A great many more people than last time crowded around the tables and milled about in room 168B. Fred, Dani, and some N&S guy Kevin didn't know set up a few more rows of chairs. He counted no less than twenty-five, compared to Friday's twelve. Good, Kevin thought. Twelve more each meeting's more than enough. Phillips and Farrah will be working their own numbers up soon. He noticed Quinn Jackson venture nervously inside, and ran up to greet them. Have to make everyone feel welcome.
He had several conversations as time approached 7:30. At some point very close to Go Time, someone tapped his shoulder; Kevin turned. It was that asshole Jacques Delende, though he did look… different, tonight. Usually his expression was blank, or maybe slightly bitter, but today his head was low, and as he spoke he would at times look up plaintively, or avert his gaze to the floor: "H-hey Kevin. I, um… I think I really messed up today. I don't know if you heard—"
"Yes," said Kevin. "Let's just have the meeting. I'll make sure you're not in her room."
"Yeah, alright that's fair. I was thinking, um, I could make it up to—"
"Just let give her space. If you're really sorry, I guess we can arrange something, in the privacy you both deserve."
Jacques rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay. But I know how much she cares about this poetry stuff, so I thought maybe I could help with the meeting, do some of the public speaking so she wouldn't—"
Kevin squinted; he tried—and failed—to meet Jacques' darting eyes. "You wanna help?"
"Yeah," said Jacques. "I don't get it, all of this, but Livvy seems alright, and I… I wanna try."
Kevin glanced at Kayla, who looked just as confused as he; she shrugged. "Alright," said Kevin. "Everything is already taken care of, but I'm leading the meeting, so I guess you can do the closing announcements for me. Really, though, I think the best thing you can do is take the 'poetry stuff' seriously. Express yourself; be true, be brave." He took a sheet of paper out of a pocket in his jumpsuit and proffered it to Jacques. "This is the closing announcements if you wanna prep. But don't worry too much; we're all friends here. You got this."
"Thanks Kevin." Jacques smiled faintly. "I'll try."
Kevin checked his watch: 7:28. "Alright!" he said. "Places, everyone! Let's get this party star-ted!"
The opening announcements went off without a hitch: 'Relationships' was the prompt, and Kevin added a condition. "Lotta short poems last week," he said, "and that's fine—'brevity is the soul of wit'. But this time we're gonna dig in deep; Ten Lines at least, for each of your poems. Beyond that, world's your oyster. Livvy just updated the room assignments to include all you new arrivals… come on up and let's get at it!"
***
All four side rooms and the main one were used for 'breakout rooms' this time; Jacques was in room 2 with four other people: Fred Wilson and an old guy that must've been his C&E buddy, a lady from E&R he hadn't been introduced to yet, and Lieutenant Jackson, whom Jacques himself had referred here. He felt a little guilty about that now; maybe there was some way to give her a hint about what he knew. As everyone settled and Fred was grabbed extra pens, Jacques spared a glance at the announcement notes Kevin had given him. Next meeting, on Wednesday, was to be 'Serious Poems'. 'Not necessarily some deep-held trauma, or political theory or whatever, but it can be any and all of those things. As long as it's something you believe,' said the paper. Jacques snorted. Glad I'm not showin' up for that. Pretentious fuckin' crap. 'Political theory,' hah! What kinda serious shit would these people write about anyway?
Everyone was looking at him; Jacques sat up startled. What is this, do they—"Jacques," asked Fred, "you listening?"
"Wha—oh, yeah…" He had been half-listening: people were introducing themselves and whatever. "What's the prompt again?"
Jackson hurried to speak: "Name and uh, favorite music genre, Ensign Delende." She nodded.
"Oh, yeah," said Jacques. "Jacques Delende, Ensign, N&S. Music genre… I guess hip-hop. Been listenin' to some British shit recently, old stuff, y'know, oughts?"
Fred snorted. "Yeah. Two-thousands. 'Old'." He shared an amused glance with the other C&E guy.
"Kids these days," grumbled the man. "Alright, I'm Michael Falworth. Maintenance. I'm all about country, folk and blues, but none of that new shit. Real old, like from before you kiddos or your parents were born." He crossed his arms.
