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Tyrrin crashed hard, and her dreams tugged her far away from the waking world. She only woke up when Jacobs came looking for her. His wasn't a particularly nice face to wake up to.
She gave him one bleary blink, and he said, "Admiral Marcus wants to see you."
His face was dreadful. Awful. Downright horrible. But Marcus's was worse. She dragged herself out from beneath her desk with a moan and flopped onto her belly, caring for neither grace nor maturity. She had, after all, just slept under her desk like a child hiding in her father's office. What remained of her dignity wasn't worth preserving.
And, after all, it wasn't like she hadn't slept there before.
She hadn't slept as long as she needed, though, and her body was even more sluggish than her mind. Marcus had atrocious timing.
"Of course he does," she grumbled. Her voice was sleep-hoarse. "I'll go. As soon as I remember how my feet work."
"Generally by placing one before the other. Or at least, so I have been told."
Tyrrin pried her face from the ground to glare at Khan, who she hadn't even noticed, as he gazed passively down at her. The hope from his trip below still gleamed in his face, and Tyrrin warmed to the conversation.
"When did you grow a sense of humor?" The spark of levity died from his eyes, and Tyrrin huffed. He didn't know who she was. She'd forgotten. In his mind, she was only the enemy, and a very childish enemy at that. Her smile returned. It must drive him crazy that he couldn't outwit her. Her smile only seemed to bother him more, as his neutral expression grew stiffer and colder. The mask was back. Playtime was over. Time for coffee.
She refused to face Admiral Marcus without a cup of java.
.O.O.O.
"I hear you've refused the standard medical exam this cycle."
Tyrrin knew when she accepted the position in Section Thirty-One that Admiral Marcus was a bit of a bitch, but that didn't make her any happier as she stared at him from across the desk like a naughty teenager in the principal's office. It was like high school all over again, and that was a dance she didn't want to swing. She made a point of ignoring all orders issued by the cerebrally-damaged. Marcus wasn't dropped on his head as a child – someone dribbled the boy across the full basketball court.
"Not any reason to," she said. "As we both know."
"True. I knew when I signed you on that you were nearing your expiration date." The Admiral steepled his fingers, peering at her over the pinnacle of his nails. His dead eyes bored into her, and Tyrrin stared back with utter boredom. She didn't recognize his authority. At last, he broke the eye contact and looked away with a mighty sigh. It was obvious. It was fake. Tyrrin could smell the bull on his words before he even spat them. He was as bad an actor as he was an admiral. "I'm worried about you, Tyrrin."
She shrugged. "You can call me Regent. No point pretending we're friends or anything. Wouldn't want the underlings getting the wrong impression, after all."
He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "I find myself wondering what a girl like you – a bright young thing with too much time on her hands – might find herself capable of when the pressure's on."
Her thoughts flew instantly to the Great Hack, and shot from there to the Great Rescue Effort. A little chill tickled the base of her spine, and she wondered if she'd made a mistake. Had Marcus found out what she was doing? Had he found evidence of her tampering on Khan's behalf? No. They wouldn't be having this conversation if he had. She'd already be dead, or at least mostly dead.
So, what then? Did he suspect? Was that it? Was this an interrogation? "I'm afraid I don't understand, Admiral."
"And I'm afraid you do." His thin lips compressed into a tight line, and Tyrrin could practically smell the frustration leaking from his pores. "If I was in your shoes – if I know my days were numbered and there would be no consequences for my actions – I'm pretty sure I'd be capable of anything."
Tyrrin didn't veil her sneer. In fact, she exaggerated the mocking expression and let it seep into her voice. One crappy performance deserved another. "I'm sure you would be, sir. But we're vastly different people. I'm not that stupid. Everything has consequences, even if I'm not breathing to smell the stink.
"Now, if you want to make some kind of accusation – go ahead. But this just sounds like your inner diva making a break for the limelight. You gave me this job because I'm 'on the clock' as it were. Now you say you don't trust me for the very same reason. That doesn't sound like justifiable fear. That sounds like indecision. Poor leadership at its soggiest. I have no idea what you'd be capable of, Admiral. But I'm not weak enough to let my circumstances corrupt my actions. I'm me. And I'll stay me until I'm a twitching mess on a hospital bed. All men may be equal, but women are superior. Thank you. Good day. Was there anything else?"
"I could do with less sass," he said. The warning rang clear in his voice, but Tyrrin was good at ignoring red lights.
"I could do with more brain cells."
And that, at long last, finally cracked the Admiral's feeble grip on his temper. "I mean it, Regent," he said. As he continued, his voice climbed to a yell. "I'm responsible for dozens of lives in this base, and I'm not afraid to do what's necessary. If you give me a reason to cut you out of the picture, rest assured I will.
"I let you run off with your little friend from Headquarters, and I expected you to get the heat out of your blood. Now it's time to man up and do your job. Aren't you supposed to be the best?"
The hack. Of course he'd notice. That was the point. Did he notice everything, though? That was the real question. So much as a shadow of doubt, and…
Tyrrin didn't let her flutter of nerves show. "I am the best."
