Living Hell (18 page)

That stumped me. I wasn’t sure. Back to MedLab? When Dygall spoke, he might have been reading my thoughts.

‘We can’t go anywhere near that . . . that
thing
,’ he said hoarsely. ‘It might bust into the air duct.’

‘I doubt it.’ For some reason, I felt that the air ducts were safe from the On-board Transport Vehicles. Don’t ask me why. Blind stupidity, perhaps. ‘Mum probably wouldn’t have stayed around there either . . . I don’t know . . . maybe she went back to the Vaults . . .’

‘Do you have something sharp?’ Haemon suddenly croaked.

‘Huh?’

‘You said we had to cut off our wrist bands.’

We had nothing sharp, of course. Sloan had pocketed the laser-head scalpel. I tried to think, conscious of Haemon’s agonised gaze. He was looking to me for help – guidance – comfort – anything.

I wondered what he had seen. Nothing that I wanted to hear about, probably.

‘The Infirmary,’ I finally decided. ‘We’ll go to the Infirmary. That’s not too far from here. It’s near Pathology, so we’ll be heading in Mum’s direction, but it won’t mean tangling with that OTV again. There’s bound to be
something
sharp in the Infirmary.’ I peered at Haemon. ‘Can you find the Infirmary? I’m completely lost.’

Haemon hesitated. He looked around, with a dazed expression. Then he seemed to focus.

‘If we back up,’ he said to Merrit, in his soft little voice, ‘it’ll be quicker.’

‘Back up?’ she echoed.

‘To the next junction. We have to turn left. Left, left, right and left.’

‘Okay.’ We had a goal now. A destination. It made things easier. It gave me something to concentrate on. With something to concentrate on, I wouldn’t lose control.

‘Okay, Merrit, you back up until you reach the next junction,’ I said. ‘Then keep backing, and let Haemon turn left first – Haemon, then me, then Dygall. Then you can go. You can bring up the rear. Okay?’

‘O-okay. But -’

‘Haemon, when we reach the right access panel,
don’t
open it up
. Just pass straight over it, and
I’ll
open it up. I’m the one who’ll be going down. Just me.’

‘But -’

‘
Just me
, Dygall. I’m the oldest. It’s my job.’ Even so, the thought of trying to fill Sloan’s shoes made my stomach lurch. I had never been a leader. I didn’t think I was made that way. ‘If there’s no one in the Infirmary, I’ll come straight back up again with whatever sharp instrument I can find,’ I continued, ‘and after we cut off the wrist bands, we’ll press on to the Vaults. Maybe even to BioLab.

We’ll keep going until we find the others. Agreed?’

There was a pause. At last Haemon nodded solemnly.

‘Yes,’ he whispered.

‘Agreed,’ said Merrit.

‘Dygall?’ I gave him a shove with my foot.

‘Well . . . I guess,’ he muttered. ‘But what if something goes for you in the Infirmary? You’ll need help then.’

‘No I won’t.’

‘Yes you will.’

‘All right, Dygall.’ I wasn’t about to argue. ‘If something goes for me, I want you to jump down and stick your tongue out at it. It’s about all you can do, and I’m sure it’ll really, really help.’

‘Very funny,’ he spat.

‘Or maybe you can just, like, throw yourself into its mouth. So it doesn’t eat me. That’s the only alternative.’

‘Not if we had a few
weapons
. If we had proper weapons -’ ‘Well we don’t. Not yet.’ Knowing that I had been a bit harsh, I added, ‘But it’s on my list, okay? It’s something we’ll look for. Definitely. Now.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Are we ready to go?’

‘Yes,’ said Merrit.

‘Yes,’ said Haemon.

There was a brief silence.

‘Yes,’ said Dygall.

And we began to move.

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

It didn’t take us long to reach the Infirmary. When we did, I thumped away at the access panel until I pushed it open. Then I stuck my head through the gap to have a good, long look around.

To my relief, I saw that every door in sight was sealed shut, undamaged. There were no scent pellets zooming about – just the room’s original complement of samplers. They worried me, but not much. Though we couldn’t really be certain of anything, I was fairly sure that samplers were harmless to anyone who hadn’t been scent-bombed first.

I recognised the room, despite all the changes that had taken place. It was part of the High Dependency Unit. I had been there before, when I was visiting Yestin – years ago, during one of his bad spells. I remembered how Caromy had been sitting at his bedside; she often spent time with him when he was sick, and would stay with him for hours, chatting, reading, and even (sometimes) singing. She had looked up and smiled at me, as if she couldn’t have imagined a more welcome sight. And I’ve never forgotten the way it made me feel, because in many ways it was like a mimexis moment in real life: a moment of sunlight and fireworks and vivid, burning colours.

