Providence - Max Barry Page 0,31

A short distance away, a crab shifted back and forth like it wanted them to move so it could clean all this up. Anders’s hands were pressed to his thigh. “What did you do?” Then she noticed the star, the stupid fucking ninja star, lying on the deck, bright and slick with blood. “You stabbed yourself?”

“It bounced.”

Yes, she could see that: Anders practicing, hurling stars at the walls. Walking to collect them. Maybe one came back at him and he ducked and thought for a minute and then kept doing it. “Goddamn it.” The walls turned orange and the klaxon howled. Her film began painting helpful arrows on the floor to show the direction to her station. “Goddamn it.”

“Don’t tell Jackson.”

She stared. She had to get him to Medical. “Can you stand?”

He tried and failed. She put out her arms to help, but he jerked away, his teeth pulling back like a wounded dog.

“What the hell?” she said.

“I’m good.”

“Do you want my help or not?”

“Life, Weapons,” said Jackson over comms. “Will you be joining us?”

“One moment,” she replied, and went mute again. “Tell me where you go when you’re dark on ping.”

“I need Medical.”

“I’ll get you to Medical if you’re straight with me. Deal?” He said nothing, which she decided to take as assent. She opened the public channel. “Anders is sick. I’m taking him to medical.”

There was a second of silence. Then, Jackson: “Acknowledge.”

It was nice that Jackson chose not to be a dick about this. Talia appreciated that. Every now and then there were these delightful instances, like rays of sunshine breaking through the clouds, that Jackson trusted her to perform her job to a standard of basic competence. She offered her arm to Anders and he levered himself up. They began to hobble along the corridor. Their movement had a weird cadence, and it wasn’t just the close quarters: He was trying to keep a distance between them. Like he couldn’t stand to touch her. It was amazing to her that after all this time, Anders could still have so many mysteries. What would she have done without him? He was her puzzle.

Behind them, the crab began scraping at the floor, sucking up blood. “Left,” she said, when Anders appeared to have forgotten where Medical was. She helped him onto a steel table and pulled down the scanning arm. In her ear, Jackson and Gilly began to step through the engagement. There was contact in ninety seconds, apparently. Four hives. One big.

“Anders,” she said. “Share diagnostics with me.” Once he’d looped her in, she scrolled down her film. Subdermal puncture. He’d nicked an artery. Nothing the ship couldn’t fix. She grabbed a flatpack, tore it open, and stuck it over the wound. From the outside, it was a bluish patch; on the inside, a miracle cocktail that would repair anything torn and tidy away whatever had leaked where it shouldn’t have.

“Hydrexalin,” Anders said.

She shook her head. In no universe was she was giving him that. If she did, the next time she found him in a corridor, his injury would be worse.

“Beanfield, I’m in pain.”

“Tell me what you do when you’re dark on ping.”

“Then will you give it to me?”

She shrugged, like Who knows?

“I can’t tell you,” he said. “I have to show you. It only works during an engagement.”

In her ear, Jackson said, “Contact,” and began running through weapons, which Talia presumed she was managing via her command board. Talia was actually interested in how Jackson and Gilly would deal with this situation, just the two of them. It was a new dynamic. She would review it later.

“Okay, fine,” he said. He gingerly swung his legs off the table and hobbled from the room. She followed him through the corridor and every step was against the flow of a line of glowing arrows pointing back toward her station. He reached a hatch and slid down the ladder, landing like a sack of coconuts. They descended this way to R Deck, where it wasn’t even lit, because it wasn’t somewhere the crew