"And I'm Fred Wilson," said he, "as some'a y'all already know. I'm Maintenance too. Music, hmm, that's tough. I like a little bit of everything. Guess right now I'd say R&B, that smooth shit. Err, stuff." He smiled distantly. "Somethin' I can relax to, float down that gentle river. Jazz too."
"Amen to that," said Falworth. "Now, what's this about a love poem?"
Yeah, I'll write a poem alright, thought Jacques. Having to wait until ending announcements to drop his bombshell meant he might still get selected to present. And maybe that didn't matter; maybe he'd just show them all The Truth right then. But he still needed to seem like he was a committed Poet, and that meant having someone safe and saccharine on the page. These forked-tongue fuckers won't know what—
"Hey Delende?" It was Jackson. She looked nervous. "Hey," she said in a low voice. "I don't think I've written poetry since like, fifth grade. You got any idea what you're doing?"
"I've really come around on it," he said nonchalantly. "Just send out your true thoughts, starts to feel good getting things out in the open. These E&R people are real smart." That lady whose name he hadn't properly heard rolled her eyes. Jacques covertly side-eyed Quinn Jackson as he spoke. She met his gaze, then looked away very quickly. Yo, she already gets it? He watched her; Quinn's face went very slightly red. Shit! He looked away. Now she's into me too? This was how it always went for Jacques Delende. I never asked for this fuckin' attention! But… maybe it'll help her listen?
Frustrated, he focused on his own poem. Jackson was alright. He needed someone he could trust in this whole mess.
***
"What's her deal?" asked Ensign Bly. Livvy had just stomped out in a huff; along with them and Cori Jensen, an E&R guy named Willy Doriss was in room 1, along with Dani Suarez.
Cori looked at the door concerned. "I dunno," she said, "Livvy there is usually pretty happy. Snarky, but happy."
"Everyone's got their secrets," Suarez grumbled. Cori felt the woman's eyes flick her way. Yep, she thought. No-nonsense type, hmm. And not bad-looking, nice hands, but… two of us? Beast and The Beast? I dunno…
The Doriss guy was being real quiet. "Hey Doriss," asked Jensen, "how'd you find your way into this shindig?"
"Oh, heh, hi," he said. "Yeah, I, uhh, been talkin' to Kevin about it. He's chill." He went back to looking at a blank paper and chewing his pen.
"I don't really get it," said Bly. "I get wanting to do something… an extracurricular, y'know, meet people. But why poetry?"
"Romantic poem, right?" said Cori. "That kinda thing can be awkward, at the start." She curled up a toothy, crooked grin. "Sort that shit out now, so we can get back to work." She flicked her eyes back at Suarez; the woman looked away. Fuck, heh, guess I'm The Beast. Cori was greatly amused.
Livvy slipped back into the room muttering to herself. Her mood gave the whole room an uncomfortable air. They five wrote in silence.
***
Room 4 was the last to emerge, at 20:24. When Ensign Tamara Ellison came back into the center meeting room, her chair around one of the tables was already taken. She sat by one edge of the room, slightly annoyed to be snubbed. But Delende was out there, and he was cool. She sat next to him. Lt. Pérez waved to her from his table. They'd have to talk about this change to the shuttle escort tomorrow, during the refreshment social afterwards. Secretly, she was happy to have him along in the Cheetahs instead of the Commander. Messing around in the air was fun and all, but the mission was two months. At some point, they had to just do their jobs the normal way—to relax. Pérez was real good at that. The less loop-dee-loops they did, the more they'd be able to see in the asteroid belt. Maybe there'd be aliens out there; they were bringing a few E&R people out too. That girl Oakes said she'd be along, and she was a geologist. Had to count for something; maybe she'd want Tammy to lead out further than the miners were going.
Kevin returned to the podium, gave congratulations and the usual 'be supportive' spiel. We're all adults, Tammy thought skeptically. Livvy went up then to push the lottery button; she was in a sour mood. What's a little constructive criticism between friends? Wasn't really all that—
Livvy called out a name, a bit flatly: "Tammy Ellison!"
