But it isn’t affecting you, he thought. Because you never connected.
When they finally reached the iris portal of the engineering complex, he wasn’t able to see it open; she had to push him through the closed door by sheer force. The sensation of being shoved through a solid surface was something he hoped never to experience again. Beyond the portal was a complex of offices and workrooms, and yes, now he understood why the warring factions of Shenshido had been kept out of this place. There was so much advanced tech gear in here that a virt program would have been overloaded, trying to mask it all.
She led him through the complex, quickly enough that he had little time to observe fine details. He did see that the lights on a communications console were on; so much for that tech not working. How many other lies had the locals believed? There was a small airlock at the far end of the complex, with rungs on the wall leading up to a maintenance hatch; they had to haul Ivar’s inert body up, balancing it precariously on the narrow rungs while Ru unsealed the hatch overhead. A whoosh of chill air entered the station, and a short tunnel was revealed, leading up to another hatch. Between the two, the G-field shifted with sickening suddenness, making Micah fear that he might vomit. Then Ru opened the upper hatch and climbed through it, and together they maneuvered Ivar’s inert body up through the opening. Micah followed as quickly as he could, and collapsed on the floor beside the hatch as Ru resealed it.
They were in a ship, not large, but comfortable enough for two people and an unconscious body. There were a pair of pilot’s chairs and a large navigational display at one end, a narrow door at the other, and grips along the walls at intervals to facilitate no-G movement. Not much else. Everything was clean, bright, and streamlined, which suggested that whatever program had been feeding images of decay into his mind was no longer functioning. For the first time since meeting Ru, it struck him that he really was going to get off this damned station.
“It’s a bit Spartan,” she warned.
Micah leaned down to kiss the floor beside the hatch. “It’s the most beautiful ship I’ve ever seen.”
She gestured toward Ivar’s body. “Strip him and put him in the medpod. Cut his clothes off if you have to. He can complain about it if he survives.”
“And the medpod is . . .” He looked around the empty ship. “Where?”
“Slideaway, midship on the left. I’ll open it.” She slid into the left chair as if it were part of her body, and her fingers began to dance across the console in front of it, rapidly, without need for her to look down at the controls. He’d never known anyone who would choose to control a ship manually if there was another option. “Brace yourself for detachment.”
Stripping Ivar was easier said than done, especially with the ship lurching as it freed itself from the station. In the end he had to destroy the blood-soaked shirt to get it off. The body now visible was more bruised than whole, and so covered with blood that in places the flesh beneath could barely be seen. What skin was visible was covered in tattoos, including a kinesthetic snake coiled on the left pectoral. Micah remembered something about full-body tattoos being popular among particular crime families, but he was too exhausted to recall the details.
A slideaway opened in midship, revealing a small medpod. Micah managed to drag Ivar’s body over to it and lever it inside the capsule. Lights came on and equipment whirred and codes appeared on a small monitor to the side, as a transparent lid slid down into place, sealing Ivar’s body inside. Micah was too tired to take in the details, just leaned against the wall, drained by the effort.
“It’ll clean and sterilize the wounds,” Ru said without looking back, “stabilize blood pressure, maintain oxygen levels, and a few other emergency tasks. But it’s not a full unit, just enough to get a wounded outrider safely back to the med lab. Hopefully it’ll be enough for him.”
“We got away,” he muttered. He still didn’t quite believe it. His body ached in every muscle and joint—but he was alive, he was physically intact, and his mind seemed to be functioning. “We really got away . . .”
“Hold that thought until I get us out of range of those spiders,” she warned.
He tried not to think about spiders. Or mutated bodies. Or the sickening feeling of being shoved through a non-existent wall. The thrum of the ship against his back was soothing, hypnotic, and he tried to focus on that. How many hours had he been awake, anyway? He didn’t want to call up his chrono to find out. He looked over at the nav screen and saw the outer ring passing by in all its ravaged glory, along with a few bots that perked up as they flew by. But they kept to their perches. Thank God. Thank God. Shenshido was growing smaller by the minute now, as they picked up speed and headed for . . . where? It didn’t matter to him. Anywhere that wasn’t Shenshido.
He should claim the empty chair and strap himself in, but he didn’t have enough energy left to move that far. Weakly he slid down the wall, lowered his head, and focused on breathing steadily, as the doomed station faded into the distance.
All those traveling from a natural planet to the outworlds shall be tested for communicable diseases before leaving home. Those who are judged to pose a risk to public health will be denied passage.
Those immigrating to the outworlds may be tested again upon arrival, at the local Guildmaster’s discretion. Persons judged to pose a risk to the public health will be quarantined, to be sent home on the first available transport.
In the event of a dangerous pathogen appearing in the outworlds, a Guildmaster may quarantine such people, organizations, and/or stations within his node as necessary to contain the infection, until proper medical response can be determined. A Guildmaster will not be held responsible for any losses or damages accruing from justified quarantine, unless negligence of management can be proven to the satisfaction of the Guild’s current leadership.
Founding Charter of the Ainniq Guild, Section 3 (also called the Mandate of Protection)
HARMONY NODE
INSHIP: ARTEMIS
WHEN THE glow of Shenshido’s exterior lighting was little more than a pinpoint, indistinguishable from the sprinkling of distant stars, and the skimmer was well on its way to the middle of nowhere, Ru turned control over to the autopilot. She would have liked to stay at the controls, just in case someone tried to pursue them—a distant possibility at this point—but she needed to check on both her passengers.
With a soft groan she shrugged out of her jacket, then removed the makeshift armor she’d been wearing underneath it. Beneath those layers she was sweat-soaked and sore; a breeze from the ship’s ventilation chilled the moisture on her skin, which was deliciously refreshing. She savored it for a few seconds, then got up and headed toward the medpod, leaving the armor on the floor along the way.
The Sarkassan was seated next to the medpod, knees drawn up before him, head lowered to meet them, clearly exhausted. Maybe even asleep. She checked the readings on the medpod, muttering a summary as she went, in case he was still awake. “Blood pressure’s better. Looks like three ribs are broken and the left femur fractured. There’s a crack in the skull, too; looks like he took one hell of a blow. Lots of soft tissue damage, but vital organs all seem to be functioning. Assuming the brain is undamaged, he might make it through this.” She looked at Micah. “You okay?”