Blue Shift Protocol, page 22
He shouted for help but ran out of strength. His legs barely cooperated. He stumbled to the tiny sink and drank some water before returning to the door. There he leaned and listened.
The station breathed. From his observations, the cell was in the basement of the security block in Ring One. While there were only a few temporary apartments in this section of the station, the place was never this quiet.
Had the infection spread everywhere? How was that possible? Even a flu bug took a month to make its rounds.
Something clattered in the hallway beyond. The solid door had a tiny window and it was impossible to see anything. Brushing sounds. Someone sweeping.
“Hey? Hey!” Trenton called.
The sound stopped.
He called again and smacked the door with his hand. “I need help!”
“Not supposed to talk to you,” a small voice said.
“Is there anyone from station security around?”
“...no.”
“Okay. They’re probably busy with everything going on. But this is an emergency. The people who locked me in here aren’t Nexus cops. You saw them?”
“...yes.”
“We both know they don’t have authority here on Ring One. The sheriff and his department do. The sworn security teams have arresting powers and not Meridian, right? They’ve left me locked up with no call to my union rep. That’s not right, is it?” When a moment passed without an answer, he tried his best to sound calm. “What’s your name?”
“Ira.”
“Maintenance staff, right? I couldn’t do my job without you. By the way, I’m Trenton. I’m the tool pusher on the Nightingale. You know the ship?”
“...yes.”
“I thought you would have. We’re a good crew, a tough bunch of spacers, and we’re Nexus proud, born and bred. I’ll bet you are too.” No reply. Trenton kept going. “My ship and crew are in trouble. I came back here with a pilot to get help. Those Meridian people jumped me and put me here. That’s it. That’s what happened. So my crew—my friends—are counting on me to save them. I can’t do that locked in here, Ira.”
“...this is a trick.”
Trenton sighed. “You can look up the ship roster and my name. We’re scheduled to return after a long mission bringing those big rocks here. If you can’t let me out, go get someone who can. The sheriff’s people, Ira. This can’t wait. There’s a sick crew who needs help.”
“You shouldn’t have brought the rocks.”
Footsteps ran away.
“Ira? Ira! Come back.”
But no one returned and the hallway remained silent.
IRA DIDN’T RETURN.
Aboard the Nightingale, he could tell shifts by listening. Which footsteps in the corridor, which crewmember getting in and out of which bunk, the showers and toilets, the hum of mess appliances.
Here in the cell, it remained deathly quiet. As if no living creature remained inside the Ring One security building. His ears were playing tricks. Had to be. Or the cell was unusually well-insulated. Because the alternative meant...
Trenton didn’t want to think about it. Couldn’t help it. He was alone.
He had his fill of water. His throat remained raw after shouting for Ira to come back or for anyone to help him. His strength gave out. The gnawing ache in his stomach made doing anything but lying on his side onerous.
He’d starve to death, assuming some other catastrophic failure didn’t bring things on the station to a grinding halt.
At least if he had stayed on the Nightingale, there’d be a view, he thought grimly.
The dreams and voices stopped. As if he had achieved clarity, a final sane notion that the events of the past weeks had all been in his head. Nothing explained him about to die in a dungeon. Perhaps the cell too was an illusion. But arguing reality had to make sense was too exhausting.
The light flickered on. The door slot opened and a food tray appeared.
A pile of noodles and greens, a few slabs of gray protein, mixed veggies, and a cup of juice.
His head spun as he sat up. “Hello?”
The slot closed, leaving the tray on the shelf inside the door. He wobbled as he approached and was instantly fearful of spilling everything as he grabbed the tray. He made it to the cot before tearing in. Chewing and swallowing, he barely tasted the food as he stuffed his mouth. His body shuddered with relief in anticipation of nourishment.
His nose caught the unmistakable aroma of basil and thyme. The julienned carrots and zucchini were sliced perfectly, beyond the ability of a security house’s printer. A dandelion garnished the protein slabs, along with a generous sprinkling of salt and ground black pepper.
He nearly choked. “Nikki?”
“Salty as shit, with enough pepper to pollute an industrial air filter. Just as you used to like it.”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Is that really you?”
“Remember how we used to make fun of dumb characters in the vids when they asked stupid questions?”
“How are you here?”
“The stem between rings is still open despite everything. Eat up while it’s hot.”
“I made it back on Nightingale. The crew’s in trouble. What’s going on out there?”
When she didn’t immediately answer, he feared Nikki and the food would evaporate like smoke.
“Nexus station’s in an upheaval. People are sick. Everything that happened to your ship is happening here.”
“You have to get me out of this place.”
“First, eat and then we talk.”
A cold hand gripped his entrails. But he didn’t want to spook her. And if this was another voice haunting his brain—his fourth, alongside the inspector, the mysterious philosopher, and Saanvi—it might as well be his favorite person.
“Okay. I’m listening. You’re not here to rescue me, are you?”
“Straight to the point. I miss this. I have the keycard to your cell with me. Executive Goodhope’s people have, if nothing else, been organized. I suppose Meridian corpos hatch that way. Sorry. Bad joke and you have concerns.”
