Ann
Standing at the shattered window, Ann watched the horde of Dentolura finish off her sister. The people below stood in mute horror and confusion, as the creatures had blitzed the Hangar, only to divert themselves to chase after a single person on a hover-pad. Now, even more inexplicably, the creatures turned away, shuffling out of the Hangar and into the thin atmosphere of Prospero. When the last lura had stepped out of the massive door, she signaled to Bert to close it up. "Sir," he asked as the door clanged closed, "is it over?" "I think so." Ann sighed. "We still have clean-up. That will take its own time." She took a deep breath. To her surprise, she was crying. Looking around, she saw her crewmembers and all the survivors staring at her. "Healing always takes time," she said with a weak smile. Below them, the crowd began to cheer. Their long night of fear was over. They deserved to celebrate. Exiting the tower at its base--using the elevator instead of the unorthodox approach that Charalee had elected--Ann met a press of people. Most were anxious colonists. Some were her Security force, smiling and happy to see the invasion successfully repulsed. A short man with narrow eyes and short-cropped hair worked his way through. "Captain Rall!" said Ann, throwing him a sharp salute, though her entire body wished that she could curl up and sleep. What she wouldn't do for some Calm right now… "Chief Timpson," said Rall, returning the salute. His stern face broke into a genuine smile. "You've done a remarkable job. We will begin the evacuations immediately." "Is that still necessary, sir?" "Won't the creatures attack again?" "I don't think so," said Ann. "They were here for the infant. We gave it back." "But is this place safe?" He looked at her shrewdly. "Are they likely to forgive us?" Ann paused. "I don't know. You'd have to ask Senton Trapp." Captain Rall's face clouded. "The doctor in the Brig?" Ann nodded, her head thumping. "One of my assistants was moving through that area--" Ann's eyes widened. "That's dangerous, sir. There's a lura inside one of the cells." "There's a lot going on in the Brig, Chief Timpson, but that wasn't her largest concern. My assistant said that Doctor Trapp isn't likely to survive." "What?" Ann straightened. She didn't like the doctor, but she didn't want him to die. "How?" "Allergic reaction is our best guess. The man…it wasn't a pleasant ending, I'm afraid." Ann tried to feel bad, but her emotions were too drained. She'd been through too much. She'd seen too much. Done…well, what was done was done. She had to focus on that, even if it was a cold comfort. "I need a full debrief." "Yes, sir." "But evacuations first." Ann nodded. "It's your colony, sir. You decide." "I stand by my offer to send everyone through who wants it." He nodded at the Portal, which was shimmering, like a tear in the air, on the platform where Charalee had died. "Does that thing work?" "I guess so. I don't know…" A flash of light drew everyone's attention to the Portal. The light continued to brighten, illuminating the Hangar's shadows until it was too bright for anyone to look directly at it. As suddenly as it came, the brightness dropped. A person, dressed in the military gear of Desert Peaks, walked through. Though helmeted, it was clear that the person was a woman. She was unarmed--at least, she wasn't carrying a sidearm or rifle--and looked about in confusion when she saw the bloody remains of Charalee near her. Judging from her posture, she wasn't particularly happy with what she saw. "I think that's something you'll have to deal with, sir," said Ann, smiling without any real mirth. Captain Rall straightened. "I don't suppose you're up to talking to our investors?" "That's above my paygrade, sir. I just had to save our colony." "And I thank you for that." He took a deep breath. "Wish me luck," he said. He must have taken some of that luck, for the DP rep was less angry and more anxious. Relief was dispatched through the Portal, and soon Prospero was connected more fully to the Vanguard than ever before. Essential help to clear out the final Dentolura came across, as well as food, medical supplies, and additional humanpower. Most colonists decided to take the generous severance package from DP and find a new home. Some chose to stay, rebuilding what had been broken. The clean up process would take an unknown amount of time, during which precious little work would be done in the mines. All in all, it was a massive loss for Desert Peaks. Ann, however, didn't much care about that. As she sat in her office, looking out at the now-familiar tree line, she felt only emptiness. In the drawer behind her was a package of Calm, if she only wanted to… The door chimed. Her aedee told her it was Bertram. She fingered permission to open the door and her newly-minted Deputy Chief walked in. "You wanted to talk to me, sir?" he asked, standing at attention. "Sit down, Bert," she said, though she didn't turn away from the view. "We need to talk." As he sat, Bert said, "About what, Chief? I've been going over the records one more time. It looks like we'll be able to put this behind us once the DP reps have given the approval." He held his hands out. "Within two months of the most catastrophic loss of a colony in the history of postlapsarian humanity, we're almost back to where we were. You were instrumental to this success." He shrugged. "The only thing that we have left to do is get roaring drunk and find some willing partners for a night of debauchery." Ann turned around, her expression empty and hollow. Bert's smile dissolved. "Cripes, Chief. I'm sorry, I didn't…" She held up a hand. "Bert, I don't want to be here anymore. The dreams, the pain." She shook her head. "Every time I head into the Dorms, I think of the lura that killed so many. I can't pass through the Laboratory wing without remembering how it all started." She sighed, her shoulders slumped. "I can't keep up with it any more. The depression. The sadness. The desire…" She thought of the Calm again, but decided to move on. She didn't need the drugs, she needed a new home. "I'm retiring, Bert. I want you to take over." He gave a weak laugh. "Sir, with all due respect, I've barely managed to figure out what to do as a Deputy Chief. I don't want your job." "Neither do I. I'm taking the severance offered by DP. I'm going to try to overcome this." Bert shifted in his seat. "But, what about all the little details? All the parts that I don't know how to do?" "You'll learn. It's how I did it." She shook her head. "I wanted to let you know, Bertram, that I appreciate your support and help over the past few weeks. I couldn't have done it without you." "You're welcome, sir." Ann gave him a slight smile. "You know, I think you deserve your party." She nodded to the door. "Go. Celebrate. You deserve it." "But…what will you do?" he asked, standing slowly. Ann rubbed a hand across her face. Despite the worry, fear, sadness, and trauma that she still suffered, she felt a genuine feeling of hope return to her. By leaving Prospero, she could seek out the thing that haunted her the most--banishing the echoes of her sister's screams. They were there, every night. She needed to be free of that. She had to see if there was a possibility that she could find, perhaps, absolution. One thing was certain, she couldn't find it on the brave new world of Prospero. She could only find that in the stars. "I think," she said, accompanying her friend to the door, "I'll take some time to heal." Charalee
The look of shock, betrayal, and anger on Ann's face almost made the entire debacle worth the effort. Almost. Charalee sprinted toward the elevator, her skin-sheath taking a hit from a well-aimed Security crewmember. The skin-sheath absorbed the energy, dispersing it throughout the material. Charalee hardly felt more than a slight increase in heat, though she knew that the skin-sheath's ability to regenerate itself was the only thing that kept a second shot from tearing her in two. Skin-sheath notwithstanding, the force of it knocked her off balance, though not enough to do more than slow her for a pace. Ann shouted something about stopping her--it was clichéd, no matter what it was, Charalee felt sure--and more shots cut the air, sizzling against walls, glass, and consoles. Desperate engineers dropped to the ground, covering their heads in surprise and terror. The elevator doors loomed in front of her. A couple of steps more… She slammed against the unyielding doors, her breath rushing out of her despite her sheath. Furious, Charalee slapped the aedee terminal to summon the elevator--it should still be at the top floor, as no one else was coming up--only to hear Ann laugh tersely. Rage rushed through Charalee's body at the condescending sound. "You don't have authorization to use the elevator, sweetheart," said Ann as she climbed to her feet. The remaining crewmembers stood in their stock stance, weapons trained on Charalee, who could only glare at her sister. "Keep her contained," said Ann. "We have an emergency downstairs that we need to--" As Ann spoke, one of the crewmembers came close enough to touch her. Squeezing a hand to signal her aedee's interaction with the skin-sheath, Charalee felt her entire body stiffen with augmented strength. In a blur, she disarmed the man, then snatched him by the coveralls. With a spin, Charalee hurled him into the approaching three crewmembers, knocking the entire Security force to the ground in one move. Before anyone could move, Charalee sprinted forward, firing the weapon-- --at the glass overlooking the Hangar. The shots burned holes in it, fracturing it enough. With another aedee cue, her skin-sheath hardened to a beyond-steel level, localized on her forearms. The shock of leaping into the damaged window was absorbed by her sheath. The glass bent, yielded, broke. Charalee was in free fall, plummeting twenty-five meters toward the ground. As she fell, she could see the constellations of shattered glass falling with her, the morass of people below, the charging herd of Dentolura. The sound of screams echoed throughout the Hangar, floating up towards her as people began to panic. The air rushed through her hair. The ground loomed. Executing a tight flip, Charalee redirected all of the protection that she could to her legs. The skin-sheath ought to be able to handle that much strain--it was tested to work for upwards of forty meters--but, lately, things hadn't always worked the way she wanted, Charalee had noticed. Her breath caught in her throat. Panic started to edge its way into her mind. The ground seemed to grow. Then it was done, she'd landed, and though the force jolted through her entire body, causing one of the stitches in her head to burst and a fresh shock of pain and blood to leak through, she hadn't splattered as she'd feared she would. Then momentum caught up with her; too much energy shoved her forward. Spilling awkwardly forward, Charalee's heels tripped upwards and she found herself midair and upside down, spiraling in an ungainly star shape, landing some three or four meters from where she'd touched down. Unprepared for this, she didn't have time to reprogram the skin-sheath. When she landed on her left arm, she heard--and felt--a dry crack. Pain spiked through her as she bounced, grunting and gasping, another meter through the Hangar. As she rolled to a stop, she cradled her forearm, gritting her teeth against the pain. Blood dripped into her eyes as she tried to get up. Shock was rippling through her, making her empty stomach revolt, disassociating her ability to think clearly. In the not-too-distance, the closest Dentolura rushed in, their sundry shapes and faces a terrifying reality to face. Behind the creatures, the sun peered over the lip of the horizon, pouring its golden beams into the Hangar. Power. Portal. She could still escape. Forcing her arm back into position--screaming as she did so--she ordered the skin-sheath to bind up her forearm, immobilizing it. The pain was intense, but it also served to clarify her purpose. She wanted to survive. Nothing would keep her from getting her freedom. Behind her, the crowd continued to panic, pushing against each other, trampling one another in their haste and fear. In front of her was the onrush of lura, slaver on their jaws and violence in their eyes. In between was the Portal--off to one side and, mercifully, undamaged by the incoming horde. She could do this. She could pull it off. Gritting her teeth (and triggering the best pain-blocking protocols her aedee had), Charalee began to sprint. