Russ trotted through the corridors, zig-zagging much of the way.
She was chasing someone, or something. That much she knew.
A draft hit her legs, and she shivered. Oh right. No pants. She'd lost them awhile back, but a run through the commons area fixed her right up.
After donning a fresh pair of pants, Russ felt whole again. Mostly. First, she had to find...something, and then she needed to right the mission.
Everything had gone wrong, and people were dying. She had to make sure she wasn't next.
She lost her footing when a body tripped her up, Samuel's to be exact. Russ checked his neck ('cause that's how they checked for a pulse in comic books), but beyond warmth, she felt nothing. Without thinking, she slapped his slant cheek.
Samuel stirred, with minimal results. Russ slapped him again, harder.
"Ow," he moaned, rolling over and cupping his jaw.
"You okay?" Truth was, she didn't care. Having another person on mission was necessary.
Samuel nodded, the whites of his eyes prominent when he asked, "Is it still here?"
The vibe of the ship was quiet, and so Russ said, "I think so. Can you walk?"
Samuel unfolded his legs, a serrated gash visible on his shin.
"It got ya, huh?" She assisted him in standing.
The proverbial "It" was still a mystery, though she knew there was something on the ship to fear.
"Yeah, but I got away. Docent and Trinidad weren't as lucky." He hiccuped and pointed at two large heaps in the corner.
Russ hoped Jason wasn't in a similar condition.
Slowly, they trudged through the mess hall and kitchen, Samuel's hiccups occasionally slipping into sobs. The tears weren't like him at all. She ignored the emotional display, as it was probably catching.
Catching.
Infection.
A memory nudged Russ, and she shared the revelation, "When we landed on Sanctus, something boarded, didn't it?"
Samuel stopped hobbling and assessed her. His cheeks were dry, like he hadn't been crying. "We never made it to Sanctus. The incident saw to that. The chamber really messed you up, didn't it?"
The bubbles in the haze, words floating in front her, Jamilet, muffled screams rising and falling...
"Wait a minute. We let it in, the ship could be infected. You know the quarantine procedures: 24 hours for decontamination."
Russ whirled to confront the statement. "What did you say?"
Samuel's eyebrows met in the middle. "I said, the chamber really messed you up, didn't it?"
Only, he was yelling the question in her face.
She was sputtering, coughing, writhing on a metal grate with not a stitch on. Which was odd, because she had taken great pains to find pants not too long ago.
"Give her a minute and let her wake up," Tiptree was saying.
Everything was so damn bright. Russ rubbed furiously at her eyes, then stopped.
Slowly, she considered her left hand, comparing it to the bandage-wrapped nub on the right.
"You had to," Samuel said, tone devoid of sympathy.
She wanted to scream, but recognized the futility. Her arm didn't even hurt. The bots had done a fine job, then pumped her full of pain killers.
It was the dura-fluid that had messed with her head.
"Genly?" Russ croaked.
The bot materialized from behind a very confused-looking Tiptree.
It seemed to know what she wanted, because it immediately bent to help her up, dropping a medical gown over her head once she stood. Or leaned. Leaning was about her speed.
"Where are we?" Her voice sounded almost normal.
The feeling had mostly returned to her limbs. Well, her remaining limbs. In several awkward stretches, she managed to slip into the gown.
"From looking outside, we're not where we should be. In fact, I think we're backtracking," Samuel said.
The news was not that surprising. Things had been falling apart when she entered the chamber, and she knew the situation would worsen. Her job now consisted of damage control.
With her right hand, she reached for a set of nearby drawers. When she realized her mistake, she shook her head, blinking back the sting of tears. No more right hand.
Tears would mean rubbing her eyes some more, and that was generally a bad idea. Wouldn't want to risk getting a set of very green eyes.
Slowly and deliberately, she used her left (and only) hand to search for what was needed in the lockers. Her hand shook only a minimal amount. Her inability to discern time and space was scaring her, but she hoped to hide it from the others.
Tiptree's hand fell on her shoulder. "Are you all right?"
She nodded, and kept searching.
"Captain Guin is in the Control room with Officer Forster," Genly explained, helping her pull open drawers.
At this, Russ paused. "Captain Guin?" She swayed on her feet, closed her eyes, then steadied herself.
Samuel sighed. "Realistically, we should be initiating the back-up protocol."
She had raced to the same conclusion. As second-in-command, she had the right to initiate. As the one with the other key, Samuel was also within his right to initiate.
It felt like giving up, though.
"We still have options," she said.
"Really? Because the previous missions probably said the same thing at a similar juncture. Look what happened to them," Tiptree offered, and not unkindly.
"What are we gonna do?" Samuel asked.
For a moment, Russ had no idea. Tiptree and Samuel had valid concerns.
Another moment passed, and she was still lost. Samuel repeated the question. Experience kicked in, allowing for a rote response.
"You two are going to Sanctus for sample extractions," Russ said, aware of how easy she made it sound.
It had been the initial plan, and staying on mission was preferable. Except Russ was supposed to go, as Sanctus was classified "Medium Risk," which meant possible geographic and organic threats. With better weapons training, Russ was the logical candidate for Sanctus. Except now her services were needed on the ship.
Tiptree said, "We're not pilots. There's no way we'll make it."
"Samuel knows how to activate the auto-pilot, right?" Russ had watched many of the crew during the months of training, learning their strengths.
Samuel nodded. "It's just a few buttons. I think I can remember the sequence. First, we have to get there, and that's not plausible."
"I'll take care of it."
"How?"
Russ ceased her search, hand wrapping around the handle of a wicked-looking knife.
She examined the weapon awhile before replying, "I'm gonna stay on mission."
~*~