by C. Gockel
“I didn't hear that,” Gunny said. He smacked the side of his head. “All the background noise.”
“Commander,” Manuel said across the channel. “I realize it's best usually to stick together … but given the circumstances I think it might be better if Gunny and I went to get the charge dispersers and you and James handled the goop so we can get out of here as soon as possible.”
“Yes!” Ghost shouted over the ethernet channel. “I'm piping the station map to you now.” The layout to Adam's Station exploded behind Noa's eyes, complete with her location.
To James's private channel she said, “Splitting up … that would be just like in a bad holo-horror.”
“If you're trying to lighten the mood, that really isn't helping,” James replied privately.
“It's probably the best option, though,” she thought back.
James rolled his eyes. “Well, then, might as well get it over with. Let's go already.”
It was the reluctant, slightly irritable in the face of danger James she knew. Noa swallowed. And maybe loved?
“We'll split up,” Noa said aloud.
Manuel smiled and Gunny nodded.
Ghost's thoughts rang over the ether. “Good! We need to get out of here before any more incidents happen!”
Noa looked around at the hungry faces. She had a feeling there was no way they could avoid “incidents” here.
Chapter Six
James pushed open the old-fashioned hinged door that led out of the Heap, the junkyard-recovery shop that sold used chemicals and parts on Adam’s Station. The artificial cavern where the shop resided was lower and darker than the ones they’d been in before, and dirtier, too. The buildings leaned over the narrow alley-width lanes that crisscrossed the space. He still found the place ... awe-inspiring? That wasn't quite the right description, but he felt immersed in the moment, maybe because he had nothing in his previous existence to compare it to.
He saw someone dart behind a corner, a few buildings away, and reminded himself he had to be cautious and alert, not awed. His lip wanted to quirk. His senses had to be like a “fine-toothed comb,” as 6T9 had said.
He heard Noa say some final words to one of the proprietors. A few moments later, she was looking out over his shoulder. “We’re still being shadowed, aren’t we?” she asked.
“Yes,” James replied. They’d been trailed by locals of Adam’s Station since they left Clara’s company. Their shadowers had asked them for food, if they had news from Luddeccea, and if they had any open berths. The answer to those questions had been “no” but he’d noticed Noa had looked visibly uncomfortable giving that answer. James had listened in on their ethernet conversations. They'd speculated whether or not Adam would detain the Ark, and whether or not the Company of Fleet Infantry would be able to hold up against Adam and his forces, but they didn’t discuss ambushing Noa and James.
Noa rubbed her temple. “I can’t help them, not yet, not yet.”
James’s jaw shifted. She automatically assumed their entourage were victims of Luddeccea’s halt of food exports. “Some of them are probably spies for Adam,” he reminded her. Just because they hadn't transmitted data to Adam didn’t mean they didn’t intend to.
Nodding, she straightened her shoulders and adopted a confident stride to exit the building. He fell into step beside her, and over the ether, she complained, “I can’t believe they talked me into three weeks rations for toilet goop. Luckily, they are going to deliver it.”
James didn’t answer; instead he focused on an unfamiliar man leaning against a wall ... and didn't get the new, and yet now familiar, rush of light and static. It was only a hypothesis, but he thought that he couldn't “hear” anyone unless they were using the ether.
As they walked down the alley, the sparse pedestrian traffic turned to stare at them. James focused, heard their ethernet conversations, and saw the holo footage of the Ark and its crew shot by dock workers that they passed mind-to-mind. Some of them began to follow them.
Noa addressed Ghost over the ether. “Ghost, how is it going?”
“Tricky business …” the programmer replied. “They brought out a bigger scanner and parked it on the dock. As long as it’s tied to the ether I can worm my way in and change the readings, but I have to stay focused and act quickly.”
Noa took a sharp breath. “Can’t you set up the Ark’s computer to run a routine for you that—?”
