Zero-G (13 page)

Any hopes I had about not being recognised vanish with the first person we come across.

It's an old woman, a few corridors down. She's sitting against the wall, her threadbare dress pooled in her lap. She either doesn't have a place to live, or doesn't care about Resin, because she looks blissfully unconcerned as she spoons a thick soup into her mouth.

Unconcerned, that is, until she catches sight of us. Her eyes hesitate on me, but grow huge when they hit Okwembu. The spoon pauses, quivering by her mouth.

“Oh gods,” she says, rocketing to her feet.

“Hope you can run,” I say to Okwembu, and charge into a sprint. No time to keep her ahead of me now.

More people are looking out of their habs, spilling out of the doors. Arms reach for us, trying to grab hold of our clothing, and we duck under them or knock them away, sending their owners flying. Under my face mask, my skin is slick with sweat.

As we burst out into the gallery, onto the Level 4 catwalk, we see a large group up ahead of us. Like the men back in the brig, they've got fabric wrapped around their faces and they're all holding weapons. I even see a few children there, hefting steel bars as big as they are. They look from me to Okwembu, not sure what to do, not sure how to take seeing me running with someone like her.

“Wrong way,” I say, already starting to turn. My mind is racing ahead. If we double back, we can drop down two levels by the power couplings. There's a gap we can slip through, so it should be easy to—

Okwembu puts a hand on my shoulder and shoves me towards the edge of the catwalk.

I see the railing coming towards me in slow motion. I'm already off-balance, and the railing will take me in the waist. I'll topple right over it, right off the edge.

The railing collides with my stomach, not my waist, knocking the air out of me but keeping me on the catwalk. At that second, I feel something whoosh past my back and bounce off the far wall of the gallery. It rebounds onto the catwalk, skittering to a halt.

I get a look at it as Okwembu pulls me upright. A spear. A metal pole, filed to a rough spike. If Okwembu hadn't pushed me out of the way, it would have skewered me in the small of my back.

For a moment, I marvel at how quickly the crowd decided I was a threat. They jumped straight to that conclusion, without even trying to talk to me, acting before I could stop them. The thoughts are strange, like broken puzzle pieces that can't quite fit together.

Okwembu doesn't give me a chance to really process it. Just drags me along until we're running again, away from the crowd. They give chase, but there are too many of them, and they get bunched up at the entrance to the corridor. Their angry shouts vanish behind us.

A few minutes later, we reach a gap between the power couplings, leading down to the level below. I drop first, then help Okwembu down.

“Thanks,” she says. It's hardly a word – more like an exhausted exhalation.

“I owed you one,” I say before I can stop myself.

I've lost track of the number of Resin hotspots, but it's everywhere now. New ones keep being reported over SPOCS. Apogee, Level 2. New Germany gallery. Outside the habs in Gardens. For now, only Apex and Tzevya remain unaffected. Hospitals and furnaces across the station are full to bursting. Whatever this thing is, it's eating Outer Earth alive. More than once, we come across a body, sprawled across a corridor, or curled into a foetal position in a corner. Black liquid is spattered on the walls and floor, shining like foul oil. And at each one, I have time to think the same thought:
why am I not sick yet?

“How much further?” Okwembu says. Surprisingly, she's managed to keep up.

“A few minutes. Keep moving.”

The words burn my throat. I focus on the image of a bottle of water, letting myself imagine the condensation dripping down the side. More than once, I hear Royo trying to hail me. He sounds worn out, like he doesn't care whether I respond or not. News of the jail break hasn't found its way onto SPOCS yet, not that I can hear. I guess with everything going on, two stompers not reporting in from maximum security has got lost in the shuffle.

As we get closer to Knox's surgery, I look back at Okwembu. She's spent. Her face has gone a strange grey colour, and she keeps coughing – quick bursts, like gunshots. My legs are hurting again, but I don't care.

I've done it. Gods help me, but I've done it. He can get these things out of me. I don't know how I'll square things with Carver and Anna, with Royo, how I'll explain my role in breaking Okwembu out. But I'll get to see Prakesh again. I picture his face, keep him uppermost in my mind.

Thinking about him leads my thoughts onto Kev. That only lasts for a second. It's too painful, too raw – I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head, as if to physically dislodge the memory.