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something--one of the hover-pads that she'd taken upon arriving at the Compound. With the power returned, they would work. Deviating from her straight-forward course, she jumped onto the closest one. A short Security crewmember saw her, yelped, and moved to intercept. Charalee fiddled with the controls as the member leaped onto the pad. Charalee fretted for a split moment about how she'd defeat someone with only one hand, but the woman didn't attack her--instead, she slapped the large crate that was also on the pad. The crate's door popped open, releasing a noxious smell, but other than that, nothing happened. Taking advantage of the woman's choice, she kicked the crewmember in the stomach, sending her sprawling, her slanted eyes wide with pain and anger. Charalee laughed and tapped the control, shooting forward. With a flick of her finger, she increased the acceleration, zipping along faster than she could have run. Behind her, the thunder of the horde only grew. She knew she was cutting it close, and she hoped that she could avoid their notice, since there were so many tasty morsels in front of them. Sparing a glance behind her, Charalee's stomach dropped into her aching feet. The entire horde, it seemed, had started coming after her. Swallowing hard, she glanced at the accelerator. A red light flashed. Shoving the wind-whipped hair from her eyes, she looked closer. OVER LIMIT. She glanced at the crate behind her. "Good luck," she said to it, and shoved it off, the action causing a twinge of pain in her left arm. The cage clattered free, spinning wildly on its base as it skittered across the concrete floor of the Hangar. The hover-pad began to speed up. Charalee let out an exultant whoop and faced forward. The Portal was close now. Charalee's temple warmed. She frowned. Who was calling now? A glance in the bottom left of her vision let her know it was, unsurprisingly, her sister. Despite the pain in her head and arm, she felt a flutter of joy pass through her. Ann wanted to talk? Charalee was feeling expansive; she'd allow it. "I'd like to thank you for this chance to escape," said Charalee as she rammed the hover-pad into a rapid deceleration. The change in momentum nearly threw her from the pad, but she managed to remain onboard until it was safe to run off it. "I couldn't have gotten here without you." "Charalee," said Ann, her voice soft and sad, "I didn't want to do this." "Do what, sister?" asked Charalee, sprinting toward the aedee-terminal that controlled the Portal. "Lose?" "No. I didn't want to see this happen to you." Charalee slapped the terminal, calling up the protocols she'd been sent as Envoy to turn on. The Portal began to warm up, drawing on the prodigious power of the PRISM engines, utilizing Prospero's sun as a connection to the star closest to the Vanguard. How it worked, Charalee had never understood. Something about restructuring the matter passing through the Portal and reassembling it on the other end. Whatever it was, she need only allow it to fully power up before she could step through, returning to the Vanguard and there relate the tragic tale of Prospero's demise, everyone dead as the hostile megafauna feasted on their remains… Charalee laughed. In a few minutes, the Portal would be open. She'd be safe. She turned to look at the tower where she assumed Ann still stood, watching her sister leave. "You're jealous of me, Ann. You always have been. What have you ever done that I couldn't have done better? You were always inferior to me. It's something Mother knew. That's why she did for me what she refused to do for you: She paid for my digenetic implants, Ann. She cared about me." "I'm sorry, Charalee. I can't let you leave." "You aren't likely to stop me, sister. That's a problem for you, isn't it?" "Well, as Senton taught me, you never know when a biological solution will be what you need to solve your problems." Charalee blinked. The timer on the portal read another three minutes. She couldn't leave yet, so she decided to indulge her sister's cryptic comment. "What do you mean by that?" "Goodbye, Charalee." Her temple cooled, letting her know that Ann had disconnected. Behind her, she heard a distinct pop. Confused, Charalee looked around. The horde had stopped chasing her, she realized. They had found something on the ground…the infant from before was in the midst of the mass of creatures. Had that been in the cage? That explained the smell. Thinking of that stench was enough to make her smell it again. Charalee took a deeper breath. No, she wasn't imagining it. There stink of copper and sewage invaded her nostrils. The horde's attention on the infant snapped to her, almost as one. Charalee's eyes widened. With trembling fingers, Charalee reached behind her. The pop, what had that been? A small protuberance came beneath her seeking hand. She plucked it free and looked at it. A used Calm packet, one that required an aedee signal to open. Bringing it closer to her face, she took a whiff. The smell of the Dentolura pheromones still lingered thickly around the opening. Charalee looked up at the approaching horde of lura, her face frozen in fear and dawning understanding. Ann had betrayed her. She'd tricked her, let her go… The closest lura leaped forward, its jaw unhinged and wide. The timer read ninety seconds when she began to scream. The screams stopped when the timer read twenty-eight seconds. Ann
The Hangar was a mess. Despite the fact that there was plenty of space for everyone, people had gathered together in a massive group near the entrances to the Hangar. Ann stared in surprise at the press of humanity. Navigating her cart slowly, she saw one theme in everyone's faces. They were defeated. They were shocked, saddened, confused, tired, angry, and even hungry, too, but more than anything, the entire ordeal had left them all feeling defeated. Her heart ached at the thought. Daylight had come. They had survived. There was no doubt that they'd all managed to continue, despite horrible odds. More than that, Ann felt a twinge of regret that she hadn't managed to do more to help them. There were priorities, of course, that only she could have kept up with. She didn't think she'd done the wrong thing, necessarily, but perhaps she hadn't done the best thing? Looking at the despair on so many people's faces, Ann wished she'd been able to do more. "Excuse me. Sorry. Can I get past? I'm sorry. Excuse me." The apologies ran on repeat as she navigated the crowd. Most people gave her a curious glance, but her uniform--sullied and stained and torn though it was--gave enough authority that no one did more than look. A couple of times, an attentive parent dragged her child out of the way so that Ann could angle the cart through the press. The group dispersed more and more as they went, but no one seemed eager to go too far past the entrances. Part of that, she was confident, was because the lights weren't on. She frowned. Why was that? Once free of the crowd, Ann set her cart on one of the hovering pads that helped move people through the massive expanse. It didn't respond to the weight. Ann tried a query from her aedee. Nothing happened. Grimacing, she brought up a location log on her palm. Almost all of her crewmembers were here, but there should be one person in control…Bertram Callaway. Well, that was a relief. He was as good as they came. He'd likely be looking at a promotion once the crisis was behind them. She hailed Bert. "Yes, Chief?" he asked almost instantly after the connection came through. "You're in the Hangar?" "Yes, sir. It's been an interesting time, to say the least. We're understaffed by a magnitude of about one hundred times or so, I'd say." "Do you have a sense of how many want out? How many want to leave?" "Basically everyone here, from what I can gather, sir. There are pockets of other groups that can't come out--Medical wing has had a severe accident, it looks like, and no one is leaving there." "Accident?" "That's probably the wrong way to describe it. One of the injured got up and started killing people." "What!" Ann felt a shock of surprise ripple through her. She hadn't thought that more murders would have to be investigated, though perhaps that was too optimistic a hope. With this much chaos, people were bound to want to take advantage of the crisis. "What details do you have?" "There's some people's aedee recordings to parse through, sir, but we haven't had the humanpower to get anything taken care of…well, anything. We're lucky this place hasn't devolved into a mob. You can see how absurd this place is, how everyone is everywhere." "Anything you can do to try to make this more organized?" "Ever since I last reported to you, Chief, I've been working on getting this place more organized. There are only about a hundred crewmembers in the colony, and there are nearly ten thousand people. That's not good ratios." Ann frowned. "You're right." She glanced down and saw the cart. "Look, Bert, I have a different priority right now." "Different than these people?" He sounded incredulous. "Different than crowd control, but still pertinent. I need to know why the hover-pads aren't doing anything. Why aren't the lights on?" "That's a great question, sir, but I think it has something to do with the Envoy." "With Charalee?" "Is that her name?" "She's my sister." Bert barked a laugh. "Really? Small galaxy. Look, Chief, the power that's been brought back online throughout the Compound is being held in abeyance until the Envoy can input her protocols. That will then allow the modified PRISM engine that powers the Portal to run." Ann could almost hear the shrug. "It seems like that's what happened when the power was restored--I can't override it from here." "You're certain of this?" "Yes, sir. I'm standing at the terminal now." She looked around, trying to find the place. There it was, off in the distance. A large tower that overlooked the entire Hangar. Calling it a tower was a misnomer, though; it was more like a pillar in the center of the Hangar that both supported the immense roof and gave the people inside it a 360 degree view of the entire place. There, the many different terminals and working cogs of the Hangar worked. Of course Bert would be there. If Ann had had any sense, she would've headed straight there. "Okay, look, I need a pathway put into place." "Why?" "My sister needs to get here." "She's the Envoy, right?" "Yes." Bert was quiet a moment. "Any idea where she is?" "Near the joint between Gateway Avenue and the Longstand Street." "Close to the lavatories?" "I'm thinking so." Another pause. "Okay, Chief. I've triggered a pathway. What do you want to do now?" Ann bit her lip, thinking. She didn't trust Charalee. Her instinct was to club her sister in the back of the head, then throw her into the Brig while she evacuated the entire colony. But that wouldn't work--she had to be conscious to put in the Envoy's protocols. Nevertheless, having the Hangar open was only one piece of the puzzle. Would the Portal work? Could they mass-evacuate? Was there enough bandwidth for that? The entire thing was experimental in the first place. Ann couldn't reasonably rely on the new tech to teleport the people from Prospero to the Vanguard, could she? There were too many variables, too many possible areas where that could go wrong. But there were only five transports that she could see. Even if they were completely empty, they would have to be recharged--something that would take time--and restocked with food for the trip back to the Vanguard. That sort of organization would take additional time, all the while there was still the danger of the Dentolura, who were all throughout the Compound. A sinking feeling dripped through Ann's stomach and into her body and soul. They weren't any closer to being done than any other time. They were…they were screwed, basically. There wasn't anything she could do. It had been a false hope that Captain Rall had given them. Yes, they were almost within lightline for contacting the Vanguard, but there was no cavalry on the way, no rescue to wait for. They were on their own, and they had precious little that they could do. Ann swore. "Sir?" "I said, 'Shitbones,'" replied Ann. "No, I heard that. I was wondering if you had something you wanted me to do…and I was hoping it wasn't that." "Wasn't what?" "To…you know…shit out bones." Ann almost smiled, but the gravity of the situation pulled her face into a perpetual frown. "Bert, this is going to be trickier than I thought." "Why, sir?" "I don't trust my sister to do the right thing." "Um…" She shook her head. "Look, I need to get to my sister and bring her to you. She has to have access to the system so that she can power up the Hangar and the Portal. But I don't want her to be touching anything else. Can you arrange that?" "Anything else…you mean--" "Systems, protocols, anything. As much as I hate to say it, she's the only key we have to getting out of here, but she's a dangerous key." "Isn't she your sister?" "It's not something I'm particularly proud of, if you must know." "Okay, Chief. Whatever you say." "Do that. I'm going to go find my sister." "Roger that." They disconnected and Ann took a step away from the hover-pad, then paused. Did she want to be hauling around the lura that was inside? It kept rattling the cage, but its energy seemed to be fluctuating now that they had normal air circulating through the place. Maybe it couldn't handle their atmosphere for much longer? Ann heaved a sigh. No, she didn't need that thing rattling around--but she didn't trust to leave it unguarded, either. Holding up her hand, she wiggled her pinky and then twisted her wrist, loading the previously generated list of locations and her people. It took another minute or two to find a crewmember nearby, but once she did, she called her up. Another minute passed before the woman showed up. "Yes, Chief?" asked Pauline Su, approaching at a jog. She had her Security force helmet tucked underneath one arm, her short-cropped black hair tight against her face. Slanted eyes clicked from Ann's face to the crate sitting on the pad. "I need you to guard this." "Yes, sir." "It has a lura in it." Su tipped her head. "What's a lura, sir?" "What we call the things that attacked us," said Ann, frowning a bit at the question. "Oh. We've been calling them pisspots for most of the night," said Su. "Have you had a lot of contact with them?" An incredulous smile creased over Su's face. "That's putting it mildly. These suckers have been tearing through people all over the Compound. I myself have dispatched at least a half dozen of them." Ann raised her eyebrows. "I can't wait to read the report." "I sure can wait to file it, sir," said Su with a crooked smile. "I'm not too keen on reliving the experience." "Did you record it through your aedee?" asked Ann. It was supposed to be standard operating procedure to activate one's aedee recording during a crisis like this, but, at the same time, one could be forgiven for having other things to attend to. "Yes, sir," said Pauline Su, her face giving away nothing about how she felt having the question asked of her. "Of course I did." "The visualization dump should be enough, then." "Yes, sir," said Su, smiling. "That would be a relief." "But you have to watch this crate for me." Su saluted. "Yes, sir." Ann nodded and moved to leave, then paused. "And Su?" "Yes?" "If I…If there's a need--if I give you word--you should let the cage open." Su blinked in surprise. "Uh, if you say so, Chief." Ann nodded, pursing her lips. "I do. I…Let's hope that doesn't happen." Su shrugged. "Whatever you say, sir. Should I blast it when I open it?" Ann shook her head. "No! No, please. Just…let it go." "Okay. You're the boss, Chief." Su nodded deferentially to Ann, who returned the nod and headed back toward the entrance. She'd like to have the big, primary doors open, but she figured they were part of the system that needed the Envoy. As she walked, she fingered the Calm packet in her pocket. It was going to turn out okay. She no longer needed the help. She snorted, remembering the bad hit from Lyle's terminal--that was the brightest memory she had