“No, it’s too complex,” Ghost replied.
James blinked … compared to accessing a secure ether channel, the computing power to change the data of such a channel seemed small. He wasn’t a programmer by any stretch, but he’d had to go into ancient databases from time to time, even had to physically type out queries. He thought the Ark’s computer could take data such as number of people on a ship and add a few hundred people to it.
“But, you’ve already got the Ark hacking the station’s ether channels,” Noa said.
“No,” said Ghost. “It’s … I can’t explain. Commander, I have to go.”
The connection dropped, and James felt the electrical activity in his neural interface slow. For a few more minutes they walked in silence. He felt his nanos and neuros flicker. If Noa wasn’t talking, it tended to mean she was planning something he was not going to like.
Noa glanced over her shoulder, and then her eyes went directly ahead again.
“What's bothering you?” James asked. Maybe he should have asked what was she scheming?
Noa exhaled loudly.
James glanced over his shoulder. Their uninvited entourage had gotten closer. Two children, just old enough to have their neural ports activated, were speculating if they should ask for food. There were some older ones wondering across the ether if they’d really come from Luddeccea. People who’d gone to Luddeccea since Luddeccean freighters had ceased their tri-weekly visits hadn’t been heard from. Someone said, “Maybe we should ask them about it?”
Noa, not looking back, said softly, “Timothy was my husband.”
It was so out of context, so far from what he expected, that for a moment her words were an incomprehensible jumble. And then he put it together. She’d called him Tim a few hours ago. He hadn’t thought about it too much. He’d been too busy scanning the ether channels for any warnings of danger. But she’d called him that when they’d first met, when they’d woken up in a bed together, and cried out the name in her sleep.
“It was …” Her voice became uncertain. “… a mistake. Because …” Her jaw got tight.
“Your husband,” echoed James. It should be a revelation, but it felt like something he’d already known, like a word at the tip of his tongue that was momentarily forgotten, and then remembered in a flash. His hand trembled by his side. He shouldn't feel like he'd known that.
“He died,” she said, eyes focused straight ahead, still marching resolutely forward.
James had a sensation like ice water dripping on his skin. He’d known that, too.
“You look like him …” she whispered.
The cold drip became an icy wave. Behind him, a woman whispered to her friend across the ether, “Go on, Sylvie, ask if they know about the ship to Luddeccea.”
One of the children’s voices whispered, “I’m gonna ask them if they have any more S-rations. Nà says they gave him some.”
He could hear their footsteps getting closer. The icy prickle became heat. He needed Noa all to himself. He needed to understand this coincidence … no, it was not a coincidence. It could not be. Not when he’d deliberately went to search for her in the snow, and knew the same dead language and her frequency …
His eyes shifted side to side. “We need to get out of here,” he said.
In the periphery of his vision he saw Noa’s eyes go to his, wide with alarm. But she didn’t ask questions.
They’d already traversed this terrain, and his memory called up every corner and nook in exquisite detail. He pulled a map of the North Pole down from the public board and combin
ed it with his own memories. Grabbing Noa’s hand, he said, “On my mark, run.” He felt a startled light of connection within his mind and without waiting for a reply, he whispered, “Now.”
* * *
Panting, Noa leaned against the wall of a windowless building in a dim alley. The light above them was clicking furiously, but was not on. The air smelled like wet concrete. Her lungs were straining after her brief sprint through an abandoned building, down a narrow pathway between buildings that looked like they’d exploded outward in a vacuum breach, through another building, and around the block. Now she felt lightheaded. James was still holding her hand, his side was pressed against hers, but his head was cocked toward a section of blown out wall—listening with his augmented hearing, no doubt. Noa tried to catch her breath, or at least breathe quietly. After what her chronometer told her was 2.5 minutes, James turned to her, his face and body in shadow. “We’ve lost them for a while,” he whispered.
