Jaycee’s heart erupted with anger.
Samantha to turned from an exquisite angel into a selfish harridan in Jaycee’s eyes. It only took ninety seconds.
“God, I’m so sorry, Jaycee. The news must have broke his heart. But, please, you have to see it from my point of view—”
Jaycee scrunched his face and turned away, happy that the woman wasn’t in the room with him.
“Bitch.”
“—You spend close to five years without hearing a damn word,” she screamed, scaring Rogan from her arms, “And then Viddy Media goes wild with speculation. Tripp and the crew disappears. No oxygen. I’m sorry. I swear to you, Jaycee, we thought you were all dead—”
KER-SMASSSSHHH!
Jaycee‘s fist flew through the screen. The plastic exploded around his wrist as his elbow went through the frame. Samantha’s image frazzled and froze on the spot around his forearm.
He wrenched his arm out and flung away with the transparent debris. The noise slapped Tripp out of his slumber.
“Wh-what’s g-going on?” Tripp yelped. He shifted in his chair and grabbed the armrests, “What happened?”
Orange sparks and a thick, black smog drifted away from the smashed screen.
“Technical problems.”
“What did the screen do to you?”
“Ah,” Jaycee walked to the door and did his best to change the conservation, “It looked at me the wrong way. You know my temper. What do you remember?”
Tripp blinked and stood up from the chair, recollecting what had happened, “I, uh, tried to call home. Waited ages for the connection.”
“Okay. What else?”
Tripp’s face lit up with joy, “I never got to say anything. But I saw my wife and son’s face again.”
“Did you speak to them, though?”
“No, the connection must have gone down—”
“—You didn’t speak to them?” Jaycee reaffirmed, once and for all.
“No. Everything went dark.”
Jaycee held Tripp’s shoulder and took a deep breath, “Listen, don’t try to contact home until we get home. Okay?”
“Okay,” Tripp looked up at him with dogged, innocent eyes, “Why?”
“You trust me, don’t you?”
Tripp pointed at the smashed screen, “Of course I do. But can’t I just—”
“—Then just trust me on this, Healy. You know your family are alive and healthy. They know you’re alive. That’s all you need. Promise me you’ll drop it.”
“Okay? I promise.”
“Good,” Jaycee walked out of the quarters, leaving a thoroughly confused Tripp – and smoldering N-GAGE screen – in his wake.
Jaycee stormed along the walkway in a fit of rage. He thumped the walls a little too hard, “I swear to God, someone hand me USARIC on a plate and I’ll eat them for breakfast.”
He tried to calm himself down.
It was no use taking his frustration out on the ship, despite the fact that it belonged to a company that Jaycee perceived to be the enemy.
The USARIC logo angered him further.
Just thinking the Healy family revelation threatened to push him over the edge.
No sooner had Jaycee caught his breath than he heard a retching sound at the far end of the corridor.
BWUCK-BWUCK-KROITCH.
He lifted his head up and tried his luck, “Who’s there?”
No response.
The noises stopped. Jaycee knew he wasn’t hearing things.
“Ugghhhh,” came a very familiar voice, spluttering in pain, “I d-don’t feel too well.”
The voice waded down the corridor. It sounded like it belonged to Tor.
“Rabinovich? Is that you?”
Jaycee sprinted around the corner and skidded on his heels. He went for the Rez-9 on his belt, “Christ, Rabinovich. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Tor doubled-over the staircase rail and coughed up some bile.
SPLOT-SPLISH.
The pink liquid splattered against the floor a few levels down.
“Guuuuh,” Tor pushed his top half away from the railing and threw his head back, “Must have been the hyper-sleep. I really don’t feel too good.”
“Come here. Let me look at you,” Jaycee held the man’s face in his hands, “Show me your eyes.”
His thumbs pressed against Tor’s forehead and lifted his eyelids up.
Tiny streaks from Tor’s bloodshot eyes snaked across the whites of his eyes.
“You’re definitely ill. Where were you going?”
“R and R,” Tor said. “Get some water. Maybe have a lie down.”
“That’s a good idea. We need you fit for when Charlie docks with us.”
Tor hyperventilated in Jaycee’s arms and pushed himself away.
“Th-they’re c-coming to t-take us—”
Tor projectile vomited on Jaycee’s exo-suit.
“Ugh, that’s gross,” Jaycee bopped Tor on his shoulders with disgust, “Really?”
Tor spat a mound of pink liquid to the floor. He hugged himself and shivered up a storm, “I’m s-sorry, J-Jaycee,” he sniggered through his illness, silently happy that he’d taken some form of revenge on the man.
Jaycee didn’t spot Tor’s semi-delight, putting his puking down to a spell of extreme misfortune.
He scooped up the puke and flung it to the ground, “You know, not many people vomit on me and get away with it.”
Jaycee looked at the shuddering man buckled before him. He ran through the events of the past few days and, for the first time in their relationship, took pity on him.
“I’ll look the other way on this,” Jaycee cleared his throat and pointed at the staircase, “Be careful you don’t fall down the stairs on your way to R and R.”
“Yuh-yuh,” Tripp nodded and leaned against the railing.
GRUMBLE… BLUCK…
“Ooophhh,” Tor bent over and clutched his rumbling stomach, “Th-thanks, Jaycee.”
“I’m going to check up on Jelly and Wool. I’d stay near the bathroom if I were you.”
“That damn c-cat,” Tor grabbed the railing and staggered down the step, almost losing his footing, “She c-can’t be t-trusted, you know. She has a k-killer instinct. She’s b-bigger than us, n-now.”
Jaycee watched as Tor made his awkward and painful descent down the staircase.
He shook his head and moved away, muttering to himself, “The grass ain’t always greener, I guess.”
Jaycee entered Medix and saw Jelly sitting crossed-legged on her bed. Wool knelt behind her and brushed the cat’s hair with the golden comb.
“Yes, Jaycee?” Jelly waited for a reaction. “Are you getting ready to take out the trash?”
“Huh?”
Jelly smiled at him and pulled her head forward as Wool brushed her hair back.
Jaycee gripped the door frame, “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you two were—”
“—What do you want?”
He covered the vomit marks on his exo-suit chest plate with his gloves.
“Just to tell you that Charlie is about to dock. Tripp wants us all ready to disembark.”
Wool watched the teeth of the comb slide through Jelly’s bountiful orange hair. Every knot that burst apart filled her with delight and distanced the stench of bile that had entered the room.
“What’s that smell?” Wool asked.
“It’s him,” Jelly flapped her tail and lifted an infinity claw at Jaycee, “He smells of sick.”
“Really?” Wool asked. “Have you been throwing up?”
“No, it wasn’t me—”
“—Can you leave us alone for a while, please,” Wool returned to Jelly’s hair.
“I’ll be on at control if you need me. Sorry, again,” Jaycee stepped into the corridor and let the door to slide shut behind him.