poked her head around the edge of a doorway, fingers hesitant on the threshold. The concrete and cinderblock walls made it cool, but this room didn’t have any windows. Two old, dim fluorescents in the ceiling cast a thin, grungy light over the room. The walls had been painted white, but, like much of the compound’s older parts, their color had progressed to a tone more reminiscent of stained teeth. Moisture damage threaded its way down the corner of the room, marking it in a reddish-brown trail. They didn’t use this part of the compound for much—storage, more than anything—but the room had been empty last month, with only a series of dirty counters and empty cupboards on the one side.
Now, there was something new.
Covered in a large, loose sheet, it stood dead center in the room, stretching well over twice her height. It had a vague, cylindrical shape, its top edge curving the sheet in a distinct line, and, as far as she could tell, sheer sides. She frowned, trying to understand it. The scientists brought a lot of weird equipment in. Judging by its size, they must have built it here. They did that sometimes—vanish into the basement for nights at a time, lights streaming out of the tiny windows well into the dark. Nomiki and Brennan always went down to look, but Karin never did.
Staring up at this thing, she regretted that now.
The room had a smell of old water, like a lake. At first, she had attributed it to the water damage in the corner—but high summer roared outside. They hadn’t had rain in months. And besides, it had a weirder smell to it. Some kind of chemical undertone she didn’t recognize.
Two cords poked out from under the sheet, leading to the outlet on the wall. She narrowed her eyes at them, then at the object.
What was in there?
Shifting back to the door, she gave the hallway a tentative scan. Light undulated on the walls in a slow, lazy pattern, reflecting off the worn floor in a dull, cool sheen. The passageway stretched straight ahead until it ended on the next wall of the corridor, some fifty meters away. The windows at the end showed a foot of summer grass and a tinge of hot, yellow light. She heard a noise far off, as if someone had dropped something, but they didn’t sound anywhere close.
No sign of Dr. Sasha.
She stepped inside.
The air turned cooler. She rubbed her arms as unease pricked at her arms. The water smell in the room grew stronger, and the chemicals didn’t come off as so subtle anymore. Where before they’d seemed small, perhaps a part of the filtration process or a chlorine of fluoride additive, they now pervaded the watery smell. The empty husk of a transport pod came into sight, its clean white sides leaning against the back wall and utterly incongruent with the age-old cinderblocks. She frowned at it, too. She hadn’t seen a flyer come in recently. Maybe on one of the trucks?
A flutter of movement brought her attention back to the main part of the room. She’d veered to the left as she drew level, in part to get a better look at the transport pod, but largely due to a shiver of apprehension that rushed through her as she came closer to the big thing. What she’d thought had been a single sheet covering the object turned out to be three of them, all a kind of clean, off-white that blended together—but whoever had placed them hadn’t been careful, and whatever was on the inside must have some kind of internal fan. One of the sheets had slipped back, swaying and fluttering in the current.
A smooth, white metal base came into view.
She froze, gaze locked onto it. Then, with the barest glance to the open door at the front of the room, she stepped forward.
The clean sheets weren't as opaque as she'd thought. Closer, as the light from one of the ceiling fluorescents came through at a better angle, she began to see things through the cloth. A vague shape put a shadow in the center of it that seemed to move and shift. Again, the smell of water came to her, along with the aftertaste of chemicals. She rubbed her arm as her skin prickled. For a second, queasiness touched her gut as the memory of her treatments rolled through her.
A tank, she thought, frowning up at the object. Dark on top, transparent in the middle, solid base which, given the draft, likely had a computer—it matched. She'd seen them before. They'd even worked with them in school. The doctors here had quite a few, and they'd been happy to trot them out for biology lessons. Human brains, lamb fetuses, pig hearts, all preserved in the life-tank. Not alive, but not rotting, either.
Her frown deepened as she re-gauged its size.
What had they done—preserve a cow?
But, just on the tail of that thought, the shadow on the inside moved. Blurred to a thin silhouette beyond the cloth, she nevertheless got the impression of a head turning her way.
Her heart jumped in her chest. She stumbled back, sucking in a quick breath—and immediately chided herself for the action.
