Disclaimer in previous chapters. In which the escape attempt is completely resolved.
- . -
Doc entered the room, noting the layout and inventorying the equipment mentally. All of the instruments that had copied data to the folders he'd found were present, including the electromagnetic imager poised over Vash. So she'd been taking pictures with the expensive equipment.
And he hadn't missed any data. That was important.
Besides the imager, which was over Vash's feet, the same life-support equipment was present. That probably meant the woman had restocked the drawers in the base of the examination table, which would save him having to hunt through the pharmacy to get some of the more specialized drugs. He'd been the one to recommend the PSI levels for the incapacitated crew, and he knew better than anyone that they didn't have much more time before the crew began to suffer permanent damages from oxygen deprivation.
He'd already looked; Millie hadn't depressurized any parts of the Infirmary. It was probably a good thing; with as many pressurized gases as could be found in a medical facility, they'd have had explosions on their hands. Lowering the ambient air pressure would have been the same as taking a fully filled tank of oxygen, nitrogen, or fluoride and essentially pumping in twice again what the container was rated for.
But that also meant that all the doctors, nurses, and any security guards were conscious and actively attempting to escape.
He spared a glance for the observation window, not at all surprised to find two women staring at him. The younger woman was further back, but Shrew was seated at her console, an odd look somewhere between sadness and anger on her face.
So she knew he was there to take Vash. Her patient. Her chance to study humanoid Plants. Dying ones.
There was a click as she toggled on the intercom. "You're as terrible a patient as you are a collaborator."
He offered her a light shrug. "To be honest, I haven't actually looked over my own chart yet," he admitted. "I suspect it would dishearten me."
"You would be right," she agreed. "Though I can almost guarantee that if you remain here you can retain some portion of the limb."
He shook his head, continuing into the room. Her sharp voice stopped him dead in his tracks.
"That's far enough."
Doc glanced up at her again, surprised to see her expression had settled on anger. "Another step and I will euthanize the Plant."
He was about to ask her how, when he took another look at the equipment. That old-fashioned pump she'd had, that she'd used to fill him full of drugs when he'd awakened –
But the network was down. She couldn't trigger it wirelessly, even if it was configured for it.
He studied the pump carefully, noting the twin IV lines that ran from it to Vash's chest. Directly into major blood vessels. That guaranteed that his normal blood flow would swiftly pull the contents of the lines into his bloodstream, and it would hit a vessel capable of handling that flow.
"This console is hardwired to the pump," she answered his unspoken question. "It has nothing to do with the main network."
Doc remained where he was, weighing his options. He could always leave the room and ask Millie to take care of the two women, but the moment he left she might anticipate that and kill Vash anyway. Eventually Millie or Meryl would come in to find out what was taking him so long, but they'd be trapped in the same situation.
Except they'd have two hands, so they could catch the two IV lines. At that point they could just rush the pump and try to beat the drugs in.
"The longer you delay me, the longer the rest of the ship suffers from hypoxia." He spoke clearly, modulating his tone to keep it dry. He wanted to lecture her, not threaten her. "I'm fully prepared to keep them out for however long it takes, but currently the majority of the crew has about ten more minutes before convulsions and coma set in."
It was hard, from this distance, to tell her expression. However, it didn't seem to brighten considerably, so he was going to assume that she was not happy with the news. "You cut off their air?"
"Lowered pressure," he replied. "Come to think of it, frostbite might also be a problem. Eventually the crew will die. And there is no chance of them mounting a significant resistance. You're on your own, doctor."
The young woman behind Shrew shifted, but the older woman made no movement. "And where do you think you can take this Plant? Back to your ship?"
He allowed himself a small smile. "Recapture would defeat the purpose of leaving," he noted quietly. "Please, Marguerite. You know as well as I do that he's dying. Let him end his life among friends."
The doctor laughed throatily. "Ah, now you're polite. If only I'd known this was all it took."
He didn't reply, and after a moment her expression settled. "As you say, the Plant is dying. Even in this environment. Without equipment, you have no hope of saving its life."
Doc said nothing, just watched her. She'd taken a huge personal risk on behalf of this Plant. Surely she'd finally learned enough. She'd seen him from the inside out, she couldn't deny now what he was. A cogent being, fully self-aware. Surely she knew now killing Vash would be murder.
"Release the ship."
He shook his head. "No," he answered. "I will not allow you to use Vash as a negotiating point." If they stopped now, everything was for naught. Not to mention Knives probably wouldn't let Millie surrender, and much as he wasn't going to tell Dr. Shrew, Thompson was really running the show.
She seemed to contemplate his words a moment. "Then it's in my best interest to obey orders," she responded. Even before she was finished speaking, he heard the click of the pumps.
Damn that woman.
He rushed over to the mechanical pump, grabbing the first IV line as close to the shunt as possible. He bent it in half between his forefinger and thumb, then lowered his mouth and pinched the fold between his teeth. Then he reached over Vash's closed eyes and grabbed the other line, folding it similarly.
He wasn't sure how much the drugs entered, but it certainly wouldn't have been enough to kill him. A few tense seconds later, the life support equipment confirmed that by showing steady vitals.
"Now what?" Dr. Shrew's voice came over the intercom. "Wait for someone else to check on you? I certainly hope they do so before you faint."
He was bent at a rather stiff angle, as his teeth were almost touching Vash's chest. And she was right; the blood was rushing to his head. Probably the painkillers she used were accentuating that effect.
If he fell now, it was over. The drugs were already in the lines. She couldn't take back what she'd done.
The shunts were basically a wide-bored needle tied directly to a major blood vessel. If he ripped one out, there'd be a very real threat of significant blood loss. As tenuous as Vash's current condition was . . . and he was probably still under the effect of the inhibitors he'd gotten when he'd regained consciousness all those hours ago. Significant blood loss would only worsen him.
Doc closed his eyes, willing his inner ear to settle down, then laid his head gently on Vash's chest.
The Plant didn't respond.
He rested some of his weight on the Plant, in the hopes it would lessen his blood pressure a little bit, and opened his eyes. He pulled the IV line he was holding in his left hand into sight, then he began to slowly work the fold down the line. He'd grabbed it a few inches above the shunt in his rush, and if he could just milk that fold down a little bit –
Of course, if it slipped, he was pulling the drugs directly to Vash. If he let go, there'd be no delay.
The dizziness seemed to be helped a little bit, though his angle was a bit odd, and kept changing as the Plant breathed beneath his cheek. He could hear Vash's heart beating, steadily and slowly. Such a change from yesterday, that peaceful, distress-free sleep would seem to almost anyone an improvement.
If only it was.
Ever so slowly he worked the fold down, until his thumb bumped the shunt trough itself. The IV line actually ended in a needle, which had punctured the well of the shunt and led to the wider-bored needle that was actually inserted under his skin. Usually they just twisted apart, but usually you also added or removed a line from a shunt with two hands. One to hold the shunt steady, the other to twist the line.
He had one hand, and currently his two most nimble fingers were pinching the line closed.
He twisted his right hand awkwardly, listening to his wrist pop as he tried to take the fold away from his thumb and forefinger with his pinkie and fourth finger. He managed it, but those fingers shook with the pressure of keeping it. If they slipped apart –
As quickly as possible, he braced his remaining three fingers on the joint of the line and shunt, and twisted for all he was worth.