The door to the surgery is shut when we arrive. It gives me a moment's pause – did he tell me a way to get in if it was locked? But I can't think of anything, and after a moment I rap hard on the door.

“Knox.”

No answer. I knock again. “Knox, it's Riley. Open the door.”

Nothing. Frowning, I grab the handle and pull.

The door slides open easily, taking me by surprise. Knox is nowhere to be seen.

The blood on the operating table has dried to a dark, crusty brown. Okwembu stares down at it, but for once I'm not paying attention to her. There's a canteen on one of the shelves, dark green against the grey metal, and before I can even think about it, it's in my hands. It's wonderfully heavy, full to the brim. I drink most of it in three seconds flat, gulping it down. The relief is exquisite.

I wipe my mouth, then, without thinking, offer it to Okwembu. She's still by the operating table, her finger just touching one of the streaks of dried blood.

“What is this?” she says. She's gone very quiet, her eyes locked on mine.

“Nothing. He's a doctor, that's all.”

She turns and runs.

I drop the bottle. The water bursts out of it as it hits the floor, splashing across the metal. I barely notice. In two strides I'm on her, gripping her shoulders just as she reaches the threshold. She gives a howl of fury and tries to twist away, but I hold on, throwing her backwards. She stumbles across the room and slams into the far wall, sliding down it as her legs give way. Her prison jumpsuit is soaked with sweat. The cloth around her mouth and nose has come away, hanging around her neck like a noose.

I walk towards her, ignoring the guilt surging through me. She shrinks back against the wall, like she's trying to vanish into it. Reaching down, I yank up the leg of my jumpsuit, exposing the stitches, then turn to show her.

“Bombs,” I say. “I deliver you, he takes them out. Sorry,
Janice
, but your life isn't worth losing my legs for.”

A part of me is recoiling in horror at my own words, but on one level it feels good to say them. It's good to have
her
scared for a change.

“So this was all about saving yourself,” she says, and shakes her head. “Of course it was.”

I have to hold her here. She's already taking little glances at the door, and I can see her trying to work out how to get past me. I can't turn my back on her, not for a second.

The operating table. The restraints hanging off it are padded fabric, flexible and strong. More than enough.

I grab Okwembu, pull her to her feet. She starts fighting me, clawing frantically at my skin, but she's too exhausted from the run. I jam her body into the head of the table. It knocks the air out of her, and she doubles over, moaning in pain.

I lean over her, using my own body to keep hers in place. I pull her arms across, cuffing them. Secured as she is, her hands are far enough apart that she can't use one to free the other, and the fabric cuffs are tight enough that she won't be able to pull away from them.

Okwembu goes still. She lies under me, trying to get her breath back. As I pull the final strap, she mutters something.

“What's that?” I say.

“You're not the Riley Hale I knew,” she replies.

For a reason I can't quite figure out, that hurts worse than anything else.

I shake it off. Knox. Shouldn't he be here by now? This place isn't
that
big. I wasn't thinking about him while I was dealing with Okwembu, but now …

He must be in the other room. The one off to the side. I haven't even looked in it yet, and it's shrouded in darkness.

“She's here,” I say, raising my voice. The darkness doesn't answer back. Behind me, I can hear Okwembu tugging at her restraints.

“It's over,” I say, walking to the storeroom, stepping over the threshold. “I did it. Take them out.”

Still nothing. I fumble for a light switch, my hand questing across the wall. It takes me a second to find it, but the lights are still working, and they flicker on.

Knox is in the middle of the floor, lying face up, unconscious. His cane is trapped underneath him.

And around his mouth: black slime, spattered across his lips and chin.

Yoshiro dies before Prakesh even gets to him.

The side of his neck is gone, torn away. His blank eyes stare at the ceiling as his blood pools on the floor around him and Suki screams and screams and screams.

Prakesh shuts his eyes. This doesn't seem possible. Five minutes ago, he and Yoshiro were discussing soybean plants, debating soil quality. He wonders if he's dreaming, if the blow to his head caused some kind of hallucination. But Julian is shouting at him, waving the gun in his face, and it feels far too real.

“See what you made me do?” Julian is furious, his face blood-red. His whole body is shaking. He swings the gun from Prakesh to Suki, who cringes, holding her hands up to her face. “You see what happens?”

“Take it easy,” Prakesh tries to say. The words feel as if each one is wrapped in thick layers of gauze.