I fell for her then. When I was only fourteen.

But there wasn’t any point dwelling on the past.

So I returned to the present, and scanned the room for something useful. Though the walls and floor were now a tangle of huge, ropy veins – though the quarantine pods were now fluid-filled cysts – some of the equipment had remained untouched. Drugs were piled high on a metal tray. A wheeled trolley, containing all kinds of promising drawers, had been released from its floor grips. Crumpled insulation sheets were piled in one corner.

‘This looks good,’ I observed. ‘This looks
very
good.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Dygall, behind me.

‘Positive. It’s sealed up. The door can’t have been opened since the red alert.’

‘Then go! Quickly!’

I went. I lowered myself through the access hole and dropped onto the floor, which bounced when I hit it. I found it very hard to walk on that floor because it was so corrugated and unstable. I must have stumbled, or fallen over, about twenty times. But I managed pretty well, despite this drawback. I found a pair of scissors in the trolley, along with various instruments that were probably gas-jet hypodermics or molecular deconstructors or something – I didn’t know, so I decided not to touch them. The scissors, I realised, would be just as effective, and far easier to use. After I’d passed them up to Dygall, I examined the food dispenser, which was still vaguely recognisable. What I mean is, there was still a definite serving hatch, and a sort of menu pad – though the input key was the only real console feature left. (It had turned into something not unlike a giant wart.) When I pressed it, however, nothing happened.

‘Damn,’ I said.

‘Cheney!’ It was Dygall. His red face was hanging out of the access hole. ‘What are you doing? Come back!’

‘The dispensers don’t work any more!’ I exclaimed.

There was a faint, confused noise from up in the ceiling.

‘Merrit says they do,’ Dygall related. ‘Merrit says she used one a little while ago. Haemon had to have a drink.’

‘Well I can’t make
this
one work.’ Something struck me.

‘Shit. The wrist bands! I never thought of that.’

‘Never thought of what?’

‘Did anyone ever try to order food without a wrist band on?’

We stared at each other, Dygall and I. Then he said, ‘No one ever stopped wearing a wrist band before.’

‘
Damn
it, Dygall!’

‘Look – just come back, okay? Just come back in here, Cheney,
please
.’

‘Wait.’ I’d had another idea. There were several Dewar flasks lined up along a bony bulge that might once have been a bench-top. They were scattered among various cryogenic capsules that made my heart leap. What if -?

Could it be -?

‘Cheney!’

‘Hang on, Dygall, look at this.’ I fumbled for the nearest flask, and checked the label reading. ‘Liquid oxygen!’

‘What?’

‘Liquid oxygen! We can use it!’ Seeing his blank expression, I almost screamed. ‘Against the OTVs, stupid!’

‘Oh!’ Light dawned. ‘You’re right!’

‘There’s only one, though.’ The other flasks were empty.

There was nothing on their labels except pressure readings.

‘It doesn’t give us much . . .’

‘Is there any powdered magnesium?’ Dygall queried. ‘Or paraformaldehyde? Or titanium? Liquid oxygen explodes, when you mix it with any of that stuff.’

‘Don’t be stupid. How can we risk an explosion? We’ll blow ourselves up.’ I hurried back to the access panel, the flask tucked under my arm. ‘With this, we can just unscrew the lid, and splash it around. Liquid oxygen burns like anything.’ I was about to say ‘It’s as bad as acid’, but changed my mind. The word ‘acid’ conjured up pictures of Zennor and his smoking face. ‘It’s a killer,’ I finished, passing the flask to Dygall. ‘Give that to Merrit. Help me up.’

‘Is there anything to stand on?’

I looked around as he took the flask. I couldn’t use the trolley; it would have rolled out from under me. There was a stool, though, and I fetched that.

I was a bit worried about its stability on the mushy floor, but I didn’t have much choice.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Just stick your arms down. Come on, Dygall – I told you to give that to Merrit.’

‘Uh -’

‘What?
What?

’ ‘It’s my shoulder,’ he explained. ‘You did something to it, last time.’ He rolled it in its socket, and winced. ‘You pulled a muscle, or something.’

‘Oh.’ I was instantly contrite. ‘Sorry. I didn’t know.’

