Event Horizon, page 4
"Looking for work."
"Okay." Margo stood and placed her empty bowl in the sink. The faucet automatically turned on and filled the bowl with warm water. Donovan did the same with his bowl. He coughed twice but didn't seem to care.
"Is that all?" Dakota asked, following her movements. He hated when people asked him about his past, having to always hide his true identity. He had run away several times for that reason alone.
"Do you have more to say?" asked Margo, looking over her shoulder. Her expression and tone of voice were neutral. Not hostile, not friendly.
Dakota shook his head.
"Then, yeah. That's all."
Dakota left the table and went down the hall towards his room. He heard Margo say something to Donovan. His name was implied. Only onboard for three days, and they were already suspicious of him. It would not do him any good to get caught eavesdropping, so he hurried along. He paused next to Eli's room and heard a one-sided conversation. He must be recording a message. Probably to Katia, whoever she was.
He opened his door when Cass called out to him. He turned and saw that her door was open. She sat on the bed with a book in one hand. Piles of paperback books were stacked on the desk and side table. An eclectic mix of space westerns, biographies, and philosophy, judging by the titles. She motioned for him to come closer.
"Hey, sorry about that. Hugo and Eli aren't usually like this," she apologized.
"People argue. It's nothing I haven't seen before." Once, while Dakota was living in a children's home, one boy accused another of stealing his homework and copying it. The other boy denied it, but of course it did not stop there. They argued about it for weeks. And getting the same grades exacerbated it. Meal times were the worst, with the other children egging them on. The arguments finally erupted into a fistfight, leaving one boy with a broken arm and the other with a busted nose and a black eye. "The war has been getting to people's heads."
"Yeah." Cass sighed and looked at her book. "I wish it would just end and everything go back to normal."
Dakota turned to leave, but then asked, "Which side are you on? I'm just curious."
"Honestly, the Dissenters. Things on my homeworld have been getting worse the last couple of years. And Novatera is responsible for most of it. My uncle works for the local newspaper, and he says that half of what's written is censured by Novateran officials."
"Censorship?" Dakota had not noticed any censorship. Then again, he'd been avoiding the news as much as possible. "Are they allowed to do that?"
Cass crossed her arms and said, "No. And Novatera isn't technically allowed to be on Valkyrie. We have some rare minerals and an embassy in the capital, but there's no real reason for them to be there. And they wonder why we dissented. Like it's some big mystery." She sighed and added, "I'm just worried. My whole family is down there. I just want them to be safe."
"You're also worried because your younger brother Gabriel wants to be a writer, and people are mad about his articles even though they're for a school newspaper."
Cass smiled and said, "Nothing stops Gabe from speaking his mind." She paused, a perplexed look in her eyes. "I don't remember telling you his name. Or that I have a brother."
Cold sweat broke out on Dakota's forehead. He spied Uriel standing next to Cass. The guardian warned him, "You should think before you speak. Cassiopeia never told you about her brother. You saw that image in her head."
"Really?" Dakota asked her. Images flashed in his mind. A boy, no older than fifteen, with curly black hair and dark skin, sitting at a desk. Writing when he ought to be doing his economics homework. The boy explaining to him... No, not to him. To Cass. Explaining to Cass his plans to become a great writer. Valkyrie City University has an amazing writing program, and... Dakota blinked the images away. "I thought you did," he told Cass. "Maybe I overheard you talking to someone else?"
Cass shrugged, not fully convinced. "I guess. Must be a mental lapse," she added with a smile.
"Probably."
"And again, I'm sorry about earlier."
"It's nothing," he replied, though the idea of being caught between two arguing people still bothered him. Dakota walked out of her room and stopped in the middle of the hall. He turned back and said, "I have a quick question. Who is..?" He paused. Without thinking, he said, "Tell Donovan he needs a doctor."
"What?"
"Donovan's sick. He needs a doctor. It's his lungs. His lungs are filling with fluid. He needs to see a doctor."