of the entire night. That hit had made the rest of her thoughts fuzzy when she put too much pressure on them. And, after the fight with Korryn, she felt physically worse than she had in a long time. If it weren't for Helena, Ann didn't know what would have happened to her. She pulled out the Calm pod, considering it carefully as she headed toward where the pathway would light up for Charalee. Maybe it wasn't worth it, after all. Sure, the Calm helped her think. Right now, it would be nice to take the edge off the stress. There were still so many variables, so many possibilities. Did she really want to deal with that alone? Without any help? Ann held the packet in her hand, not willing to put it away yet. After all, didn't she deserve a little rest? She'd gone through a lot, and though they weren't finished yet, she could really use a boost. A bit of help, yes. That's all it would be… Ann arrived at the entrance as Charalee arrived, along with a handful of other people who hadn't been able to find their way to the Hangar, either. Ann forced a grin she didn't feel onto her face and embraced Charalee fiercely. "Uh…hello?" said her sister, hardly reciprocating. "I'm so glad you're here," said Ann, lying through her teeth. She patted Charalee on the back and then led her through the crowd, explaining the situation as they walked. "I've ordered my people to get the system ready. Once you've inputted the protocols, we can start getting people off the planet." "Yes," said Charalee, nodding her head in a way that seemed as forced as Ann's own jocularity. "That sounds excellent." Ann kept careful watch over her sister, though she didn't know why. If the woman wanted to sabotage them, there was little Ann could do at this point. They had to have the Envoy codes. Without them, there was plenty of energy and no way to use it. More than that, she didn't trust Charalee. Her willingness to help out tickled a memory in Ann's mind. Something about the Medical wing…had Charalee been there? It had been so soon after the bad hit that she couldn't really say. The drugs that Helena had given Ann weren't as effective now as before, and Ann's thinking was getting foggy. She had to remain…Calm… They arrived at the pillar, entering into the elevator with Ann's aedee providing the access. As they coasted upwards, Ann asked, "Did you…do you think the Portal will work?" "Work?" "We've had to make some changes, after all." "Poor timing. I saw some of the patches you did because of that storm. Assuming the Dentolura didn't damage too much, it should work fine." "And you're confident the Portal can work the way it's supposed to?" "Yes," said Charalee, nodding. She shot her sister a wary look. "Why so interested?" "We're going to get these people off the planet who want to go. But I'm worried about using new tech to do it." "Oh, the Portal could handle twice as many people," said Charalee with a wave of her hand. "The issue is only about having enough power. The PRISM engines that we have attached to the Portal are the latest that DP has created. That should make you feel safe right there." To Ann, it sounded more like a sales pitch than something that would make her feel better. Nevertheless, she nodded as if she agreed. "That sound perfect." "Yes," said Charalee in a way that made Ann cold. They entered the command station. Bertram stood next to the primary terminal. There were a handful of additional engineers and even a couple of Security crewmembers, but, for the most part, the space was empty of people. "Skeleton crew?" she asked as the Timpson sisters crossed the room. "Most of the engineers are done with their part. They're with their families," said Bert, nodding at Charalee and saluting his Chief. Ann returned the recognition. "This is my sister, Charalee Timpson. Please show her to where the Envoy's codes belong." "Yes, sir," said Bert. He looked at Charalee. "Will you?" "With pleasure." Ann ghosted behind them, not wanting to let Charalee out of her sight. The idea of what her sister might do haunted her, but she couldn't decide if it was petty suspicion or a genuine insight into her sister's personality that made her so distrustful. As it stood, Ann didn't want a misstep. Power up the Hangar. Deal with the next step only after that. Charalee leaned forward. Ann noticed in the blue light of the darkened room that Charalee looked worn down. Her hair was a mess, and the wound on her head didn't appear too well healed. That surprised Ann. Hadn't Helena worked on her sister, too? She seemed to remember that. But it was murky, like trying to remember a dream. "Damn Calm," said Ann under her breath. "What was that?" asked Charalee, looking up from the terminal on which she was working. "Huh? Oh, nothing," said Ann. She stood at military rest, her hands behind her back, feet a sharp shoulder-width apart. "I didn't say anything." Charalee went back to her work, tapping her aedee and occasionally the terminal in front of her. She moved with an efficiency that reminded Ann of Helena. That was strange. Why was she thinking of the medic again? Then, almost like a breeze with a hint of perfume that reminded her of a long-left lover, a memory popped into her mind. The Medical wing. An attack. Some deaths. Charalee shouldn't be standing, now that Ann thought about it. She'd been hit by a lura, was poisoned. She wasn't even able to stand on her own; Charalee had been looking like she was a scarce meter from death. Now she was up and moving. She was… Ann grimaced. She shot a look at Bertram. He was watching Charalee just as carefully, but neither one knew why. They didn't know what she needed to do. "That's it," said Charalee, pulling Ann out of her paranoid conclusions. "I have to go down to the Portal itself and input my code there." She pointed down to the Portal. It was positioned at the far end of the Hangar, a large platform built into long, sleek ovals. The Portal itself was supposed to generate a large amount of energy that would be funneled through the ovals and then create a tear in time/space that would allow a person to walk through, from one location to another, in this case, the other Portal on the far edge of the Vanguard. "Let's get you down there," said Ann, reaching for Charalee's arm. "One more thing," said Charalee, her fingers twitching. That was the moment. That was the problem That was the clue. "Bert!" shouted Ann, but it was cut short as Charalee knocked her hard in the chest, sending the Chief of Security sprawling. Bert leaped in, but received a vicious elbow to the nose. A bone cracked and blood sprayed as Bert dropped. Charalee slapped the terminal panel before anyone could move. The entire Hangar shuddered as the massive external doors began to yawn open. On the other side, massed together in a herd too expansive to count, were the awaiting Dentolura. The door finished opening. The animals took a step into the Hangar. Even from this height, Ann could hear the people down below scream. Charalee
The dizziness returned as she headed through the separate wings toward the Hangar. More than once, Charalee had to stop, leaning against a wall, a table, a door until the dizziness passed. The ache in her head never seemed to improve, despite tweaks to her aedee's protocols. When she'd joined up with Desert Peaks a few years back, she'd gone into beta testing aedee protocols, ones that would allow greater control of her physiology on a genetic level. It was understood that this could cause some unexpected and unintended side-effects, but the possible gains were immense. Being able to direct her body to increase production of cells at a specific site meant that she could accelerate her healing via direct intervention. The inverse was true--she could battle cancer, were it to strike her, the same way. A common feature most women used was to regulate their periods; Charalee could select a specific ovum to release, should she ever wish to have a child. Or twins. Or triplets. It was a matter of greater, larger control. That was why she'd gone along with it. Now, however, the control didn't seem to be working. How was she supposed to pull herself out of this painful, dizzy spiral if her aedee wasn't responding to her requests? With a mental snarl, Charalee spat venom on the memory of the medic whom she'd knocked out in the Medical wing. Charalee had been too easy on the woman, only punching her when she should have punched through her, as she'd done to one of the guards who'd tried to stop her access to the Brig. Whatever that stupid woman had done to her had hampered her aedee's success, and that was enough to drive Charalee into a rage. But the anger wouldn't help her get to the Hangar any sooner. She had to focus on that. Turning the power of her rage into a galvanizing force, Charalee pushed off the current support (it was a table she'd slumped against while passing through a rest area where people would sometimes sit and chat over tea or something equally as insipid) and moved on. The medic thought she'd stop Charalee? Well, that was a mistake on the medic's part. Nothing would keep Charalee from getting out of here. This whole thing was a disaster, and the fact that she'd be the only one to survive would become a sensation and sob-story once she returned to the Vanguard. A couple of lura snuffled at the far end of one of the corridors. So far, she'd been lucky, and the creatures had seemed otherwise occupied. These two, however--of a different type than she'd seen before--blocked the direction she needed to go. They hadn't noticed her, yet, with their strange, skeletal faces and bizarre protuberances up and down their bodies. Instead, they appeared to be fascinated with the vents higher up on the wall. Since the power had returned, Charalee had noticed the air slowly clearing up. One of the lura shivered, its glossy body rocking back and forth. The other one gurgled a response, shivered as well, then hurried away from the juncture of hallways where Charalee had first spotted them. Grimacing against the constant throb in her head, Charalee slid forward, cautiously peeking around the corner. The lura were out of sight. Only once she'd realized that did she feel her heartbeat slow. The attack from the one in the tunnels had been enough to frighten her; no, not frighten, but certainly give her a sense of healthy respect and a desire to keep her distance. A broadcast sounded throughout the Compound, which drew her up. Most people would have received this via their aedees or, if they were part of the imbecile minority of Anachronists, in their handhelds. Still, to ensure that everyone on the Compound got the message, the overhead announcements sometimes came through, as well. "Attention, colonists of Prospero. This is Captain Rall. Primary power has been restored, allowing us to open up the Hangar doors again. We will begin an orderly evacuation of the planet of all those who wish to depart as soon as we can get the transports moving. Once the infestation has been eliminated, we can return and rebuild. For now, please continue to remain calm and orderly. Listen to the crewmembers of our Security force; they have instructions on how to best keep you safe. With restored power, we will be able to service areas that have been locked down and previously inaccessible. Please keep yourselves safe until we can help you. Thank you for your help and cooperation during this trying time." The captain clicked off. Charalee snorted. Was that what leadership looked like to the colonists on Prospero? A man who stayed holed up in his office during a crisis, spoke to them when the end was in sight, and let all those who had been scared by the experience to simply leave? If she'd been in charge, Charalee would never have put the people in a single, tasty group and let them all await their deaths in a single place. The best thing would have been to arm them, have them defeat the creatures--Charalee had nearly done that very thing earlier--and reclaim their homes. Such weakness. Such stupidity. She couldn't get off this rock fast enough. With the power back on, though, she assumed she could get to the Hangar by more conventional means. She again regretted not downloading the information that Nolan had offered her. Based upon the markings on the walls, she was fairly close to the Hangar. There were taxi-pods that would be up and running again, which would transport her the last bit of distance. All she needed to do now was find one. Gritting her teeth, she decided to try one of the people she'd met. They knew the place and could get her to a station. At first, she tried hailing Korryn. The woman was more likely to be willing to talk to her, since Senton was (presumptively) still upset with Charalee for having abandoned him. Plus, she'd had her aedee pick up the comm information when she'd bumped into Korryn in the hallway a few hours before. It had been an impulse and an instinct--which Charalee had learned long ago to always heed--and it paid off now. A moment after attempting to connect, her aedee displayed a message in Charalee's field of vision: COMM FAILED. "Failed?" Charalee frowned. There were a couple possibilities: One, Korryn was asleep and her aedee prevented anything but emergency communications. That was unlikely, considering how stupid it would be to sleep at a time like this. Two, Korryn had deliberately set her aedee to AWAY, preventing the comms to come through. This didn't make sense, though, because there wasn't an ancillary option to try leaving a voice message for her to receive when she became available. The third was that Korryn was dead. Of the three, that was the most likely option, all things considered. Despite her reluctance, Charalee tried for Senton. His query shut down after a few moments of hailing, letting her know that he'd refused her call. "Well, fine. You've always been a prick; no reason to stop now." She glanced about, trying to see if there was anyone who could help her. Then again, Charalee didn't really look particularly trustworthy right now. Blood splattered all over her, and her right arm was crusting over with the guard's blood. She flicked the skin-sheath, which responded to the aedee signal to return to her preferred color, as well as knocking off the offending grime. A moment later, her skin-sheath was back to its black-and-gray format. It didn't do anything for the gore stuck on her hands or the way her