Nova (8 page)

Glancing down, I catch myself rubbing my forearm. It still hurts, a distant aching deep down in my arm though the surface of my skin is unmarred. I force myself to stop. I’m being a coward.

This time when I close my eyes, I keep them closed. I recall the fight, remember the sight of Shar reclining on my cot, eating my candy and dropping chocolate on my blanket.

Nothing.

I push harder, envisioning the mean look on her face when she slid the reader into her jumpsuit, the way it felt to slam into her, to roll across the floor wanting nothing more than to rip her heart out.

Now something comes, but it is nothing more than a mild indignation, remnants of a fire long gone. I grit my teeth, fists clenching and face scrunching as I reach deep down for that fury I felt earlier.

My breath pours out in an exhale and my eyes open. It’s no use. I just don’t have anything to be truly angry about anymore. I can no more manufacture it now than I could stifle it earlier. I laugh softly. Maybe I should go seek out Shar. I’m sure five minutes with her would be more than enough to get me good and pissed off. I shake my head, a snort escaping me at the thought of going to her for anything.

Instead, I just lie back on my cot and tell myself that the emotion coursing through me right at this moment isn’t relief.

12
THE NEXT FEW DAYS PASS
slowly. I keep an eye out for Shar, but though I catch sight of her several times, she seems content to keep her distance. For now, anyway. Even so, I try to stay out of the bay as much as possible. The sour-and-sweet smell in the hold has gotten stronger over the past couple weeks, no doubt the result of so many people living together in such close quarters. Even with the hygiene units, it’s just not feasible to shower every day. The smell never bothered me when it was just a faint aroma, but now I find myself wrinkling my nose in distaste at the oddest times. I wonder how it smells to everyone else.

Probably worse, I realize as I step out of the hygiene unit this morning and spot a beefy man clad in a jumpsuit marred with massive sweat stains. Not that I really have the right to judge. The stains from the gray liquid purged from my eyes the night I malfunctioned still show on my jumpsuit despite two washings now.

Wandering out of the bay, I grab the lift up to Five. Between my reluctant fear of the SlipStreams and my desire to avoid the bay, I have to find a new place in the hub to hang out. The lounge in Blue Quadrant turns out to be the perfect place.

There are two lounges open to the public on Five, quiet rooms where anyone can kick back and relax, both partitioned off from the main roar of the level. A panel on one side of the room holds ports where you can jack in your chit or reader to download the latest zine subscriptions, and viewports on the other side turn the room into an observation deck. It’s as good a place as any for a defective human bomb to while away the time.

Walking into the lounge, I ignore both options, instead taking a comfy chair and clicking the controls on the armrest to turn on the wall panel in front of me. A children’s show is on, and I click around until I find an independent news station with a reputation for getting into remote places. My mind isn’t really on the screen, though. Instead I find myself thinking about Michael.

I look down at my chit and stroke the metal lightly with one finger. I haven’t heard from Michael at all for the last three days—not a visit or even a link. I’m sure it’s nothing. Knowing Michael, he probably just forgot. He has more to his life than me, after all. Or rather, than
Lia
. Because it’s not me Michael is friends with. It’s
Lia
he confides in,
Lia
he smiles at,
Lia
he wants to be with. Michael is friends with a dead girl, and though I may look like her and sound like her and carry her name, I’m
not
her.

I feel a slight twinge in my chest and snort at my idiocy. I’m envious of a girl who is more than likely dead. How foolish am I? It’s just as well Michael has lost interest.

Turning back to the screen, I gasp as a very familiar-looking image jumps off the screen at me. I hit the armrest to turn up the volume.

“. . . can see, the damage is more extensive than the Tellurians have led us to believe. When asked for a comment, they said, quote, ‘This was nothing more than an unfortunate accident caused by an overload in the main power relay. We have taken every precaution to prevent any incidents like this from happening in the future, and we feel confident that this will not affect our negotiations with the Celestian government,’ end quote. They did not release the total number of casualties, though they did state that the majority of casualties were to their own people rather than the prisoners.”