"Um, okay. How do you know this?" Cass asked as she slid off the bed and slowly walked closer to him.
"I don't know." Dakota shook his head and placed a hand on his forehand. The skin was cold and damp. Why did he say that out loud? "I saw him coughing earlier. Maybe he's sick?"
"If you say so. Are you feeling all right?" Cass studied him.
"Yes, I'm fine. I have to go." Dakota fled from Cass's room, bounding across the hallway in two steps, and locked his door. He wiped sweat from his forehead and sat down on the bed. He glanced at the floor and felt instant vertigo. The floor rising up to meet him and falling away in the space of a few seconds. He looked up and saw Uriel sitting at the desk.
"Why does this keep happening to me?" he questioned the guardian, knowing he would not get a simple answer. He had been forced to leave four jobs on Hellespont because he had told either his co-workers or boss more than he should have. Things that he should not have known. Personal details, random memories.
He had the luxury of running away. Leaving in the middle of the night when no one was looking. But now, he was trapped on a craft in the middle of space with nowhere to run.
6
Appointment in Troia
The Event Horizon landed on Troia without any problems or delays. The town of Saluda was smaller than the ones they usually worked, but it was plenty large enough to conduct business.
As Donovan lowered the ramp, a crisp, refreshing breeze rushed by his face. He breathed deeply, glad to once again be surrounded by natural air. More arguments had plagued the last two days, most of them between the brothers. Donovan had known them for years, and sure they had their differences, but he'd never seen Hugo and Eli like this. Last night, he was certain they would come to blows, but Margo, thankfully, broke it up in time. And what had caused this argument? Eli wasn't paying attention when Hugo asked him a question, and the elder brother misinterpreted it as a slight.
Donovan moved towards the end of the ramp, allowing everyone else to exit. They had decided that Margo and Hugo would conduct business in town, while he and Cass taught Nate the basics of the transport business. In short, how to convince people to use their services, which tended to be transporting crates full of goods and sometimes people to another planet. Donovan still did not have a read on the new kid. But if he could read body language the way he did on Hellespont, he'd be worth his weight in rare minerals. Even if he was a spy. Donovan had some misgivings about that theory.
"We'll be gone for three, maybe four hours," said Margo as she met him at the base of the ramp. Hugo kept on walking, putting as much distance between himself and Eli as possible. "Everyone make sure to be back here by then," she informed the rest of the crew.
"How long will we stay on-world?" asked Eli.
"We might spend the night. More likely, we'll leave as soon as the power cells are recharged." The power cells were charged via a combination of geothermal energy and solar power. On average, the charge held for a week. With properly installed backups, the cells could last another three days. The moment a craft docked in a spaceport, it was connected to the city's power grid. Medium-sized crafts, like Event Horizon, only needed six hours for a maximum charge.
Eli left without another word and headed towards the spaceport exit. That was for the best. They did not need him and Hugo making a scene in view of port security. Margo and Hugo then went about their business, walking towards the town center. Two kilometers away, according to the maps.
"Are you okay?" Cass asked Nate. He shuffled from foot to foot and nodded. He kept glancing Donovan's way, but never said a word. He looked paler than he did back on Hellespont. Probably nerves getting to him. But did he have to keep looking at Donovan every five seconds?
"Hey, Nate, this job is a lot easier when we talk to each other," said Donovan, stepping closer. He meant to be intimidating, but he was only an inch taller than Nate, so some of the effect was lost. He was, however, more muscular than the skinny kid. "So talk to me. Do you have anything to say?"
"He's just nervous," Cass defended him. Donovan ignored her.
"What do you have to say, Nate?"
Nate averted his eyes. "You're sick."
"Really?" Donovan smirked, thinking it was a joke. Nate trying to push his buttons. "Sick in the head or—"
"Lungs. There's something wrong with your lungs. You need to see a doctor now," he blurted out. Nate stared at the ground, trembling all over.