It nearly wasn't enough; he didn't have the freedom to roll the line up his fingers, since his hand position was the only thing keeping his pinkie and fourth finger holding the fold. But with a satisfying click the plastics came free, and he dropped the line. It dribbled a few drops of the drugs, but without a bloodstream to pull it from the IV line it eventually stopped.
Which was unfortunate. It could have emptied the drugs she'd released if it had kept leaking.
This time he had one entire hand to dedicate to pulling free the line, and it was significantly easier. However, he couldn't see what he was doing. As soon as he heard the telltale click he spat out the line, watching as it too oozed impotently for a moment before stopping.
Both the shunts were still intact. There was no bruising to indicate that he'd done any internal damage to the vessels, either.
He didn't even bother to glance up at the observation window as he detached the blood gases gauge, the catheter, and the rest of the equipment from Vash. Doc tried not to let the sudden squawk of the heart monitor stab him in the gut. He turned it off immediately, giving Vash a once-over.
The shunts would have to stay in, and it wouldn't do to allow Meryl to see him like this. He was fairly certain the woman had seen enough of Vash to expect the implants, as she had cared for him on more than one occasion when he was unconscious. However, the young woman had more than enough on her plate worrying about Miss Thompson. He wasn't going to give her more reason to fret over Vash than he had to.
At least, not until it could no longer be avoided.
Doc cast around, shuffling through the drawers in the base of the table before finding a light blanket. This he threw over Vash, covering him to his shoulders. It would also serve to protect him from the sun, depending on what kind of vehicle Elizabeth had commandeered for their escape.
"It's dangerous like this, and you know it." Dr. Shrew sounded terribly disappointed with him. "How dare you risk another city by taking it there-"
"I agree," he interrupted her, crouching slowly and dropping more drugs into the bag he'd found. "I won't risk any more lives than I have to caring for him."
When he was satisfied that he'd taken everything necessary, including modified inhibitors, stimulants, the painkiller and sedative cocktail, and two of just about everything else, he stood slowly, looking around before noting that the examination table was actually on wheels. He walked around it a moment, inspecting the base for a foot-activated brake, and located it near Vash's feet. He hit it, but it was as he expected – the bed weighed more than he was willing to push.
"Be careful," he heard her say as he walked out of the doors, sticking his head into the main hallway.
"Miss Stryfe? Might I borrow you for a moment?"
- . -
Millie stared at the screens, waiting quietly for her fingers to start moving again. It was getting easier, and as she noted where each finger was, and what it typed, and what the reaction on the screen was, she was slowly starting to figure out the computer systems. She'd figured out a little while ago how to put the names to the dots in all the PDA displays of a certain resolution, and she was pretty sure it hadn't been Knives' doing.
Of course, it was kind of hard to tell. She was feeling more nauseous by the minute, and the pure joy she'd felt at finally being able to do something helpful had faded very quickly to exhaustion. The fact that she was getting better at identifying which waves of emotion were her own, and which were Knives', worried her. She was starting to think that she felt sick because he did.
Then again, she'd been given a lot of drugs over the past few days, and it felt like every time she slept she ended up struggling through that horrible burnt city, so she was never rested when she woke.
She was going to make a mistake. Like that unfortunate typo in the Ashe-Berger contract, where she'd accidentally written entire sentences that made perfect sense in context with the dialogue between the stuffed couch and the flower in the vase. Only this time it was bigger than a single contract.
People were going to be killed. Some of them already had.
She swallowed down a vindictive satisfaction, instead centering on her own sadness. Sempai seemed certain that Private Asoaurd hadn't been the responsible party, and unfortunately he'd run from the commander's quarters before she had locked the ship down and lowered the air pressure. He was loose in the halls, and on her downtime she'd been watching him. He'd been one of the first crewmembers to figure out that he could use the stairs, shortly after Mr. Carter had done so to sneak up on some people.
She was having a little bit of trouble keeping everyone straight. There were so many dots that were flashing, and now and then an alert would pop up, one of the blocked pages to the Infirmary indicating dangerously low pulse or blood pressure. She couldn't keep everything here forever. People were getting sick.
She bit her bottom lip, looking around the schematics for cars. Or jeeps. Or trucks, or even buses and sandsteamers. They'd have to drive away, and Mr. Knives had blown up Miss Elizabeth's jeep, so only their truck would be parked outside and it wouldn't be big enough for everyone. Unless they all sat in the bed, and then where would the production Plant go?
She frowned at another alert that popped up, staring at it for a long time before the name Rasse, S. caught her attention. Wasn't that Mr. Sunjy's last name . . .?
She shifted to that window, reading it by dragging her eyes over it without trying to look at the numbers themselves. Knives seemed to recognize words and numbers better that way, like he knew the shape and didn't have to look at all the letters to figure out what the word was.
But then she didn't need any help translating what it said.
A blinking light on the bottom right-hand corner of the screen popped up, flashing a little text box that was partially see-through.
Sunjy's been shot. Escort Shrew to production Plant. – E
Millie gasped, and Meryl was instantly beside her. Her partner kept a hand on her, as though she thought she were going to suddenly fall over. It had been annoying her very much, but now it was a comfort.
"Sempai! Mr. Sunjy's been shot!"
Meryl leaned in, staring at the screens as though she knew what they meant.
"How do you know?"
"Miss Elizabeth said," she wailed, pointing at the message. "And he's hurt real bad!"
She was in the process of unlocking the observation deck when another alert took the cursor away from her.
It was the same as Commander Gray's and Captain Faber's.
It said that there were no life signs.
It said that he was dead.
She stared dumbly at it for a moment, tears springing to her aching eyes. Oh, no. That wasn't supposed to happen at all. He seemed like such a nice man, she'd met him before at the plants and that just couldn't be right!
She pulled up the video grid, absolutely certain that there would be a camera in the main bulb room. She'd just look, is what she'd do. Maybe he had to pull off the comm. badge, and it got damaged and thought he was dead when he'd just left it on the ground.
She found that there were in fact four cameras, and she brought all of them up by tapping them. She made them as big as she could on the screen, taking up all of it, and stared until the pixels didn't even look like anything anymore.
Or maybe that was because she couldn't see through her tears.
Only one of the views showed him. He was lying on his back, almost under the bulb. There was no blood that she could see, but the floor was grating and it would just drip through and so she wouldn't see it unless it was on his grey uniform –
She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, blinking again. There . . there was blood on his uniform.
He was really dead.
A box appeared, showing that it was starting an audio only communication with a handheld.
"Doc, Thompson, Stryfe, you there?"
"We're here, Aaron," Meryl answered. Millie was glad; she didn't think she could talk right then. How . . . ? How could anyone have done that? She hadn't seen anyone near the production Plant room, and she'd been supposed to be watching –
She'd just missed it. And he'd died. He'd been killed because she hadn't been watching.
"Commander Gray is on his way to you. Do not open the door."
Millie stiffened. No, that wasn't right –
"Aaron, Gray is dead." Please, let him be dead. Meryl sounded worried.
"That's what Elizabeth thought too," Aaron replied. His voice sounded strained. "He wounded Sunjy to force you to let one of the doctors out and open the door."
Wounded? Oh, god, he doesn't know? Meryl steeled herself, apparently to give Mr. Carter the news. ". . . Aaron . . . "
"Don't send anyone. He's dead."
Millie squeezed her eyes shut. But how? He was dead like poor Captain Faber . . . She opened her eyes again, blinking out the tears and pulling up the camera list again. The commander's quarters did have a camera, so she pulled it up.