The camera zooms in on the wreckage of the hangar, showcasing the billowing smoke and charred debris surrounding it, but not before the wider shot allows me to catch sight of the high fences, the guard towers, the barracks spread out in the background. Even without the words at the bottom of the screen, I would know where this is. Tiersten Internment Colony.

I lean forward, looking for any additional scrap of information about the explosion, but the screen flips back to the reporter. He’s clearly in a news shuttle rather than planetside, unsurprising considering the nature of the colony below him. I’m surprised the Tellurians even let them get close enough to film the explosion from space. Of course, with the ceasefire and the recent return of the first group of Tiersten prisoners, perhaps the Tellurians were letting them do a story on the prisoner return.

The reporter continues speaking, but I barely hear him. A million thoughts circle through my mind, but one jumps to the forefront.

So I really did spend time at Tiersten.

It’s the obvious explanation for why the images are so familiar. I ponder what this means and finally decide not much. There are any number of reasons I could have been on Tiersten. For one thing, I was sent here with a group of prisoners from the camp. It only makes sense for me to have boarded the transport on Tiersten with the rest of them. Or perhaps Tiersten is where I received the memory transfer disguising me as Lia. For that matter, maybe my memories of the camp aren’t mine at all, but hers, still skulking around in my mind only to pop up at the oddest times. Maybe I was never on Tiersten at all. I should not read any more significance into the memories than is warranted.

The camera pops back to the camp again. Image after image of smoking wreckage flashes on the screen, showing the ruin from one angle, then another. A sick feeling starts to bloom in the pit of my stomach. I should look away, change the channel. This explosion, while of interest, means nothing to me. I don’t know anyone there; I wasn’t even there when it happened. But my eyes are glued to the screen, my head unable to turn away. I press my hand to my midsection, but the sick feeling only intensifies.

Shoving up from my chair, I make a dash for the nearest hygiene unit. My stomach bucks, and I make it just in time to share my breakfast with the toilet. For a minute I stand there, braced against the wall over the bowl. Then the sick feeling starts to subside enough for me to take a deep breath and straighten. Perhaps it wasn’t the news program at all, but simply a bit of indigestion from my earlier meal. It would certainly make more sense.

Whatever the cause of my indisposition, it seems to be gone now. I rinse out my mouth and wash my hands at the sink, then exit the unit. Indigestion, I repeat to myself; that must have been it.

But though the sickness is gone, the images still linger, wafting through my mind like the gray smoke billowing in thick waves across the camp.

Michael has not forgotten me after all, for he links me later in the morning to invite me over. I don’t even have to think about the answer, my head already nodding before he even finishes the question.

Michael grins. “You must be really bored over there.”

I bite my lip a bit sheepishly and nod again. Signing off, I head up to the SlipStream station. The ride over is less scary the third time around, and I disembark without experiencing any problems. I breathe the fresh air appreciatively and make my way to Michael’s.

His apartment building is easy enough to find, but once inside I realize I don’t know which one is his. We went in through the window last time, and I didn’t bother to look at the number on the way out. I power up my chit and link him back.

“What apartment are you in?” I ask, feeling foolish after having already assured Michael I knew the way.

He laughs. A few seconds later, a door at the end of the hall slides open. My lips curl in an involuntary smile at the sight of Michael, and I go to join him inside.

Taylor is out on an errand, and Teal is closeted in their room with one of her friends. We grab a quick snack, and then Michael suggests a game of checkers.

“Checkers?”

“It’s this cool retro game everyone’s playing,” he explains. “They used to play it, like, a gazillion years ago on Earth. It’s not even on the holo; it’s an actual physical game. I borrowed a set from a friend of mine.”

Michael brings out the board, and I sit carefully on the edge of the sofa while he sets it up on the coffee table. The rules are simple, and it doesn’t take us long to get the hang of it. Pretty soon we’re into our third game.

Michael jumps another one of my pieces. “Ha, ha, ha, I’ve got you now,” he says in a witchy falsetto, rubbing his hands together. “I’m going to cook you in my oven and eat you!” He grabs the two pieces and mimes the black one eating the red.

Shy chuckles dribble out of my mouth at his antics, and encouraged, Michael throws in some fake chewing noises for good effect.