“Gods,” says Iko. Prakesh turns his head to look at him – it seems to take a long time – and sees that he's gone white. “You killed him.”

Julian is shaking his head, as if he can bring Yoshiro back to life. Suddenly, he raises the gun, jabbing it in Iko's direction. “Shut up!” he shouts.

Suki has started screaming again, dissolving into hysterics. Julian hears, and Prakesh sees him tensing, ready to swing in the other direction. Fear brings clarity, chasing away the fuzz in his head. If he doesn't get control of this, Julian is going to shoot Suki.

He could let them go. He could promise not to interfere, take Suki away and join up with the others. But something burns inside him – an anger, hot and fierce. Maybe it's Yoshiro, or maybe it's the sight of Suki, cowering and helpless against the Air Lab doors, but he doesn't want to let Julian win.

He gets to his feet, moving slowly and carefully, making sure Julian has plenty of time to see him. It's just enough to pull the man's focus off Suki, but it means that the gun is now pointed at Prakesh. He swallows hard, choosing his words carefully. “There's another way out of here,” he says. “You don't have to cut through the door.”

Julian's eyes narrow in suspicion. He knows that Prakesh had all the other exits sealed shut. Prakesh speaks before the thought can get a grip in Julian's mind. “I left a way open. Thought it might come in handy one day. I'll take you there, right now. Just … just don't hurt anyone.”

He's lying, and he desperately hopes that Julian is too wired to see it. There's no secret exit. But his first job is to get Julian away from Suki, away from anyone he could hurt. And he knows that Julian will take the easy way out, just like he does with his lab work.

“Where?” Julian says.

Prakesh points. Julian's eyes flick to the side, following his finger. He's pointing to the wall nearby, to the sealed double doors leading to the destroyed Food Lab.

“You're lying,” Julian says, training the pistol on Prakesh.

“No,” Prakesh says. “I kept one open for myself. I'll tell you where it is.”

Julian smiles. His teeth are bad, brown and craggy, and they look strange in his flushed, sweaty face. “Of course you did. Of course. It's just like you, isn't it? Keeping things from everyone else.”

Prakesh doesn't know what to say to that, and doesn't get a chance to. Julian steps towards him, wrapping a hand around his arm above the elbow. He jabs the barrel of the stinger into the small of Prakesh's back.

“You're not going to tell us,” he says, as he pushes Prakesh towards the Food Lab. “You're going to show us. Iko! Roger! Bring the cutter. We're not leaving it here.”

Prakesh's head is pounding. His sense of balance is shot, and he struggles to stay upright, nearly falling, correcting himself just in time.
Don't do that
, he thinks.
You fall, and he'll put a bullet right through you.

Julian leans in close, whispering. “You'd better be telling the truth. If you aren't? I'll come back for Suki after I do you.”

I can't take my hand off the switch.

It's stuck there, as firmly as if it's been nailed down. Knox's chest rises, holds, trembles and then slowly falls, like a deflating balloon. I'm holding my breath, and as I force myself to exhale, I manage to pull my hand off the wall.

I drop to my knees next to Knox, my hands gripping his shoulders, shaking him, yelling at him to wake up. My voice sounds like it's coming from a long, long way away.

After a while, I sit back, cradling my head in my hands. After everything I've been through, after everything that happened in the past day, I'm going to lose. The second his heart stops beating, the return signal will stop firing and the devices will detonate.

I stand up, getting to my feet slowly, like an old woman. I walk back into the operating room, where Okwembu is still bent over the table. Her eyes are narrowed, vicious, brimming with fear and anger. Gods know what I must look like.

I reach for her cuff, intending to release her. There's no point now. I don't even want revenge any more. I just want to find somewhere warm and dark, and crawl inside and wait for it all to be over. I want someone's arms around me – Prakesh, Carver, anyone. I want to bury my face in their shoulder and have them tell me it's going to be all right, even if it isn't.

“You're letting me go?” she asks, disbelief fracturing her voice.

My hand stops, my finger just touching the cuff. I think of my father, of how he reappeared again after seven years, screaming towards Outer Earth, intent on destroying us all. I think of how I stopped him. Right at the end, when it looked like there was no way I could do it.

Knox isn't dead yet. All I have to do is find a way to keep him alive, to make sure the Resin doesn't stop his heart. I could find somewhere to hide and wait for death, or I could do what I always do. Run. Fight. Find a way.