It was also black and white, and showed a conference table and a little bit of the surrounding room. A uniformed man was sprawled on the table, bent at the waist. There was a dark puddle of blood beside his head, which looked weirdly shaped –
Millie clicked the image away, swallowing around her nausea. So Captain Faber really was dead –
But if Terry hadn't had time to kill him, and Commander Gray was alive, did that mean that Commander Gray had killed Captain Faber? But . . . it looked a little like he'd shot himself. Why would he do that? And then had Commander Gray done something to his comm. badge to make it think he was dead too?
That meant he could wander around the ship and she'd never know where he was. She hadn't seen him enter the Plant room because there had been nothing to see.
Terry concentrated on his little grey computer, and Bryan tapped his table. "I see," he murmured. "Then where are they?"
Meryl didn't make the leap, and she stared as the bald man glanced up at Dr. Greer. "Can you display anyone bearing one of our comm. units as a different color than the other humans? I realize it's two different systems –"
Dr. Greer was already at work. "A moment."
Millie blinked, trying to see through the memory. It was – Meryl's memory, she decided, because just then Meryl spoke.
"Millie, back when Knives was attacking us-"
She just nodded. "There's a system that shows you where humans are even if they aren't crew."
Millie felt a brief wave of consternation from her sempai, but it faded quickly as Millie poised her hands over the keyboard again. As before, her fingers started moving, and she let them, shifting them where it felt right to, just like typing what you saw. Your fingers knew which letter was where and they just typed them, even if you didn't understand or couldn't pronounce or spell the words you were reading. It was just an automatic thing. If she didn't think about it too hard, it was fine –
Her fingers fumbled, and she suppressed a sob. No, it had to work, it had to keep working because if it didn't then she couldn't find him and –
And she was panicking. It was something Mr. Knives would never do.
And neither would Mr. Priest.
She could almost see him in her mind, leaning over her other shoulder, staring at the computer with a crumpled cigarette between his lips.
Millie took a breath, and tried to calm down. They could grieve for Mr. Sunjy later. If they didn't stop Commander Gray, then more people would get shot.
Like . . . her.
He was coming to kill her.
Because she was the one that had taken the ship away from him.
She suddenly looked up at Meryl, not surprised to see the other woman was staring at her. "Millie," she began soothingly, "it wasn't your fau-"
"We need guns," she interrupted bluntly. "Do you know where my stun-gun is?"
The shorter woman blinked, obviously taken aback by the change in subject. "I don't think you had it when you came here, did you?"
Millie winced at her stupidity. Of course. Her stungun was back in New Phoenix. She'd have to-
She'd have to use a real gun.
Millie turned back to the monitor as her fingers stopped typing, and she saw the ship schematic. Only it looked exactly like it had before. Lots of flashing yellow-grey-yellow-grey dots, and a couple yellow dots that were Elizabeth and Aaron and –
And them. And that was it.
Because Mr. Sunjy was dead.
"Where's Doc?"
She'd forgotten the audio link was still open with Aaron. She could see his dot, he was in the cold generation room with Mr. Knives. But Miss Elizabeth wasn't . . . Millie found her after a moment, in the lift.
"Where's Miss Elizabeth going by herself?" she almost yelped. "I can't find the commander yet."
"Have you started the other scanning system?" Aaron didn't even sound irritated that they hadn't answered him.
She nodded, then shook her head. "Yes," she finally said, knowing he couldn't see either movement.
"Pipe it to my handheld. He's got to be somewhere between the main bulb room and your position. Stryfe?"
"Yes?"
"Thompson was right. Go find a gun. Are there any guards in the Infirmary? I don't want you unlocking that door."
Meryl cast a look around, but didn't budge from her spot. Of course, because she didn't have her own computer so she could only look at what Millie herself was looking at, and she was looking for a non-flashing dot -
"Where's Miss Elizabeth going?" Millie repeated. "Why did you let her go-"
"She's gone to uninstall the production Plant." He made an oofing noise, like someone had dropped a sack of rice on his shoulder. "That's why we need to find Gray now."
"I don't know if there are any guards here," Meryl said, keeping her voice businesslike. "What are you doing?"
"Carrying one heavy son of a bitch," he replied, but his voice was without anger. "I'm coming to you. Stay put. If you need to, get out of the main hallway and hide."
Millie just stopped. "But, Mr. Aaron, Sunjy's in there. Miss Elizabeth is going there all alone?" she heard herself whisper.
There was another expelling of air, again reminding Millie of catching something heavy. "It couldn't be helped," he finally ground out. "Unless one of you knows how to extract a real Plant. Can Doc cover it?"
Millie winced. "He can't," she told him. "He's too old, and he only has one arm now-"
"What?"
Meryl made an impatient noise. "Aaron, get here as soon as you can. I'm going to update Doc and find a gun, then go help Elizabeth."
"NO. Do not open the door."
"You'll have to open the door to get in." Meryl was starting to sound cross.
"I'll shoot him before I come in," he replied matter-of-factly.
Meryl rolled her eyes. Men.
"Miss Stryfe? Might I borrow you for a moment?"
Millie blinked, glancing down the hallway. Sure enough, Doc's head was poking out of one of the rooms. Meryl hesitated, but Millie just smiled slightly.
"It's okay, sempai." She tried to keep her voice steady. "Go help him. I'll stay here and try to find Commander Gray."
Meryl thought about it for a second, then just nodded. "And can you tell me if there are any guards here?"
Millie brought the schematics back to their position, looking around the Infirmary. There were two dots in the observation deck, one dot in a room marked 'Photography' that turned out to be Sam, and two dots in a room marked 'Rec.'
"Yes." Millie glanced around the hall, trying to line it up with the schematic in her mind. Then she pointed. "In there."
"Can you . . . depressurize it?"
Millie checked the door to see if it could be sealed. It could.
"Uh-huh."
"Go head and do it," Meryl ordered, then turned towards Doc. "Just a second!" she called, jogging towards him, and the man nodded and withdrew.
That was Vash's room.
The thought of seeing him again made her stomach tickle strangely, and her blood run suddenly cold in her veins. She wasn't sure how much of that was Knives' dread and how much was her own. Was he going to be okay? She'd been so distracted she hadn't actually looked at the medical reports, but she wasn't sure she'd understand them even though Knives would –
Her fingers started moving again, but this time she forced them to curl into fists.
No, she told her brain. We have too much to worry about right now. Doc is taking care of Mr. Vash and that will have to be good enough.
She expected something. Retribution, punishment. But nothing happened. No sudden pain, no anger, nothing at all. Just the same feeling of dread, the same chill to her blood.
Please let Mr. Vash be alright, she thought fervently towards the ceiling. Then she focused on the computer again.
She had to knock out the guards so she could get their guns.
Her fingers started moving, and she watched them closely in case they started drifting towards medical data. But no, they just went to the schematics and started lowering the pressure in the 'Rec' room. Recreation, her brain supplied from the clear blue sky. It had been supplying a lot of terms lately.
She would miss this knowing. While she always knew she was perceptive, she'd never felt like she actually knew . . . everything. There wasn't a button or a picture around that she didn't know the name of, the function of, or several different ways to utilize. She knew about air pressure, specifically why it caused unconsciousness. She knew that if she thought about any subject hard enough, she'd just suddenly know about it.
An orange dot caught her eye, and she looked at it a moment. It wasn't moving, which was good. It was a human, too. If it were a Plant like Mr. Knives or Mr. Vash, it would be showing up as a blue dot. There was also a blue dot nearby.