…Shit, me? Tammy stood and walked up stiffly to the podium. She looked to Pérez, whom she'd always considered a nervous type; right now he smiled encouragingly, fully attentive. It helped—glad we have him along, she thought. The Commander was whispering to that husky woman from C&E.
Tammy cleared her throat. "Okay, uh, heh." She blinked and tried to read this strange paper she'd just scribbled a bunch of nonsense onto.
"Wuh? Oh, you've got this Ellison!" shouted Commander Jensen. Fine. I'm glad she's along too. Tammy focused.
"Alright, yeah, this is a love poem," she said. "About… well, you'll see…" She delivered:
Most of you morons haven't heard about my guy.
Except Pérez, but uhh, who's counting?
My guy's got arms like smooth, soft branches and twinkling blue eyes,
He's… a guy, back home.
I keep his picture on my desk.
I'll see him soon, and we have video calls, he's glad I'm doing well.
And shit, I'm getting paid a decent sum.
I miss him though.
Oh yeah, his name's George Ellison.
Duh.
There was a brief moment of silence, and then a moderate amount of applause. Commander Jensen clapped slowly and loudly with those big hands of hers. Lt. Carson did that whistling thing with two fingers in his mouth. And the Asian guy, Kevin, gave her a big 'thumbs up'. Tammy forced a smiled, bowed her head, and hurried back to her seat.
"You're married, Ellison?" whispered Delende.
"Yeah," she whispered back. "So yeah. Eyes up," she said with a grin.
There was a distant look in that young Ensign's eyes. "Good. We all got stuff to get back to, reasons to stay safe…"
Well that was weird. What's he worried about?
Livvy McNally was back at the podium, and called out another name: "It's… oh, Fred Wilson!" The girl's mood seemed to be improving. Guess this poetry shit works, thought Tammy. Fred took the stage.
"I've been thinkin' about this a lot," said Fred. "Met a lotta good women, lotta good people, so I guess I, uh, wanted to sing about that. Or, well, can't sing, so I'll just…" He took a sharp breath in; for such a large man, Tammy figured his voice was actually kinda nasally, almost squeaky:
I like to love.
It feels like juggling together,
But if you mess up and drop all the pieces,
You just laugh and pick em up.
Or a fire you can't escape,
But when you surrender and let it cover you,
The pain you expected gives way to warmth;
Music that puts you back together.
People don't understand God, even 'godly people,'
They hear 'God is love,' and think it means:
I wanna tell you how to love, or that they should,
But see it backwards: Love is God. It's what we're meant to aim for.
And that's scary. It's work.
But it's easy once you give up,
And it all works once you try.
Tammy had been expecting something cheesy from Fred, something romantic; he's got a thing with Doctor Farris, right? He hadn't mentioned any of that in his poem. It was some religious stuff. There was a silence in the meeting room; people were contemplating what he said. The applause came all the same. Ellison noticed a tear in Pérez's eye.
"Tshh," Delende whispered at her side, "y'hear that? 'Poetry,' hah. Buncha nonsense feelings shit, and evangelizing."
Tammy set her jaw. There was something off about Delende today… he was still wearing the cheerleader outfit. No one was really giving him much shit for it anymore, but maybe that made it worse? He thought other people thought he liked it, or something? Even after a few weeks of training and a few days here, she got the sense he really didn't. Just wasn't as funny on the second day.
Livvy was at the podium once more. Her makeup's off today, thought Ellison. She herself didn't bother with much makeup on the job here, but Livvy always had something nice, eye-catching. What's going on… why's the vibe so off, with everyone? "Next up," said Livvy, "it's—" Her mouth snapped shut.
There were a solid fifteen seconds of silent anticipation. Then somebody coughed, and Dr. Farris said: "Who, Livvy?"
The green-clad woman was now a bright shade of red glowing over the stark white podium, and frowning. "Me," she croaked.
Kevin stood and applauded. "Hey! Give it up for Olivia McNally, everyone!" A few people followed, but the awkwardness prevailed. Tammy resolved to check up on this chick after everything was said and done. This was more than normal stage-fright.
"I just—we don't have to, I mean…" Livvy sputtered. She looked pleadingly at Dr. Farris. "Could we… somebody else—?"