Noa leaned her head back against the wall and said a silent prayer. Being trailed by their quiet wraiths had been heartbreaking. She wanted to reach out to them, offer them a billet on their ship—but how to know who was a spy, and who was genuinely in need?
James threaded his fingers with hers and pulled away from the wall, turning to stand in front of her. She squeezed his hand. “You heard something?”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked away, and then back down at her. “Nothing dangerous. The company just suddenly made me feel … claustrophobic.”
“I know,” said Noa. The beggars would have asked them for food, block their way, and ask questions they couldn’t answer. When would the supply runs start again? Why was the ethernet down? One of the children in an earlier mob, after James and she had split up from Gunny and Manuel, hadn’t asked for food. He’d asked if she knew anything about the Fitzgerald. Apparently, it was an ore freighter that was supposed to have landed on Luddeccea. How could you tell a child his father was most likely dead? How could you explain why he was most likely dead—that he was shot down by his own kind, because they were afraid of an alien invasion? And if they asked about aliens …
She took a deep breath and suddenly realized how close James was. She could feel heat radiating from him, and he smelled a lot better than wet concrete. James was distracting …
“We were having a conversation,” he said slowly, head lowered, dark blonde bangs hanging in front of his eyes.
Noa remembered the words she’d just uttered, You look like my husband.
There was a lot to say about that. I used to call you Tim because you look like him. Now I do because you make me feel the way he made me feel. But there was a chronometer app beeping down in her mind, and a tiny mental note at the edge of her consciousness saying that Manuel and Gunny had found a “surprisingly good quality” time band and somewhat less inspiring charge dispersers. They were heading back to the ship. There was too much to do, and she didn’t want to explain—if she said what she felt it would be that much more real.
Above them, the dead bulb in the light fixture buzzed and ticked.
“Noa,” James whispered.
She felt his free hand graze her cheek, and she closed her eyes. She wanted to be distracted … When she opened her eyes again, he was standing even closer, their bodies brushing. He smelled good. And just that light touch felt good. She leaned forward, not meeting his gaze. She slipped her free hand around the back of his neck and felt him incline toward her. Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his. For a moment, lights went off behind her eyes, her skin went hot, and a charge rushed from her lips to the base of her spine. But then she realized his lips weren’t moving. She had a sensation of disconnect, dread, and cold. She dropped to her heels.
“Noa,” James whispered. “I’m sorry.”
He lifted his hands, but he didn’t pull away. And why wasn’t he pulling away? She couldn’t have misread the signals … No. She looked up at him. He was touching the side of his lips.
She tilted her head. Before she could say a word, the light above their heads fizzled, clicked, and turned on, bathing them in a sickly yellow glow.
“I …” James stammered, touching his lips. “… can’t.”
Can’t what? Before she could ask, a voice sounded from down the aisle.
“James? James Sinclair?” a woman called out.
James pulled away and looked past Noa’s shoulder.
She turned around to the sound of fast, light steps.
A woman was approaching them. She looked to be in her twenties, but her features were so perfectly symmetrical they had an ageless quality that spoke of quality augmentation, not real youth. Her eyes were almond, light brown, and almost gold. Her lips were full, her nose petite and her skin was a warm tan. With her dark mahogany hair, she was the embodiment of the “raceless” ideal beauty. Her fitted cream dress-coat was stained and rumpled but made of expensive fabrics and well tailored, as were the soft purple leggings she wore beneath, and the shoes that matched the legging’s hue exactly.
When the unfamiliar woman spoke, her voice was as cultured as James’s. “James … I thought you were dead.”
* * *
I thought you were dead.
James was being wheeled down a long white hallway. He wasn’t in pain, he was pain …
“James?”
The voice was Noa’s. He felt a spark in his mind and worry, her worry, fizzling across the ether, but all he saw were the doctors as he lay on the gurney, and his father, clasping his right hand. Just like he remembered … And the pain … He felt his body had been completely shattered, that his skin had become merely a sack for broken bits of bones and pulverized muscles and organs.
