Scardown-Jenny Casey-2 (16 page)

“Then find better computer games, Fred.”

1:00 AM
Tuesday 21 November, 2062
National Defence Medical Center
Toronto, Ontario

Patricia woke in darkness. She lay still for a moment, feeling the unfamiliar tug of the IV line in the back of her hand; it ran nutrients and trace elements into her bloodstream for the nanosurgeons. A sensation like chewing on tinfoil filled her mouth. “Ick,” she almost said, but then she remembered she wasn't alone in the room. She strained her ears and heard Leah snore softly: more a kitten whimper than an actual rattle.

Familiar midnight tension filled Patty. She turned on her side, pushed the cheap sheets down and stretched, wary of her needle site, and ran through her breath exercises. It didn't help. The pressure behind her breastbone mounted until she imagined it bulging her chest at the center—the need to be
doing
almost
burned.

Sighing in exasperation, Patricia sat up in the blackness of drawn shades and felt on her nightstand for her tablet. She tapped it on and picked up the light pen, not bothering to feel around in the dark for her contacts. Her fingertips felt funny—numb—and it took her two tries to get her homework files open.
Is this how it starts?
She held her fingers up in the blue-tinged light of the tablet screen. They looked normal, but pins and needles crept across the pads. She poked them experimentally with the light pen. It was one thing to be told what to expect. Quite another to feel it happening. Or more precisely,
not
to feel it.

“Shit.”

“Patty?” Bedclothes rustled. “What are you doing up?”

“Couldn't sleep,” she said, shading her eyes as Leah touched the bedside light on. “I thought I'd do some homework.”

“Now?”

The weight of disbelief on the word made Patricia look down and pull the machine-crocheted bedspread over her legs. “Well, yeah.”
Study hard, prove yourself. Make Mom proud.

“How come you're working so hard?”

“I—” Patricia shrugged. “My parents expect it. I'm in advanced-placement math and physics. They expect ‘great things' of me.” She squeezed her light pen tighter, pressing her fingers white. “They don't know me. My grandfathers are the only ones who even see me, I think.”

Too much honesty. But she was tired and she felt seasick-weird and groggy. She wondered if it was pain medication. There was supposed to be some, and she could imagine an ache spreading through her muscles almost the way she could imagine the sore throat and runny nose when she knew she was getting sick but the cold hadn't started yet. She realized she'd missed Leah's answer and said something at random. “It's just typical shit. You're doing regular school and this, too. It's not so different.”

“My dad hates it, actually. He'd rather have me anywhere else.”

“Than learning to fly starships? Really?”

“Really. But at least he's not a study nazi like—”

Patricia looked toward the darkened window so she wouldn't have to see the pale pity in Leah's eyes. “It's mostly my mom.” She shrugged. “I don't want to talk about it, really.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No, it's good. They just don't understand me. My mom was a microbiologist but she quit. Dad's in the army, like Papa Fred. He's not home so much. She just wants a good career for me.”
So I don't get stuck like she is. Like I'd ever be that dumb.
“She somehow thinks I can be a pilot and study physics at the same time.” Patricia closed her eyes for a second, and called what she thought of as her brighter shadow up over herself. She'd told Leah too much, and Patty didn't have any other friends. She was too busy at home. And Leah might not like her if she kept whining like an angstbot. “Have you gotten to go up to the ship yet, Leah?”

“No. I'm so jealous you did!” There was—something—in the other girl's voice. Something that went with the stiffness of the conversation, and the split-second hesitations before Leah spoke. Patty caught herself sucking her tongue back in her mouth, and made herself stop.
Oh
.

You don't suppose I seem as scary to her as she does to me, do you? Or maybe just privileged. Spoiled.
Patty grinned to herself. If Leah was scared, too, then it was okay. “You know, it's not as cool as you'd think. Mostly just like a big—big metal building, except for free fall. Which was the
best
! But the other student who went with me . . . Carver.” She grinned, and it almost felt natural.

“Ooo. Sympa?”

Patty knew
that
much French. “Très,” she giggled, her cheeks burning, and covered her mouth.

Leah leaned forward, legs folded, knotting her comforter in her hands and tugging it taut over her knees. “You kissed him!”