Farris was, for her part, unmoved—Tammy would even say unsympathetic. Aren't they friends? Sure seemed that way on Friday, and how Commander Jensen told it. "Go ahead Livvy," the black-haired woman said, a serious look in her eye.
Livvy sighed. "Alright, I… alright," she said. "I wrote this all weekend. It's just a poem. About… about general stuff… people stuff." She coughed; her voice fluctuated between a mutter and a blurting shout as she spoke:
What is it to be seen?
A fire, a laser boring deep into your soul.
A harsh light… or a warm one,
That flickers, laughing, joyous at the flaws
Reflected in your own exhausted gemstone lenses,
Or embers glowing low.
It's maddening, exciting:
I fear his cold and smoldering brown eyes,
What do they know?
What don't I know?
Livvy hadn't looked up the entire time, and now seemed close to tears. People applauded, but like several others Tammy didn't. There was something… she looked left. Jacques Delende's lips were pouted, his own eyes sour and pointed down. Livvy all but ran back to her seat.
"Yes, well done Livvy," said Kevin, still smiling and applauding as he stood and took the stand. "That's the last of them! Now, for our closing announcements…"
***
"…we have a special guest! From Navigation and Steering, our very own Ensign Jacques Delende!"
Most everyone applauded anew; again Commander Jensen's hands made sounds like thunderclaps. Jacques lingered in his seat for a moment; he was deep in thought. Livvy, she's… I have to help her too. I should've trusted her. They… she's just trying to be nice, same as the others! Kay is the problem here… there has to be a way to get all the decent people out. As he stood, his thoughts resolved; his fear and sorrows turned to anger. He smiled as he went, as one basking in the adulation.
"Let's go Delende!" shouted Carson, as the man in question took the stand. Jacques flung out Kevin's notes and opened them with dramatic flair, set them on the podium. When it came to public speaking, he'd heard it was best to focus on a singular person and act as though you were talking to them. Can't look at Livvy, not yet. He chose Kay Farris, who was watching him intently. Maybe even a bit suspiciously… hohoh, she knows. She's always known that I'd be the one to crack her nonsense open.
"Hello everyone," said Jacques. "Hell of a crowd today, huh? I'd just love to give these announcements you gave me, Kevin, but first there's something I need to say." He looked to the man now; Kevin was also watching him closely, but Jacques could read it all over Kevin Choi's face: he expects me to apologize to Livvy. Just like I drew it up. He would, eventually; truth first, and then—hopefully—he'd have time to talk to her one-on-one, and apologize for being harsh to her. She really wasn't so bad.
Jacques dropped what was a friendly grin into a knowing, wide-eyed smirk. "Kay—Doctor Farris—is a LIAR." He smiled and nodded at the inevitable gasps.
Commander Jensen started to speak: "Delende, what the h—" but stopped; Kay herself had put a quieting hand on the big woman. She wants me to continue. Heh, as you wish.
"Yeah, I know. Some of you probably think she's just the friendliest person ever, or that her secret agenda is something nice and safe… an experimental art project? Some kinda contest… she's got a prize for the Prime Poet back on Earth? Who could say? What I do know is that she's been keeping it very quiet; no holobands, and all the cameras are off in here, and in her quarters too." He paced behind the podium. "And not just from the bosses and the press. She's been real secretive with all of us. Who knows what she's planning. Maybe her friends there, Livvy and Kevin, but maybe even they don't know the extent of it. Might only be one other person here who could put it together…" He glared pointedly at Fred, who glared right back. "…and maybe he's in on it, or just blind to it. But even so, nobody on this whole excursion knows Kay Farris better than I do. Eight years I've known her… funny how only now she gets her act together. You shoulda seen her in undergrad! Floppin' around from one guy to the next, handle'a Henny in both hands, failin' all her classes. But! She always knew how toGet Hers. Always turned out okay, and now… she's locked in! I don't know how, I don't know the next ten steps of her little scheme, but I can tell you one thing: Makayla Dareesha Farris is not your friend. She's using you!" Now at last he looked at Livvy, who was looking around at everyone else but him. "All of you!"
Kay's feet were flat on the floor, arms folded over her chest, head down, eyes up; she almost looked bored. "You done?" she said.
