Chapter 23 #2
Kit is quiet, the only sounds that of Remulus’ labored breathing and the beeping of the machine beside him. She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath, fists clenching, and then opens them again, pressing her lips together in a thin line. “Someone has to stay here with him.”
“Forty seconds.”
Task is exasperated. He is not a medical professional, certainly not equipped to tend to the ambassador should something go wrong.
But he needs Kit to stay safe. If part of his mission is going to go to shit — bringing the ambassador back alive — he can at least try to uphold the other half — bringing Kit back alive.
“I’ll stay here,” he finds himself saying, before he can think through it all. “Wynstann is outside. Send him in. Please. Just get as close to port side as you can.”
He’s tapping his Chronogram, trying to get through to Caelinus. “Go. Now.”
Kit reluctantly turns towards the doorway, then looks over her shoulder as she pulls off her gloves. “You’ll be alright?”
Of course he won’t be alright. He’s potentially going to act as a human shield for radiation over one hundred times what any of them has ever experienced. But he needs Kit to get out of here, so he nods his head once. “Get Pluto.”
A second later, Wynstann is sprawling into the room, satchel in hand.
“Get down,” Task orders, already crouching on the floor as the ship pitches them forward, a low whine emanating from the starboard-side wall. “You’re here in case things with the ambassador go sideways.”
To his credit, Wynstann doesn’t ask questions, merely lowers himself to the ground and pulls a small vial of serum out of the satchel, gripping it in his palm. His eyes flick to the ambassador’s diagnostic every now and again.
“Twenty seconds,” the voice blares again over the Polaris’ comm system.
Task’s Chronogram buzzes. He flicks his wrist to answer, patching it through to his earpiece.
“Where are you?” Caelinus demands, his voice coming through garbled.
“Quarantine ward,” Task says, casting a look at Wynstann, who is kneeling next to the ambassador, pushing a syringe of something into the IV port.
Wynstann has been a field healer for Task before — the only reason he felt comfortable dragging him in here.
He’s used to this type of high-anxiety situation, the potential for death closing in on all sides.
He supposes this wasn’t his brightest idea, but he wasn’t thinking clearly. Never does when Kit is involved, almost always to his detriment.
“You’re where?” Caelinus asks. “Are you insane?”
“Probably,” Task grumbles. “Was trying to move the ambassador. Got stuck here.” It’s partially true.
“The shields are down!” Caelinus shouts. “I can’t get them back up before impact. We’re fifteen seconds away from a coronal mass ejection. Get the fuck out of that room. Now!”
Task glances at Wynstann, then the ambassador. Fifteen seconds. He makes a split-second decision that he knows will come back to haunt him. “Move. Leave him.”
“Five seconds.” An alarm sounds as the ship shudders, a sudden flash of heat pouring into the small room.
“Leave him?” Wynstann looks astounded, but Task doesn’t have time to argue.
“Four.”
He’s pushing his way out of the room, dragging Wynstann with him. Better the two of them make it than all three of them expiring from radiation exposure. Draven might not agree, but there’s nothing they can do for the ambassador now.
“Three.”
They emerge in the airlock outside the quarantine ward with four seconds to spare, Task breathing heavily as Wynstann presses his hand against the reader to close the door behind him.
“Two.”
“We’re out,” Task tells Caelinus, still on the open line.
“Thank Odite.”
“You idiot!” he hears Voss shout in the background. “Goddamn idiot.”
“We’re fine,” Task says, though he’s not entirely sure that’s true. “Where’s Kit?”
“Port side with the other citizens,” Voss cuts in.
“Good,” Task breathes, leaning his head against the wall behind him as the voice on the comm finishes its countdown. As the Polaris faces the storm head on, that is the only word that echoes in Task’s mind.
Good.
Task, Caelinus, and Voss are gathered around the table at the back of the bridge, lights blaring overhead, sirens finally off.
Task is grateful Caden is off somewhere else, dealing with the unsettled citizenry.
Caelinus zooms in on a diagram of the ship displayed in the air in front of him, surveying the radiation damage.
“The good news is, we managed to keep all the Lumarian citizens safe.” Caelinus spins the image in the air, leaning closer to investigate the port side of the ship, which is illuminated in a nasty shade of red.
“What’s the bad news?” Task asks, peering at the image.
Caelinus is silent, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. He casts a look at Task, then Voss. “The quarantine ward has been breached. The radiation caused the airlock doors to malfunction.”
