“Delay action momentarily,” it said.
She wasn’t done with the filamentous medical devices. The suit utilized the same technology to medically assess and deliver rudimentary care under combat conditions. Without the gel buffering the sensation, they pinched as they drove under her skin at strategic points all over her body.
The suit triaged her. She realized with a start that it had threaded her brain and was delivering a digital assessment of her medical state in a real-time HUD behind her eyes. The suit’s right leg adjusted its configuration slightly, to support the healing skeletal structure and minimize further damage.
A shunt was established at the site of the nerve root of her right leg, which already felt blessedly numb. New pathways of control for the movement of that leg were routed. A software patch was installed and coupled with the primary motor cortex on the left side of the prefrontal lobe of her brain, to ease the transition.
Behind her eyes, a dazzling symbol prompted, “Practice?”
She felt the suit moving nearly effortlessly, in servomotor creaks and whirs, as she unconsciously nodded her head. She let out a soft laugh. She felt like a comic-book hero. Which one was it? She couldn’t remember the name. Alan would know.
The suit wanted to optimize the customization of the suit for her personally. In her mind’s eye she could see that it was requesting that she perform a series of maneuvers, first like calisthenics, then increasingly more complex movements like some kind of martial art.
She had to find him—all of them. Ei’Brai claimed he didn’t know where they were, or what had happened to them. She didn’t know what she was going to find, but she had to go now.
Her primary concern at that moment was simply to master walking in that getup. She turned carefully toward the door, intending to make headway as she worked it out.
Her gait was clumsy at first. The right leg pounded into the floor, jarring her all the way up to her teeth. The suit’s adaptive software adjusted the code-patch with each step, until walking became less drunken crashing and more slightly-disjointed stomping. Perhaps that was the best she could do.
The suit prompted her to continue the practical exercises to perfect the hardware/software integration. She forcefully disregarded the request. She didn’t need to move like a ninja. She just needed to get there. She set off for the deck transport, picking up speed as she went.
20
So fucking tired.
Alan’s eyes drifted shut. He let them, forcing his mind to stay active, alert, while he caught a little rest. Just a few minutes. As long as he was quiet, he’d be relatively safe. Just…no sleeping. If he slept, he might snore. Snoring was a bad idea.
He was in the fucked up state he was in because he’d fallen asleep some time ago—no idea how long ago that was now. He’d lost his watch—as if he could keep track of anything like time in this nightmare, anyway. He hadn’t eaten in what felt like days. He wasn’t even hungry anymore.
Waking up with a startled snort to find some creature feasting on his own leg? That was fucked up. The fact that he hadn’t felt it or that he was still alive? More fucked up. He should be dead by now.
He lifted one eyelid slightly to look down at his leg. The flight suit was shredded from the knee down, exposing a calf that resembled chopped steak. It hadn’t bled much, which was weird. Damn things must have some kind of coagulant in their saliva—to keep their meat alive and fresh. He coughed a little, then twitched and came to full alert, remembering he wasn’t supposed to make a sound.
He was lucky that there’d been some kind of epic battle going on in the hallway that drowned out the sound of him killing that little son of a bitch. Sound drew them.
Above all, he had to stay as quiet as possible. It was the only way. So, no sleeping, no groaning, no whining. No anything. Just hanging on.
The urge to scream profanity was strong, but he held back, barely. Something inside him kinda wanted it all to just be over. If he couldn’t go out fighting, at least maybe he could go out raging like a lunatic.
Goddamn mother-fuckers. He was not an all-you-can-eat sushi bar.
He felt kind of feverish and light-headed. There was no telling what kind of germs those bastards had left on him and no way to clean the wound. He had nothing left. He’d lost everything except his gun and even that had precious few bullets left.
How many? One? Two?
He was too tired to check. He was loath to use it anyway. The noise created more problems than it solved.
His head sunk to his chest. He jerked himself awake and blinked owlishly, trying to remember the last thread of thought he’d been meandering down before he’d drifted off.
He’d given up hope that Walsh and the others would come back for him. They’d already pushed off. They’d spend months drifting toward Mars and if they weren’t all zombies by the time they got there, they’d touch down, connect the two capsules and hunker down to wait for the launch window to open to head for home. They’d have a year to explain to Houston via radio what had happened. Houston, without a doubt, was going to send Bravo to blow this shit up. And good riddance.
He was just hanging out in this tomb, waiting to kick it. The only thing keeping him from cracking up completely was the hope that maybe…maybe Jane was still alive.
Walsh released the back of his flight suit and Alan spun around angrily, getting in Walsh’s face. “We have to go after her.”
Walsh eyed him steadily. “How do you propose we do that?”
“We—we—fuck! What the fuck just happened?” Alan swung around, hand raising to the back of his neck, gripping hard, thoughts racing through every possibility. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Gibbs and Ajaya approached them slowly. The animals were clawing and scrabbling and hissing on the other side of the door.
Ajaya spoke up, “We should explore the room, see if there’s anything here we can use.”
Walsh nodded solemnly. “Agreed. Spread out—but maintain visual contact.”
Gibbs’ gaze darted from person to person. “We’re not going to talk about what just happened? That wasn’t Tom Compton….”
Ajaya’s eyes were glassy. “Clearly not.”
Gibbs went on, his expression stricken, “I mean, it was his body, I know…but….” He trailed off and turned a pleading gaze on Ajaya. “Do you have any theories as to what or how?”
Ajaya looked pained. “I’ve no idea. This is so beyond the realm of human medical science, Ronald.”
She wouldn’t say what they were all thinking—that the alien had wanted Jane for something from the start. Now it had her and Compton, both.
Walsh ground out, “At this point, it doesn’t matter how, or even why. It’s getting its rocks off watching us spin our wheels. We just have to get the hell out of here.”
The sounds from the hall amplified suddenly. There was a cacophony of thuds, unearthly screams, and strident hisses. They all turned toward the door. Alan half expected it to open—or for something to break through it.
Ajaya crossed quickly to put her hand over the door control, ready to shut it again if one of the animals got lucky and tapped the right spot outside.
Something large slammed against the other side of the door, shaking it. Ajaya flinched. Walsh stepped between her and the door, pistol ready in one hand, tank in the other. Alan and Gibbs joined him. They stood, shoulder to shoulder, waiting.
The enraged and agonized shrieks from the other side of the door reached a deafening zenith. Alan glanced at the others, psyching himself up for the next onslaught that he knew was likely to be the end.