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. Comments are closed.
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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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