The blue dot was Mr. Vash.
And the orange dot was directly outside of the Infirmary doors.
She gasped, forgetting there was an audio link to Aaron, and he heard it. "Thompson?"
Millie licked her lips, trying to see if there was a camera outside of the Infirmary main door. There was. She tapped it, and saw a door. No commander.
Then she squinted. There was motion on the black and white image, like the floor had a puddle that was moving –
A shadow. He was kneeling just out of sight of the camera.
"Thompson," Aaron repeated, a little more urgently.
"I-I found Commander Gray," Millie admitted in a soft voice. "He's just outside the door, like you said."
"What's he doing?"
She frowned. "He's crouched out of sight, but I can see his shadow moving."
"Moving?" Aaron sounded thoughtful. He was also starting to breathe a little harder, and she briefly went looking for him. He and a blue dot that was nearly on top of him were heading for the same lift Elizabeth had taken a few minutes before. "A lot or a little?"
She glanced back at the camera. "A little, and only the top half of him."
"Millie," Aaron said in a tone that reminded her almost exactly of Mr. Vash when he meant business, "lock your console and get out of the main hall. Now."
She hesitated, looking at the air pressure in the rec room. "But I don't have a gun yet-"
"GO!" he yelled.
She physically jumped, nearly falling off the stool, and found herself trying to type something. She glared at her fingers, not sure if they were doing something on their own or they were trying to lock the console. She was pretty sure it was that button right there that would –
Millie finally pulled her fingers away from what they were doing and tapped the button, and the console blanked. The keyboard sucked back into the wall, and she stumbled to her feet, intending to head for Observation One –
Only the doors behind her slid open. And the only doors behind her were the main Infirmary doors.
Millie turned slowly, looking through her oily hair at the door. A very friendly-looking, balding man in his mid-fifties was walking in, looking casual despite the gun he carried in his right hand. He stopped when he saw her watching him, and then glanced around her a moment.
"You must be Millie Thompson," he said quietly, in a not unkind voice.
- . -
Meryl jogged down the hall, only pausing a second before she entered the room.
Vash's room.
Doc was asking her to help him with Vash.
The man she hadn't seen since Hondelic, excluding that horrible, white picture that would be burned forever into her brain-
It doesn't matter what he looks like, she told herself firmly. Doc will take care of him. He'll be fine. Even if he's a mess . . . she'd seen him look a mess before. This would be the same as that, only better, because she could trust the person that was taking care of him to know what he was doing.
Keeping these thoughts firmly in mind, she picked her eyes up off the floor.
Then she almost tripped in her surprise, slowing to a walk and not quite believing her eyes.
He looked almost . . . normal. As though he were sleeping. Longer blonde hair framed his pale face, slightly matted, like he'd been sweating at some point and gone to sleep that way and it had dried. He had about three days' growth covering his cheeks and jaw, just as blonde as his hair and long enough to be scratchy if she touched his face. He was covered from chest to feet in a light blue blanket exactly like the one she'd left wrapped around Millie, and while there was an intimidating amount of equipment in the room, none of it was attached to him.
After all that worry . . . he looked . . . he looked . . .
He looked okay. His face was a little gaunt, but other than that -
Doc was watching her, standing by the bed's foot. "We need to push him out into the hallway," Doc said gently.
"You won't get him off the ship," a metallic voice chirped suddenly, and Meryl bit down a yelp, whipping around.
An expanse of glass caught her attention, towards the ceiling, and she stared at it, realizing the voice belonged to Dr. Shrew. She was staring at them through the glass, conscious and apparently quite angry.
Meryl stared at her in disgust for a moment before looking away. She had done a good job with Millie, after all, even if she was responsible for what happened to Vash –
But he looked okay. His color wasn't great, but it wasn't the worst she'd seen it. His face looked relaxed, none of the tightness around his jaw and ears that signaled he was in pain. He was breathing slowly but regularly, and looked . . . oddly small beneath the blanket.
Of course, he's still missing the arm, her brain supplied. And all the metal implants were probably gone, too –
But . . . he needed them –
She looked at Doc questioningly, but he just shook his head. "We'll need to move him to something a little more mobile than this, obviously," he volunteered, as though the size of the bed was the reason they couldn't get Vash off the ship. "Just give it a pull, would you?"
She nodded, walking up to the head of the bed. A quick glance found two black handles that seemed especially designed for pulling, and she grasped them. They seemed large and thick in her hands, as though they were made for a much bigger, meatier orderly. She tugged like she meant it, surprised when the bed glided towards her easily.
"Steady as she goes," Doc murmured with a hint of amusement, and Meryl felt herself blush.
What had she been doing, staring at Vash! Doc needed to be brought up to speed-
"Commander Gray is alive," she said without preamble. "He's coming here."
Doc blinked. "Oh?" He glanced up at the window, and she followed his gaze to a very surprised-looking Dr. Shrew. "Then I suppose we should hurry."
Meryl just nodded, pulling steadily. She heard the doors behind her slide open, and she watched the corners of the bed to make sure she didn't jostle him –
Would he wake up, she wondered. If he could walk, they wouldn't have to worry about carrying him or wheeling him around. She knew he was heavier than he looked –
Well, maybe not now. Surely if he really did need the implants, Doc was planning on replacing them –
But how could he, in Eden? Was that why Vash was covered with the blanket? To hide all the terrible scars, and the – the holes and marks from where the metal used to be? And that horrible grate -
"That's far enough," a male voice called, and Meryl jumped, then turned sharply, her heart sinking into her stomach.
She knew that voice.
Meryl stopped the bed as best she could, digging into the tile floor, but it pushed firmly into her stomach and shoved her back. It had much more mass than it seemed, it thrust her back far enough that Doc was able to follow it before he realized they had company. The door to the main corridor of the ship stood wide open, and about two yarz in stood the recently not-deceased Bryan Gray.
Between them slouched the sloped-shouldered form of Millie Thompson, leaning on her IV stand. The console was nowhere in sight, the wall was dark and flat.
So she'd seen him coming, then, and at least locked the console. So he couldn't get control of the ship back until she unlocked it, right? That was something. At least he wouldn't shoot her outright.
Even though he'd apparently done so to Sunjy.
Meryl felt her stomach twist as the commander's eyes flickered to the bed, then past it. He smiled slightly.
"Good afternoon, Doc," he greeted cordially. Doc just regarded him, his face impassive.
"I'd say it's been too long since I've seen you, but I do believe never again would not be long enough."
The commander's mouth quirked. "Release the ship."
Doc sighed heavily, placing his hand on the end of the bed, near Vash's feet. "If you release the ladies, I will do as you ask."
The commander began to shake his head, though he didn't interrupt Doc. "Unconditional surrender," he corrected. "Tribunals for your party, I can guarantee."
Meryl blinked, glancing between the two men. Doc seemed so much older, and wiser, but their expressions were nearly identical. She'd never really thought of Doc as dangerous, but right then his complete impassiveness was unnerving.
"Your crew is nearly dead," Doc informed the commander of the New Kennedy. "Another ten minutes without regular air pressure being restored will kill forty percent of them. None will survive the next twenty minutes. If you think you can free and revive a technician that can undo what it is I have done to the systems in that timeframe, you are welcome to try."
Meryl carefully kept her expression exactly the way it was. Gray thought Doc had been the one to manipulate the computer systems – just like Aaron had before him. Neither of them knew that Millie was behind it, so Gray would ignore her. In fact, she probably hadn't said a word, so he would assume she was exactly what Dr. Shrew had reported. Worthless.
