Adrift, page 18
Kivi didn’t stop to think about what she was doing. She always stopped, always thought, but this was different. She could see Whitman waving frantically as she undid buckle after buckle. She didn’t switch the channel not even when he grabbed her arms to stop her. She needed to hear Tron, hear as he grunted and strained to get the nail back. He let her go after a minute, but it wasn’t what she thought. He was clicking over to the channel with Tron.
“What the hell are you doing? Keep your god damned suit on!”
“Whitman?” Tron wasn’t straining anymore. “Kivi, what’s going on?”
“She’s taking off her suit!” Whitman shouted, making all three mics echo painfully. “Girl’s gone out of her damn mind!”
Tron was going to talk her out of it. Kivi knew he was going to. She had to be done before he could try. “I need to be fast,” she said as she ripped herself free of the lower half of the suit. “I need to fit places. The suit makes me clumsy and big. It’s not crazy.”
Whitman grabbed her again and tried to pull the suit back together. It was already getting hard to breathe. That wasn’t good. She’d thought there was more air in the room than that. The readout on her helmet said that there should be. But she was starting to feel lightheaded already. She was tempted to let Whitman get his way, and lock the suit back together. Once he did, she knew the air would kick back on and she would feel better. But she would still be big and bulky. If she was going to fit wherever Tron had dropped the nail, she couldn’t be those things. It wasn’t about being fast, not really. Kivi knew her speed in zero gravity would be the same with or without the suit. But she knew that if she waited until she was in the engine room, Tron wouldn’t let her take it off. Like Whitman, only he’d be better at it. So she went faster than Tron could stop her.
“Kivi, stay there! Keep breathing! I can get it!”
She reached up and shut off her radio. She’d have to leave the helmet behind. So long as it was on her head, she was going to feel bad about turning Tron off. Kivi knew she would switch it back on before she was there, and then he would probably convince her to go back. She reached to rip it off.
Whitman’s hand dropped on top of the helmet, pressing it down so hard it hurt her neck. Kivi glared at him. This was all his fault. It was his plan. The engine wasn’t supposed to be turned on and off like he’d been doing. And he was the one who shut the door and locked Tron out there and her in here. And now he was stopping her from fixing it. They were going to die, all three of them, and it would be because she wasn’t strong enough to knock Whitman away.
She took a deep breath, or tried to. Instead, she ended up gasping and coughing. As she recovered, she pointed to the readout on his helmet. She couldn’t see it, of course. It was only visible on the inside. On the outside it was just kind of reflective glass. But she pointed anyway. He would see it. He would understand. If he didn’t let her go, she would suffocate underneath his hand. There just wasn’t enough air left for this battle to go on long, and Kivi was not going to be the one who backed down. Not for this.
His eyes followed her finger and, after a second, she felt his hand drop down to her shoulder. Then she heard the click of the buckles she couldn’t reach as he snapped them free and the top half of the suit dropped down around her.
Kivi smiled grimly and tugged off her helmet. As she did, he grabbed her arm and turned back to his pack again. She tried to pull free, but he held fast while he dug around. It was only a second before he found what he was looking for. She thought she recognized it. She hadn’t gotten a good look that first day, when he’d come aboard and wrestled with Tron. But when he dropped it around her face and started tightening the straps, there could be no doubt. This was his breather. Kivi knew that the breather was meant to filter out microbes that could get Whitman sick when he came onto a strange vessel like the Lucy. She also knew that it made sure he didn’t release any different microbes on those strange vessels. Figuring that out from what he said wasn’t hard. But understanding what he meant by putting it on now was. Filtering would make it harder to breathe. She knew how filters worked. Kivi shouldn’t trust him. He wasn’t a good guy. But he wasn’t a bad guy either, and it was his life as much as hers and Tron’s. So she let him secure it.