hair felt sticky with all sorts of things she didn't want to think about, but she was a survivor, right? No one expected her to look perfect. The moment of self-reflection was over, and now she had to do what she'd been subliminally refusing to do: Call her sister. Ann had obviously managed to get the power back on--so she was (most likely) still alive--but reaching out to her felt like some sort of defeat. Charalee stewed on that for a moment. "Whatever," she said at last. "It isn't worth being stuck here." She shook her head as she queued her aedee's call to Ann Timpson. "Damn place," she said. "Who designed this nightmare anyway?" Whoever it was deserved to be dosed with some of the lura toxin and then left alone with a couple of the-- "Charalee?" said Ann. Her voice was ragged and eager, though Charalee couldn't quite pick out why. "Hey, sis," said Charalee, affecting a raggedness of her own. She tried to sound scared, exhausted, and desperate without going overboard. In her mind, she'd made that work pretty well. "I need some help." "Oh, yeah? Where are you?" "That's the thing: I think I'm lost. How can I get to the Hangar?" "You're not there yet?" "No, I'm still on track." "I'm in a taxi-pod. Can you come to me at the next stop? I'll take you there." Charalee narrowed her eyes. Her sister was sounding almost excited to see her again. That was…unusual. "Well, I don't even know where one would be." "I can come to you. Beam me your location." "I don't have Compound access," she said. "Right, right," said Ann. "Here's what I can do. I'm going to be to the Hangar in about five minutes. I'll send a pathway to you." "What's a pathway?" "It's something we've set up for lost kids who don't have an aedee yet. We use the lights to guide you toward a safe place. The kids know to follow the lights and we can usually find them in only a few minutes after they get lost." "Did you ever think to build the Compound in a logical way instead?" Ann laughed. Charalee didn't think she'd said anything funny. Ann sounded relieved--no, not relieved, necessarily, but less concerned--as she spoke. "That's a different story entirely." "This place is a joke." "It's more of a rhizome, as I heard told." "What the hell does that mean?" "I have no idea. I'll be at the Hangar in a few. From there I can authorize a pathway to get you to me. Any idea where you are? If I can localize it, it'll take less time." Charalee looked around and described what she saw. "Okay," said her sister, "I think I know where you are. Not far away, as it turns out." "Hurry," said Charalee, putting a drop of fear she didn't feel into her words. "I saw some Dentolura hanging around here. I'm not sure if they're completely gone." "I'll be done in a few." Ann disconnected. As her temple returned to its normal temperature, Charalee frowned. There was something in Ann's demeanor that made every instinct bristle. Unfortunately, she didn't know why. It was possible that Ann was simply feeling happy that the crisis was almost over. Having normal lighting in the Compound made a large difference, even in Charalee's jaded view. She looked through a window to the outside world. The green fingers of an approaching dawn made her anxious to be gone. If she did it correctly, she could burn this place behind her as she left. She looked at her hand, coated in the sticky remnants of the man she'd killed. "Maybe I should take care of that before I get to Ann," she said to herself, then headed off to find a lavatory. She didn't want to alarm her sister unduly. Ann
The lura's containment was fortuitous. Both the small and the large one that Korryn had brought with her were focused on attacking Korryn's corpse, so they didn't notice that they'd been sealed in when Ann had let go of the aedee pad, thus closing the door. Though she turned away, the image of Korryn's terrified face as the creatures tore into her would always haunt Ann's memories. Senton pounded on the glass of his own cell, his expression twisted into screams and fury. Ann took a deep breath, her body trembling still from the exertion of the fight with Korryn, then crossed the hallway to Senton's cell. Palming the speaker on, she listened to his accusations for a moment. "--killed her! Why didn't you open the door? What did she do to deserve that death? You monster! You heartless bi--" "Listen," said Ann, her voice sharp with frustration and exhaustion and too much adrenaline and digenetic hangovers and vestigial effects of the bad Calm hit and she frankly didn't have a lot of patience to deal with an overly-emotional doctor whom she held personally responsible for the entire mess she now had to clean up. Apparently, Senton caught most of that in the two syllables she spoke, because he shut his mouth, tears still dripping down his cheeks. "Listen," she said again, "I am sorry about her death. I'm not even certain why they attacked her and not me, but it is a tragedy. I'm sorry about it. But she killed my crewmembers and she was trying to get off planet with one--or more--of the Dentolura. I'm not saying that's deserving death," and she put up a hand to stave off Senton's excuse, which he looked anxious to share, "but I'm saying that she's not guiltless." Ann paused and glared at Senton. "This isn't right, by any stretch, but I'm pretty confident that I told you that having these things in the Compound was dangerous, that we had to get rid of them." "But--" She raised the hand again. He stopped. "You screwed up, Senton. In the worst possible way." Ann gestured at the bloody mess that had once been Korryn. "She didn't deserve that. And you have to carry on, knowing that's the case." He pursed his lips. "She didn't kill them, you know." "What?" "The guards." He gestured with his head, his entire countenance scribbled with furious glares. "She didn't kill them. She arrived only a moment or two before you did, hauling along the adult." Ann frowned. She had taken longer to get to the Brig than anticipated--only diverting when she realized that the Janus notification wasn't something she should ignore, sending her crewmembers on ahead to take care of the power restoration. Almost as if on cue, the lights all flickered, dropped out, and the normal lighting of the Compound returned. Her members hadn't failed her. Small consolation. "So who did it?" asked Ann, looking over at the corpses of her crewmembers. Pol and Rander, two men who had shown great promise. Pol's wife was expecting a child--the twenty-ninth planet-born colonist--in a couple of months. Rander had been a wonderful musician, using his talents during his off time to provide some entertainment and culture to the too-often dreary world of Prospero. Thinking of their lost potentials and the pain that their deaths would cause made her heart hurt. A desire to find the perpetrator and deliver unmitigated justice on the accused's head shivered through her. She tamped it down with a professional jerk, but the sentiment simmered nonetheless. "Was it the same one who killed Theodore?" Senton snorted. "I'm pretty sure that killed Theodore." He pointed at the infant. "The little prick." Ann didn't disagree. She faced Senton. "So who did it?" "You can't recognize family work?" Ann's vision dimmed at the edges; her head swam. "Charalee?" Senton pointed at the bloody handprint on the outside of his door. Ann looked at it, uncomprehendingly. "She did that." "No." Ann could hardly believe it. What had Charalee said in the Medical wing? "You may be the noble one, but I can care about others, too." Apparently not. "I don't know what she did, necessarily. I can't see them from here." Ann looked over her shoulder. "You probably don't want to." Senton shrugged. "She came to see me." "I thought you two hated each other." Another shrug. "For the most part. But she was interested in some of what I had." "What's that?" "Information." "Yeah, you're filled with that." Ann tried--and failed--to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. He snorted, looking down his nose at his captor. "I know that the lura attacked Korryn because of pheromones." Ann shook her head. "How can you possibly know that?" "I've had a lot of time to think since you threw me in here." "It's only been a couple of hours." "And what else was I going to do?" he asked. "You notice the holes on their skin?" "They look like mouths," said Ann, turning to face the mess that was Korryn's cell. The two had finished whatever feasting they were interested in. The small one followed in the pacing steps of the adult. They didn't look particularly similar, but Ann figured that, if that many creatures had come in for the baby, they weren't necessarily interested in close bloodlines. Even from here, she could see the holes on the side of the adult open and close. "They're vents. That's how they exude their pheromones. To us, it smells like coppery sewage. To them, it's a homing beacon. That's how they know where to go. Karl--the little one--sent out the pheromones into the atmosphere, letting the other lura where it was. They've been trying to meet up with it ever since." "And why did they attack Korryn?" Senton sighed. "I noticed polyps on her, stuck to her clothes. During your fight, some of them burst. Once those polyps popped, that's when the adult pushed through whatever sedation Korryn had given it." He shrugged. "I guess it's more of a hypothesis at this point, but it seems to explain the observations." Ann snorted. "Always a scientist." "I admit it." Ann frowned and moved away from the cell. She'd noticed something in the corner of the large lura's cage. Crouching, she peered inside. Glistening in the newly restored lights, a couple additional polyps--unbroken--stuck to the cage walls. Holding her breath, Ann peeled one of them free of the sticky goo in which it had been stored, then--taking care not to squish it--she brought it back to Senton. "This brings them, then?" He nodded. "I'd be careful with that. With the power on, the ventilation system is going to start pulling out all the stale air that's accumulated--secondary and tertiary priorities will be served." Senton licked his cracked lips. "There's a good chance that the creatures will become more attuned than before." Ann carefully placed the polyp in an empty Calm cannister she had in her pocket. "It's sticky." "Nature can be uncomfortable. That's how it solves its problems." "Nature…" said Ann. Senton's words reminded her of something, but she couldn't remember it now. It had been said so long ago--as the sunset, before this hellish night had broken open. Something about nature…no, it was gone. Focusing instead on the doctor, Ann said, "I'm leaving now. Once this is taken care of, you'll be freed." She gave a command to her aedee and palmed the information into his cell's terminal. "Now that the power's back, you'll be taken care of." Senton looked around. "Wait, you're leaving me?" "Yes." "You can't do this!" "You'll have food. You have a bed. You have safety. That's more than ninety-nine percent of the colony right now. I need to get to the Hangar as soon as possible." "Why, so you can take the Portal out?" Ann shook her head. "No, I'm staying on Prospero until we can get this cleaned up." Senton laughed. "You're so stupid, you know that?" "Is that supposed to make me want to let you out?" His laughter sharpened. "You think that Charalee is going to let you out? That you'll get to come along?" He gestured in the direction of Pol and Rander. "You think she's going to be stuck with those murders? Man, wake up. She's going to go through the Portal and then close it down, leaving us here. Cover up. It's what she does." Ann opened her mouth to rebut the arguments, but she couldn't get her words to work. Senton knew Charalee in a different way than Ann did. More than that, her sister had always had an ego--a selfishness that had shocked Ann on more than one occasion. Was she really interested in covering this up? They'd be able to communicate with the Vanguard now that power had been restored. Sunrise was less than an hour away. She didn't have a chance… "How well do you know your sister?" asked Senton, leaning with his good arm against the glass. "How many people do you think she's willing to sacrifice to save herself?" Ann's mouth went dry. There was something dark in Charalee, that much was true. But Charalee was family--Ann had to give her sister the benefit of the doubt. Didn't she? "She's headed to the Hangar, where the Portal is." Senton shrugged, turning his back. "I'd guess you have ten minutes before she's gone." Ann frowned, thinking. No, it didn't make sense for her to escape. That wouldn't be enough to cover her tracks. Ann still lived, plus there were thousands of potential witnesses to see her go through, then shut it off. The testimony against Charalee would be overwhelming-- Ann's eyes widened and her mouth slipped into a shocked O. "Dear lord," she whispered. "I think she's…" Senton perked up. "What? What is she?" Ann didn't dare say it aloud. Instead, she spun around, took two steps to the bloody cell, and palmed open the door. Firing her gun into the face of the rising adult lura, she knocked it back and out before it could mount a defense. With a smooth movement, she kicked the infant into the open container, which so stunned it that Ann was able to slap shut the cage's door before the infant could escape. Leaving the cell door open, Ann righted the cart and began sprinting to the nearest taxi pod. Her own pain and exhaustion didn't matter now. Pushing herself to sprint even harder, she slung herself and the cart around a corner, the tinny sound of Senton's shouts echoing behind her, unheeded. There wasn't time to stop and think. Action was required. She had to get to the Hangar before it was too late. Korryn