“Fuck,” Voss swears, slapping a hand across the left side of his face and groaning.
“Fuck, indeed,” Task says. The ambassador. If the radiation was that significant, could he have survived? “Summon Luminary Oswald immediately. Get Hart up here too.” He feels odd using her surname, but it would be strange for him to call her anything else in this setting.
Voss raises an eyebrow at him, but says nothing.
“What?” Task challenges. “She’s his second.
” His heart races in his chest, anxiety threatening to overtake him.
He’d managed to salvage one half of his mission, but the other half hangs in the balance.
He needs to know what’s become of Remulus.
And he needs to see her, make sure she’s okay.
He won’t believe it until he takes her in with his own eyes.
“Whatever you say, major,” Voss replies, a smirk on his lips. He turns back to Caelinus. “How long until we can get the ward back up?”
Caelinus runs a pointer finger over the schematic, zooming in again. “Depends if we have the parts in the mechanical bay or if we need to make a stop somewhere. Assuming we have everything we need, two days, tops.”
“What do we do with the citizens?” Claiborne cuts in from behind them. “The entire ship has potentially already been exposed, we may have —”
“Let’s wait for Oswald and Hart,” Task interrupts, trying to maintain the calm.
Everyone has seen what the infection can do.
If they’ve been exposed, they’re about to have a ship full of death on their hands.
Task tries not to let his mind travel there, keeping focused on the moment.
On the immediate next step. Like Draven taught him.
Several minutes later, Kit and Luminary Oswald enter the bridge.
Kit looks tense, her lips a thin line and a little crease in her brow.
Captain Claiborne occupies the head of the table, Dobbs to his left and Voss to his right.
Task flanks Voss, Luminary Oswald and Kit across from them.
Caelinus paces at the end of the table, his Prism casting an image of the damaged ship flank into the air in front of him.
“The quarantine ward has been ruptured,” Claiborne says without preamble. “We won’t be able to get it back up for two days.”
Luminary Oswald frowns, but otherwise remains calm. Kit breathes in sharply, but waits for Oswald to speak.
“That is…certainly less than ideal,” he says finally, removing his glasses from his pocket and putting them on.
“We’ll all be exposed, then,” Kit says. Task’s eyes are drawn to her like a magnet. Her hair falls from its knot, her scrubs a bit wrinkled, but otherwise she’s unharmed. Thank Odite.
“How do we manage this?” Claiborne asks.
Luminary Oswald ponders, threading his fingers together. “There’s not much to be done, except to hope for the best. How does the air filtration system work?”
Caelinus pulls up a map showing the different air distribution systems. There are three separate systems responsible for filtration.
“Alright,” Oswald says, as he examines the map. “We should remove all citizens on that side of the ship for now, confine them to other floors with a different circulatory system. That way there’s less of a chance of breathing in the infection. We’ll test people again daily.”
“And if people get sick?” Voss cuts in.
“We’ll need to find a lounge that can be cordoned off,” Kit says, to a glare from Luminary Oswald. She looks sheepish, but continues. “We’ll need to set up makeshift triage. The way this spreads…it’s only a matter of time.”
“And Ambassador Remulus?” Task asks, holding his breath as he waits for their answer.
Oswald tugs his Prism out of his pocket, tapping through it. “According to the diagnostic, he’s alive. Barely.”
“Is it safe to return?” Kit asks. “I’ll go tend to him.”
“Not yet,” Caelinus says. “We need to go through and clear the area of any leftover radiation.”
“He’ll need immediate care if he’s been exposed for this long,” Kit argues.
Caelinus looks at Voss, and Task can see them having a silent conversation.
He doesn’t want Kit to go. He wants to send someone else, anyone else.
“We’ll send Wynstann,” Task jumps in, before either Voss or Caelinus can speak.
He knows he’ll be hearing about his insubordination later from Voss, but he doesn’t want her to go back there.
Voss crosses his arms, glaring at Task. “Get him outfitted properly, Canmore. Castor will accompany you both back to the ward, where we’ll start remediation. Hart, Oswald, begin setting up triage in the fifth-floor lounge.”
Kit’s annoyed, Task can tell. She doesn’t like being told what to do. And he’d been the one to stop her from returning.
He sighs as she follows Oswald out the door. She doesn’t turn back to look at him, though he can almost feel her glare from the back of her skull. He’ll be digging himself out of that hole for a while.