He starts doing sound effects in the middle of our second game, after managing to take out three of my pieces in one jump, devising wicked ways for my pieces to die and even coming up with a fake trumpet call whenever one of the pieces makes it to the other end of the board and is crowned.

“So is performing sound effects a mandatory part of the game?” I ask as he wins the game with a final flourish.

“Oh, definitely,” Michael replies, nodding his head in mock earnest. “Those old Earth folk
never
played a game of checkers without doing sound effects. It’s written in all the histories.”

I shake my head ruefully at his teasing and begin setting up the board again. We are tied at two games apiece and working on the tiebreaker when Taylor returns.

She smiles at me. “It’s nice to see you again, Lia. Are you staying for lunch?”

I glance at Michael uncertainly, but before I can answer Michael puts in, “Sure, she is.” He spares a look for me. “Aren’t you?”

Taylor laughs. “You might at least ask her first, Michael.” She disappears into the kitchen still laughing. Michael shrugs apologetically at me, but I don’t mind. There’s something about the way he automatically includes me that makes me feel accepted. One of them.

The radio goes on in the kitchen, the end of a news program playing. My mind flashes back to this morning.

Tiersten.
The explosion. Numberless casualties.

The cold feeling from earlier returns, niggling within the recesses of my stomach. I swallow hard, resisting the urge to press my fist into my stomach.

“Lia? Lia, it’s your turn.”

I shake off the memory and return to the game. It was just a news story. Nothing more.

Teal joins us for lunch, her friend having left by the time we eat. She frowns at me as she sits down at the table, and I wonder what I did to offend her. This is only the second time we’ve met, and both times we exchanged few words. Her gaze makes me slightly uncomfortable. It’s not suspicious, exactly—more like distrustful. She hasn’t guessed what I am, I’m sure of it, but still I feel a little nervous. Her clothes and room may reflect a typical teenage girl, absorbed with only herself, but I get the feeling her mind is as sharp as they come. While trusting Michael would easily dismiss any small missteps I might make, I bet Teal would notice each and every one. She doesn’t say anything, though, and soon enough I forget about it.

This meal is much different from the first meal I ate here. Last time, I was a special guest to be catered to, with Taylor careful to ask me questions and include me in the conversation. This time, I’m just one of the family, free to join in the conversation or stay silent as I please. I listen as Michael and Teal speak of various school projects, and Taylor talks about her work at the Environmental Control Center.

“I just hope they figure out the problem with the misters soon,” Taylor is saying. “They’ve had people look at the system twice now, and they still haven’t figured it out.” At my puzzled look, she clarifies, “Normally we pump a light but continuous stream of nutrient mist through the rings, but the misters have been acting up lately, pumping way too much on some days—like today—or shutting off altogether on other days.”

“Oh. Is it dangerous?”

“Don’t worry, a little extra nutrient mist won’t hurt anyone. It’s more a concern of running over budget if we use too much too quickly.”

Michael jumps in then with a funny story about an air filter malfunction when he was on Stella Station, and eager to join the camaraderie, I find myself telling them about an impromptu game of tug-of-war set up in the cargo bay a few nights ago. The only misstep in the meal comes when I accidentally knock over my drink. Even that is smoothed over easily enough, Michael helping me wipe it up while Taylor offers to rinse out my jumpsuit to ensure it doesn’t stain.

“Teal, can you loan Lia something to wear?” Taylor asks. “In fact, don’t you have some old clothes you were going to donate to charity? Maybe they would fit Lia. I’m sure she could use a few extra outfits.”

Before I know it, I’m in Teal’s room, changing into one of her skirts and tops. I smooth my hands over the shiny pink material of the skirt, remembering the last time I wore something this nice. It was a blue dress, made out of the same sort of shiny fabric, sleeveless and high-collared. How I loved that dress!

No, wait. That wasn’t my dress. That was Lia’s dress. It was
Lia
who loved it.

Looking up, I catch Teal staring at me. “I’ll get it back to you right away,” I promise, thinking she’s upset Taylor practically commanded her to give me her clothes. “I have another jumpsuit in the bay.”

“It’s fine,” Teal says with a shrug, “I never wear it anymore. Pink’s so un-fash these days. You might as well keep it, and the top, too. Let’s see, what else can I get rid of?”