Stay still, Millie, she thought pointedly at the other girl.
Gray cocked his head to the side, as though considering. Then he pointed his gun at Millie Thompson.
Millie didn't even flinch. Meryl took a step in his direction before she stopped herself. What could she do? She didn't even have a gun. They could take cover behind the examining table, but –
What if he shot Vash trying to hit them?
"Unconditional surrender," he repeated. "I'll give you a moment to reconsider."
Doc hesitated, his expression never changing, but his eyes . . . Meryl had to look away after a moment.
What was he thinking? That Millie was going to die anyway? Of a clot, or a stroke, or whatever it was that Knives had done in the first place. Unless they got Knives out, and awake, to undo what he'd done. And how likely was that, really? That they'd let him wake up? Could they drug him just like the ship had done, force him to –
"I surrender," Doc said, not loudly but with good projection. "I do believe you would sacrifice your entire crew for the principle of the thing."
Bryan didn't lower his pistol, but he didn't fire. "I would," he replied. "Please begin."
Doc stepped forward immediately. "Lower your weapon, or choose a different hostage. You're frightening the poor girl, and her condition is delicate enough." Despite the fact that he had just given up, his tone of voice was very nearly a demand.
Bryan complied, changing his target to her. Millie hadn't moved a muscle since they'd walked into the hall, and she continued to stand stock-still, right where she was. As always when she had a gun trained on her, Meryl's heart began to beat faster, and adrenaline burned through her chest. So she was the hostage. She was okay with that, and refused to look at him, instead watching Millie.
Could Doc unlock the console? Did he know her password? What the hell was he doing? If they waited long enough, Aaron would get there and take care of the situation, but –
Doc was walking away from her and Vash, she realized suddenly. He was drawing the commander's attention away, and also stepping into line of sight –
The door to her immediate left suddenly opened with a slight whoosh of air, and it clicked. The guards' room. The guns.
Millie had set the door to open after the guards were knocked out.
She dove for the door.
She heard the gun go off, but she felt no pain, and hit the ground hard, rolling as best she could on her shoulder. It had been a bad dive, she decided, scrambling to her feet and looking around wildly. There were indeed two dark grey uniformed guards, and both were wearing pistols on their waists. She lost no time in grabbing one and chambering a round, and she immediately headed back for the door. If nothing else, she could –
What, shoot wildly down the hallway and possibly hit Doc or Millie?
Meryl took a steadying breath, putting her back to the doorframe. She heard nothing, not even a footstep. Where had the bullet gone? Had he just missed her altogether, or had he shot something else?
"You're the commander's attendant, aren't you." It was Doc, and it was very matter-of-fact.
Meryl stiffened, then dared to peer around the corner.
Millie was still exactly where she'd been, hanging onto the metal stand for dear life. Doc was also standing, just in the center of the hallway. There was still a light grey-uniformed man in the Infirmary doorway, but he wasn't old, or balding. He was quite young, actually, and someone Meryl could admit she was almost happy to see.
Terry Asoaurd lowered his gun, shaking like a leaf.
Meryl glanced at Doc's feet, then quietly stepped out, tucking the gun into her uniform jacket.
There was no doubt about it this time. Gray really was dead.
And Terry really had shot him.
In the base of the skull. A killing shot. Meryl looked away, glancing again at Millie. She hated blood, hated death. She was still shaking, but had yet to speak or move. Her stillness partially unnerved Meryl. What had happened before they'd come back out in the hallway? Had Gray hurt her?
Terry was nodding dumbly in response to Doc's question, and Doc continued to approach him. "What's your name, son?"
The private was staring at the body of his commander as though he expected it to get up any second. "Terry, sir. Terry Asoaurd."
Meryl watched Doc nod, stopping a few feet from the man. "Why did you do that, Terry?"
The man swallowed loudly enough for Meryl to hear, and his head jerked up at her approach, as though he hadn't seen her till just that moment. "I had to," he said softly.
Meryl stopped, unsure of whether she should get Vash or it was better that he was at the end of the hall and was being mostly ignored. Terry had been helpful, sure, but he was also a member of the ship's crew. He'd been the one that had gone through all her reports, assembled all the information that had led to Vash's capture in the first place-
"Thank you," she said quietly. It seemed the only thing to say. "How . . . did you know?"
Terry's eyes flickered back to the body. "He had a conference with Faber." His voice was mechanical. She knew the feeling of shock well; she'd heard the same voice out of so many people before. "When I got back to his quarters, he was already gone."
"And the Captain was dead," Meryl supplied. "Did Gray kill him?"
Terry brought his gaze back to her. "Faber screwed up," he said finally. "He let one of the civilians change policy on the ship. He was probably given the choice between that and tribunal."
Given a choice between . . . shooting himself or facing trial? Who would choose not to face trial? At least there would be a jury, and a sentencing phase that wouldn't mean execution – right?
He sighed and looked down as he caught her confusion. "Tribunal would have sentenced cold sleep . . . indefinitely. Until prisons could be built, and this ship's crew was part of the civilian government. So, forever," he added. "Most would choose to die directly than be trapped in near-death until there was no more power."
Essentially dead, but with the soul still trapped in the body? She suddenly shuddered. It would be the same as not existing. But people in cold-sleep weren't aware of it . . . were they?
"How did you know where he'd come?"
Terry shrugged. "I saw he'd put his badge in one of his boxes," he said quietly. "I knew he'd head to the place the computers were being controlled from. It only made sense."
"One of his boxes?" Doc echoed.
Terry glanced back at him. "Yessir." His posture was ever so slowly starting to relax. "His first position in the military was as an electrical engineer. He knows the wiring of the ship inside and out, and he makes a variety of electrical and other . . . boxes." He shrugged. "He liked keeping things organized."
Doc just nodded. "So when he put his comm. unit in a lined box, and closed the lid, it didn't trigger the proximity override. It appeared to the machine that his heart had simply stopped." Doc looked like he was putting a very important piece of information in place, and she realized he might not have known that the computer had told them Gray and Faber were dead. She wasn't sure if Elizabeth had told him – she certainly hadn't.
Terry nodded robotically, then refocused on Doc. "You did a good job helping to save the Plant, sir," he complimented. Doc just blinked at him.
"Thank you for that assessment," he replied dryly. "Would you like to sit down?"
Terry shook his head. "No, sir." He looked at Millie, then did a double-take.
"She shouldn't be up," Doc said immediately, before either girl could jump in. "But as you can see, we were rather preoccupied."
"It was you," Millie said suddenly.
Meryl tried not to look surprised. Oh, after all the times Millie had been quiet around him, she had to go spoiling it now?
Terry stared at her for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was awed. "I knew it," he murmured. "I watched you. I wanted to help. I did help. I told you when the audio was restored. I told you what they planned for Vash."
Hearing him say that name, after so many meetings of its and G-101A, it made something in Meryl's blood curdle. He knew.
He'd been watching, when no one else had. Just like he'd watched the footage, read all the reports. He'd been watching them the entire time, and helping them – but why look awed? Did he think he was talking to Knives?
"You deleted the data," Millie countered. Her voice was still hers, it wasn't the creepy tones she used when she first woke up, when she was dreaming. Why would he have- "You stopped the proximity alert from going out."
"And I disabled the device in the bulb," Terry added. "I tried to prevent the installation, but I never thought you'd be captured –"
"What device in the bulb?" Millie demanded in a sharp voice.