Donovan exchanged a glance with Cass. She seemed nervous, too, with a hint of confusion in her eyes. He asked her, "Do you know what he's talking about?"
"He noticed you were coughing some. He's just worried that you're sick."
"I'm flattered," Donovan said sarcastically. All this for a freaking cough?
"You're really sick," Nate continued. "The coughing is just a symptom. You need to see a doctor right now."
Donovan rolled his eyes. He hadn't been sick since he was a kid. And sure, he was coughing some, but it was winter. People tended to cough more during winter. Although, some of those coughs were kinda painful, and he did have a headache yesterday morning. But living in the same craft with Hugo Carnaki could do that to a person. He told Nate, "We're in the middle of a job. Even if I am sick, I can't just waltz into a doctor's office. Just worry about yourself and do your job."
"Well..." Cass began, looking up at him with her soft, brown eyes. The same look she always gave him when she wanted to ask him for a favor.
"Well, what?"
"Maybe you should go. Just to make sure."
"Come on, Cass. You can't be serious."
"You have been coughing a lot lately. And it's getting worse. Don't act like you haven't notice. I can stay here with Nate. It's not like I haven't watched the craft by myself before."
Donovan studied Cass and then Nate. The kid looked from one thing to the next, not spending more than a second looking at any one thing in particular. He seemed like he was going to pass out. Sweat coated his forehead, even though it was only forty degrees outside. All this because he suspected Donovan was sick? He sighed and told Cass, "For you. I'll go to the doctor for you. But not a word to the others, got it?"
"Got it," she smiled.
Donovan walked over to the spaceport control building and asked the first official he saw for directions. The nearest free clinic was only three kilometers away, but it was usually crowded this time of day. Donovan decided that if it was packed, he would mill around town for an hour and say he got checked out. Nate and Cass would think everything was fine and stop worrying.
As he approached the building, he looked through the window and saw that the waiting area was empty. Nobody sat behind the front desk. Maybe they were closed. Donovan tried the door, and a bell chimed as it opened. He stepped inside, looking around the rows of pale blue seats. When was the last time he visited the doctor? Five or six years, at least. Doctors’ offices always gave him the creeps. The feeling that he would walk in and never walk out again.
"Do you need any help, sir?" asked the receptionist, appearing from an inner door. Her scrubs had a floral pattern and butterflies along the sleeves, and her auburn hair was tied up in a bun.
Donovan repressed a laugh. No one ever referred to him as "sir". Especially not when he was wearing a faded jacket and pants with a ragged hole over one knee. Repressing the laugh triggered a coughing fit. Each cough racked his body. Sharp pains, like red-hot needles, radiated from his lungs. He pulled his hand away from his mouth. The palm was coated in a sticky mucus with small, red droplets. The right side of his chest ached like someone had kicked him in the ribs.
"Yeah, I need to see the doctor," he replied, staring at the red droplets. Blood. He had coughed up blood. How sick do you have to be to cough up blood?
The receptionist, not the least bit fazed by coughing or bodily fluids, handed him a clipboard with a pen. "Fill this out, and the doctor will see you shortly."
Steadying himself, Donovan did as instructed. Ten minutes later, he was escorted into an empty examination room. He took off his jacket and placed it on the raised cot. A doctor, an older man with slate gray hair and wearing the ubiquitous white coat, entered.
"Hello, I'm Dr. Engstrom. You came in today complaining of coughing and chest pain?"
"Yeah, and I coughed up blood. Well, some blood. In the mucus." Donovan balled his hands into fists, the fingernails digging into the palms, forcing himself to calm down.
"I see. Please, take a seat." Dr. Engstrom motioned towards the cot.
Donovan sat down. Taking out a stethoscope, he asked Donovan to inhale and exhale several times. The metal end of the stethoscope felt like ice. Why the hell didn't they warm those things up beforehand?
The doctor muttered to himself under his breath as he wrote notations on his chart. Donovan wished the man would either speak louder or be quiet. None of that muttering nonsense.
