His lattice must be involved, because there was no way that was a normal biological reaction.
She called up stronger filters, and her vision took on the fragmented, almost pixellated texture she expected. It was never ideal, but some external light would smooth the worst of the edges.
<Tris, hold the light steady over here.> The beam moved. <Perfect. Thank you.>
Beneath the ragged incision was a bulge, similar to an internal bleed under a blunt trauma. She brought the tip of the scalpel closer, and applied pressure. Liquid seeped around it. She pulled down, giving the liquid a run-off so that it would not distort her view. She eased the scalpel further in, until it rested on the outer layer of that bulge. She paused, taking a breath, and then pushed once more.
The pop was audible, and clear liquid arced up, jetting over Ryann’s hand. It hit the glass of the torch. Tris let loose a yell, and the beam jerked away.
<Tris! Hold it steady!>
<Sorry,> he sussed, privately
Tris didn’t have her training, and so she shouldn’t be shocked that he’d reacted as he did. He was young. She couldn’t be annoyed at him.
<Understandable reaction. This is tough on all of us. You’re doing great.> She wondered if that might come across as patronising, but she saw him nod, and knew he accepted her words.
He brought the beam back down. The light was different, the waveforms clashing with her filters, and she considered asking Tris to wipe the glass. But that would only remind him of what had just happened. She’d finish her examination first.
<Down a fraction more, Tris, please.>
The light dropped. And Cathal’s boot thudded against the wall.
Ryann didn’t see the movement, but what else could have made that sound?
And then his whole body spasmed. His arms and legs twitched, and the boot kicked the wall again and again. A hand slapped against Ryann’s thigh. She pulled the scalpel from his wound, heard it hit the floor, and placed a hand on his vibrating, lurching chest.
His skin rippled, pushing against her palm. And at the edge of the wound, bulges formed and receded, like bubbles.
Cathal threw his head back, foam creeping to the corners of his mouth. His teeth grinded, but that didn’t disguise the keening whine that seeped from his mouth.
Brice cursed loudly, and he was by Cathal’s feet, reaching down to pin them to the bunk, struggling as they lashed out at him. He swore, then threw his own weight across them, like he had in the cave.
Tris yelled, and the torch clattered to the floor, the light rolling around. It sprayed the wall with dancing shadows.
And Cathal’s convulsions stopped. The rippling of his skin abated, and the pustules in his shoulder faded into the surrounding tissue. His head stilled, only the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead a reminder of his exertions.
“What’s happening?” Keelin spoke, her voice small and cracked, and simultaneously Ryann heard her inner thoughts, bursting out uncontrollably.
<That’s good, right? If he moves, he’s still alive. That might mean he’s coming round. He’s going to be okay. We’re going to get out of this, aren’t we? Are we?>
<Keelin, it’s fine. We’re all fine.>
But Ryann wasn’t sure she believed that.
Brice eased himself off Cathal’s legs. He smoothed the man’s trousers, and straightened one boot.
The rolling torch came to a rest, casting its beam into a corner, where two concrete walls met. Ryann followed them round, to the other corners, and then to the solid roof over their heads. Cold and unmoving, Ryann thought, and devoid of life.
“What just happened?” Brice asked. He knew this echoed Keelin’s question, but he needed an answer.
Ryann shook her head, as if that told him anything. She reached for a fresh dressing and sealed it over Cathal’s shoulder. Then she picked up his shirt.
“Keelin, a bit of help?” she said.
Brice watched them pull Cathal up and work his arms into his shirt-sleeves. Then they lay him back down and fastened the buttons right up to his neck. Ryann smoothed the material over his chest, and rested his arms by his side.
He looked like he was sleeping. If you ignored the blackness creeping up his neck, and the smell.
Only then did Ryann look at Brice. Her face was lined and pale. Maybe it was the effect of the light from the torch, and the shadows it cast, but Brice had never seen her looking so old.
“Okay,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, kind of like Cathal would sometimes do. “Our situation. We’re safe. That’s important. But we have problems.”
Maybe Tris sussed something, because she shot him a look before continuing.
“A summary. One, Cathal is sick. I’ve done what little I can, but he needs Haven’s experts. Two, the hold-out’s power is compromised. Tris, your thoughts please.”
Brice expected insults, but Ryann glared at the techie, and he spoke in a quiet, slow voice. “Power’s very limited. Far as I can tell, we’re running on auxiliary, but it’s locking me out of most of the systems.”
“Just so we all know where we stand, how long does auxiliary last?”
Tris shrugged. “Maybe twelve hours.”
“Okay. Third problem. Contact. Keelin, how’s our Proteus?”
“Still down.” Her mouth opened, like she wanted to say more, but her eyes dropped and her head shook.
“And I take it we can’t reach Haven.”
She didn’t phrase that as a question, but Tris answered anyway. “Not in this storm. And not since someone screwed the power.”
Ryann’s hand shot up, and she gave him another look.
“But we still have twelve hours of power, right?” Brice said, thinking how twelve hours would take them through the night. Things always looked better in daylight. “And even without power, we can cope. Aren’t the hold-out’s supposed to be fully equipped?”
Ryann nodded. “Enough to survive for a week. But the lack of power limits us. No power, no atmos control. These
