Providence - Max Barry Page 0,64

a corridor.

“Ark,” she said. She didn’t want to be alone. Could it not be that, please? She was a people person. Whatever was happening here, she could deal, so long as there were people.

She couldn’t free her arms but managed to lift her legs. She pushed with her feet and slid her body a short distance. She wasn’t completely sure this was a good thing. There was a fog in her brain she couldn’t penetrate. Her left foot told her it had been a bad idea to put pressure on it, a very bad idea, and she tried to remember when she had done that. A few seconds ago. That was when.

Something creaked. The ship, she assumed. She couldn’t recall hearing the ship creak before, but maybe it was something you only noticed when you lay down in the dark, entombed, and listened.

There were salamanders. She remembered that. Jackson had shut down the ship and salamanders were coming.

From far away a fairy light danced toward her. It was faint and blue and she tried to resolve it into something sensible. It grew as it approached and she became fearful, because of the salamanders. Then, all at once, she saw Gilly’s face. The light was a glowstick, which he was holding.

“I’ve got you,” he said.

“Get her up,” said Jackson. She didn’t seem to have a fairy light. “We have to move.”

I’m okay, she tried to say, and it came out as, “Hnhh,” with plenty of saliva.

“Don’t try to move,” Gilly said. “You’re in a medbag.”

Really? That would explain a lot. A medbag would have sedated her. Now that there was a fairy light, she forced her chin down so she could look at her body. He was right: There was a shiny inflatable encasing her like a fat suit. At Camp Zero, they’d practiced fitting each other into these and waddling around. They weren’t supposed to, since anyone in a medbag would be in no shape to do anything other than lie still and try not to die. You didn’t need to practice walking in one. But it looked so hilarious.

“Pick her up,” said Jackson.

She couldn’t remember what had happened to put her in a medbag but she had the feeling she was pissed at Jackson for some reason. It might have been something recent or might have been the whole You’re a good soldier thing in her cabin, which Talia still hadn’t quite forgiven her for. She didn’t know if Jackson was the reason she was waking up alone and entombed, but until she learned otherwise, she was going to blame Jackson anyway.

“Beanfield, there are salamanders on the ship,” Gilly said. “We’ve picked up more incoming and I can’t get the ship back. We’re going to a jettison pod.”

He scooped her up while she processed this insanity. She was medicated so maybe she had missed something, but it sounded like he had said there were salamanders on the ship and they were planning to use a jetpod. This was a pretty fantastic joke if so, because the jetpods weren’t actually real. They were designed for psychological reassurance. Yes, they worked, but it was absurd that anyone would ever, under any circumstances, improve their situation by departing the 500,000-ton killing machine to squeeze into a thirty-foot cylinder made from plastic and tissue paper, and Service had told her this, because part of her job was convincing the crew otherwise: that, no, actually, jetpods were a realistic escape option, and therefore no one need feel like they were trapped in a flying can of death trillions of miles from home. And she had done this. She had freaking done it, in ways people would never notice, just like they didn’t notice how she defused Anders or engaged Gilly or prevented Jackson from murdering everyone on board. She had done what Service asked and now there were salamanders on the ship and they were taking her to a jetpod? They were in VZ. She tried to articulate her concerns and made a gargling noise.

“Relax,” said Gilly. “Let the medbag work.”

You are unable to speak coherently and your crew are under the mistaken impression that jetpods are a real thing. Go.

“Anders,” Jackson said.