‘Maybe I should go forward, and let Merrit help you up.’

‘Yeah, okay. That’s a good idea.’

It worked, too. Haemon made way for Dygall, who made way for Merrit, who reached down and helped to pull me back into the air duct. After squirming into my spot, I couldn’t even see her face – just Dygall’s backside, across the gaping access hole.

‘Merrit? Did you cut off your wrist band?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ she replied, from behind me.

‘Where is it?’

‘Right here.’

‘Pass it over. Dygall! Tell Haemon to pass me his wrist band!’

When I had both wrist bands, I dropped them through the hole onto the floor. Then I sealed up the access panel. ‘Okay,’ I said, when I’d finished. ‘Let’s go. Who’s got those scissors?’

‘I have,’ said Merrit.

‘Keep them. Dygall! Tell Haemon we’re heading for the Vaults!’

‘Yeah, I know.’

‘And be careful with that flask. Don’t touch the lid or anything.’

‘Can I roll it along?’

‘Roll it?’ I wasn’t sure. ‘Better not. It might hit Haemon’s foot. Can you stuff it down the front of your suit, do you think?’

‘I’ll push it,’ said Dygall. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be all right.’

So we set off for the Stasis Banks. The trip was a slow one, because Dygall was having trouble with his shoulder, and my ear was very painful. No one had the strength to talk much. I wanted to find out what Merrit and Haemon could tell me about the rest of the ship – about Technical Fault Protection, and the filtration pumps, and the Remote Access Repair Units – but I couldn’t bring myself to raise the subject. They both seemed to be in a state of shock; I could sense that they had seen some very nasty things.

In the end, though, I had to ask one question. Just one.

‘Do you know what happened to Caromy?’ I inquired. ‘She was in pump station one . . .’

Merrit didn’t answer immediately. Up ahead, Dygall halted for a moment before proceeding. At last Merrit sighed.

‘No,’ she replied softly. ‘I never saw Caromy. I was in the Depot.’

‘Right. Thanks.’

I knew that thinking about Caromy wouldn’t do me any good at all. So I tried to focus on our immediate situation. Our first priority would be to find my mother – my mother and Arkwright. Our second would be to find more liquid oxygen (or something similar). Our third would be to solve the mystery of the malfunctioning food dispensers. Or should we look for a secure space before worrying about food? Perhaps it would depend on what Arkwright said.

And then there was my father. We had to find him. I refused to accept the possibility that he had been squirted by a sampler, or swallowed by an On-board Transport Vehicle. It hadn’t happened. It
couldn’t
have happened.

‘Cheney?’ Dygall had stopped again. ‘Have you noticed something?’

‘What?’

‘Check out the walls.’

I shifted, and my collar-spot illumined a small patch of reddish tissue.

‘What about the walls?’ I said.

‘Haven’t you noticed?’

‘Noticed
what
?’ I was getting impatient.

‘They’re swelling,’ said Merrit. ‘They’re inflamed.’

‘Huh?’

‘Look how red they are. They weren’t like that before.’

Peering down the squashy passage, I realised that she was right. Its lining
had
become a deep, angry red. Not only that, but it was puffing up. It was constricting our space.

‘Oh no,’ I breathed.

‘Could it be us?’ Merrit sounded hopeless. Despairing. ‘Could we be irritating the airways? Like dust, or gas molecules . . .?’

‘The question is, will it get any worse?’ said Dygall. He was craning around, peering back over his bottom at me.

‘What if we get
stuck
in here?’

‘Okay, wait.’ I was trying to put my thoughts in order. ‘Ask Haemon where we are. Ask him if we’re nearly at the Vaults.’ As Dygall passed on my question, I laid my bare hand flat against the shiny surface that was pressing down on all sides.

It felt warm. Almost hot.

‘Haemon says we’re about ten minutes away from the Stasis Banks,’ Dygall reported.

‘Okay. Well . . . let’s try to get there as fast as we can.’

We tried. We did our best. But there was the pressure flask, and Dygall’s shoulder, and as we struggled on, our route became more and more difficult. It wasn’t long before I realised that the walls were closing in with a vengeance. I found myself pushing back bulges. Forcing up the ceiling with the top of my head.

I never knew a Shifter who suffered from claustrophobia. We were used to confined spaces – all of us. But when it came to being trapped in a wet, clinging bag . . . well, I don’t know anyone who could have put up with that for long.

Dygall was the first to break. ‘Cheney! We’ve got to get out of here!’