Ann shoved the cart to one side. The door to the cage holding the Dentolura Korryn had tranquilized popped open, and some of the creature's whip-like tail uncurled like fingers opening. Korryn didn't have time to focus on the thing, but it didn't look like the fall had awoken it, which made her relieved. The last thing she wanted was to have that lura awake and cranky. Not only that, but a damaged creature wouldn't be as lucrative as an undamaged one. All of these thoughts clicked through her head as she dived toward the still-spinning gun. That she would be worrying about profits and xenoforms at this moment was strange for her, but she decided, as her body slammed against the ground and skidded toward the weapon, that it was good to have something beyond what she was currently doing. Future goals, that sort of thing… Korryn arrived at the gun first, but Ann slapped it free, sending it beyond Korryn's reach. Ann managed to get to her feet before Korryn, which necessitated the childish-but-useful technique of tripping Ann to keep her from securing the gun. Korryn crawled on top of the Chief of Security, pulling herself along toward the weapon, only to get a vicious elbow into the side of her face. Stars sparkled in front of her eyes and she yelped, rolling off Ann's back. Maybe it was best to focus only on the Chief. Despite the ringing in her ear, Korryn pushed off the ground, using the glass door of the Brig as a launching pad to throw herself into Ann. As the Chief bent over, Korryn slammed into her, sending her sprawling a meter and the gun clattering to the ground. Breathing heavily as much from the adrenaline as the exertion, Korryn scooped up the weapon and turned, only to catch Ann's shoulder in her own torso. Air rushed from her, but Korryn had enough presence of mind to keep the gun in hand. They collided against the glass door of the cell in which a small cage was kept--it was Karl, Korryn felt almost certain--and she could hear a keening sound through the speaker. She glanced at the larger lura, worry springing through her. Did she see the tail move? No time to consider that, she had to deal with an incensed Ann. The Chief pulled back, pinning Korryn's left arm against the wall--and the gun with it--and rearing back for a punch. Korry brought her leg up, striking Ann uselessly. The Chief didn't seem to notice, but it allowed Korryn to push back, forcing Ann's punch to fall short. It landed hard against Korryn's leg. A thud of pain dropped through her, but it wasn't too bad. Wrestling as hard as she could, Korryn worked to get her left hand free, bringing her right hand up to try to switch the weapon over. Ann read the movement and started doing the same. "Get off!" grunted Korryn as she and Ann began a tug-of-war with the gun. Korryn bit down on Ann's hand, pain lancing through her teeth as she applied more pressure. Ann screamed and let go, stumbling back--and releasing her weapon. Korryn steadied herself and pointed the gun at Ann's surprised face. "It's done, Ann," she said and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Ann jumped forward, grabbing Korryn's hands, pulling her close. "Maybe having aedee-only weapons isn't such a bad idea." "What?" Instead of answering, Ann, her face streaming with perspiration, kicked out one leg, then twisted her body, throwing Korryn hard to the ground. She landed on her back and shoulder blades, but the shock of it sent her still-fragile breath out in a loud whoosh. It was only at that moment that Korryn started to think that maybe she had made a mistake. Ann wrenched the gun painfully from Korryn's hand, finally gaining full control of the weapon. Before she could level it at Korryn, however, the colonist lurched forward, snagging Ann's coveralls and tugging them down. Ann, obviously surprised, didn't expect the full-scale attack on her, and Korryn managed to rake more than few deep scratches across her face and neck before Ann flung her off with a harsh punch that nearly knocked Korryn unconscious. She slumped against the cell door. Behind her, the cage of Karl rattled. A gurgling sound came from the speaker. The adult lura twitched. Korryn hardly noticed any of it. The taste of blood distracted her. Was that her blood? Was it from the bite? Had she simply not remembered? It was hard to know. Everything was too hot; waves of heat came out of the collar of her coverall. Sweat got into her eyes, stinging as it dripped. It took a second for her to realize that, in the course of her attack, the polyps that were stuck to her coveralls had burst. Some of the smell was the now-familiar sewer stink permeated the air. The adult lura made a distressed sound. "You're…under…arrest," said Ann. She palmed open the door that Korryn was leaning against. A stench wafted over Then the Chief of Security kicked the defeated Korryn into the room. She crashed against the cage, which caused the now-louder gurgles to transform into an alarmed squawk. Korryn coughed, cradling her ribs. The last kick had been vindictive, totally uncalled for. "I'm…" "We'll get this sorted out later. Once I get things back under control," said Ann, her shoulders heaving with the exertion of getting her breath back. "For now, you can keep Doctor Trapp company." Korryn opened her mouth to protest when a noise drew her attention to the cage she'd upended. The metal plating of the cage bent outward. The bulge grew as the loud sound of ruined metal ended with a metallic screech and Karl burst out of the hole. Korryn stared in open mouth shock. Out of the periphery, she could see Senton screaming something, pounding on the glass of his prison with his one good hand. She couldn't hear him--the speaker wasn't turned on in his cell--but she got the sense he was trying to tell her something. She looked over at him, then rocked backward as the small Dentolura plowed into her. Karl's jaws, flowering open wide, caught her by the neck. The hot press of its teeth seared through her, the bite unnaturally large. She could feel dozens of fangs pressing in on her, severing her flesh from her body. The infant Dentolura flew off of her with a yelp, but landed on its feet. Through pain-hazed eyes, Korryn saw that Ann stood, her weapon pointed at Karl. The lura gurgled aggressively, its blood-stained jaws dripping. Karl looked sickly, a faded color scheme from what she'd seen the first time. Its tiny mouths on its skin were working overtime. The smell of the creature filled the room. The weight of the adult Dentolura landing on her startled her out of her dazed analysis of the milieu. The too-long snout caught a chunk of her cheek, nearly blinding her with the suddenness of the pain. Its tails whipped out, and she heard Ann cry out. The Chief fell back, away from the door. Obediently, the glass door to the cell snapped shut. Korryn was locked in with two Dentolura. Screams were insufficient. The last thing Korryn ever saw, as she pressed against the glass, tears and terror on her sweaty face, was Ann, a massive gash in her side, trying to get up, to get to the door in time. A mist of blood--her blood, she knew, but she couldn't believe it, not really--splattered the door. Then pain. Then nothing. Senton
Senton's hand hurt. It had swollen, but he'd managed to finagle permission to access his aedee and deploy antihistamine blockers. It wasn't as good as an actual administration, but it was enough to reduce the worst of the swelling. He'd also administered a natural ibuprofen--though, again, it wasn't the same as the real medicine. Aedee interventions could only go so far. If he didn't get real medical help, he'd have some permanent damage. The thought of all the injustices done to him made him furious and angry. He wanted Korryn there as soon as possible--she shouldn't be far, not if she was in the lab--but more than that he wanted out. The fact that Ann had tricked him into going to the Brig, had threatened him was an outrage. Yes, he'd managed to twist a couple of communications out using Ann's aedee connection as a guide--a trick he'd learned back in training, though not in a class--and while he wasn't completely certain Ann remained ignorant of his stowaway signal, the sooner Korryn got here, the sooner he'd be out and he wouldn't have to worry either way. There was some stale water that he could drink out of the spigot in the wall next to the toilet. There was a mattress on a bed. The walls were beige. That was about all he noticed. His leg's feeling had returned to almost normal--whatever that program was, it only lasted a certain amount of time. He wanted to dig through the aedee's memory and figure out what she'd shot him with, but he wasn't very good with his left hand. All of the gestures were backwards and counterintuitive, like trying to play a guitar with a non-dominant hand. He paused at that. He hadn't thought of a guitar since he left home for training. The last time he'd touched one was the day that his father had had the accident. Since then, there wasn't any time… Now, however, he had the time. Senton snorted. Not that he'd be able to play with his hand the way it was. Its pain was no longer sharp, save when he flexed his hand too naturally, but instead was a burning ache that rested in his joints when it wasn't busy feeling like his hand was coated in flame. To get his mind off of the situation, he descended into his own thoughts, trying to generate arguments for why he should be allowed to officially identify Karl's species and genera. While he couldn't name the creature after himself (though Dentolura sentoni had a nice ring to it), he could still come up with something worthwhile. "Maybe Dentolura painintheglutei," he mused aloud. He heard a strangled noise and muffled cries of pain, three shots, and the slumping sound of bodies dropping to the floor. Curious, Senton stood up and came close to the glass door. He glanced across the hallway, where Karl remained ensconced in his cage. The creature hadn't moved since Ann had put him there. Senton hoped the lura wasn't dead, his injury notwithstanding. His scientific inquisitiveness overpowered his vendetta. Plus, it was just a creature. It hadn't meant to harm him. Ann, on the other hand… "Korryn?" he called out softly, then yelped when the intruder rounded the corner. "Charalee!" "Hello, lover," said Charalee. She looked…a mess. Her hair was matted with dried blood, as was most of her left shoulder. He spotted the telltale glint of genetic metal holding closed what looked to be a nasty head wound. Her skin, normally an attractive brown, looked sickly and wan, as though she'd lost too much blood. (If he had to guess, that was probably the case.) But more than that, Charalee's eyes were dark and distant--hollow. While he couldn't fully put a finger on why he thought this, he couldn't avoid the conclusion that her overall appearance was one of desperation. "You've…you've been busy?" asked Senton, licking his lips and taking a step back from the terraglass door. She spoke, but her voice came in through a small speaker mounted next to the door. Save a vent too high above his head for him to reach--and, if he remembered correctly, impossible to remove--there wasn't any access to the outside world. He pushed that reality from his mind. Best not to dwell on it. "You could say that," said Charalee as she stepped closer to the glass. She rested her hand against the door. Senton recoiled when he saw it was covered with blood. "W-what did you do?" "What I had to," she said, her voice flat. "I'm getting out of here. And you're going to help me." "Help?" he asked, his voice squeaking. "Uh…" "Listen, Senton," she said, the sharpness in her tone unmistakably hostile. "I'm on really short time and even shorter patience. So pay attention." He swallowed. Their tryst hadn't lasted long--a few weeks only--and had been based upon mutual attraction. After their first night together, Charalee had said as much, telling him she'd likely leave him as not. They'd found reasons to keep seeing each other, but it didn't take long to realize that she was growing bored of him. There was sex and there was an occasional conversation, and then, as abruptly as it had started, it was over. Charalee hadn't offered any specific explanation, and Senton hadn't wanted one. The thing he remembered from the whole experience was that, when she sought attention, he had to give it. Her sharp-edged tongue was reason enough to capitulate on that front. Now, as she snapped for him to listen closely, he followed the command as much from habit as from an acutely developed sense of self-preservation. "You are widely considered the expert on the Compound." He shrugged. "I'm good with maps. I've memorized the place." "And its byways and…" She waved a hand. "Everything?" "Yes." He licked his lips. "Why?" "I want out of this place." "The Brig? You just go the way you came…" "No, stupid. I want out. Off of Prospero. Out of the Compound." Senton scratched at an itch on the back of his neck. "Isn't there relief coming? Some help to take care of the problem?" "Yes, and I want to be gone before they're here." She pressed closer to the glass. Senton let his eyes drift down her body. The skin-sheath was custom fit and made her look distractingly good. He remember what it was like when she had first taken off-- "Hey! Focus!" Charalee snapped her fingers. Senton shook his head. "Sorry." He kept his eyes focused on hers. "I, uh, I don't know how to help you." "I need to get to the Hangar, but the main thoroughfares are all closed down. That's where the lura are thickest, supposedly." "Well, it depends." "On what?" "On what's open. The likeliest route is through the service tunnels." "Not happening." "Okay," he drawled, thinking. "You could weave through the northern wings. I'm pretty sure the pods aren't running--" "Not without full power," said Charalee, disgusted. "Well, passing from one wing to another often works. Most of them are connected, so while they take longer to go through than the main hallways, they're your best bet." He paused. "Well, maybe not…" She shot a glance over one shoulder, then looked back at him. "I told you, I'm in a rush. Can you hurry it up?" He stared at the bloody hand again, suppressing a shudder. He could only guess what she'd done to the guards. The fact that he'd lapsed into ogling her surprised him in light of that likelihood. He couldn't help her anymore. It wouldn't be right. "Take me with you." Charalee snorted, then laughed, shaking her head. "No chance in hell." "Look, I'll guide you. I can take you to where you need to go." "Then you'll try to come with me." "No," said Senton, "I'll stay here. It's fine, I'll figure it out. I just don't want to be in this cell anymore." Charalee gave him a pitying look--one that he almost recognized from before. He thought, for the briefest of moments, that she would take him back. In one part of his mind, he always thought that she would take him back. The look disappeared. "No way." "Wait!" Without hesitating, Charalee pushed off from the glass, the handprint