A nurse entered the room. She rubbed an alcohol swab over Donovan's arm.
"What are you doing?" he asked. The area in question was right over a vein.
"We need to take a blood sample," she explained. "Standard procedure."
Donovan winced as the needle punctured his skin. Ten seconds later, the needle was removed, and the nurse left with a tube full of his blood. So eerie.
"When did you first notice your symptoms, Mr. Day?" the doctor asked, folding his arms behind his back.
"A couple days ago, maybe. It was just a cough, so I didn't really notice."
"Any symptoms other than coughing? Fever, chills, headache?"
"I had a headache yesterday. But not too bad." Donovan's heart sank as Engstrom made a notation on his chart. How sick am I? And how did Nate know?
"Your test results will be ready in a few minutes. Feel free to rest in the meantime." Engstrom left the room, the door closing without a sound.
Donovan paced around the small room. Feel free to rest. As if that was even a possibility! Was something really wrong with him? If it was just a cough, the doctor would have said so in five seconds. But they ran all those tests. And that expression on the doctor's face as he monitored Donovan's breathing. The man didn't have to say a word. That look of concern said everything. So how could he not have noticed? And more importantly, how did Nate know?
The door opened and Dr. Engstrom walked in, a cautious smile on his face. "Okay, Mr. Day," he said, glancing down at the medical chart. "The results show that you have pleurisy, but don't worry. We caught it early."
"Pleurisy? What the hell is that?"
"It's an inflammation of the inner tissue of the lungs. In your case, it isn't serious. But if you had waited, you could have ended up in the hospital."
"How much longer?" Donovan yelled. He took two deep breaths and said, "I mean, to end up in the hospital?"
The doctor looked over the results. "In your case, one week, maybe two. You were right to come in when you did."
"Yeah..." Right to come in when he did, huh? What were the odds?
Engstrom handed him a white paper bag with a small, cylindrical container inside. "Here is your prescription. Take one pill twice a day after a meal for one week. It should be cleared up by then."
"How the hell?" Donovan thought aloud. That kid had been right. Perhaps he had some medical training and recognized the symptoms. But that didn't quite add up. Nate said he was nineteen. Too young to have attended medical school or completed university. Then again, plenty of people looked younger than their actual age. That could explain it. Or maybe Hugo's right. Maybe Nate is some kind of spy. It still sounded ridiculous.
"You probably picked up an infection, a mild case of the flu that went unnoticed," explained the doctor.
"What? I mean, yeah, probably."
"What do you do for a living, Mr. Day?" he asked, folding his arms at the wrists.
"I work on a transport craft."
"Then you likely picked up the infection, and the ventilated air exacerbated it. And it might not hurt if the other crew members get checked out as well. Take care now," said Engstrom as he left the room.
Donovan shoved the prescription bag into his jacket pocket and left the clinic. He wondered if he should tell Margo about this incident. Popping pills after each meal would not go unnoticed, not by her. That would lead to her asking questions. Half-truths might not suffice this time.
***
Dakota observed Cass as she interacted with a client. The client, a short man with thinning hair and dressed in a well-tailored suit, asked where the craft was heading next. Cass replied Zeta II, if plans had not changed. The client then shook her hand, giving her a memory stick, which she quickly placed in her back pocket.
"Is the information need to know?" she asked the client.
"Yes," replied the nameless man. "And tell your boss that the information must only be viewed by the person whose name is written on that stick. Understood?"
"Perfectly."
The man walked away, heading towards the craft at the opposite end of the port. Dakota had no doubt the man carried more than one memory stick.
"I thought this job was mostly moving cargo," Dakota said to her once the man was well out of earshot.
"That's traditionally what it is," Cass replied, moving up the ramp. Dakota followed her.
"Will we ever transport goods?"
"These are goods," she said, removing the memory stick from her pocket. She waved it in front of him and pocketed it again.
"I meant crates. Supplies, tools, those sorts of things."
"We did that more before—"
