City of Ruins

FORTY-SEVEN



We huddle outside the door to the Dignity Vessel room, all seven of us. The moment feels momentous. We’ve tested and retested all of our findings about the particles. They’re large and could be harmful if swallowed, but they have no effect on the skin—at least short-term. They don’t hurt us in any known way.

The air inside the room is a bit stale, but otherwise fine, and the temperature is just a little cooler than the caves themselves.

In other words, we don’t need the environmental suits.

However, I’m going to wear mine, all except the helmet, which I have attached to my belt. Lentz’s university professor friend has surreptitiously given us two dozen face masks, the kind that the Vaycehnese wear when they go deep in the caves.

The Vaycehnese have encountered the floating particles as well, and have found that some people suffer no ill effects from them whatsoever, while others end up with lung problems for years. The masks have a thin weave that prevents the particles from being inhaled. The masks go over the mouth and nose, and their bright whiteness looks a bit odd against the skin.

At our meeting last night, Lentz laughed when I mentioned that. He reminded me that the mask will probably get caked with particles in a matter of minutes, taking it from white to gray to black.

Some of the others—Quinte and Seager, in particular—have decided to wear the helmets, although I made them bring masks as well. We’re carrying quite a few things, actually. A small ladder, a pouch of tools, and my own personal pair of grippers so that I can climb the side of the ship and see what’s above us.

We’re stopped outside, however, because Al-Nasir is dithering. He holds his mask in one hand. In the other he clings to his helmet. He hates being confined, but the room still makes him nervous.

We’re all a bit more nervous than we’ve been, although the smoothness of yesterday’s mission has gone a long way toward calming us down.

I pluck the mask out of Al-Nasir’s hand. “Put it on. You’ll feel better.”

He takes it from me, stares at it, then puts it in the pouch along his waistband. Then he takes his helmet and attaches it to the rest of the suit.

I suppress a smile. I knew if I made the choice for him, he would know what he really wanted.

I put my hand on the door. “Same order as yesterday,” I say. Which means me first.

I pull the door open, and freeze.

The lights are on. We figured out how to shut them down just before we left yesterday. They were off. I’m as sure of that as I am of my own name.

“Okay,” I say softly, the mask moving gently against my lips and nose as I speak. “We could have a problem. Rea, DeVries, I need you with me. The rest of you can wait here if you want.”

I don’t wait for an answer. I pull my laser pistol and go in, heart pounding.

Someone has been here. The lights are on, the equipment is on all the way around the room, the various screens showing parts of space both familiar and unfamiliar.

One screen shows my science station back home. The station is empty, but through the glass viewing area on the far side of that room, I can see one of my scientists, taking readings.

I step all the way inside. Rea and DeVries follow me, laser pistols out. The two men are flanking me, as I taught them when they first came into the group, back at their very first tourist dive.

The other four come in as well, proper position, half a step behind each other, as if we’re a trained military unit. Without my telling them to, Quinte and Al-Nasir remain by the door, and they keep it open, making it easier for us to escape if we have to.

I glance at Rea and DeVries, then nod. We pointedly do not look at the screens, and we carefully examine the room from our stopped position.

I see no one, not out here, not with us.

But I have a hunch I’m not supposed to see anyone.

This is a message.

Someone is on board that Dignity Vessel—and they want me to know it.

* * * *