The room was still starkly silent; most everyone else was looking between them.
Kay slapped her knees and stood. "Alright cheer-boy. In here with me, come on." She opened the door to room 3, where she stopped. "What? Worried I'm gonna use you in there?"
Jacques looked around at all the others. The rest of N&S—his people—looked away; except for Jackson, who just looked confused, and Jensen, who looked angry. At me? "You all—" he said. "You watch out, I'm gonna get to the bottom of this! If she tries anything, you'll see, and if you seriously still trust her—you don't know her like I do!—I'll have something for that, on God." He waved a finger. "I'm goin' into the damn lion's den for you… Jensen, seriously! None'a this… it isn't right!" He went into room 3 and slammed the door behind himself.
Kevin Choi took the podium. "Yes," he said. "Jacques Delende is correct, as some of you know, and many more have suspected. We are up to something. Hopefully it's something good, but…" He sighed. "Well, we aim to move within that rapidly-expanding overlap of good and illegal. Maybe I've already said too much… if any of you want out, want plausible deniability, if… if there's not someone in this room whose life you love more than your own… just go, and keep your head down. Go back to your job, and no hard feelings. Now. If you want to know more, though, we'd be happy to have you."
The others looked around at each other. They at least seem curious, Kevin thought. He sighed and met the sorrowful eyes of Lieutenant Quinn Jackson, who stood, spared one last glance his way, and left.
***
Kayla Farris huffed. "You want the truth, Jacques?"
The obnoxious little man smirked. "Hah! Yeah, if you can be honest for one fuckin' second—"
"Eleven days," she said. "In eleven days, every Kepharine on this planet will die of malnutrition, because they need the plants, the plants need Thrascephemium, and we're mining it all out. In thirty-three days, our crew will have mined enough that the whole planet's gonna destabilize. OCM knew this before we left, and they don't care. Jacques—" She leaned towards him, "this isn't the first world we're destroying, and it won't be the last we destroy."
Jacques crossed his arms. "So you are up to something. I don't know what kinda jealous—what kinda craziness has you—"
"Man, you just don't getit!" Kayla tapped her head with two fingers. "What's it take to get through to a stubborn dumbass like you? Things gotta be better, for everyone! That takes work; whole buncha people workin' together, and serious. Knowin' that the big-wigs will do everything they can to stop us!"
"What, like…?" Jacques frowned. "…My folks got into all this political shit, way back when. In deep: 'we're all in this together,' and the cloth and The Struggle and whatever-the-fuck else. And what'd it get them? All their 'allies' found cushy jobs, left mom and dad in the dust. They had to start from nothin' in their thirties, workin' to the miserable bones just to keep Sena and I fed!"
"W—what it got them? That's the whole problem," Kayla cried, "anyone can be a fuckin' sellout! Why you think we're bein' so picky? Y'think we're just riding some accidental wave of excitement, just fuckin' around with all this?"
"No wonder you're on the Commander this hard," said Jacques. "I was wonderin' why you'd picked up so many'a her favorites. Heh, you don't know how lucky you three are! She's a fuckin'… she's woke, Kay, and not the corporate bullshit kind. All you gotta do is ask and there's your labor union right there… more if you give 'er 'a little something extra'…"
Kayla smirked at him and nodded. "Pfft. That ain't quite it. Everyone's got talents, and everyone but Fred's a 'maybe'. She's doing just fine where she is."
"Wha—" Jacques side-eyed her. "What do you mean by that? Kay, Cori's a good person. Too good, maybe… she—"
Kayla rolled her eyes, put her hands on her hips and shot him an impatient glare. "She's white, Jacques."
"...So? Are you—look, I'm not stupid enough to call you 'racist' for that, but do you seriously think there's no good white people?"
"Nah," said Kayla. "There was old John Brown, for a start. But that's what it takes, not just bein' friendly or even knowing the score. They gotta be willing to put their pasty fuckin' skin in the game! Go outta their way to stop the slave train, with their own bodies if need be."
"…HUH?—Kay, that's insane! You're sayin' a white guy would have to be… fucking suicidal to be a decent person!"