Shit. It's in a tank. It can't do anything. She forced a slow, deep breath. And even if it could, the doctors wouldn't have left it out in the open like this.
Her eyes narrowed, gaze going from the gap in the sheet that showed the base to the vague blur that she thought might be a head. A new kind of excitement shivered through her.
Is it human?
She hesitated. Then, leaning forward, she reached for the edge of the sheet.
“Karin?” Dr. Sasha's voice came from the hall—along with her footsteps, runners squeaking on the linoleum. “You down here?”
She snatched her hand back and stepped away from the tank just as Dr. Sasha poked her head into the door.
As a girl, she'd thought the doctor tall, but the last semester had changed her viewpoint. A middle-sized woman, she had thick legs and wide hips that flared on either side of her black pants. She had a big chest, too, but she had packaged it away inside a loose-fitting, deep purple blouse. Although she wore no lab coat today, a stethoscope hung from her neck.
It seemed a cliché, almost. Like a doctor who'd just walked off a medical drama set.
She must have just checked up on one of the other kids.
Her dark eyes caught Karin's, and an eyebrow lifted as she glanced to the large, covered tank beside her. “This door was supposed to be locked.”
Karin ducked her head, hands rising up in a tentative manner. “It wasn't. Sorry. I thought maybe you were in here, but then I saw...”
She flashed Dr. Sasha a guilty smile and made a small gesture, directing her gaze half up the covered tank and then back to the doctor again. “Sorry.”
“You did nothing wrong. Your sister, however...” Dr. Sasha shook her head, one hand picking a splinter that Karin hadn't noticed off the door's locking mechanism. The doctor seemed more amused than surprised. “It's all right, I suppose. It's just—he's not quite ready yet.”
Karin frowned, not sure if she'd heard right. “He?”
“Yes. I think you know by now what we do here? At least some of it?”
Dr. Sasha put her hands into her pockets and wandered into the room, stopping just short of the tank. Light fell over her features as she turned her gaze upward. The yellowed fluorescents did little to promote the deep richness in her brown skin, but they put a hard, detailed sheen on its surface.
“You made us in a lab. We're helping you fix things. Diseases and stuff.”
“Yes. That's right.”
“You were made here, too, weren't you?” She glanced down to where the doctor's tattoo was just visible on her wrist. The single-digit numbers were a far cry from Karin and Nomiki's triple-digits.
“No, not here. Different facility. We were in Brazil, then.”
Her eyes rocketed up. “Brazil? In South America? But I thought—”
“No, you're right. It's gone, now.” A trace of sadness tinged Dr. Sasha's smile, as if she were remembering something. “Which is why we aren't there anymore.”
“Oh. Yes.” She closed her mouth, unsure what to say.
There'd been a war, she remembered, but that had been more than twenty years ago—before she'd been born. To her, it seemed like ancient history, but she'd never known that Dr. Sasha had been born there. She'd thought the compound had always been here, built on the ruins of what had once been the Roman Empire.
Well, part of the empire, anyway. Closer to home than the English or Egyptian fronts. Nomiki had placed them somewhere in Greece, probably near the Swiss border, but they couldn't be sure. The landscape had changed too much from their textbooks, but they'd whittled through the documentaries in the computers, and they'd exhausted every compound resource trying to match a civilization to the ruins on the hillside.
Her attention wandered back to the sheet. Several lights had become visible, reflecting off the back of the fabric. The one closest to her, glowing a bright green, flickered rapidly. Above, part of the tank showed in the lip of the sheet. A floral green color tinged the water, different from what she'd seen in normal life-tanks.
As she realized she was staring, she snapped her attention back to Dr. Sasha.
But the doctor only smiled. “Do you want to see him?”
Karin stiffened as she reached for the edge of the sheet, pulling it back and looping it over the tank with a practised hand. A foot appeared, similar brown skin to the doctor's, though the effect of the water tinted it closer to tan. A series of tubes coiled around underneath it, and, as Dr. Sasha pulled at the next sheet—they must have been attached at the top, because they didn't fall completely away—the rest of the leg appeared, showcasing a set of electrodes that suctioned to the boy's calf, knee, and thigh.