"Then how did someone hack into Section Thirty One?" A fine spray of spit flew as he yelled, and Tyrrin couldn't resist wincing away. Fear was one thing. Repulsion was another.
"I'm the best, but I do have competition," she said, playing the grown-up, keeping her voice steady. "This section has more than its fair share of enemies, and more than a few curious investigators on the outside. You're not the only one who's upset, Admiral. I. Don't. Get. Hacked. When I've finished upgrading every system, retuned each firewall, re-encrypted our full data stream, then I'm going to find the culprit. And if I'm in a good mood, I might let you help me ruin their life."
Nothing wooed the war-monger like the threat of violence. He reclined in his chair, appeased, and Tyrrin lifted her chin. She hoped her pulse wasn't leaping out of her throat.
The snake's eyes glittered, and Tyrrin only had a moment of warning before he shot his last dose of venom. "Do you have enough time for all that?"
"Oh, I will." She had ample time to finish what needed doing, and it was much more impressive than beefing up Section Thirty One's cyber security. "Don't worry, sir. I'll do my job."
.O.O.O.
Tyrrin didn't realize she was lonely until she went home. At work, the hubbub and ruckus kept her mind spinning with new problems and fresh stupidity to punish. But at home, everything went quiet. There were plenty of people in the world, it was just that none of them were with her. Her flat was her world, and when she opened the door, there wasn't so much as a dog to greet her. Not that she had the time or patience to care for an animal, but still… The books sat on their shelves, growing dustier by the day, and her art blossomed and faded in waves she only half-consciously created.
She tried not to think about dying, but she was, and thinking about it was inevitable. When the others died, they had their families around them, and loved ones traveled from systems away to be with them in their time of need. Zaerti was the only family Tyrrin had, and she wasn't family in any biological sense. Their relationship was irregular but strong, and now she knew that it'd come to an end. Zaerti couldn't bear to watch her die. That was why she came when she did. It was a way to make her apologies, close the book, and clear the slate. She'd chosen not to build new relationships after the incident, and though she remained cheery, she distanced herself with her actions and let her sarcasm deflect affection. She was a natural snark, but she rarely tried to curb her tongue anymore. She made herself exasperating, and not a little exhausting. It kept her separate, but no one noticed the gap.
No one would stand by Tyrrin's bed as she died. The doctors wouldn't have to gradually shoo mourners out of the room in order to prepare for her autopsy. So little was known about the neurotoxin – all the victims' bodies were already claimed by science. They needed to understand how they died in order to prevent future deaths. But it was a cold idea, made all the chillier by the fact that she would, at best, get to look out a window as she died. No friendly faces. No flowers. Just a fading view and a tray full of scalpels.
Maybe that was why she'd chosen Khan and his desperate cause. She didn't want to be alone, even if her compatriots had no idea she was on their side.
She was so tempted to just come out and tell him. It wouldn't take a direct confession. A look. A nod. A hint. A name. Anything. He would know; he was clever enough. But if she caved to the need for acknowledgement, she'd get them all killed. Marcus was thick as a brick sometimes, but he wasn't stupid, and he was already looking for a reason to get rid of her. She couldn't risk Khan, and she certainly couldn't jeopardize his crew. Any gratitude would be eclipsed by his loss, and Tyrrin wouldn't get another chance to save him. If Marcus didn't kill her, Khan would.
She tried to convince herself that she was reassured by the fact that her secret was so safe, but it was a cold sort of comfort. Her own allies would kill her before she could breathe the truth. That was fact.
She was dying.
That was also a fact.
Tired of her thoughts, she went to the kitchen and made herself some tea. Just the sight of the warm amber drink soothed her, and she plucked it from the counter with unabashed joy. Just as she brought the rim to her lips, a sharp pain lanced her temple, and she had just enough time to recognize the impending headache before the spike of pain drove deeper into her skull, and she lost all sense of where she was or what she was doing. All she could do was close her eyes against the agony and squeeze her lip between her teeth until she tasted copper. She might have spent an hour like that before the pain left. She didn't know.
When she opened her eyes, her cup was spread across the floor in a dozen pieces. One shard was embedded in her palm. The tea gleamed in a spattered puddle, dotted with her blood.
She'd made quite the mess of things.
A/N: Atrociously short, I know, but please forgive me. Flatmate's future mother-in-law randomly scheduled a visit, so it was a mad rush to turn our tornado-wreck-of-a-duplex into a trustworthy-and-virtuous-daugher-in-law's-place. I didn't realize we had so much carpet...
And, you know, it's almost Halloween!
Thanks to all the lovely reviewers! You make my days so much brighter.
Replies to anons:
em: Thanks so much for the review! The wait turned out longer than I planned, but I hope it wasn't TOO long. Thanks again!
Kat: So happy you liked her backstory! I was a little worried about it, but I'm a little worried about a lot of things, like trees falling through the roof, or strange mold on my pizza, or what would happen if the world lost all its Twinkies... but that already happened... Anyway! Thanks again so very, very much! I'd love to comment on your conjecturing, but that would necessitate spoilers. Thanks again!