streaking. "Thanks, lover," she said. An eerie smile creased her lips, and, despite his shouts for her to return, she slipped around the corner and out of sight. "Well, that…" Senton groped for the right word. At last, he settled on, "was disappointing" and left it at that. There was a familiar sound of approaching footsteps. "Charalee?" he said, perking up. Maybe she'd changed her mind? His eyes widened. "Korryn!" "Did you call me something else?" she asked. She, too, looked the worse for wear as she pushed a cart containing an oversized cage to a stop. Like most people on the Compound, she wore her work coveralls, which did exactly as advertised. In her case, though, the fabric was dirty, splattered with blood, and it was caked with a sticky substance. Her hair, too, was stringy with the stuff. Though it was markedly different than Charalee, he could see a haunted look in Korryn's eyes, too. Both women had passed through some pretty hard times, he was certain. "What happened to you?" he asked. "And what is that?" He pointed at the container, then shook his head. "Never mind. You can tell me later. First, you have to help me out of here." "I have this," she said, dangling a handheld from its lanyard. "I think it'll help." Senton smiled for the first time in what felt like years. "That'll do! Wait, where'd you get that?" "From a…body. Dead body. Dropped it." "Killed by a lura?" She nodded. He grimaced. "We may have to rethink our plan." Korryn snorted. "Yeah, well…once I get you out, I think we can--" "I have to admit, Korryn, I'm disappointed." Both Senton and Korryn's heads snapped in the direction of the voice. Senton groaned. "Not you!" Ann stood, her hand on her weapon's handle, but still holstered, and glared at both of them. "Did you think I wouldn't know what you were up to, Senton? That you and Korryn's conspiracy would go unpunished?" "You're going to waste time during an emergency to make sure we don't take some of these creatures out of here?" "The last thing," said Ann in a dangerously low and calm voice, "that I want is the responsibility that will come on my shoulders when it becomes clear that a dangerous xenoform--one that's part of massive loss on Prospero--has been taken off planet. Do you know how many treaties, laws, and regulations you'd be breaking if you took a Dentolura off planet? There were ten years of litigation when it became clear that a new form of bacteria had piggybacked to the Gateway from one of our first outposts. Do you think taking animals anywhere else would be wise?" Senton's mouth was dry. He didn't know what to say. He'd forgotten--or maybe, hadn't wanted to remember--about those laws. Forcing himself to swallow, he tried to mount a defense, but Ann cut him off. "Shut up, Trapp. I'm not interested in discussing this any longer. Korryn, you're under arrest. You have the right--" Snarling, Korryn shoved the cage, which was precariously set on a dolly, toward Ann. The Chief of Security, caught off guard, took an edge to the gut. Her gun flew free of its holster and spun away. Korryn and Ann both froze. Senton watched, breathless. He didn't know what else to do. For once in his life, he had absolutely no ideas. He hated the feeling. The moment--strangely balanced in the clear processing of ramifications and ideas--snapped to a close as abruptly as Korryn had attacked. Then the fight began. Charalee
The smile faded from her lips as her sister left the Medical wing. Charalee winced as she adjusted herself. She'd been delayed endlessly, through the stupidity of the Compound's design and the interfering of others. That Senton had been here, resurrecting her ire, only made it worse. And Ann? A waste of the family name. Never had Charalee been quite as embarrassed by her sister as she was now. No audacity, no ambition. The woman squandered whatever gifts she'd gained by being a Timpson, and now she was off to do her sister's errand. That, at least, made Charalee marginally more content. Her sister was so easy to manipulate. Now that the power situation was taken care of--or about to be, assuming that Ann didn't screw that up, too--Charalee could focus on getting to the Hangar. She had her final piece to include in the Portal's protocols--the whole reason she was there as an Envoy--and then she could be free of this cesspool. What a horrible planet. She'd never felt so dirty in all her life. Being around so many people, with the filth just outside the windows, made her feel agoraphobic and claustrophobic at the same time. The second the Portal was charged, she'd be freed of Prospero. Let those in her way suffer the consequences. She was getting out, and nothing was going to stop her. "How are you feeling?" asked the medic who had administered to Ann. "Leave me alone," said Charalee, irritated at the interruption to her ruminations. "No need to get snippy," said the medic, firing up something on her aedee. "You're not in a position to get too bent out of shape. We know next to nothing about these creatures' poisons, and you got a fair enough dose in your bloodstream. The fact you're still alive is in some ways surprising." The medic checked the nutrient bag that was connected to her skin-sheath. "You should be grateful." "To you?" Charalee couldn't keep the disdain from her voice--mostly because she didn't want to. "Well," said the woman slowly, "I was the one who heard you on the other side of the door. I was the one who managed to get it open. So, yes, on a certain level, you definitely owe me that." Charalee snorted. "You're straightforward." "I'm a doctor. It's best that I am." "Doctor." Another snort. The woman arched a black eyebrow. "You don't approve of my training?" "I'm fine, Doctor. I need to be going." Charalee made to get up, wincing as the movement again jarred the wound on her head. "I have an appointment." "Much as I'd like a spikey-mouthed patient like you to be well and on her way," said the medic, putting out her hand and gently pushing Charalee back into her bed, "I can't, in good conscience, let you leave. Appointment or no." "Don't touch me!" The violence of her cry was louder than she expected, but what did she care? Her injury pulsed in her head, forcing pain deeply into her--lighting up her mind and bones with agony. Charalee shoved past it. It was a scratch and this "doctor" wanted her to sit around like an infant while Charalee's chance to get free of this hellhole diminished. Not likely. "Listen," said the woman, her voice lacking all of the ameliorating tones she'd used before. "You're sick. We don't know what this toxin will do to you. It could affect you now, later, or maybe never. It seems to be interfering with your cognitive functions, and preliminary tests show that your body isn't doing much to shut down the invaders. So you're not only injured, you could also be a liability for everyone else. We don't know how this would mutate, if it's contagious, or anything about it at all." "What about the evacuation?" "We're safe enough here, for now. We'll be better off staying in the Medical wing and waiting for help than trying to pull a bunch of wounded people to the Hangar." Charalee grimaced. "You're not going to the Hangar?" "That's what I said." "Oh, I don't think so," said Charalee, her voice low. "You're not in the position to--" But the medic never had a chance to explain what Charalee was in the position to do, as Charalee lashed out with one hand, cracking the woman across the jaw with a vicious left hook. The woman crumpled, taken completely unawares, and slumped to the ground. A shout at the attack from one of the crew made Charalee move faster. She didn't have time to waste with these idiots, and she wasn't really in the mood to explain herself, either. Yanking the tube from the catheter-connector on her skin-sheath's harness-interface, Charalee stepped over the unconscious medic and headed toward the door. A couple of people cried out in fear as she came close to them, but for the most part, the patients found other things--their own problems, if they were smart--to focus on. The closest Security crewmember stopped a couple meters away, her hand out to slow Charalee but the other resting warningly on her holstered weapon. To Charalee's left, one of the other crewmembers brought up his aedee-rifle, targeting the Envoy. "I'm going to have to ask you to get down on your knees," said the woman member. "Put your hands on your head." "I'm not interested in that," said Charalee, not even breaking stride. The security woman put herself between Charalee and her path. "You're under arrest until--" Triggering a squirt of strength via her skin-sheath, Charalee's muscles tensed with augmented power. She knocked the woman's hand to one side, grabbed her by the throat, and jerked the woman as if she were a doll. There was an audible cracking noise and the security woman slumped in Charalee's grip. "Freeze!" shouted the security guard. Standing in between the different medical beds--all of which were occupied with frantic and frightened invalids--the crewmember couldn't risk a shot going astray. But, at the same time, he'd just witnessed his co-crewmember die. Charalee thought she could hear some anger and pathos in the man's orders, but she didn't care to truly parse it out. Holding the dangling, head-lolling corpse in front of her, she walked steadily to the door. Once clear of the aisle of the sick and injured, Charalee stalked toward the crewmember. Now that she wasn't close to the injured, the man opened fire. The whole idea was ludicrous. Not only did she have the corpse as a shield, but she was wearing a military-grade skin-sheath. The thing would be able to absorb and disperse almost any velocity of bullet that weapon could spit out, and Charalee would hardly feel it. A couple of shots hit the armored back of the crewmember's mate, but then the man realized the futility. She heard him jabber into his aedee that he needed backup, that they had a crewmember down, and they needed to get to the Medical wing as quickly as possible. Sneering, Charalee began to run, then spun in a brisk, sharp circle. Hurling the sixty kilo woman into her friend with that much force caused additional cracking--though whose bones broke, Charalee neither knew nor cared--and a deflated whompf from the man as he collapsed beneath the tangle of dead limbs. Charalee stepped onto the woman's back, bent over, yanked free her weapon, and check its type. This one--unlike the aedee-rifles--could be used by anyone. That was good. It meant she didn't have to worry about it not working. The male crewmember stirred and groaned, but that cut short as she fired a tight shot into his forehead. The smell of burning ozone and carbonized blood wafted toward her. "You were in my way," she said matter of factly. "I didn't appreciate that." A rustling her drew her attention, but too late. A heavy body tackled her from behind and she lost her grip on the gun as she toppled to the concrete floor. The stale stench of the assailant's hot breath punched her as much as the man's--it was clearly a male, based solely upon the amount of grunting he was doing--fists were. Stars burst behind her eyes when one of his punches landed on the left side of her face. The icy-hot agony of the recently-healed wound reopening sent a shock of pain from the tip of her skull to the right kneecap, glancing off a spasm in her heart. The world swirled. Charalee could taste blood. Charalee didn't have time to calculate much, so instead of planning anything, she triggered her skin-sheath to release an electric current. It normally was set to simply incapacitate the attacker, but she cranked it up to almost-lethal amounts--as far as the aedee would let her go. The man--a broad-chested fellow who was now missing an eye and a nasty gash in his shoulder told Charalee why he was in the Medical wing in the first place--chewed his tongue as the electrical current coursed through him. Convulsing on the ground, he dropped to one side, frothy blood dripping from his mouth. His eyes glazed, but it looked like he was still breathing. Sucking in her own ragged breaths, Charalee regained her feet, picked up the gun, and looked around for any other would-be heroes. The Medical wing stared at her in mute terror. "Quite the day, isn't it?" she asked, her voice raw from the screaming she'd done (when had that happened? She couldn't remember). Smiling, blood from her reopened wound seeping through her hair and painting the side of her face with a crimson sheet, Charalee pointed the gun at the unconscious man. She pulled the trigger. A moment later, stumbling out of the Medical wing's triage bay, Charalee steadied herself on the wall away from the door. The coppery taste of blood was thick in her mouth, and she found it hard to breathe. If she wanted to survive--and she definitely wanted to survive--she needed to get free of this place. There would be medicines on a spacestation that would help her. There was nothing on Prospero that would do anything for her except make her worse. She could feel that in her soul, in her deepest heart. There was nothing for her here. She had to press on. Sucking in another deep breath, she began jogging. The attack from the wounded man hadn't hurt--the skin-sheath protected her from that sort of thing--but taking that punch had messed her up. More than once, she found she had to stop to let a wave of dizziness pass. She didn't want to spend too much time heading toward the Hangar, but she also couldn't faint…not if she wanted to escape. The sounds of pursuit drifted into her ears. Someone was following her. Cursing quietly, she slipped down one of the hallways, unsure of where it would lead her. A door blocked her path. She still didn't have the aedee protocols to open anything on Prospero. "Shit," she said. The sounds of pursuit continued. Glancing around, she saw that there was only a small protuberance from the wall that would give her shelter. If they were looking for her, there wasn't likely a chance that they would miss seeing her, even if she pushed herself tightly against the wall. She adjusted her grip on the weapon. She could shoot her way out. The skin-sheath would take a lot of the punishment they could mete out, and though she'd be in worse shape, she'd survive. Unless they hit her exposed face. Silently, she cursed the fact that she'd lost the helmet to that stupid lura in the tunnels. Of course, the helmet had saved her life, but that was what helmets were supposed to do. Berating herself for dwelling on this, she flexed her fingers and settled into a shooter's stance. She'd blast her way through, then… Then what? She still didn't know how to get to the Hangar. But if she didn't shoot her way through, it wouldn't matter either way, because she'd be in the Brig and what good did that do her? The plan snapped into her head, like a door dilating open. When the Security crewmembers turned around the corner, their weapons up, they were surprised to see Charalee, on her knees, the gun two meters in front of her, and her hands on her head. "Please," she said, her breathing ragged and tears, expertly feigned, on her face. "Please. Just don't take me to the Brig." Ann