"Nuh-uh, just anti-whiteness. And anticapitalist, and anti-patriarchy, and all the other interconnected bullshit. Maybe that is kinda suicidal: bustin' up the system that keeps them high and dry on our bleedin' backs."
Jacques narrowed his eyes at her. "Kay, your friend Livvy in there… she's white! So you really are just using her, hah! And I suppose whatever 'slave train' you're planning to crash, she'll be there driving? 'Allahu Akbar!' 'Got seventy-two Kay Farrises waitin' for me,' hahaha!"
Kayla shrugged. "She'd take a bullet for me. For you too, though that's hardly a trade up." She stepped closer, glaring. "Guy like you could get by alright, few smart career moves, make a pretty little nest egg if he played his cards right. Maybe even find a spot on The Big Mission, the Ark. Her too, maybe, as a programmer or whatever, but not the way she's movin'."
Jacques frowned, looked away, shook his head. More denial, she thought. What now, dipshit? "All this fuckin' progressive stack crap… why you think Occupy went belly-up?" He gestured with one emphatic hand. "All this talk about how bad 'the system' is, but when those wall street fuckers saw people gettin' mad together, then comes all the articles, and the white Buzzfeed girlbosses with buzzwords, and corporate pride logos, and 'intersectionality seminars,' and any other distraction so we're arguin' with each other instead'a actually bein' normal!"
"Oh yeah?" Kayla felt a wild rage burning inside her. "Of course they want us arguing, but that only works if some of us won't nut the fuck up and put solidarity over bullshit. The girlbosses, and the boomers and the pastors took their bags and shut the gates behind them, and you assholes fell for all the 'gender wars' podcasts, and sports, gamblin', your videogames and social media misery engine, and the cringe and the ragebait, and 'transgenderism' this and feminism that—the distractions they funded!" Jacques had shrunk a bit, shoulders hunched; he backed away towards the door. "Because gated community zombies, and the whites, and stupid little 'nice guys' like YOU would rather keep your heads down than hear you're part of the fucking problem! Any escape, any dodge—if you really were 'good,' really had empathy, y'all might actually take a risk… might actually DO SOMETHING!"
She felt no fear seeing the pathetic, spiteful scowl that flashed across Jacques' face as he swung the door open. He spat his words at her: "Fuck off, you fuckin'—" She saw him glance at Livvy once, then charge through the meeting room, out into the empty hallway and beyond.
He'll be back. She smirked. Gotcha, idiot.
***
This bitch is tryin' to start the goddamn 'Revolution'!Now—here!—like this is a good fuckin' time to start tearin' shit down. In the middle of nowhere with a buncha racist morons and corporate drones, fuck-in' hell! What's she got to complain about, anyway, she gets paid plenty! Buncha rich, entitled, mad-at-daddy grad students with nothin' better to do than ruin shit for everyone else…
Jacques returned to his room. He didn't sleep much.
***
Fred Wilson watched Jacques leave in a hurry. Yeah, he's with it, he thought. He just don't wanna be. The thought wasn't much of a comfort. Some part of Fred didn't want the young man in harm's way.
A few more had left from what Kevin had said: Kyle Savarin, Sam Steward from N&S, another pilot whose name Fred had forgotten. Can we trust them to keep shit on the down low? he wondered. Probably. For the time being. Mike had stayed; held Dani and Fred's arms in his hands. "I'm old," he'd said. "Got no wife, no kids. Fuck else am I gonna do?" He'd laughed, but Fred felt the fear in the man's tight grip.
The rest were willing. Kayla emerged from the side room, glanced at Kevin, and said: "Alright guys. Refreshments," in a way that showed her exhaustion. Tonight had been a lot for everyone, but especially her. Probably thinks everyone hates her now, he thought. And she always takes a lot of it on. He stood and met her. Behind him, Mike began speaking to Commander Jensen and Livvy.
"Kayla," said Fred. "Let's go. You've done enough tonight."
She held her head. "No, Fred, I… I just need a minute." She propped herself up on his shoulder with her other hand. She must be real tired, he thought. She wasn't a touchy-feely type.
He leaned closer to meet her eyes. "You sure?" he said. He lowered his voice to a whisper, smiled: "I think he's in."
