shaky breath. “Just in Gardens?”
“Other sectors, too.”
“Might not be a virus,” says Kev. He shrugs when everybody turns to look at him. “Just saying. Might be a bacterium.”
Prakesh briefly closes his eyes. It’s a nightmare. Virus or not, even non-lethal diseases can spread like wildfire in Outer Earth. This one does not sound like a non-lethal disease. And if there are multiple infection sites, multiple vectors …
He flashes back to the previous night, to Riley’s sore throat. He dismisses the thought immediately, refusing to entertain it. She’s OK. She has to be .
“Listen,” he says. “No one’s infected here, right?” He looks around at his team, who shake their heads. “If you give us face masks, we can keep working.”
“P-man,” says Carver, and Prakesh rankles at the nickname. “You shouldn’t have this door open. We can’t afford to have any techs coughing up black slime. They’re too important.”
“We’re fine, Aaron.”
“Don’t be an idiot.”
“You’re not locking us in here.”
Before Prakesh can blink, Carver is in his face. He crosses the floor in seconds, fists clenched.
“Get inside. Now.” Carver says. His voice has gone deathly quiet.
“Or what?” Prakesh says. Deep down, he can see Riley’s face.
Tseng is almost apoplectic. “That’s enough!” he says.
Anna steps between them, turning to Carver and putting a firm hand on his chest. “We do not have time to argue over something like this. Let them shut the doors, and we can get out of here.” The other stompers are crowding in, as if they trust Carver to handle things, but only to a point.
“Stay out of this, Anna,” Carver says, trying to push her aside. She plants her feet, not moving. He pushes harder, and, this time, she shoves back, her hands balled into fists.
Carver stares at her. “Are you insane? This should not be this big an issue. We need these people to keep us alive, so we have to get them locked down. It’s the most important thing we can do.”
“Important?” Anna hisses. “More important than what’s happening in the rest of the station? In Tzevya? My family are up there, Carver…”
Kev steps in. “And mine are in Caves. We all have people we need to take care of.”
“You heard your friends, Aaron,” says Prakesh, pointing a finger at Carver over Anna’s shoulder. “Go find the ones who actually need your help. Don’t bother the ones who can handle themselves.”
The impasse is broken by several sharp beeps. Tseng is at the door’s control pad, his finger hammering on it. There’s a longer beep, and then the door plummets towards Prakesh.
Carver acts fast. He plants his hand on Prakesh’s chest and shoves . Prakesh flies backwards, his feet tangled, landing hard and skidding across the floor into the Air Lab, just as the massive door slams shut.
25
Knox
Knox is spooning beans into his mouth when he hears his name over the hacked SPOCS line. When he does, he nearly spits them across the room.
He drops the food container, grabbing his stick and limping across the floor of his surgery, turning up the volume on the transceiver.
“Suspect last spotted in A1-B22. Richards, we have you and Olawole on duty in that area, confirm?”
“Come on, dispatch,” says an irritated stomper. “It’s almost the end of my shift.”
The dispatcher ignores him. “Repeat, your suspect is Morgan Knox, forty-two years old. Physical description is dark hair, Caucasian, six feet. Pronounced physical disability.”
Knox grips the sides of the transceiver. This can’t be happening.
“Copy that, dispatch,” the stomper says, resigned. There are a few seconds of silence. Then: “Dispatch, this is Richards. I’m getting a lot of chatter on the private channels about a situation in Gardens, and another in Caves. You sure you don’t want us to help?”
“Negative. We need continued stomper presence in the other sectors. Go and do your job.”
“Copy,” Richards
“Other sectors, too.”
“Might not be a virus,” says Kev. He shrugs when everybody turns to look at him. “Just saying. Might be a bacterium.”
Prakesh briefly closes his eyes. It’s a nightmare. Virus or not, even non-lethal diseases can spread like wildfire in Outer Earth. This one does not sound like a non-lethal disease. And if there are multiple infection sites, multiple vectors …
He flashes back to the previous night, to Riley’s sore throat. He dismisses the thought immediately, refusing to entertain it. She’s OK. She has to be .
“Listen,” he says. “No one’s infected here, right?” He looks around at his team, who shake their heads. “If you give us face masks, we can keep working.”
“P-man,” says Carver, and Prakesh rankles at the nickname. “You shouldn’t have this door open. We can’t afford to have any techs coughing up black slime. They’re too important.”
“We’re fine, Aaron.”
“Don’t be an idiot.”
“You’re not locking us in here.”
Before Prakesh can blink, Carver is in his face. He crosses the floor in seconds, fists clenched.
“Get inside. Now.” Carver says. His voice has gone deathly quiet.
“Or what?” Prakesh says. Deep down, he can see Riley’s face.
Tseng is almost apoplectic. “That’s enough!” he says.
Anna steps between them, turning to Carver and putting a firm hand on his chest. “We do not have time to argue over something like this. Let them shut the doors, and we can get out of here.” The other stompers are crowding in, as if they trust Carver to handle things, but only to a point.
“Stay out of this, Anna,” Carver says, trying to push her aside. She plants her feet, not moving. He pushes harder, and, this time, she shoves back, her hands balled into fists.
Carver stares at her. “Are you insane? This should not be this big an issue. We need these people to keep us alive, so we have to get them locked down. It’s the most important thing we can do.”
“Important?” Anna hisses. “More important than what’s happening in the rest of the station? In Tzevya? My family are up there, Carver…”
Kev steps in. “And mine are in Caves. We all have people we need to take care of.”
“You heard your friends, Aaron,” says Prakesh, pointing a finger at Carver over Anna’s shoulder. “Go find the ones who actually need your help. Don’t bother the ones who can handle themselves.”
The impasse is broken by several sharp beeps. Tseng is at the door’s control pad, his finger hammering on it. There’s a longer beep, and then the door plummets towards Prakesh.
Carver acts fast. He plants his hand on Prakesh’s chest and shoves . Prakesh flies backwards, his feet tangled, landing hard and skidding across the floor into the Air Lab, just as the massive door slams shut.
25
Knox
Knox is spooning beans into his mouth when he hears his name over the hacked SPOCS line. When he does, he nearly spits them across the room.
He drops the food container, grabbing his stick and limping across the floor of his surgery, turning up the volume on the transceiver.
“Suspect last spotted in A1-B22. Richards, we have you and Olawole on duty in that area, confirm?”
“Come on, dispatch,” says an irritated stomper. “It’s almost the end of my shift.”
The dispatcher ignores him. “Repeat, your suspect is Morgan Knox, forty-two years old. Physical description is dark hair, Caucasian, six feet. Pronounced physical disability.”
Knox grips the sides of the transceiver. This can’t be happening.
“Copy that, dispatch,” the stomper says, resigned. There are a few seconds of silence. Then: “Dispatch, this is Richards. I’m getting a lot of chatter on the private channels about a situation in Gardens, and another in Caves. You sure you don’t want us to help?”
“Negative. We need continued stomper presence in the other sectors. Go and do your job.”
“Copy,” Richards
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