Archangel Down: Archangel Project. Book One (29 page)

James didn’t look out across the field. Noa’s avatar’s eyes met his, and she let sincerity cross the hard link. Words could lie, but emotions could not. She was telling the truth—the vision of her storming the patrol was just a dream, a wish––James’s body relaxed just slightly. He looked out over the field and transmitted what he saw.

“They haven’t,” Noa’s avatar said smoothly. In the real world, she shook. He looked down and saw her face was wet. Her avatar continued without emotion. “We need to go back to the Manuels’ before they do move.” In the real world, she ripped some small plants out of the ground and her lip curled as tears dropped from her chin.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to push herself up, but in that breath James heard something that made him grip her more tightly.

“What?” her avatar said. In the physical world she hissed.

“I need to listen,” James replied. Like he had needed to follow her here, like he had needed to pull the trigger in the forest. He pressed his flesh-and-blood ear to her back.

“What are you doing?” Noa’s avatar protested. He didn’t want her to be repulsed, but he had to hear her lungs. Instead of explaining with words, he let the concern slip across the hard link. Her whole body went rigid. She took a deep breath—and he heard a distinct crackle. His body went cold.

“What was that?” she said.

“You have some sort of lung infection,” James replied. Movement caught his eyes. Raising his head, he saw the Guard team moving across the field. He sent the vision across the link, and then yanked out the cord, and helped Noa to her feet.

Panting, Noa said, “That isn’t … what I … meant.” But she didn’t explain.

“
E
xhale
,” Hisha said, pressing a plastic mask over Noa’s mouth and nose. Sitting on the side of the bed, Noa did as she was bid. The deflation of her lungs burned.

The trip back to the Manuels’ home had gone completely without incident. Part of her had wanted to run into a patrol. She’d been filled with rage that had no outlet––rage at what the Guard were doing to Kenji, at the impossible choice she’d had to make, and at herself. She was leaving Kenji, Ashley, and a thousand faces without names behind, not knowing if she was doing the right thing. She’d felt rage at James, too—because she’d been weak and shaky, breathing too hard, and he’d asked if he should carry her as her pace had lagged. It had been humiliating. More humiliating, she had almost said yes.

She glanced past Hisha. James was standing in the door frame. The townhome was old, probably almost as old as the colony, and it was built when materials were scarce. The hallways and doorways were narrower than a starship’s. James’s head almost brushed the top of the door frame and he made the place look like a dollhouse. He was leaning in the doorway, arms casually crossed, and his face showed no concern; but he’d nagged her like a mother hen to wake Hisha as soon as they’d returned last night. It was Noa who had insisted they wait until morning.

He’d relented, but as soon as he’d heard Hisha stir when the baby woke, he’d gone off to tell her about Noa’s condition. Hisha, being doctorly, had immediately insisted on examining her. Noa’s eyes went to the crack beneath the blinds. It was barely even light yet.

“Breathe in and exhale again,” said Hisha. In the doorway James shifted so his body filled the entire frame, as though he expected her to bolt. Noa had no intention of doing that. She knew when it was time to admit she was sick––most of the time, anyway. She did as she was bid, but glared at him on principle. His eyes narrowed. Over the doctor’s shoulder, James stuck out his tongue—just as she had done last night, the third time he’d offered to carry her. Not very professional on her part, though in her defense, she had apparently been oxygen starved at the time. Seeing James stick out his tongue while he maintained an expression of gravitas in the eye and brow region, Noa laughed uncontrollably and so suddenly that it triggered a burning cough. A slight beeping came from the mask. Hisha pulled it away. As Noa’s hacking subsided, Hisha said, “You have a cryssallis infection in your lungs.”

Noa groaned. Cryssallis was a type of Luddeccean fungus that occasionally set up residence inside human and other mammalian lungs. It was fatal if not treated. The treatment wasn’t painful, but it was long and cumbersome. James was suddenly standing next to Hisha, looking down at Noa. He wasn’t frowning, but his jaw shifted, and his sudden proximity … he was concerned. Noa ducked her head, remembering the sudden flash of emotion he’d hit her with over the link, so strong it briefly incapacitated her.

“Bloody bastard of a dung weevil,” Noa muttered, because the fungal infection fit that description, and also because she didn’t want to think about that emotional rush.

Hisha’s delicate features drew into a frown. “It isn’t particularly contagious. It usually only occurs when the immune system is weakened. Even Oliver is in no danger from it.”

“Would severe malnutrition make me susceptible?” Noa said, looking down at the tattoo on her wrist, mind wandering back to the disgusting gruel that she’d devoured at the camp. She almost shuddered.

“Yes, it would,” said Hisha. Noa noticed the doctor looking down at the stumps on her hand. She closed her fingers instinctively.

“I’d like to do a complete physical,” Hisha said. Her voice was soft, but the concern in her words rang loud and clear.