On a heartfelt outrush of breath, but without the panic she expected to feel. “Oh, God. Don't tell my mom. But it was a little more than a kiss. Not—” She knew that she blushed more when Leah's eyes went wide. “—no, I just mean, he was really nice. I was really shy. And he kept asking for help with homework and stuff and we just—messed around a little, is all.”

“I've never kissed anybody. My dad would flip.” Leah sighed. And then her eyes brightened, and her voice went singsong. “Patty's got a boyfriend!” The sparkle in her eyes, though, kept any sting out of the teasing.

I do,
Patty thought. She hadn't thought about it that way before. She grinned, pushing her hair forward with both hands to cover her face, and giggled into her palms.

Early Morning
Tuesday 21 November, 2062
Carlton Street
Toronto, Ontario

Razorface watched the swing of Indigo's glazed black hair as she leaned down to stare at the muted holobox, and he tried not to think of Bobbi Yee. He could smell Indigo's cold sweat over the yeasty odor of the room and he knew what she hadn't told him: there was a change in plans, and they were being kept waiting. He hadn't seen Farley in hours. The dumb shit was probably out waiting for a courier package or something.

Not that Indigo had told him that. But Razorface was pretty good at figuring things out. He leaned back in his chair; old, distressed wood squeaked and Indigo jumped. Razorface let himself grin.
Good a time as any. Good luck, Maker.
He cracked his knuckles. “I wanna talk about Holmes.”

“We're not shying off that. Don't worry. I just have to do this other thing first.”

“Nah.” He eased himself up and cast around in the broken-hinged cabinets for something to eat. There were a couple of iced tea pouches and a bag of chips he didn't like. He took an iced tea and tossed the other one to Indigo. She caught it even though he intentionally pitched it long. “I got a way to get her that don't trace to us. I'll handle it.”

“It's got to be permanent.” But the flattened line of her upper lip told him she was thinking about it. And something else. She twisted a bit of hair between her fingers and frowned. She wanted something.

“Maybe not permanent. But maybe a life sentence.”

“She's got awfully good lawyers, Razorface.”

He let the light glitter off his stainless-steel teeth as he bit the iced tea open. “Babe, you take care of the politics. And you just let Razorface handle the sharks. Now who is it we're going to have to kill to keep your friends happy and off your back?” He closed the distance between them, enjoying the self-conscious way she laid her hand on his arm.
Nobody runs game on Razorface,
he thought, before he remembered it wasn't precisely true.
Anymore
.

She gave him a shy, calculated glance through her hair. It would have worked on Farley, but Razorface knew what real women were like, and this little china doll might be pretty and sharp, but she didn't hold a candle in brains or balls to his Leesie.

Indigo might as well have been thinking out loud.

“Riel,” he said, when she didn't, and then he drained his iced tea to keep from laughing out loud at her shock. “Baby, any asshole could have guessed.”

1000 Hours
Tuesday 21 November, 2062
PPCASS
Huang Di
Earth orbit

Min-xue pulled himself flat against the grab rails as several crew members sailed over him, returning from recreation and study. He was careful not to let their bodies brush his; normally they would have been more careful, respectful of his sacrifices, but he could tell by the way they moved that they were giddy and careless with exhaustion. It wouldn't have been so bad, but Min-xue was tired as well and thought he'd spare the rest of the crew an embarrassing pilot panic attack if possible.

He laid his cheek against the bar and closed his eyes. The late nights were wearing on him. But it was a relief to have someone to talk to honestly. Without avoiding mention of his Taiwanese mother, or making sure not to dwell too long on some of the radical T'ang poets he preferred.

The metal lay cold and soothing against his face long after the chatting, laughing crew members passed. It was only with an effort that he uncoiled his hands and let himself drift toward the bow of the
Huang Di
. And froze in place as Captain Wu drifted up beside him, a habitual look of faint disapproval staining his face. “Second Pilot.”

“Captain.” Min-xue performed an awkward salute. It set him drifting, and he corrected quickly. “How may I serve?”