When Tron had pulled it off, it had looked like it was the size of Whitman’s whole face, but it wasn’t big at all. On the man, it was probably just enough to cover his mouth and nose. It swallowed a lot more of Kivi’s face, but the strange black plastic warmed on contact with her skin, and seemed to mold itself to her. In a few seconds, it was flush with her skin and fit almost comfortably. He had to pull the strap so small that the other end of it flapped against her neck, but Whitman got it secure around her head.
He grabbed her hand and moved it up to the side of the breather. It was awkward, with his big gloves and her new smaller ones between them, but in a second she felt what he was trying to show her: a button. Kivi pressed it, and a small burst of air hit her face. She sucked it in gratefully, surprised and amazed. She waited for another burst, like in the suit, but that wasn’t how this worked. She could breathe better, but the air was still a lot thinner than usual. She didn’t know how it worked, and she wanted to ask so bad she could hardly stand it, but Tron was waiting.
Still, Whitman didn’t let her go. He grabbed the jacket he’d worn until they were putting on their suits. He draped it over her shoulders. Kivi put her free arm through the left sleeve and nodded her gratitude. It was big enough for her to get lost in, hanging down past her knees, but it was thick and warm. It was leather, just like the gloves he’d modified for her, and just like them it had an incredibly thick and soft liner. Finally, he let her go and moved to the door. He tugged it open just enough for her to fit through as Kivi tugged her other arm through the sleeve. There was a small breeze as the air in navigation rushed out into the corridor, but not like the blasts on that first day after the attack. There just wasn’t enough air left anywhere for that.
Once she was sure there was enough room, Kivi kicked out of her boots and drifted up toward the ceiling. She grabbed the doorframe before she could get too far. She dragged herself forward until her knees were up against her chest and her feet were planted against the wall just outside the door. Then she kicked off as hard as she could.
Fast. She had to go fast. The breather wasn’t giving her enough air. Soon she wouldn’t be able to think straight. Worse things would happen after that, parts of her brain dying and then the rest of her body following suit, but not thinking was bad enough. Until the engine was running again, they were all counting on her brain working the way it was supposed to. And the cold wasn’t helping either. Even snuggled up inside Whitman’s jacket, she was freezing to death. If she didn’t move, she was going to end up just like those bodies inside cold storage, just like her brother. It was a race against her own death, with two other lives hanging in the balance. So she had to go fast.
The last time she’d been weightless, Kivi had moved with a mind for her surroundings. She’d gone quickly, but never let herself be out of control. She didn’t bother with that precaution this time. The engine directly across from the navigation room, and Tron had gone before her to open the way. So she didn’t let herself worry about how far doors were open or anything like that. She just shot forward, pushing herself to greater speed every time a wall or door came within reach of her hands. The result was something less than ideal; she managed to twist herself so that her head was pointing back the way she’d come and her legs were in front of her, but at an angle that made it hard to see much of anything. She wanted to kick her feet, catch a bit of wall, and straighten herself out, but Kivi was afraid that doing so would cost her some of the break-neck speed she’d built up. So she kept her legs stiff and toes pointed.
She was so cold. But she wouldn’t let herself think about that. Every time her mind tried to turn back to the fact that her fingers and toes were already loosing feeling, she turned it to Tron. It was something Kivi had never managed before, forcing her thoughts in a certain direction. She’d always just followed wherever they led her. She didn’t even believe there was any other way to do it, when everyone else told her she had to think of something else. The whole idea had seemed crazy and impossible. But Kivi learned the skill fast, pulling up the memory of him gasping as he fought to put on his suit in time, or of the things he’d said to her over the last twenty-nine hours. Or of how sad he’d sounded when she said that thing about Asher.
Her foot banged against a door that wasn’t open all the way. Pain exploded upward through her leg, and she was spinning. Kivi wanted to scream out the pain and fear and frustration that were twisting through her. But she couldn’t scream. Couldn’t. That was a terrible, awful waste of air. So she fought to swallow it, and it burned her throat like acid. She was spinning and spinning and spinning. Kivi couldn’t see where she was going. That was bad. Bad, bad. But it was worse than that. Because all the spinning was making her sick. She was going to be sick. She wondered what would happen if she vomited inside the breather. She was going to find out soon.