Fred didn't consider himself to have any great reaction speed, but he was apparently quick enough with his legs and arms to crouch and catch Makayla Farris as she blacked out. Several voices behind him shouted in dismay, and footsteps came, but he didn't notice. Dead weight isn't easy to carry. He hoisted her up and onto a nearby chair which Raif cleared out of in a hurry. Then there was water, and ice packs. Dani fanned her like a very dutiful auntie.
In a minute or so, Kayla Farris came groggily to. She looked around at a big group of people in a daze. Kevin patted her shoulder with his hand and smiled, saying: "There we go, Kayla! Alright, we're gonna get you some sleep, huh?" Livvy drew closer to comfort her, while Kevin took Fred aside.
"Alright," he said, "let's go, she's done enough. Can't have either of us lifting all the way to our suite alone."
"Is this…" Fred lowered his voice. "This some kinda medical thing? Condition, I mean…"
"No," said Kevin, solemnly. "Stress."
"What can we do?" said Fred. "There's like twenty of us now, can't we get her to let us take over for—"
Kevin shook his head. "She's the leader. I'm decently smart, but I couldn't do half of what she does… I don't have her stupid bravery. And Livvy's a loudmouth, sure, but it takes strategy too. We need all of that, but only Kayla's got what it takes. Both… everything." He tapped his head and pointed to her, sorrowful. "Supercomputer's just… overheating."
They could hear Kayla mumbling to herself: "It's comin'… can't…"
Fred turned back to Kevin. "How much more of us are there?" he asked reverently. "I mean, how big—"
Kevin looked around. "Later. But it's not really about how big we are… proportions." He nodded back at Kayla. "C'mon."
Kevin told Livvy she was in charge; no sooner had the words left his lips did Commander Jensen, Dani and Raif Carson all volunteer to help carry Kayla back to bed. Kevin shook his head, so Fred took it upon himself to brush past the man. "Raif, you and me?"
Kevin looked at him and Fred shook his head, smiling. "Like you said: if she ain't here, need you and Livvy both."
The compromise turned out to be acceptable to everyone, even Kevin. "Thanks, Carson," he said. The man just patted him on the shoulder as he knelt down.
Kayla was at least half awake—Livvy had given her water. She insisted on 'not needing help'. They settled for letting her walk on her own two feet and supporting her with arms along both shoulders. Everyone else cheered for her as the three left, which surely helped, even if Kayla (as usual) was trying to play it off like she was annoyed. They went into the quiet halls of the complex.
"Y'know," said Raif, "I never will get used to this whole 'being in space' thing. Like… this feels just like a normal hallway, with the blinds closed. But then I remember we're on some alien planet, billions of miles away from home. It's crazy, right Dr. Farris?"
"Mmm," she mumbled.
"Hey, Kayla," said Fred, "I watched that viral video we were talking about, remember?"
"Hmm?" She seemed to realize what he was talking about; her eyebrows raised. "Mmm. Good…"
Closer to her (and Kevin's and Livvy's) suite, she came to a halt and raised one finger. "Wait…" she said.
"What is it, Farris?" asked Raif.
"I can walk!" she said. "But…" She flopped into Fred's arms. "Just need… rest… a bit…"
Raif sort of blushed. "I, uhh, I can go back to the meeting room if you want. Or come back and make sure she's okay, I just don't…"
"What you wanna do, Raif?" asked Fred. "Not much further, I'm good either way."
Raif Carson patted her on the back then looked up at Fred—there were tears in his eyes as he said this: "I trust you, Fred, with my friend here. Don't let me down." He turned and went down the hall without a second glance back.
Fred sighed and hoisted Kayla up into his arms. What's he… oh. Fred hadn't even considered any kind of romantic undertone to this whole terrifying ordeal. But Kayla seemed fine enough now… in fact, thinking about it now, part of him wondered if this was some kind of scheme by Kayla to orchestrate this outcome, rather than just asking for something directly like a normal person. That'd be just the type'a thing she'd do, he thought, smiling down at her. "Kayla, you awake?"