Doctor Arroway must have made some progress by now. He said they were working on drugs to slow down Resin. It's the slimmest chance in a universe of slim chances, but so was getting Okwembu out of the brig.

There's no way I'm making it all the way to Arroway's lab, then all the way back here, by myself. Not with every stomper looking for me. I need help. And with Knox out of commission, I might just be able to get it.

Okwembu sees my hesitation. “Ms Hale – Riley,” she says. “If you leave me here, you're condemning me to death. That's not you. You'd never—”

“Shut up,” I say.

Okwembu starts cursing, yanking at the cuffs, the rough fabric abrading her skin and leaving thin red weals as she pulls at them. I grab her arm, gripping it tight.

“I'm going to make a call,” I say, gesturing to my ear. “Don't say a word. You may just make it out of this.”

She shakes her head, looks away.

I don't want to speak to Carver right now – that's a conversation I'll have another time – but I can still find Anna.

Our channel is filled with the soft hiss of static. I take a deep breath. “Anna, this is Riley, come back.”

Nothing. A drop of dread lands in my stomach, sending ripples across my body. I'm gripping the operating table with my free hand, so tight that it hurts.

“Royo? Anyone? This is Riley, come back.”

The line crackles.

I stop, hardly daring to breathe. For a second, I'm sure I imagined it, but then the crackle comes again, louder this time, and I hear someone speak.

“Where are you?” Anna says. She sounds awful – not sick, just tired, her cut-glass accent shattered.

“Never mind that,” I say. “I've got a problem, Anna. You're the only one who can help me.”

This kind of flattery usually works with Anna. This time, however, she just sighs, a horrible, rattly sound that seems to resonate with the static. “Not this time. Not unless you tell me what happened to Kevin.”

“I'll tell you when I see you. I swear. Anna, I'm running out of time. I need you to help get me to Arroway.”

“
You're
running out of time?” Her voice drips with scorn. “Clock's ticking for all of us, my dear.”

Okwembu speaks up from behind me. “Ms Hale, I can help you. Let me go, and we can solve this together.”

“Who's that?” Anna says.

“Nobody. It's nothing,” I say, turning and walking back towards Knox's body.

Anna is silent for a long moment – so long that I think the channel's got cut off. When she speaks, her voice is brittle. “Before everything went to hell,” she says, “there was a snap on SPOCS about an assault on one of the brigs. We couldn't respond to it, not with the number of people we had left, but I heard it was the max security prison.”

She pauses. “Please tell me it wasn't you, Riley. Please tell me you didn't do what I think you did.”

I open my mouth to reply, but what am I even supposed to say?

“Oh gods,” she says. I can even see her, standing there with her eyes screwed up tight and her hand massaging her neck. “You did, didn't you?”

“…Yes.”

There's a long silence on the line, broken by Anna letting her breath out in an equally long sigh. “Riley, I know you want revenge, but please trust me, this is not the time…”

“It's not about revenge,” I say, cutting her off. “Look, why don't you meet me somewhere? I'll explain everything.”

“I doubt it. With you gone, and Kev out of the picture—”

Her voice hitches, and she stops. There's a silence over the comms. Then: “What did you do to him, Riley? Why did you run?”

I close my eyes. When I speak, the words are pushed through gritted teeth. “It wasn't me. You have to believe me – I would
never
hurt Kev. Never.”

“Then who?”

I glance over at the still unconscious Knox. Then I take a deep breath, and tell her, going as fast as I can. Knox, Okwembu, all of it.

When I'm done, Anna draws a shaky breath. “Well, this explains a lot,” she mutters.

“How bad is it out there?” I say, trying to bring the subject back around to Resin.

“It's hit the whole station,” Anna says.

“What about Tzevya? Apex?”

“Not yet, but soon.”

I push the thought out of my mind. “What about the
Shinso
?”

“The what?”

“The asteroid catcher. The ship that was due back.”

“Oh. That. I heard Royo say he'd told them to hold their position in station orbit. They must be getting pretty worried out there.”

At least there's one pocket of humanity with no Resin. If it really does get as bad as I think it's going to, then at least they'll survive. At least they're used to each other's company: asteroid catcher ships run on a skeleton crew. They're built for utility rather than comfort, and most of their body is given over to the enormous engines needed to bring an asteroid to a halt, and the machinery to reel it in. They tow it behind them, anchored with enormous cables.