"The explosives," he replied immediately. "There were explosives placed there, on the off chance you were too powerful –"
He did think he was talking to Knives, directly through Millie. Why the hell would he want to?
Millie was starting to shake, and Meryl winced. So that was what Elizabeth had been trying not to tell her. That she had gone to 'take care of Knives' by blowing him up. Not that she could blame the engineer, but Millie was going to fly off the handle –
Millie spun, glaring at Meryl, and Meryl dropped her eyes, suddenly feeling terribly guilty. But only for a moment.
"Millie," she started, but the tall girl cut her off.
"I don't care!" she snapped. "He came here to rescue Mr. Vash for the same reasons that we're doing it now!" She was in righteous anger mode, and Meryl knew better than trying to slow her down. "He's trapped and scared and you wanted to kill him? Just like the people here wanted?"
"Millie Thompson," Doc said quietly.
Had it been anyone else, Meryl doubted Millie would have responded. But Doc sounded like everyone's father. Millie turned to look at him, tears pouring down her face, and he just shook his head.
"Now is not the time for this argument," he told her softly. "We are not safe yet. You need to log back into the system and restore air pressure, or many of the crew will die."
He'd managed to hit several very important points, and after a brief moment Millie dropped her gaze and turned back to the console. She didn't apologize, but Doc didn't seem to expect one. Instead, he turned to Terry, who looked extremely confused.
"Knives is in a coma," Doc said, narrowing his eyes slightly as though considering his words very carefully. "What made you think he was speaking through Millie?"
But Terry was quickly getting over his confusion. "You . . . you meant to use the explosives?" He didn't seem to be able to believe it, glancing at Meryl for confirmation. "You were going to kill him?"
Meryl felt trapped by his gaze, but she answered truthfully. "Yes. He's planning the annihilation of the human race-"
"And we deserve it," Terry interrupted with a growl. "You, of all people, I would have expected to understand that."
But hadn't he been the one explaining it was the most 'humane' thing to do to kill Vash –
To goad her into responding. To force them to act, put into place any plans they had for escape.
Because he'd run out of his own. He'd sabotaged what he could and it hadn't been enough.
Meryl responded instantly to his tone, reaching for the gun she'd tucked into her uniform. But his was still in his hand, and she didn't have hers fully drawn before she found herself on the business end of a gun for the second time that hour. She froze, then slowly pulled her empty hand back out of the uniform jacket.
"Put your gun down," Millie demanded, half-turned away from the newly awakened console. Her hands were gripping the keyboard tray, knuckles white. Trying to make him think she was Knives, giving him that order? Terry's eyes flicked to her, but he didn't obey.
"You will be rewarded for your loyalty," he told her. "But you are not he."
This was insane. Was he really a plant worshipper? Why would he help to lure two Plants to their deaths if he worshipped them? "You read my reports," Meryl retorted. "Did Knives reward any of the Gung-Ho Guns for their loyalty?"
Terry blinked at her. "They failed," he said slowly. "Why would a being as perfect as a Plant reward anyone for that?"
"You helped trap them!" Surely he couldn't be that crazy. "Do you call that loyalty?"
"It was the only way to make them aware of this place," Terry snapped. "He had to see for himself what it was he tried to extinguish all those years ago. He had to know he was right!"
Oh, god. He wasn't a Plant worshipper.
He was just trying to help Knives.
He hadn't been helping them. He'd been using them. To save Knives and only Knives.
"That's not true!" Millie cried, and Terry flicked another glance at her. "Mr. Knives was wrong to cause the Great Fall! But he did it because- because-" Millie broke off, her face suddenly puzzled. "Sempai . . ." she muttered uncertainly.
Then she buckled to the floor.
Things happened very fast. Terry immediately moved to help Millie, taking his attention off her. He'd never made her toss away the gun, so she finished drawing it and leveled it at him. Doc was also moving, but much slower and directly for Millie. Terry hadn't dropped the gun.
This was the only chance she was going to get.
He was going to kill them for trying to kill Knives. Or at the very least, not let them leave.
Aaron was not magically in the doorway to take care of this problem.
Meryl aimed for his right shoulder, and squeezed the trigger.
She hit him squarely; he flew backwards to hit the doorframe of the still-opened Infirmary main entrance. His gun went skittering out into the main ship corridor. Her bullet had passed about one step in front of Doc, who never flinched or gave her any indication he'd been afraid she'd accidentally hit him. His entire attention was focused on Millie. After making sure Terry was down, she sprinted over to Millie.
"Millie Thompson," Doc said in a quiet voice. "Can you hear me?"
She nodded, in her usual uncoordinated fashion. "I feel wrrd," she slurred.
Meryl's stomach tightened painfully as she slid to a stop on the tiles, staring at Millie.
She looked . . . almost the same. Her face looked slightly lopsided, but as she shook her head it seemed to be getting better. One look at Doc's expression, however, told her that everything was not all right.
"Does it tingle anywhere?" he asked her urgently.
Millie paused, then nodded. "Right leg," she said, a little more clearly. "It just gave out."
He nodded, feeling up and down the limb, and when he turned to her his voice was sharp. "Meryl, get some packing gauze out of the table."
Gauze? For a stroke? She paused, confused, and he turned back to Millie, staring at her intently. "For the young man," he clarified.
He wanted to doctor up the idiot that had almost shot them when Millie was sitting there-
There's nothing he can do for her, her brain interjected. It was expected. It was something that would happen when she got upset, and she'd gotten upset –
"Do I want to know?"
The voice was male, but not Terry's pained moans, and Meryl whipped back towards the door, glad the pistol was still in her hands –
Carter was staring back at her, gun at his side. On his shoulder was –
Was someone she would have sworn was Vash if she hadn't known he was lying unconscious on a bed about ten yarz behind her. The figure was wrapped in a simple cotton robe, almost like he'd just stepped out of the shower. Bare feet and graceful, muscular legs peered out from beneath the fabric.
He was carrying Knives. He was carrying Knives.
Of course, she thought simply. They couldn't leave him here on the ship. Certainly not now that Millie knew what had been planned for him.
But what were they going to do with him?
Aaron seemed unconcerned with these questions, and dumped Knives unceremoniously on the floor, gun now pointed not at her but at Terry.
"Asoaurd," he muttered.
Terry was still slumped against the doorframe, clutching his right shoulder tightly and staring at the mound that was Knives, half shocked and half furious. "How-how dare you treat him like that!"
Aaron stared at him a moment, then looked directly at her. "Report." He said it like he might to a colleague that had just finished a security round at the plant.
"Gray caught us by surprise." Meryl paused. "I guess he-"
"Ripped the control out of the wall and hotwired it," Aaron interrupted. "Did it to several doors. Then what?"
"Then Terry Asoaurd shot him," Doc supplied, a bit shortly from his position in front of Millie. "I assume you are one of Elizabeth's men?"
Carter nodded once. "Who shot him?"
Meryl felt both her eyebrows go up, and Carter stared at her. "Uh . . . he became upset when he realized you and Elizabeth tried to blow Knives up."
"And he wasn't the only one!" Millie interjected hotly from the floor. Doc began murmuring something too soft for Meryl to hear. Aaron, apparently, didn't care what he was saying.
"If you have things under control, I'm going to go help Elizabeth."
Meryl glanced around. Vash was still on the bed behind them, blissfully ignorant. Millie was able to speak again, and Doc was here to take care of both of them. Terry was still slumped against the wall, very pale, and staring at Knives as though he still couldn't believe it. Knives hadn't budged from the floor.