And then she wasn’t moving anymore. The stop was so abrupt that one of her gloves flew right off her hand. She couldn’t scream. Couldn’t. But she couldn’t help the gasp or the kick. Something was wrapped around her right leg, the one that wasn’t hurt. She couldn’t be stuck. Kivi needed to get to Tron, and if she was stuck she wouldn’t be able to help him. She wouldn’t be able to help anyone. And they would all die and it would be her fault, because she was the one who got stuck.
Kivi began to move down, but she hadn’t pushed herself. It was the thing around her leg. It was the hand around her leg, she realized with a start. Tron’s hand. She was there, and Tron was pulling her down out of the air and turning her right-side-up. She laughed, but only once. Laughing was a waste, just like screaming was a waste.
She wanted to hug him. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and feel him squeeze her until it felt like all the life was going to spill out of her. She could see his face, his green eyes, and she knew he wanted to hug her too. She didn’t need a list, not with him. They couldn’t hug, of course. Not now. There was a suit in the way. Besides, there wasn’t time. Not a minute. Because she wasn’t going to throw up anymore, but she was still so cold.
Tron’s lips moved. Kivi thought he was trying to talk to her, then she realized it must be Whitman. But it didn’t look like he was yelling. He looked sad, as sad as he sounded when she talked about Asher. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, so that he would explain it. He would, she knew. Most people would tell her it was personal or lie, but Tron told so much. Maybe everything. But there wasn’t any way for her to ask, not without him taking off his helmet, and she wasn’t going to let him do that. There was only the one breather. And they didn’t have time for that either.
The nail. She needed the nail. Breathing was hard, and she was so cold. This was stupid, watching him like it was the thing that was going to save them. She had to focus. And Kivi knew how to do that now. So she mouthed a single word. “Where?”
Tron pointed up. Kivi followed his hand, and almost immediately saw what she was looking for. She also saw why it was such a problem. It had wedged itself into a corner between the air vent and the wall. It was a tiny space, and even if he didn’t have the gloves on Tron would never have been able to get it. Kivi would have to be so careful, even with her small hands. They were shaking so bad, and if she bumped it wrong it would float up into the vents and be gone forever. There wasn’t time to make another, there hadn’t been time when she’d left navigation. It would be their only hope floating away if she messed up.
She pushed herself off of the chest of Tron’s suit. He let her go, and she was up by the vent in a second. She reached out for the nail twice, jerking her hand back in panic just before she touched it, terrified she was going to bump it loose with her numb fingers. She pulled her hand back through the sleeve and then tucked it inside the jacket, under her other arm. Her armpit was warm, or warmer, but her fingers were like icicles and she gasped as she felt the difference in temperature. She floated there for a moment, waiting for the feeling to come back into her fingertips. It was painful.
They couldn’t wait any longer. The numbness in her other hand was spreading, and she couldn’t even feel the pain in her foot now. And the breather… There was no waiting. Kivi pulled her hand out, slid it through the sleeve, then reached out and wrapped her aching fingers around the head of the nail. Then she turned and pushed off the corner as hard as she could.
Kivi flew toward the engine so fast that she was sure she was going to break her arm. She caught herself on the opening where the panel had been and, with hardly a glance at the construction inside, shoved her hand in and slid the pin into place.
Tron’s arms slid around her and pulled her back from the engine. She twisted until she could see him and gave him the biggest smile she’d ever smiled. Kivi watched as he screamed into his mic, and she knew exactly what he was saying.
“Now! Do it now!”
A second later, the lights clicked back on. Air blasted down on them from the vent, making Kivi’s hair flutter and fly against the skin of her face. She reached up and ripped the breather off, dropping it without a thought as she sucked in the most amazing air.