“The rest of the crew. They’re in trouble.”
“They’re not. I’ve checked. They’re well cared for aboard the Dragonfly. Some will continue on and help where they can. And the others will move on to something better.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. I need you to be honest. Not with me, but with yourself. We’re forging forward into something new here. It’s been in the works for longer than you can imagine.”
“Explain.”
Nikki laughed. “What do you think you’re dealing with here? Aliens? Bug-eyed monsters? We joke about space sickness when it’s nothing more than ordinary anxiety, spatial disorders, and sensory deprivation. Why do you think I wound down post-mission with my plants?”
“You said this was in the works. Enlighten me. Nexus has been around longer than either of us.”
“About as long as the colony mission. The first Gardeners used to be innovative scientists. They worked with Meridian when the corporation still had a few souls with imagination and vision. Together, they developed a strain of eukaryotic organism that would allow us as a species to truly move to the stars. The earliest prototype strain was secretly sent out with the colony mission. Imagine the surprise when their microbiologists flying into deep space succeeded where we failed. Mycelial networking that also superseded our best attempts at consciousness interfacing.”
“We’re dying because of mushrooms?”
Her voice grew sharp. “We’re not dying. This station was built as a stepping-off point. She was never meant to be a permanent home or a destination in itself. The one thing Meridian was good for was getting projects launched. Their time in our endeavor is nearing its end. Another tool they brought to the table was the top-down view of a ruthless manager. Projects need a competent head and capable hands. Just like you run your ship.”
“I’m no officer.”
“You’re as important. Maybe more so. Without someone like you , the whole thing...”
A thickness formed in his head. His meal threatened to come back up. The cell spun.
“...falls apart,” she continued. “It’s one thing the corporation will never get behind. A decentralized series of connections. Touching and feeling and never requiring a rules-based mindset. Love. Imagine putting love on a boardroom agenda.”
Trenton cast the tray of food aside and sank onto the bench. “What did you give me?”
“Unlike Meridian, I don’t feel we need to shelve anyone who doesn’t fully align with our priorities. Especially those whom we have affection for when they still can play a part.”
He rose, stumbled, and collided with the door. Slapped at it. “Nikki, don’t...don’t do this.”
“Sleep now. Next comes the beautiful part.”
Chapter Forty-One
Moving backwards.
Trenton’s dangling hand kept bumping the ground. Every so often, someone would pull him up to straighten him, but his limp frame wasn’t cooperating. The too-small wheelchair pinched his bottom but he couldn’t adjust himself.
Lights flickered above him. More off than on. Still, they hurt his eyes. In this section of the station, the darkness was winning.
Up a ramp, he was pushed through a bulkhead passageway. Vines drooped from planter boxes mounted above on the station’s interior bracing.
The Gardener district’s work entrance.
The bulb shining on the signs near the delivery terminal remained lit. No Suits Allowed. Organic Minds Beyond This Point. Dirty Hoes Welcome!
Bump-bump-bump. The polymer walkway gave way to smooth concrete, which quickly became rough, uneven ground. Gravel, dirt, and ruts along the path made for a jolting ride.
When he tried to speak, it came out as a string of vowels.
“Easy there, partner,” his wheelchair pusher said. “You relax now. Nikki wants you comfortable and happy.”
They navigated the industrial-sized planter beds and headed towards the research greenhouses. Signs warned of a controlled environment and directed authorized visitors to keep IDs visible before entering the UV sterilization booth at the entrance to the facility. The highest security of anything within the Gardener’s sector.
The few times Trenton had passed through, it had been under escort while doing an unofficial emergency repair for Nikki.
Food, like air and water, was a prime target for Meridian sympathizer sabotage during the first years of independence.
His escort punched in a security code and a door swooshed open. Warm, humid air struck Trenton’s face. They spent a moment getting irradiated in the UV booth before it let them pass through. An eerie green light burned in the fixtures above. Yet he couldn’t focus to get a good look at the setup as he was brought through a curtain of vinyl strips into an even darker chamber.
A musty, earthen aroma greeted him. A pair of workers in tank tops and shorts moved about near a wall of pulsing black. Condensation dripped from above onto him. Here, the lights shone brown.
The Gardener set the brakes on the wheelchair. Patted Trenton on the shoulder. “It’s a thing of beauty, ain’t she?”
With a final sigh, it was as if the man vanished. The pair of workers drifted into the deeper shadows, leaving him alone. He pushed to straighten himself, but his muscles continued to fail him.
A rustle of voices spoke from somewhere and nowhere. Like a weak signal from a dying radio or a muffled conversation from the floor above. Not the inspector. He was there somewhere, hiding in silence. Nor was this the second voice, that of the ancient teacher or philosopher. And definitely not Saanvi.
Here spoke multitudes. Mothers and fathers. Teachers and scientists. Inventors and bright minds reveling in giddy collaboration with one another.
Won’t you come too?
No, he couldn’t. Even if he wanted to.