Colors. Pain. Danger. Everywhere Ann looked, another lura was waiting, their vicious jaws slavering. She saw blood in their mouths, venom on their bodies. They snapped at her, insubstantial and perfectly real, forcing her to recoil and throw her body away from their lashing tails. Too-sharp claws reached toward her, only to miss as she recoiled, slamming her body against whatever object was there but she didn't see: walls, tables, doors, chairs. Pain lanced through her head, though she couldn't hold onto it well enough to recognize how she could have gotten it, and before she could really worry, another shadow lurched out at her. This time it was Captain Rall, his face torn down to the bone on one side, the other still intact. Snatching her arm, he grunted something, but his words came out, not as sounds, but an oozing vomit. His brown eyes rolled in their sockets, then dropped free. Screaming, Ann wrenched herself free of his grip and began to run. Things tripped her--unidentifiable things that had edges and malicious laughs, that moved in front of her path and tangled her legs whenever she took more than two strides--and the world spun. Leaning heavily against a wall that felt as though it had been built out of nothing but miniature razor blades (and why wasn't her skin-sheath, tucked beneath her Chief of Security coveralls, doing anything to protect her?) that slashed and sliced and parted her flesh as she stumbled onward. Her teeth dropped out of her head, dissolving into pellets and falling free. She screamed again, rushing onward, oblivious to direction. Behind her, the cruelty of humanity threw the screams back to her, tearing her mind's sense. A diabolic gurgle that turned into a throaty, malevolent chuckle swirled around her, then dissolved into the hissing pop of searing skin. Desperate, Ann tried to find something she could understand, something that made sense. A distant, logical part of her mind seemed to be shouting at her: "Bad batch! It's a bad batch!" The words made no sense to her. It seemed like she was trapped in her mind for weeks--years, maybe--as the terrors coursed through her. She fell, rose, fell again, and at last collapsed against the leg of a towering Dentolura whose slimy leg rippled with unimaginable muscles and whose mouth-like holes all spoke to her, each one saying the same thing in a slightly different voice: "Failure. Failure." And they were right. She had one job: Protect the people of the Compound. And how many had died because of her? Her neck pinched and she cried out. Darkness began to creep along the edges of her vision, but she pushed them back. "No, no, no, nononono," she said, her words feeling real and slurred and agonizing. She couldn't die. Not like this. Buzzes of words that she couldn't recognize hummed about her, and she swatted at them, as though they were insects swarming. She wouldn't die. Not like this. The darkness pulled her down for its own inimitable eternity. The voices quelled. The pain receded. Ann slept. Her aedee told her that it had been thirty minutes since she took the bad batch of Calm, but Ann couldn't quite process that. She wanted to sleep, but the bright image of the clock interrupted her rest. Why was it so bright? Ann tried to reduce its brightness, but the aedee didn't respond. The clock brightened. She opened her eyes. The action hurt, but so did the lights. Groaning, she tried to turn to her side. She was on her back, which was probably why she'd woken up. What day was it? She never slept on her back. Did she forget something? Her bed felt harder than usual. How long had she been asleep? But she already knew some of those answers. She asked them anyway. A cold bottle pressed against her lips, and she sucked down instinctively. The cool liquid coated her raw throat and trickled down in a wide umbrella through her stomach. The feeling roused her, and more of her mind fell into place. Medical wing. She was on one of the gurneys. The bright lights were so that the medics could care for the wounded--the Medical wing had priority only after Life Support wing for energy. The attack. Korryn. Senton. Ann tried to sit up, when an anxious voice coupled a gentle hand in pushing her down. "Slow down, Chief. Slow down." Blinking past the grit in her eyes, Ann flopped back and looked up. "Doctor Melsted?" The medic smiled. A tired expression pulled at the smile's edges, though, and Ann could see a haunted look in the depths of her brown eyes. She wore a blood-smirched smock over the standard-issue coveralls, and her slender hands shook a tiny bit as she started her inspection of the Chief. "You feeling okay?" Ann grunted and shook her head, but the action sent a spike of pain through her. "Oh, I wouldn't do that," said Helena Melsted. Her smooth warm voice mirrored her smooth brown skin, the words balming her mind. Ann had always liked Helena. She always felt more at ease in the woman's company than most. "You took a bad hit." Helena gave her a knowing look. "Calm, again?" "Never again," croaked Ann. "Can I have another drink?" "Water this time," said the doctor, helping her sip from a bottle. "I gave you a quick-acting counteragent to the Calm, but it's important that you stay hydrated. You'll be okay, but you'll also take some time to patch up." She touched the spot on Ann's head that throbbed the most. "This is particularly nasty." "Ugh. What happened?" "I was going to ask you." "Can't remember." Ann thought of the terrors of her waking nightmare as the Calm tore through her understanding of reality. She shuddered. "But it hurts like hell." "I don't doubt it." Helena pulled on some gloves and began to administer to Ann's scalp. "This will hurt a little until the numbing goes through. Then we'll stitch you up." "Is it that bad?" "Pretty bad. Not the worst of the night." "Tell me," said Ann, wincing at the pinch. Then her head became warm, a comfortable blanket of numbness prickling all the way down to her eyebrow on the front and the nape on the back. She could still feel the pressure of Helena's confident hands, though it no longer hurt. "We've had multiple casualties. The breaching in the Compound happened all over the place--but you probably knew that. We've been trying to gather as many people as we could here in the Medical wing, then slipping them through the access tunnels to the Hangar. About an hour ago, though, a swarm of small--whatever they are--broke in and flooded the area. We're trying to clear them out, but we have limited supplies." She gestured over her shoulder. "Those men and women over there deserve a raise." She paused. "Or, at the very least, a round of drinks at your expense." "I have good people," said Ann. For the first time, she could process what was going on around her. She lay on a medical bed in the middle of the Medical wing, with medical personnel rushing from place to place, their medical jargon providing the background murmur. On the beds were countless wounded. Some sat up, their heads bandaged and a dazed look in their eyes, or they sucked on a tube, their expressions blank and terrified at the same time. Some were crying, others were silent. Most had all of their limbs; some did not. Everywhere, people were trying to help, trying to comfort, trying to heal. But the numbers--there were easily fifty people on the beds, and more against the walls, those who were assisting or awaiting their turn. Security crew came in through the doors on a regular basis, hauling another victim into the room before heading out to find more. The five crew that Helena had indicated stood against the far wall, watching the room carefully, their eyes flicking over every possible area of attack, their hands casually holding their aedee-rifles. "They've been saving as many people as they can tonight." Ann winced. "Sorry," said Helena. "Did that hurt?" "Not you. Just…everything that's happened." "Any ideas why we were attacked?" asked Helena as she finished up her repairs. "Some." She looked up at her friend. "I'm still trying to get to the bottom of it all." "Well, I think you'll have to wait until you're better…" Helena made as if she were going to leave. Ann grabbed her by the elbow. "Wait, Doctor. No. I can't be out. I have to finish this." "Why?" asked Helena, raising a slender eyebrow. "You're hurt. You don't need to fight on." Ann wanted to confess that it was her fault, her mistakes that had brought this pain upon the colony. Instead, she said, "It's my duty. You have to patch people up. I have to stop this invasion." The doctor paused for a moment, then nodded. "Do you give me permission?" she asked, taking off her gloves and raising her hand toward Ann. Confused, she looked from the hand to the doctor. "For what?" "To manipulate your digenetics. You have them, I presume." "Oh." Ann nodded. "Yeah, I've some digenetic changes." "I can use them to accelerate your healing and clean out the vestiges of your Calm." She paused. "It also violates the terms of service, so you'll void your warranty." Ann chuckled. "Damn bureaucrats." Helena nodded and smiled. "Indeed. So. Do you want this help?" "Is it going to jeopardize your license if I say yes?" Helena sighed. "Only if you're going to sue." "No plans of that." "Then let me in." Ann hesitated. It was dangerous to let people poke around in one's genes, even if it was like any other code. That the doctor knew what to do in this instance made Ann curious--not suspicious, as Helena was too good a person to be doing this sort of thing in an illegal way--but she had to push that aside. She needed the help, and Helena said she could provide it. Ann triggered the permissions in her aedee. The doctor put her warm hand against Ann's, and a swarm of relief surged through her body. The fuzzy pain of each bruise and contusion faded. The vestigial feelings of the Calm drained away. She felt…whole. "Wow. Why didn't you lead with that?" she asked when the doctor finished. Helena gave her a wan smile. "Warranty." "Yeah, well. That should change." Helena laughed. "You're welcome to stay here, but if you could clear off the bed as soon as you're ready, we'd appreciate it." "No problem." Ann stood, though she was more wobbly than she'd expected. "You okay?" asked the doctor, holding onto Ann's shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Helena. You're a godsend." Helena's lips twitched in a slight smile. "You're welcome. Do me a favor, though: Stay well this time." "That's the hope." Helena released Ann and started away. She paused, then said, "By the way, your sister is here." "What?" "She got poisoned by one of those…things." "They're called Dentolura." The doctor bobbed her head. "Makes sense." She sighed. "I've more people to help. But you may want to talk to her." Ann looked in the indicated direction, thanked the doctor, and began walking toward her sister. Her legs were unsteady, and despite the digenetic purge, Ann could tell that she wasn't actually well. She'd been patched up, not healed. She would have to be careful. The work that Helena had completed could be undone by any number of horrible possibilities, and Ann was eager not to see what would happen to her body if she weren't careful. Leaning on the different beds, she found her way to where Charalee lay, her head likewise bandaged. She didn't see Ann standing nearby, so Ann had a moment to look her over. Normally, Charalee was filled with a vibrant energy, an anxious ambition. It was hard to pin down exactly, though Ann knew that if she'd seen such an attitude in anyone other than family, she would have done everything she could to avoid her. But, as it stood, Charalee was her sister. Still in her skin-sheath, her head swaddled, and a tube going into her sheath (which then relayed whatever medicine being given throughout the rest of her body), she looked a misery. Ann almost felt bad for her. "Hello, sister," she said, stepping close enough to draw Charalee's attention. "What the…Ann? What are you doing here?" The question was surprisingly genuine. "I…made a mistake. Hurt myself." The honesty shocked her, but she decided to embrace it. The chaos of the past few hours was enough to remind her that family still mattered. "Doctor Melsted helped me out." "Yeah, she says that I've been hit with a toxin." "Any idea how it happened?" Charalee gave her a pained, sarcastic smile. "One of your pets, darling." Ann frowned. "Not my pets." "Your man's, then." "He's not my man." Charalee rolled her eyes. "I don't mean that way." "You shouldn't," said Ann, remembering. "He was your man--in that way--before I got to know him." Charalee gritted her teeth. "You're not the only one who makes mistakes." She shifted in the bed, wincing as she jostled something. "But I'm almost done with that." "With mistakes?" Charalee nodded. "I've learned a lot, you know. Since we left each other's company." "You mean, after you betrayed me over becoming digenetic and took the job I was interested in?" "That would be the approximate timeframe, yes," said Charalee slowly. Ann grimaced, leaning against the bed. "You always have a way of interfering with my life." Her sister shrugged. "Natural charm." "I don't think so. What do you want, Char? Why are you here?" "I'm the Envoy from Desert--" "No, I mean why are you still here. The order to evacuate went out hours ago. You haven't been here that long, have you?" Charalee pursed her lips. "Not too long, no." "So what's going on? Why hang about. You've never been particularly philanthropic. Surely you aren't trying to help everyone." "No, that's your job, my sanctimonious sister," said Charalee, wriggling her shoulders as she settled into the