“You look unwell.” Frown deepening, the captain started to reach toward Min-xue and hesitated, allowing the hand to drift back to his body. “Have you reported to sick call?”

“Captain, I will. Am I relieved of duty, then?”

“What duty?”

“Training today, sir.”

The captain made a little show of considering. Min-xue hoped he wouldn't be asked what was robbing his sleep. Finally, Wu nodded, and then he reached back and grabbed a railing and pulled himself past. “See you're quickly well.”

It might have been an ordinary if gruff benediction. But Min-xue was certain he heard something—some urgency—in the captain's voice, and it sent a chill unrelated to the
Huang Di
's low ambient temperature crawling through his hair.

2:00 PM
Tuesday 21 November, 2062
National Defence Medical Center
Toronto, Ontario

Leah opened her eyes to whispers, but it didn't get any brighter. Aunt Jenny hadn't told her how tired she would feel. Or that it would hurt to pick her head up. But then, maybe Jenny hadn't known. “Who's here?”

“C'est moi, ma petite.” A dry kiss on her forehead.

“Dad.”

“Always. Genie's here, too. Are you thirsty?”

“Dad, is it dark in here?”

“No. You can't see, Leah?” She thought he was trying to hold his voice level, but she heard it tremble. Someone with much smaller hands than her dad's squeezed Leah's other hand.

“Genie?”

“It's me. Is everything all right?”

She couldn't let Genie see her scared. Genie was too brave to have to carry Leah being scared, too. “It's okay. They said it would happen. I just—it's weird. Is Aunt Jenny here? Where's Patty?”

She heard the smile in her dad's voice. “Jenny's at work, chérie. And Patty's in the bathroom. I think she'll be back in a sec. You didn't say if you wanted anything.”

Using his hands for leverage, Leah sat up. When she turned her face toward Genie's voice, and the window, she could pick up—or at least imagine—faint glimmerings of light. The sensation of someone whispering continued. “Dad, is there somebody talking in the hall?”

“I don't think so.” He let go of her hand. The bed dipped and creaked under his weight as he pushed himself up against it. Meanwhile, Leah heard a door open. The bathroom door? She screwed her face up tight so she could pretend that was why she didn't see, fighting the hard knot like tangled ropes in her gut. She heard her father's voice, from farther away. “There's nobody out here. Hello, Patty.”

“Hello, Mr. Castaign. Genie. Leah, what's wrong?”

Patty must have crossed to her bedside. Leah felt the bed dimple as she sat, felt what must have been Patty pulling Genie down beside her. She shook her head to clear it, feeling something like an itch deep in her brain. “I can't see anything.”

“I'll be right back.” Dad again, still near the door.

“It's okay,” Genie said quietly. “I called the doctor already. It's just happening like they said it would, though, right? It'll be better in a couple of days. Right?” She pushed the round-cornered plastic call box into Leah's hand, and Leah smiled in spite of herself. Genie made it easy to be brave.

Genie knew a lot about hospitals.

1300 Hours
Thursday 23 November, 2062
Bloor Street
Toronto, Ontario

I unlock the door to Gabe's apartment and walk inside. There's no sign at first that anybody's home, but the place doesn't have that
vacant
feeling, either. Genie's in school and Leah's still at the hospital. I'm playing hooky from the lab, halfway hoping to collect Gabe here, eat something, and head over to the National Defence Medical Center and visit the kid. We haven't gotten to spend any time alone since Friday night, and it would be nice to talk along the way. Knowing Gabe, he's got a whole universe of silent worry twisting away inside him.

Hell, I brought lunch. We're going to talk whether he wants to or not. Or so I'm thinking as I lock the door quietly and head for the kitchen. Three steps in I hear voices, low murmuring and a giggle; I pause in the archway, mouth open to announce myself, and my face goes hot and my voice dies in my throat.

The good news is Ellie doesn't see me standing there like a hooked fish, bag of turkey sandwiches clutched in my right hand. Her eyes are closed, her hand knotted in Gabe's hair; he presses her back against the sink, and I know from very personal experience and the high color in her cheeks exactly what he's whispering against her ear, exactly how his hand feels moving against her back, under her sweater. The memory makes me shiver and swallow once, hard.