The hallway blurred. Noa appeared to the left of the gurney. “You’re alright. You survived this, remember?” James could only stare at her. Her cheeks were full, her hair was thick, shiny, and black, and when she reached over with her left hand and took his own, she had five fingers and two sparkling rings.
“I had an app,” James murmured, or thought, nonsensically. “It uploaded all the data for my time capsule.” There was so much pain … how could Noa stay here? “That’s how I remember, all this … pain.” The human mind would normally block it out, he was sure.
He heard his father's anguished cry.
Noa’s avatar leaned closer. “Come back.”
James felt like he was shattering apart again. Noa had tried to kiss him, and then his body had failed. His lips hadn’t moved. They had been just useless bundles of muscle, skin, fascia, and malfunctioning nerves. The white hallway turned to black.
“James, come back to me,” Noa whispered.
James’s head ticked to the side with such force his teeth rattled. His body knit back together, and he wasn’t on the gurney. He was upright, in an alley on a ball of dirt and ice at a distance from the sun that made day nothing but twilight. His father's voice rang in his ears; he'd been so close to his parents, and this was the first time he'd thought of them really, in an emotional, gut-wrenching way since the snow, and that was off, and wrong. Worse, he was staring at a woman he had known before. He should be gasping for breath … but he didn’t need to breathe.
“Monica,” he said. His put his hand to his temple to steady himself.
He felt Noa’s hand on his arm. “James?” she said. “You, ah, know each other?”
James didn’t lift his head, but he found his voice. “Where are my manners? Monica, this is Commander Noa Sato. Noa, this is Dr. Monica Jarella.” He had the urge to take Noa’s hand again and run.
“Doctor?” said Noa. There was something hopeful in her voice.
“A psychiatrist,” James said, his mind searching for an excuse to leave right now.
Fury bubbled across the ether from Noa. Her thoughts snapped into his mind. “A psychiatrist should know better than to talk about something that could trigger PTSD.”
“Psychiatry is a secondary degree,” Monica said. She gave a tiny smile. “I g
ot it after my MD. I have surgical experience.”
Noa’s fury evaporated from the ether, but in the real world her jaw remained tight. Aloud, Noa said, “Nice to meet you,” and gave a tiny bow that Monica returned.
Monica swallowed audibly. “I saw your picture on the public boards … and a picture of your ship. It’s a vessel capable of traveling through deep space. I saw you, James, and I couldn’t believe it because of what my cousin said …”
A red light flashed in James’s visual cortex. Her cousin was the friend James had caught when he was scaling a cliff face—he’d saved her cousin’s life and the friend had introduced him to Monica at a family function. Said friend had said to James, “I love you like a brother, James, but stay away from Monica. I know she’s your type, but she’s like a sister to me, and I know how you are.”
His friend had been right. Monica was exactly his type. From the softness of her voice and her tasteful clothes, to her subtle augments that played up her natural features and made them more symmetrical, but not generic. Even her profession—a doctor of psychiatry—a researcher who studied human robotic interactions. He had felt a pull before, but felt none now, just a nagging dread. “My heart stopped when I fell. For a time, technically, I was dead.” The words came from his lips without a conscious thought, as though they were rehearsed and part of a script. James wanted more than anything to get himself and Noa away from this woman.
Monica took a deep breath, and her brows drew together. Her eyes shifted to Noa, who was standing with her weight on one leg, hand on the small stunner, eyes slightly narrowed. He almost suggested they leave, but then from down the aisle came a soft scuffle. Noa’s stunner was out an instant later, pointed in the direction of the sound. Monica held up her arms and stepped in front of her. “Don’t shoot!”
From behind Monica came a child’s voice. “Momma, can I come out?”
“It’s my little girl,” Monica said, pleading, golden eyes on Noa. “Please, I couldn’t leave her with strangers.”