James took a step closer. “That sounds like a good idea.”

“Sure,” said Noa. She knew it was a good idea, too, but instead of admitting it, she glared at James and said, “Happy now?”

James said in that deadpan voice of his, “Yes, Commander, I am overjoyed that you have a potentially terminal lung infection.”

“I’ll let you undress then,” said Hisha quickly. Turning to James, she raised a hand as though to put it on his sleeve but then stopped. “Let’s give her some privacy.”

James looked over Hisha’s shoulder, obviously wanting to say something to Noa. Since the doctor’s back was turned, Noa stuck out her tongue at James. He wasn’t Fleet, after all; and she didn’t have to be professional. He raised an eyebrow, and said, “Very mature,” as though
he
hadn’t stuck out his tongue at her just a few minutes before. He was out the door before she could offer a witty comeback.

As she undressed, she heard Manuel getting ready to leave, and Eliza reassuring 6T9 that it would be best if she went to “meet some people” alone. Eliza and Manuel were going to round up the crew. It was dangerous, letting Eliza drive—dangerous to Eliza, passengers, pedestrians, and other drivers—but they were desperate. They had very little time to put together a crew, and Eliza’s semi-celebrity status as a first colonist gave her some leeway with the Guard. If Noa, James, or 6T9 were captured in a random hover stop, the mission would end before it began; and so they were staying put. Noa needed to use the day to come up with a firmer plan. Hisha had a day off and had intended to stay home to watch Oliver.

A few minutes later, Hisha came back into the room. Noa could hear a kid’s holo playing before Hisha shut the door, and guessed that was what Oliver was up to. What followed was a physical exam and all the questions Noa would have expected: Did she need to be screened for sexually transmitted diseases? It was a nice way of asking if she’d been raped. She hadn’t, and she told Hisha so. Was she having trouble sleeping? Yes. Did she want something for it? Not yet.

After the physical exam and routine questions were completed, Hisha said, “Aside from the lung infection, the malnutrition, and your hand injury, you seem fine.”

Noa slipped on her shirt. She was actually relieved. The lung infection had been a shock, although it shouldn’t have been; all the signs had been there. After the diagnosis, she’d wondered if her body was harboring other dark diseases.

Hisha touched her lips, eyes on the scar on Noa’s abdomen. “Mr. Sinclair … he’s not from Luddeccea. His augments are extensive and they look
cosmetic
, too.”

Her accusatory tone gave Noa pause. But then she remembered her own first impressions of James—she’d thought of him as “too perfect.” On Luddeccea, even doctors like Hisha frowned on “frivolous cosmetic augmentation.” When she had first met James, Noa had thought he—or his family—had gone “too far.” But she’d ceased to think of his enhanced features very much at all. It was strange how even perfection became normal and invisible after a while. She blinked down at her fingers on the buttons of her borrowed shirt. It wasn’t just that his perfection had become invisible—somehow, over the past few days, she thought of him less and less as Tim’s doppelgänger. She wasn’t sure if she liked it.

“You’re sure you can trust him?” Hisha asked, startling Noa out of her reverie.

“He’s saved my life a few times now,” said Noa, carefully keeping her voice light.

Hisha flinched. “He seems … different … the authorities, they’re saying that aliens are infecting augments. If he is somehow contagious … ”

Noa froze. Her skin crawled. Of course, Hisha was worried about Oliver; with parents, every decision would always come back to their children. Nonetheless, she didn’t respond at once. A day ago she would have jumped to James’s defense immediately, but after last night ... When people felt emotions, electrical activity occurred on the surface of the brain. Nanos could pick up the location of the activity, transfer a similar electronic pulse to nanos in another human via hard link, and they could in turn “feel” a shadow of that emotion. The emotion James had transmitted last night had hit her like a bright lance of light; that was the only way she could describe it. Her brain hadn’t been able to recognize the pattern. She’d even had a brief hallucination ... the ground had fallen out beneath her, and James was trying to hold on to her. She thought that the hallucination was a product of her confused brain trying to make sense of what James felt. It had been surprising, intense, and … alien. Her lip curled in disgust, not at the memory of the strange emotional charge, but at her own reaction to it. That she could even think that way about another human made her ashamed. She met Hisha’s gaze. “The same authorities saying augments are being possessed by aliens would rip your son’s arm off without anesthesia and let him bleed to death.”

Hisha’s face became pinched. “My son’s augments are necessary.”

Noa secured the last button. “James was in an accident back on Earth. He fell from high enough to crush bones and pulverize internal organs. On Earth, they don’t feel the same way about cosmetic augments as we do—but he would have needed them just to look human.”

Hisha bit her lip. “His mannerisms … I’ve never seen anyone so … composed and unemotional.”