"Shh," she said, "Evil eye's watchin'. I'll break it all down for ya… when we get back safe…" She yawned. He realized that he'd never seen her yawn before; even her blinking seemed planned sometimes. Had to be exhausting.
Dammit, he thought. I'm in love with this walkin' contradiction. He shook his head. That fool Jacques Delende was right about that too. Now her finger was tracing circles on his stupid fuckin' chest.
She mumbled the passcode for him, and through her suite's threshold they went. There she insisted on being set down sitting up on a couch in the living room, and said: "Water." She extended her hand.
Fred put both their holobands in the drawer, then got the filter pitcher out of the fridge and poured two glasses. When he returned, Kayla was blinking her eyes wide open, and said: "Damn, man. Y'gotta… look what happens when you tell me I did good. Got my stupid ass short-circuitin'." He sat down on the cushioned chair facing her.
"Mmm-mm," she said. She pointed down at the spot on the couch next to her.
He groaned, rolled his eyes, then joined her. "So that's it, huh, some ploy?" he said. "You got a funny way of flirtin', Miss Super-Computer."
Kayla sipped some water and sighed. "Nah, I don't know. Guess I'm usually pretty sure about The Plan, don't expect my own mind to turn against me. Although, now that you're here…"
"What you mean, Kayla? What's all this mean? All this stress pilin' up, what can the rest of us do to—"
"Ah-ah-ah," she said. "I'm what I've gotta be. Are you what you've gotta be, Fred Wilson?"
He nodded. He'd at least heard The Plan. "But what was like… the trigger? Jacques? You're afraid he won't—"
Kayla grinned. "Nah. He will."
"How you so sure?" Fred shook his head, pulled his jumpsuit's fabric out of the folds of his seated torso. "What the hell goes on in there?"
"I've seen…" She set her glass down on the coffee table, stood and started pacing. "I've seen what Jacques Delende will do; The Plan." All traces of her fainting and the resulting grogginess were gone; her gestures animated, "It's just about… real educated guesses… I got the vibes tuned right, the framework…"
She wheeled on Fred; her teeth flashed a blinding-bright smile, her eyes ablaze: "He wants to be good! Hahaha, he wants the way forward, and I'M gonna give it to 'im! He's just mad 'cuz he knows he's cooked—he's lost!I'm right! I—"
Kayla collapsed back onto the couch. She crumpled, clutched the rows of thick hair atop her head in both hands tightly, frowning. "He's just like me… we're all…" She looked up at Fred with a look of manic terror. "We're all the same, don't you get it?"
"Hey. C'mere," said Fred. He wrapped Kayla up in his arms; she hid her face in his chest and sobbed. He focused on a blank spot on the wall; smiled, teary-eyed. "I hope you're right. I hope he is like you."
Kayla shook her head.
"What? You're wonderful, Makayla Farris. Don't you want him to be wonderful? Or what, 'fraid you're a rude little whiny boy like him? A fly?" He kissed her on the top of the head. She smells good. "What, then? What's scarin' the Great and Terrible Doctor Farris?"
He took his arms off her and she turned over, so she was lying in his lap and facing up at him. She sniffed. "I…" She seemed to be having trouble meeting his eyes, but did. "I believe, Fred. In men. All of them; that love is stronger than despair, and all the stupid shit they're tainted with."
"Them? I'm a man, Kayla."
"Yeah. Yeah! But… nah, it's different. You're… don't worry about this, babe. You doin' good." She hugged him around the waist, smiling. "Somehow, it's just 'easy' for you, right?"
He lowered his brow. "No," he said. "I choose. And… 'cuz of… all the bullshit, it costs me. I just know it's worth it."
She sat up, straddling him, and grabbed Fred's shoulders. "You choose? Yeah? Ain't you a good boy, huh, the one nice man in the world…" She was grinning.
"Nah," he said, "I—"
She pulled close and kissed him. Then they were stripping, and got down to it.
At 22:40 in room 168B, the crowd was thinning. Many serious conversations had been had, and no small number of little snacks devoured; everyone was spent, and ready for bed. Livvy turned to Kevin Choi. "How much longer do we give 'em?" she muttered.
He grinned. "I'm thinking… dibs on that table there. Looks comfy."