"We're good. Go."
He watched her for a second. "Find us a car, Ms. Insurance Agent," he said quietly. Then he turned on his heels and headed out, grabbing his PDA off his belt as he went.
"Meryl, the bandaging, if you don't mind."
She barely nodded, jogging back to where Vash lay. He hadn't woken, even for the gunshots. His face was still as serene as it had been before.
She was glad he'd slept through it. Even after what Gray had done, he still would have been horrified that Asoaurd had killed.
She knelt by the bed, opening the drawers one by one. The third one down had something that would work, and she grabbed it and cast one last look at Vash before hurrying back.
Millie was seated on the stool again, staring at the console that had sprung back to life. She was typing very stiltedly, and Meryl avoided her as she handed her findings to Doc. He nodded his thanks, leaning down in front of the sweating Asoaurd.
"Let me see your wound."
The private hissed something at him, but it didn't seem to faze him. Terry didn't look like he was in any shape to try anything, but she kept her pistol handy, and stepped up behind Millie again.
"I'm very cross with you right now!" Millie declared hotly.
Meryl sighed. "I know," she said softly. "We didn't know-"
"I know," she muttered. "But it doesn't matter, sempai! Even if – even if I couldn't even think for myself, it's still wrong!" She turned to look at Meryl, her face worn and eyes still shining with tears. "No one has the right to take the life of another," she said simply. "Why doesn't that apply to Mr. Knives?"
Meryl stared at Millie, completely nonplussed. She had a point, but-
"It's wrong!" Millie insisted, and Meryl put a hand on Millie's shoulder. The taller girl shrugged it off roughly, and Meryl took a step back, trying to hide her hurt.
"Millie, the only one that can control him is Vash. Vash is – is sick." But not as badly as everyone had been saying . . . unless he just looked better than he was? "The compromise is broken. Humans interfered with the solar plant project. You were the one that told it to me, remember?"
Millie shook her head, biting her lip. Her hands had curled on the keyboard tray, and she suddenly hugged herself. "I know," she whispered. "He's so angry, sempai."
Well, after more than a hundred years of trying to kill humans, what did he expect? A champagne party? "Millie," she started after a moment, "we're going to have to do something about Knives."
The big girl fidgeted, unconsciously rubbing her right arm with her left. "He's just scared," she continued in a low voice. "He's been scared all along."
Meryl dared to take a step closer to Millie, and this time her partner didn't flinch away. Of course, she was seeing a little boy, when she dreamed, and it was easy to believe that Knives would be manipulating her any way he could, if he didn't have full control over her. Millie just shook her head with a hitched sob, and Meryl wrapped her arms around the big girl.
"Doc's right," she said softly. "This is a discussion for another time. We need to find some cars, Millie."
The girl nodded, relaxing into Meryl's arms. "I already did," she mumbled. "And I raised the air pressure again, so everyone will be okay now."
That meant everyone was going to wake up.
"Where are the cars?"
Millie tapped the screen lethargically, showing a straight corridor that seemed to branch upward in a straight diagonal before ending in a large, square chamber.
Outside of the ship.
"They dug a tunnel from a warehouse to one of the buried cargo doors," she said quietly. "There are lots of vehicles there, and supplies too."
Meryl nodded, trying to figure out where they were in relation to it. "Is that on this end of the ship, or the other?"
"This end." Millie tapped the screen, showing a room with two yellow dots and a green one. "Aaron is with Miss Elizabeth," she added sadly. "They should just head there straight away."
Meryl just nodded as Millie tapped a few commands. A window popped up, into which she started typing.
Mr. Carter,
I turned the air back on. We've found the way to the vehicles. You should head there now – I marked it on the map. We'll meet you there.
- Millie T.
She tapped a key, and the console went dark. The keyboard withdrew into the wall silently, and Millie hugged the blanket a little tighter around her. "We should go now," she said clearly.
Meryl turned to Doc; he was finishing putting the final wrap on Asoaurd. The man seemed barely lucid; she was surprised. Had he really lost that much blood, or had Doc drugged him?
"Y-you can't leave . . . me here," he protested haltingly. "I . .. I have to go with him-"
"Dr. Shrew will take care of the stitches," Doc assured the man quietly. "Just remain here."
"No!" he shouted, trying ineffectually to stand. For a second she was afraid he was going to succeed, and nearly went for her gun again when he fell back, panting slightly.
Doc watched him a moment, but apparently determined that he was fine, because he turned to her. "Meryl, would you be so kind as to bring Vash over here?"
She nodded, tucking the gun away reluctantly and jogging back to the exam table on wheels. It was huge and ungainly, but at least that meant it was big enough that they could probably put Knives on it. He was too big for her to carry, but if the ramp had been built for cargo, it was probably wide enough to accommodate the bed. It wasn't as wide as the regular doors, after all.
Vash didn't respond when she approached, and again she took hold of the black handles and pulled. He seemed to float along with her; it was a little unnerving how easy the thing was to keep moving. Just starting and stopping seemed difficult.
Doc seemed to have come to the same conclusion she had; by the time she got the bed back down the hall, he had stooped and had peeled back one of Knives' eyelids. He didn't seem in the least afraid.
"Is Mr. Knives okay?" Millie asked softly.
Doc nodded. "He's just sedated," he replied. "They didn't have time to push him into producing power."
She wondered if that was supposed to reassure them, like he wouldn't be as angry when he woke up because all they'd done was drug him to sleep and put him in a bulb. As if making him power it would be more insulting.
Maybe it would be, her brain volunteered. Then again, Knives was in love with his Plant side –
She quashed the sudden memory of him laying in their home, just three days after Vash had brought him back. Yes, there was no doubt he considered himself more Plant than human.
So powering a bulb wouldn't be insulting. It would be horrifying. That humans would dare to use him as they used his sister Plants.
Not that the fact that they hadn't had anything to do with mercy, or understanding. Ultimately it probably meant nothing more than the fact that Knives wasn't as sick as Vash. Knives would probably be completely functional if he wasn't drugged into a stupor.
Whereas Vash –
She glanced down at him again, wishing he'd open his eyes. He'd say something. Let her know he was still in there, he was okay –
"I do hate to ask you this –"
Meryl looked quickly at Doc, embarrassed for the second time to be caught staring at Vash. The older man was indicating Knives – he'd made the same leap she had. It would be easier to wheel the two of them on the bed than carry them.
But was she strong enough to lift Knives?
She nodded, hesitating a little before she reached for Vash. She could pull him over to the one side, then there'd be less risk that she'd crush him with his brother. Meryl reached under the blanket, slipping one arm beneath his back.
Then she stopped.
She'd done it before, after – after that fateful day on the cliff. When he'd killed. He'd pretty much collapsed there, and while Millie had been the one to carry him back to town and put him on the bed, she hadn't always been around to change the bandages. He'd gotten shot so many times, hesitating. They hadn't been deep wounds, but they hadn't healed quite as fast as some of the worse ones he'd gotten in the two years she'd followed him. She'd had to sit him up and brace her shoulder against his back to keep him upright long enough to wrap some of them, so she was familiar with the way his back felt.
It didn't feel like this. This felt like weird, smooth stripes of slick plastic covering most of his skin. The bumps, the raised scars, the trenches, the pins, all of it was gone.
But warm. He felt warm.
Bandages, she thought to herself. They had to pack the holes with bandages.