A deep and restrained current groaned beneath it all. Restrained, patient, with the entrenched practicality of spacers about to step off on a voyage from which they wouldn’t survive to see their destination.
The colony crew.
The realization swept through his brain like an electric current.
This room and the wall of growth were a tomb of echoes.
If this were a living record, who did it serve? If it perpetuated the memories of a few hundred, how many more didn’t make the cut?
There was a grim practicality to it. His own work went unnoticed unless something broke. Colonists needed ideals to season their fatalism. Acceptance without despair. A gift box of hydrazine, bound in a bow, with the blessings of a grateful populace.
How old was the wall?
Considering the planning and resources involved in building the Gardener’s zone and the secure greenhouses, the project predated the completion of the station.
Meridian approved.
Faint laughter. The passing thought amused the black wall. If the project’s existence was a source of humor, then who was the butt of the joke? Trenton held a vague suspicion. Were any of the mid-level executives who had acted as barons and feudal lords before the uprising preserved within the swarm of consciousnesses? Doubtful.
And who else didn’t make the cut within Nikki’s paradise?
For this thing to stand, the Nightingale and its crew had been offered up. As had everyone on Nexus Station.
The obscenity of the wall struck him like a slap.
He bristled as a Gardener appeared next to him, staring up at the wall as if in awe. It struck Trenton as false. Like the breathy, orgasmic gasps from station execs when Meridian unveiled another bland inspirational art piece for the corporate gallery.
The worker rubbed at the sores on her arms. Her body shuddered. Was she crying?
Tears of joy, so she believed.
She likely thought she’d make the cut. He’d spit if he could.
Nikki was there too and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Decades indeed,” she said, as if knowing his thoughts. “Now let’s go get you changed into something more comfortable.”
WARM LAMPLIGHT, THE scent of mint, and soft cushions beneath him.
He was inside Nikki’s place. She moved about in the tiny kitchen, grabbing things from the pantry. He didn’t recall getting there. Time skip or more drugs?
His stiff flight suit had been replaced with soft linen. Nikki called them Gardener PJs.
“Why am I here?”
“You’d rather be back in the cell? Of course not. Rest. Once you get some strength back, we’ll get you washed up.”
“I don’t need a shower. The crew...”
“Yes, you made yourself clear. I put the word out. They’re being cared for.”
“What does that even mean?”
She placed a mug of herbal tea on the table next to him. “You understand what’s happening now. We don’t have to go over it again. Your being here feels right to me. And the others agree. We have work. You still have things to learn before understanding your role. For now, be patient.”
Gripping the armrests, he sat up. His tongue was pasty. But the tea felt like another trap. As he rose to his feet, he placed a hand on the back of the chair to steady himself.
Nikki cut up plums. “Don’t fall and hurt yourself.”
“Am I a prisoner?”
“Of course not. But the station isn’t safe to go wandering. There’s a lot happening and our neighborhood is the only zone I’d trust right now.”
“And what about everyone else?”
“We’ll get to that. Now put your bottom back in the chair before you keel over.”
The front door and back slider were both a short hobble away. But then what? If she let him go, how far would he make it?
A stomach-churning odor wafted from the hallway. Like sour compost, but a thousand times worse. The lights were off. He flicked the switch to the hall light but the fixture remained dead. Using the walls to support himself, he approached the bedroom.
Jamie, Nikki’s new husband, lay on the bed. His skin looked leathery and wrapped tight against his bones. His mouth hung open, revealing teeth. And his lifeless eyes stared up at nothing.
Trenton covered his nose and retreated. Nikki caught him and led him back to the living room. He pushed away from her. She let go and he collapsed on the floor.
“He’s...”
“Gone, I’m afraid. For Jamie, it was a hard adjustment.”
When she tried to help him up, he swatted her hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Fine. Stay on the carpet. Like I said, there’s a lot happening. I didn’t take you for the squeamish type.”
“How many thousands are dying right now to your experiment?”
“When our fathers, mothers, and grandparents signed up for the colony or for service here, they knew this was a stepping stone. I won’t revisit the tired moral arguments of one generation making choices for the ones that follow. You think any of our ancestors balked at boarding a one-way ocean vessel or crossing a land bridge to a new world?”
“Parents choosing for their children differs from poisoning anyone that doesn’t fit into your new future.”
“We’re all children compared to what the Wall is now and what it will become. We’re fledglings impatient to leave the nest. As they accelerated away from Sol, the scientists on the colony project recognized early on the impracticality of the endeavor. And when their Wall germinated and prospered into maturity like ours, we fully understood what was possible. One flock, even across billions of kilometers.”
Her wrist device chirped. She scowled as she read the message. “I’ll need to leave you.”
The sliding door remained open as she left. Was Jamie among the whispering dead? Had he expressed his own doubts before having his life drain away?
Yet, this project had occupied her since the beginning of her botanical career.
Trenton had missed it.
Using the back of a chair, he stood on shaky legs. He wouldn’t wait to die like Jamie. Out the slider, he found gardening tools on the back patio. A rake proved sturdy enough and he used it as a walking stick. Beyond the back gate, the paved path led to the front of the building.