bed more comfortably. "Why are you here." She didn't phrase it as a question, letting the authority of her office and her inborn talent for glaring like Mother push the importance onto her sister. "Power, dear sister." Charalee flicked her fingers toward the lights above them. "It's what we need to get out of here." "Power?" She frowned. "We've been working on that for the past day or so…" Charalee sighed. "The storm knocked out the primary power, yes. But your engineers got most of it back up and running. I was headed toward the Hangar when I overheard some of them talking. The attack has ruined what they've recently repaired. They need to get the power restored to the Compound before anything will work the way it's supposed to…including our outbound communications." She sighed. "Without a direct sightline to Prospero's sun, we can't talk to anyone. There's no help coming…not yet." Ann felt her legs wobble again. There had been something nagging in the back of her mind; now she knew what it was. The DP would be able to send relief come morning, but their delay…more people would die if they didn't figure something out. "Okay," she said, sucking in a deep breath. "What are your qualifications? You're not an engineer." "No. But I have the protocols for the Portal." She tapped her head. "Putting in this information will allow the Portal to work as soon as the dawn comes." Ann understood almost immediately. "We can save everyone. We all go through the Portal, get everyone off the planet right away." A thrill of hope and excitement shot through her. There was a chance they could get the colonists away, then send some of the DP's private army to mop up the mess. In three steps, she could save the colonists: Restore the power, turn on the Portal, and herd them through. For the first time since she saw the Dentolura in Senton's lab, things seemed to be going right. "How do we restore power?" "That…I'm still trying to figure out." Charalee sighed. "I can share with you the necessary protocols. Get to the Generator wing--that much I know we have to do." Ann put her hand out, her palm cooling as Charalee's aedee transferred the pertinent information. "Why are you being so kind?" Charalee made a snorting noise. "Do you think me some sort of monster? Ann, I'm hurt." She smiled. "You may be the noble one, but I can care about others, too." She waved her sister away. "You need to move on. Hurry. The sooner you've input the protocols and prepped the generators, the sooner we can queue up the Portal. Once we've enough power for the PRISM engine, we can step through." Charalee's smile grew. "You'll be a hero." Ann narrowed her eyes. "Yes," she said, suspicious. "A hero." "Oh, stop being paranoid. I'm trying to help." She waved again. "Go." Ann turned, albeit reluctantly, and headed toward the door. She was still slightly unsure of her legs, but she had no choice. Who else could do this? As she walked, her temple heated up, letting her know a comm had come through. To her surprise, it was a Janus notification: Korryn and Senton had spoken again. Ann paused, listening to their conversation. She grimaced. This was a distraction, something less important. But, at the same time, the Brig was on the way to the Generator wing. Waving at two crew members to flank her, she exited the Medical wing. She would take care of these conspirators, then prep the generators. It was about time she had things work out in her favor. Korryn
It took a bit of humility for her to finally admit it, but by the time she'd passed the same blood-splatter on the wall for the third time, she was ready to concede: Korryn was lost. The fact that she didn't know where to go for anything--either to catch a creature (a losing proposition that sounded more and more stupid the longer she thought about it) or to get to the safety of the Hangar--only made the feelings worse. The Compound felt abandoned and isolated, yet dangerous and overrun with the Dentolura. She was tired, thirsty, and hungry. And if she never saw another lura again, she'd consider herself thrice blessed. Turning at random, she wandered down another hallway. The lights flickered here--more problems, it seemed. Maybe the emergency power was failing. If that was the case, how long before the entire Compound was undone? The life support systems would fail without power to keep the air circulating. The food would spoil. No medical supplies. No way of communicating to the Desert Peaks commissioners. By the time they realized something was wrong, it would probably be too late. All that was only if the Dentolura didn't kill everyone else, first. She cursed Senton casually, invoking any number of lurid beliefs about him, his parents, and his genitals. The idea that she maybe had started to feel something for him made her skin crawl. The man was deplorable. What had she ever seen in-- A scream drew her attention. She thought it came from her left, but the echo of it wrapped her up, making her freeze in panic. Korryn flexed her fingers. She brushed them lightly against the hypodermic needles that she had bouncing off her hip. Despite her hope to sedate one of the lura, she hadn't had a chance to use any of the tranquilizers yet. She readied one now. The screaming increased, certainly from the left now. Edging forward slowly, she decided that she should peek to ensure she knew what she was running from. Tipping her head around the corner, she bit back a gasp. On the floor, perhaps seven meters from where Korryn stood, a round lura with a long snout was stepping toward a panic-stricken woman. She was scooting backwards, her face tight with terror; blood oozed out of a ragged hole in her midriff. Her tears leaked out of the edges of her eyes, but Korryn was more worried about the lura. Its whip-like tail slashed the air as it stalked forward, but its color was faded and sickly--nothing like any of the other Dentolura that Korryn had seen before--and it moved hesitantly, as if it, too, were injured. Korryn swallowed. The needle was in her hand. She could sneak up on the creature, stab it with the sedative, save the girl. Korryn focused on the woman, noting the birthmark that looked like a bruise against her pale skin. Her brown hair stuck to her sweat-glossed forehead. She tried to think if she knew the woman, but nothing came out. There were thousands of people who lived on Prospero. It wasn't a surprise that Korryn didn't recognize her. "Stop, no," sobbed the woman, scooting again as the lura opened up its two-way jaws. Korryn had seen a couple of other attacks and knew how this was going to end. She wanted to jump forward, to be a hero, but the possibility that the lura would spot her--or hear her or smell her or whatever else these freakish creatures could do--made her stay rooted in place. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" shrieked the woman, trying to get herself up, but being unable to as much because of the blood-slicked ground as the long tongue of the lura slapped her down every time she tried to rise. "I don't have your baby! I don't know where it went! I'm sorry!" Korryn frowned. The baby? What did this lady know about… Then it became clear. The maybe-murderer. This woman had seen the baby lura, she had been in the containment room when Theodore had been killed…at least, that was the most likely explanation. How else would she know that an infant was in the Compound? Korryn kept her breathing shallow, now knowing she couldn't interfere. The fewer people who knew about the infant, the easier it would be for her to deny any involvement when she got off of Prospero. It was a hard logic, especially as the screams escalated until, with a wet splash, the woman's protests were cut off by the snapping jaws of the lura, but Korryn couldn't let herself be bothered by it. Harsh reality dictated that Korryn take care of herself first. It was that simple. As the lura dug into its meal, crunching through bones and rivers of hot blood poured out from its massive jaws, Korryn steeled herself. What a waste it would be of this poor woman's life to not take advantage of the creature's distraction. It no longer gurgled, but made a moaning sound that made Korryn feel like the creature was savoring its food. Stepping out from the corner, Korryn hesitated. The sounds of feasting turned her stomach, and the stench of the creature was sharper than before--more pungent, more coppery, more like a sewer--but what could she do? Run away? This was the moment she'd been waiting for. Yes, she had been ready to leave everyone behind, but that was because she hadn't been able to get her creature. Now, however, she had the chance. Easing forward another step, she breathed shallowly through her mouth, not wanting to breathe in the foul air. Another step. The lura ate, oblivious to her approach. Another step. The dark shadows of the ill-lit hallway made her imagination see more than the lura in front of her, made her hear more scrabbling claws on the tiled floor of the Compound. She swallowed again. Three meters away. The lura tipped its head back, swallowing a bone-rife section of the woman's body--Korryn didn't want to guess which part--and in that simple movement Korryn could see one of its four eyes. It looked at her. She froze. The creature stopped, the bloody morsel halfway down its gullet. She had two thoughts: Run-- --and, How much is that worth? It was shallow, she knew, as superficial as anytime she'd ever slept with a guy because of his great physique or that he looked like he would listen to her chat over drinks before making his move. Who cared what it was worth? If she died, she couldn't spend the money. It was dumb. But if she lived, she'd never have to work again. She'd have enough money to float through life until she died sometime into her fifteenth decade. In the end, that made it enough. Lunging forward, she covered the intervening distance as fast as she could. The lura, in a panic, began to regurgitate the half-eaten mess. That was its mistake. Taking advantage of its delay, Korryn closed the gap and knocked into the Dentolura's body. It only came up to about her midsection, but it was oily and wiry. It felt like she'd struck a package of pre-prepped food that they had in the pantries of the kitchen. It didn't matter. The tranquilizer acted almost immediately. The lura bucked once, making her dance backwards in surprise, but then paused, its eyes--all four of them--blinking wearily in its eerie skull. The whip-tails slapped to the ground like links of sausage. The lura's legs went wobbly and it dropped to one side. A massive disgorging of what it had eaten vomited over the floor. Only luck and an instinctively nimble dance out of the way kept Korryn from being splattered with the remnants of the poor woman who lay dead on the floor. The lura opened up the mouth-shaped holes on the side of its body and ejected a dozen or so small pods that landed with a wet splat all over the hallway. In this, Korryn was less lucky; one of the disgusting things stuck to her coverall legs. The rest landed everywhere--the ceiling, the walls, the floors--and there trembled. All fell still. Korryn looked around, confused. "What are these?" she asked of no one. They didn't move. It was as if the thing had voided its bowels as it had slipped into unconsciousness. She'd heard of that happening to people, too, so maybe Dentolura were similar? A moment passed until Korryn realized what she'd just done, what she had captured. A happy shout burst from her lips and she did a little dance. It was part celebration of success, part exultation at surviving. She had, by herself, taken down a disgusting, massive, blood-besmirched lura. How many other people could say such a thing? Probably zero, if she had to guess. Giggling and smiling, she glanced at the bloody mess of the trapped woman. "Sorry about that," she said, a frown flickering across her face. In the severed hand of the woman, she saw a device that looked vaguely familiar. Picking her way through the bloody hallway, she tugged it free of the dead fingers. It was a handheld. Clicking it on, the face of the dead man from the lab, Theodore, flashed onto the display screen. "Huh," said Korryn. "I was right." Her temple warmed, and her aedee showed that she was getting another mystery call. "Senton?" she asked as she accepted the request for the communication. "Where are you?" he snarled. "Calm down," she said. "I got lost, but look--" "I need you to get me out of here. I'm shick, and I need shome help." Korryn paused, straightening herself. "Wait, are you drunk or something?" "No, I'm shick," he said again. "Poishon." "Ew. How?" "Karl. Look, I need you at the Brig." "Okay, but hey, I caught a Dentolura." "I don't care!" "It sharted all these small pods when it went down, though." She paused. "Does that mean anything?" "Oddsh are they're pheromone shacksh. Will you get here?" "Can you send the location?" "It'sh right pasht the lab where we shtarted." He sounded frantic and immensely unhappy. "Head down." "Oh." Korryn looked around more carefully, then started. She recognized this area. "Hey, I think I'm nearby. I'm going to put my trophy away, then head to you." "Make it fasht. I need help and thish guard ishn't doing anything." She snorted. "Okay. I'll be there in a few minutes." Disconnecting the call, she headed down the hallway toward where she thought the lab door would be. Yes, she could see the familiar landmarks now. The change in lighting made it hard to see originally. Using the handheld, she opened up the lab. "Let's see," she said, scrounging through the cupboard she'd seen Senton use when he pulled out his own containment device. There were three others. One looked big enough to do the job. "Time to get that big boy into his home." Turning back to the hallway, the device in hand, Korryn couldn't help but smile. Things had a way of working out. And she was going to profit off of that whenever possible. Once the drugged lura was safely stowed--and Korryn noted approvingly that it was in the same room its baby had been captured in--she headed through the Laboratory wing to the access of the Brig. Things were looking up for her. |
What is this?This is a NaNoWriMo project that publishes, day by day, the chapters I'm writing for 2017. If you're confused, go to Chapter 1 Ann and start there. ArchivesCategories
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