He chuckled. “She won’t be surprised. Are you going to share?”
She glanced at Walsh again. “I shouldn’t. But, I’m going to.” She tore open the plastic wrapper. They were the kind of chocolates that usually came in heart-shaped boxes. The kind with flavored, creamy centers. She slipped Bergen one, popped one in her own mouth, and left the third in the plastic, secreting it in an intact pocket of her suit. She shook her head and threatened him with a menacing glare. She whispered, “You’re terrible—blaming Ron and me for eating all the chocolate when you hid it somewhere. I’m going to tear that capsule apart until I find your stash!”
“Good luck. I have my own secret hiding places built in.” He nodded smugly and popped the morsel in his mouth.
She beamed at him, shaking her head. She didn’t doubt it was true. “Now, I’m complicit. You’re going to have to pay me blood-chocolate for my silence.”
He laughed, a loud, barking laugh. She couldn’t help but giggle at him. He had a way of figuring out exactly what she needed sometimes. Just when she thought she had him figured out, he surprised her again.
Walsh shot them a censorious look.
Bergen slid closer and bumped her playfully in the shoulder. “I’m not passing any judgment here, but you two were going through that stuff awfully fast. Would it have killed you to choose peach cobbler now and then?”
She rolled her eyes, savoring the chocolate still melting in her mouth. The peach cobbler was a joke. She didn’t know how it had escaped the excessive quality-control process NASA employed for every detail down to their underwear. Sometimes it rehydrated as a disgusting, soggy mass, sometimes it tasted like someone had used a heavy hand with some exotic spice, and sometimes it was perfect—well, as perfect as rehydrated food can be.
It was funny, but in a weird way, because they kept eating it anyway, because their choices were so limited. It became a joke. Which peach cobbler would it be this time? They’d complained to Houston about it, in a cheeky, teasing way. The brass in Houston got the director of the Space Food Systems Laboratory to send a reply, during which he admitted there’d been an intern in the lab on the day the peach cobbler had been prepared. He swore there’d be nothing amiss with the food waiting in the capsule on Mars for the trip home. The thought of the return capsule sobered her and she sighed.
“Hey.” Bergen’s arm snuck behind her and rubbed her lower back. He leaned in and asked softly, “You ok?”
“I’m fine,” she answered automatically, stiffening under his sudden solicitousness.
“You sure?”
He was hovering so close, seemed so concerned, she could almost believe…but no, that was ridiculous. He was kind of a legend at NASA. Space geeks were surprisingly gossipy. He was the local boy who made good, on a regular basis, or so his wingmen bragged. She was definitely not his type. He was just being friendly and that felt awkward because he probably didn’t have a lot of practice being friends with women.
“Yes.” She stood up and pulled her ponytail loose, to cover her nervousness created by his sudden attention. With the band came a clump of damp, matted hair. She stared at it, uncomprehending, and then dropped it with a squeal. Her hand was glossy with slime.
Walsh and Bergen were on her in seconds. Before she could react, Bergen was sloshing her hand with water from the pouch until it was empty, but her hand was already becoming painfully red and sore. She fell to her knees and pulled a bag of wipes from her bag. She pulled out wipe after wipe, scrubbing at her hands, her face, in case she’d splashed herself, determined to not release the tears that were so close to the surface.
Walsh stood nearby, stoically observing.
Bergen knelt next to her and touched her shoulder, saying, “It’s ok, Jane. It’s just a couple of inches.”
She flinched. “Stop it! Don’t touch me. Stop looking at me. It’s just hair!”
He backed away.
She turned her face up to keep the tears at bay. The tough nomex suit was holding up. She would take it off soon and get under running water.
She felt a light hum, almost tentatively, like a question, at the back of her skull. She tensed up even more. Was he watching them, through cameras hidden throughout the ship? Or was he dipping into their thoughts, listening to them like a telepathic peeping tom?
You need not endure such discomfort. The vermin’s caustic exudate is a common affliction, easily treated. Please make haste to the medical facility where you may receive treatment without organic assistance—the Sectilius practice medicine quite differently.
Jane stood, her chest still heaving. She turned to see Tom, Ajaya and Ron striding toward them, laden with packs, bags, and equipment. Jane picked up her pack and set off down the corridor without a word.
9
Bergen, and the rest of the crew, trailed in Jane’s wake. He brought up the rear, refusing to participate in the exchange of uneasy looks being passed around. He didn’t want Jane to think he had anything but the utmost confidence in her.
She seemed to know exactly where she was going. She didn’t hesitate at intersections in the corridors. She strode purposefully to a door and tapped the control to open it, revealing a small chamber. She entered, beckoning them to join her.
Bergen shuffled to a stop as those in front of him stalled.
Bergen hated the look on Jane’s face, as she struggled not to betray whatever she was feeling.
“It’s a deck to deck transporter. It’s like an elevator,” she ground out.
Still, they hung back. Walsh was staring Jane down with a pissed expression on his face. He was making this a lot harder on her than was necessary.
Bergen shoved himself roughly between Walsh and Gibbs, taking a place at the back of the transport chamber. Ajaya nodded and joined him, Gibbs following close behind. Compton and Walsh lingered a moment longer, then followed suit.
Jane examined the eye-level controls briefly, then decisively selected a symbol. The door closed instantly, and re-opened a moment later.
Jane stood motionless. If she was having qualms, he couldn’t see her expression. Furtive glances were exchanged behind her back. They were probably all thinking the same thing he was: this hallway looked exactly like the one they’d just left. It hadn’t felt like they’d gone anywhere.
Then she was out the door, charging down the hall again.
Bergen heard Walsh say something in a low voice to Gibbs. Gibbs pulled a piece of chalk out of his pack and tagged the wall with an orienting symbol of some kind.
Bergen huffed. The fool should have thought of that before they got into the transport.
Jane paused outside a door and waited for them all to catch up. “This is it,” she said. “I’m not sure what to expect. The room inside is called the Assessment Chamber. From what I can gather, most of their medical interventions are carried out automatically. Most of the medical personnel that would be working here would be supportive staff, not like doctors as we know them.”
“Interesting,” Ajaya murmured.
Walsh was discontented. He motioned Jane back and drew his weapon, motioning for Gibbs and Compton to do the same. He tapped the door control and stepped inside.
It was an empty room with nothing more than a large disc-shaped platform in the center of it. The wall at the back of the room was curved, repeating the shape of the platform, and was replete with numerous doors.
A voice rang out, breaking the silence. Everyone, including Jane, jumped. It was a calm, even voice, non-threatening, slightly feminine. It was speaking in some foreign language. If he’d been asked to guess, he would have said Italian.