“Why aren't we sick?” Anna says.

“Huh?”

“Have you been coughing? Got a tight chest, anything like that?”

“No, but…” I trail off, not sure if it's worth mentioning that I
was
sick, but got better.

“Me neither. You, me and Carver. We're not sick.”

This is harder to process than I thought. If it's not just me, then what the hell is going on?

“We're wearing masks, Anna,” I say.

“So were a few of the stompers, and they're all down. Royo's not sick yet, but they've switched the stomper commanders to full-face respirators.”

She takes a breath. “Listen – you're right about Arroway and the other doctors. They haven't cured it yet, but they've made something that can slow it down. Some kind of drug mix that's keeping people alive.”

I breathe a long, slow sigh of relief. So Arroway came good. “OK. Tell me more.”

“How long it lasts depends on who you give it to – some people only get a few hours, but others have lasted a lot longer.” She pauses. “Can you bring this Knox person to us?”

“Not a chance. I'll have to come to Apex and bring the drugs back here.”

There's silence for a moment. “I'll do you one better,” Anna says. “You know the broken bridge in Gardens?”

I do. It's a Level 6 catwalk on the border of Gardens and Apex, named for its railings, torn and shredded in a long-forgotten attack.

“I'll meet you there,” she says. “It'll save you going all the way.”

“OK,” I say. “And listen, Anna … thank you.”

“Don't mention it. Just get here.”

“Copy. Out.”

Okwembu, silently listening to my half of the exchange, speaks up. “Will you at least tell me what's happening?”

I ignore her, stretching my legs out, doing my best to work up my tired muscles into something resembling a fit state to move. I'm going to have to run faster than I've ever run before – and I've already run so much today.

My eyes are drawn to Knox's hand, lying splayed out on the other side of his body. The remote unit is still held in it, secured to the palm with thin strips of tape. I walk over and crouch down, yanking it back and forth. After a few moments, it rips free. Knox groans, his lips twitching, sending a drop of Resin running down his chin.

One less thing to worry about. But what to do with it? I can't just leave it here. And if I have it on me, and accidentally hit the button during a roll or something, I'm done.

I cast around the shelves, looking for something to use. My eyes land on a small box, made of hard plastic. It's almost identical to the ones Carver makes his stickies out of, only slightly bigger.

I pop the lid off. It's got cream in it, white and glistening. I rinse the box out over the basin, then wipe it off, making sure the inside is completely dry.

I jam the remote into it. It barely fits, but I tell myself that that's a good thing – it means the unit won't rattle around inside while I'm running. I slip the box into my pocket. It's uncomfortable, but it'll have to do.

Okwembu clears her throat. “Can you at least pull the scarf over my mouth before you go?”

She nods at Knox. The tendrils of Resin creeping out of his mouth are shiny under the storeroom lights, shimmering wetly.

I walk over and pull the scarf up, knotting it loosely behind her head. She's still bent awkwardly over the table. Her back's going to start hurting before long. Tough.

The canteen is still in my hand. I take a long drink from it, then set it down in front of Okwembu, between her bound hands. I spotted a length of rubber tube earlier, coiled in a box on one of the shelves. I retrieve it, then slip one end into the bottle and drop the other close to her mouth, hanging off the end of the table. All she has to do is bend down to drink.

She leans back, giving me some space. “Someone you love has got sick, just like him,” she says, nodding at Knox. “It's written all over you.”

She's wrong, but I don't say anything, just fiddle with the rubber tubing, adjusting its position on the edge of the table.

“It's Prakesh Kumar, isn't it?” she asks. “I'm so sorry, Ms Hale. I hope you find what you're looking for.”

I don't bother to correct her. “So do I.”

Suddenly, she leans forward, planting her elbows on the table, her face inches from mine.

“Your expression barely changed when I said his name,” she says, her eyes glinting. “It's worse than that. Someone is dead. And since you don't have any family to speak of, that must mean someone other than dear Prakesh has become important to you. Was it Kevin O'Connell? I heard you say his name earlier. What about Aaron Carver? Maybe even Samuel Royo? Are you going to be able to save them, Ms Hale? Or are you just going to save yourself?”

Before she can say anything else, I'm running, charging out of the door and taking off down the corridor, heading towards Gardens.