She pulled his upper torso towards her, her face nearly resting on him and unable to tell if he was awake. He didn't offer any resistance. Once she'd pulled him to the very edge of the table she slipped out from beneath him, leaning up quickly.
His eyes were still closed. The blanket still covered him almost up to his chin, and suddenly she had no desire to see what was underneath.
Not yet. If it was a problem Doc would have done something about it. They needed to get Knives on the bed and get the hell out.
Meryl repeated the procedure with his legs, pulling him more completely to the left side of the bed, and tucked the blanket around him carefully. With that done, she turned to pick up Knives.
"Millie, no-"
It was Doc's voice, but her thoughts. He was standing beside the now-unconscious Terry, holding the man's PDA in his hand, and he looked alarmed. Millie, unnoticed, had stooped and simply picked Knives up. Like he was a cat that had been twining around her ankles. Effortlessly.
"Millie, wait-"
She ignored them both, carrying him over to the table and laying him down gently next to Vash. He, too, looked calm; he looked very much as he had when Vash had first brought him back. But Meryl wasn't fooled by that young-looking face and peaceful expression. Never again.
Millie looked at her sadly, then slowly pulled off the blanket that had been wrapped around her and laid it across Knives, tucking in the corners exactly as Meryl had done.
They looked uncannily alike like that. The same height, just next to each other, both covered in identical blankets.
Meryl tore her eyes away from the Plants, focusing instead on Millie. Oh Millie – even if it had looked effortless, she knew it wasn't. That was exactly what was going to make her worse, and she already was worse - "Millie, you know you're supposed to be taking it easy-"
"He was too big for you. Besides, I don't need to be coddled." Millie sounded a little more like her old self, and she drew up straight as she looked at Doc. "We can go now."
He was watching her closely, but after a moment he nodded. "I'm just finishing." He glanced back down at the PDA, and after a moment it chimed.
Meryl stared at him. "You're not taking that, are you?"
He just nodded. "I've removed the application that allows them to be tracked by satellite," he assured her. "My brother and I used to shut it off all the time so Mother didn't know when we'd run off somewhere we shouldn't have."
Meryl blinked; that was the first time he'd ever spoken to her about his own childhood. Sometimes she forgot he was so much more like the people on this ship than he was like her.
He turned to Millie, frowning slightly. "I assume you left the ship locked down?"
"Yep! Aaron locked away all the crew between here and there, so we shouldn't run into anyone. And all the doors will be unlocked an hour after we've left."
"Is an hour head start enough?" Meryl heard herself ask.
Doc just nodded. "They'll be a little more concerned with their ship than us, I'm afraid." He turned back to Millie. "Did you get a chance-"
She just nodded. "Yep," she answered, and Doc seemed satisfied, turning back to the door. Meryl watched her. She had to be cold in only that gown, but she seemed . . . happy.
Happy like she'd been before.
If Doc noticed her mood shift, he didn't mention it. "Then I suggest we make haste."
Meryl pulled the gun back out of her uniform, and laid it carefully on the side of the table that held Vash, within easy reach.
Just in case.
- . -
Terry started.
He was lying in a very uncomfortable position, crushing his lungs and making it hard to breathe. His shoulder burned with every attempt. Confused, he opened his eyes, focusing on the hallway a long time before he figured out where he was.
The Infirmary hallway.
He blinked again, then tried to sit up before he had to fight down a sudden retch. His eyes watered heavily for a moment, responding to his gut, but he blinked the tears away, staring at that hallway.
It was empty.
They were gone.
Terry cursed, remembering to use his left hand to reach across himself. He felt his belt, and followed it to the empty clip where his handheld should have been.
They'd taken it away.
He cursed again, curling up and favoring his right shoulder. He needed to get to a console, figure out how much time had passed. If they got off the ship, and they'd taken the production Plant, there wouldn't be enough power to track them, and they'd lose the satellites.
He'd lose G-101B to those murderers.
As he pulled himself away from the wall he felt a tearing sensation, and it took a few seconds before liquid, hot pain poured from his shoulder. Dried blood, he realized. It had dried to the wall.
It was too late. He'd been out too long.
He hadn't even seen the needle. Hadn't even felt it. But the old man must have drugged him, it was the only thing that made sense. Drugged him and wrapped up his arm, but not good enough to get him mobile. Just enough to keep him from dying.
Dammit!
Terry took a deep breath, willing his stomach to remain still as he tottered to his feet. It was hard to push up off the floor, he didn't realize he used his chest muscles to stand but he did, he was dizzy and he crashed into the wall behind him, hard on his left shoulder. The force of the fall radiated across his body, and before he knew it he was on the floor again, gagging.
It took him a long time before he was willing to try again. Much more carefully, he turned to his left, and used the wall as his friend, inching up slowly with trembling legs. Once he was up, he dragged himself along the wall until he reached the console.
He was still wearing his comm. badge so it responded, lighting up. Hadn't the old man said that the doors would unlock and Dr. Shrew would see to him? Maybe it hadn't been as long as he'd thought. Maybe there was still time.
The keyboard slid out, and he started to type, haltingly. With one hand it was hard, but the backdoor he'd put into the system to delete the data was still intact. He didn't have admin rights, but he could at least look at what time it was, what was going on –
Three hours. He'd been unconscious for three hours.
The ship schematic showed that most of the crew was in the process of freeing themselves, though many were still trapped in various room of the ship. They'd restored the air as promised, which was stupid, but they hadn't let them out.
Liars.
He looked over the currently running protocols. Not only was the production Plant gone, but there were looping processes all over the place. The heavy bay doors were opening and closing, using up an incredible amount of power –
Draining the auxiliary power.
The schematic began to flash red, which usually indicated a shipwide malfunction. He stared at it a moment, wondering what system would be looping to produce this –
Then the rooms settled to a steady orange, with a gauge beside each one.
His eardrums popped before he realized what was happening, and the chill that settled over him had nothing to do with the sudden drop of temperature in the room.
The entire ship was depressurizing.
Of course, it wouldn't, there was a hole in the hull, so some of them would be saved – he had to get out to corridor E-12.
Terry lurched towards the door, pleased to see that it was still locked open by Bryan's meddling. He was holding his breath, it burned in his lungs as he half-staggered, half-ran down the hall. He could take the stairway and three levels down, there'd be air –
He didn't have his gun.
Terry stopped dead, nearly to the lift, and glanced back. He didn't know where it was. And there was no way to override the lock, he didn't have his PDA and it wouldn't work anyway –
One of the bandages pulled stickily away from his wound, and he reflexively gasped.
Only there wasn't any air.
- . -
Author's Notes: Well, so I promised you a completed escape. Who knew it would take me over fifty pages to do it? I should have. ) I tried to proof this thing, but in the once-over I found a lot of stuff, which means there's probably a lot more. I apologize for that.
I assume there are going to be a lot of questions. That went fast, and there are a few things still unexplained. As I repeatedly say and sometimes do, those questions will be answered in upcoming chapters.
Whew! So we escaped, and we even took a live Vash and Knives off the ship. Funny how that doesn't seem at all to resolve the problem of Knives wanting to kill them all, does it? This story will NEVER. END. Never. Many, many thanks to inkydoo for idea-bouncing assistance, and to all my wonderful feedbackers who pointed out they were seriously confused by the chapter before this mega-volume. I will go forth and fix away! Also, if you notice a plothole, please don't hesitate to let me know! I had to tie up a bunch of stuff, and I'm really not sure I managed to do it. And thank you for the support!