She must have passed out. Kivi didn’t remember passing out, she didn’t even remember closing her eyes, but she knew she had. Tron wasn’t wearing his suit anymore. He was hovering over her with a look that could only be panic. Kivi laughed and threw her arms around his neck. Tron didn’t lose a second in pulling her tight against his chest. “You stupid girl,” he muttered into her hair. “You stupid, stupid girl. Don’t ever do that again.”
“Not stupid,” she said with another laugh. “We’re alive, so it wasn’t stupid!”
“Oh no,” Tron replied. He pulled away and cupped her face in his hands. “It was colossally stupid. You almost died Kivi. You’re still so cold… I almost lost you.”
That sadness again. Kivi felt bad. She was the reason he was so sad. She smiled at him and pulled him back into another hug. “I knew you wouldn’t let me die. And I couldn’t let you die. So it all worked out.”
He kissed the top of her head. It was just like her papa used to do, when he was kissing her goodnight, but it wasn’t like that at all. Because even though it was the same gesture, this was Tron and everything was different with him. She knew if she tilted her head up, he would kiss her for real, like in the vids. She wasn’t sure how she knew that. It wasn’t like all the other things she knew, where there were facts and past experiences for her to draw on. But she knew it all the same.
“What’s going on?” The words crackled through the intercom, shattering the moment before it got the chance to truly start. “Is she ok?”
Tron released her slowly. “She’s ok. Are our friends still around?”
“No sight of ‘em. You two planning on making your way back up here any time soon, so I can see this mircale with my own two eyes, or do you need some alone time?”
A blush rose in Tron’s cheeks, and he shifted away from her. “I’m taking her to Med Bay first,” he said with a tone that Kivi understood meant he didn’t intend to argue about it. “We won’t be long.”
Not Long
Whitman tucked away the last of the mess he’d made of his pack. It was important not to mess it up. In the black, what a man carried with him was the difference between coming back alive and ending up a floater. If he’d ever questioned that maxim, he had plenty of proof of it now. He’d never doubt it again, and he’d damn sure add a few things to the collection, first chance he got.
Well, he would, if he actually got another chance. Whitman was starting to wonder how likely that was. He’d put up a good show, and was pretty sure the kids – no, don’t think of them like kids – were still buying it. But Ruben knew he was sick as shit. He’d spent nearly the whole time they were dark hacking and battling the wickedest headache of his life. The air, lack of it rather, had really pissed off that bug he’d been hosting. It might’ve been manageable before, but he didn’t think it was going to be anymore. Even now, when there was plenty of atmo for all three of them to breathe like crazy, the pain behind his eyes pulsed. It had dug its evil little claws into his brain, and it didn’t intend to let go.
As if thinking about it summoned it up, another round of hacking coughs shook Whitman’s whole body. They went on for a long while, each one driving that nail of pain deeper in his skull. He did everything he could to get a hold of his own lungs, but they weren’t listening to him. When the coughs finally eased, and he pulled his hand away from his mouth, it was flecked with blood. Not the first time. He was just glad it was somewhere easier to clean than the inside of his helmet.
“You alright?”
Whitman jumped and spun around, kicking himself for not noticing the sound of the others approaching. It wasn’t like they were exactly ninjas. The two had on clodders, and Kivi’s had to be at least three sizes too big. Or, she had on one boot. The other foot was encased in one hell of a make-shift splint. He could barely see leg beneath all that bandaging. He flashed his biggest grin, genuinely pleased to see her limping around.
“You two kept us breathing and we’re flying free. I’ve never been better.”
Kivi gave him a look. She never had that much expression in her face. Except when she was screaming and calling him a bad guy. Most of the time she just looked kind of bored. Or maybe lost in thought. Something. But she still managed to give some very sharp looks. Clearly she knew something. Whitman went over the last day and a half in his mind, trying to figure out how much she could’ve seen.
“So why are we here?” Tron asked. “Because, if it’s not pressing, I could really use a nap.”
Damn right he could use a nap. They all could. If Whitman looked half as worn around the edges as Kivi did, it was amazing that they weren’t both accusing him of having one foot in the grave.