Smoothing out the sleeves of her shirt, Noa took a breath. “More recently, our friendly Local Guard shot his hover out of the sky. The facial reconstruction augments he received were damaged. He may not appear to feel emotions, but he has them.” And no one would ever think him unemotional after feeling that bright charge of pure feeling he’d hit Noa with last night, but she’d never say that aloud.

Hisha didn’t precisely look convinced; but instead of questioning Noa further, she said, “I’m going to have to go into the hospital to get you the treatment.”

Trying to smooth over the last few awkward moments, Noa gave her a respectful nod. “Thank you.”

Opening the door, Hisha gave her a tight smile. “I can’t have you passing out when you’re piloting the ship. I can tell them that Oliver’s death has made me not want to be at home alone.” Leading Noa down the stairs, Hisha cleared her throat. “Of course, I need someone to watch Oliver.”

Noa felt her nostrils flare as they stepped into the kitchen. Hisha was a civilian, and she didn’t understand what they were up against. She tried to keep from snapping at her. “I can’t watch him. I have to work out a plan with James for commandeering the Ark. Now that we have the protest marches to factor in, we’ll be able to change our strategy.”

“But he’s too young not to have supervision,” Hisha protested, going over to Oliver. Sitting in the corner of the kitchen in a bouncer contraption and sucking on his knuckles, he barely looked up at Noa. He was gazing intently at a holo.

Noa’s eyes fell on James. He was eating a bowl of what looked like oatmeal with a fist-size helping of shredded coconut and a giant square of butter on top. Carl Sagan was at his feet. Noa would need James, preferably not hungry. She didn’t distract him with a joke about his culinary choices. Her gaze flicked to 6T9, standing unblinking in hibernation mode, and was hit by inspiration. “6T9, wake up!”

The ‘bot’s eyelids fluttered and a soft hum came from his chest cavity and his head.

“No,” said Hisha, apparently guessing her intentions. “No, no, no … ”

Noa turned to her. “You said that you’d do anything so that your child could live.”

Hisha took a step back. “But I can’t let a se … a ‘bot watch my son. Who knows what he might do to him? And he’s unclean.”

Noa rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he’s been bathed since his last escapade.”

“I have indeed,” said 6T9 brightly.

“And he’d never have sexual relations with a minor,” Noa supplied.

6T9’s jaw dropped, and he stood up straighter. “Indeed, I would not. That goes specifically against my programming.” It was the first time Noa had heard 6T9 sounding so affronted. Come to think of it, had she ever heard him sound affronted?

“Can you make sure the minor doesn’t harm himself?” Noa asked.

6T9 smiled. “I am programmed to recognize harm, even self-harm, and to stop it with physical restraint if necessary, and a call to the authorities.” A light buzz came from his chest. “Although, with the ethernet down … ”

“You could call for James or me,” said Noa. “We’ll be upstairs.”

“Oh, yes! I could call for James or you,” said 6T9, eyes widening. He smiled and nodded, as though that was the most ingenious idea he’d ever heard.

“No,” said Hisha. “He doesn’t know how to take care of a toddler!”

Voice dry, James quipped, “I’m sure he knows lots of games.”

Forcing herself to frown instead of laugh, Noa shot a glare in his direction. The cheeky bastard raised an eyebrow.

“Indeed, I do know a lot of games!” 6T9 chirped. He frowned. “Although most I could not play with a minor, as they would violate my programming.”

Sighing, Noa said, “You can throw a ball, right, Sixty?”

“Yes.”

“Make hover noises?” Noa supplied, remembering watching Kenji when he was a baby.

“Actually, yes!” said 6T9.

Noa nodded. “You’ll have to do.”

“No, he won’t!” Hisha stamped her foot. “He needs instructions on feeding, and potty training, and nap time.”

“Then give him instructions,” Noa snapped.

“But make them simple,” said 6T9. “I’m dense. Literally and figuratively.”

Hisha glared up at Noa, and Noa swore the smaller woman trembled with rage.

Leveling her gaze at her, Noa said, “If you have problems with 6T9 watching your son in your kitchen, you better be ready to park yourself on this planet and stay behind. These are ideal conditions compared to what we’ll face soon. If you think your son would be better served by staying here, then you say so, now.”

Hisha’s mouth opened as though she was about to speak. But then she snapped her jaw shut.

Noa let her stance soften and spoke gently. “I’m trying to save everyone’s lives, not just your son’s.”

As Noa expected, the doctor deflated a bit at that. She turned to 6T9 and started to give him instructions for feeding, naps, and nappies. Noa took a deep breath and felt a sting in her lungs. Thank the universe, the rest of her crew would be military and disinclined to confront her over trivialities.

Motioning for James, she headed to the stairs. Grabbing a piece of fruit, he followed. “And that is why I didn’t want a child on the ship or anywhere near this mission,” she half-muttered, half-panted as she climbed the steps. She paused to catch her breath at the top of the landing.