The fact that it is the only space in the dome guaranteed to be empty at any time of day or night is testament to the fact that, despite what Hieronymus Marshall might feel on the topic, exercise is the absolute last thing anyone wants to do during a famine.
The truth is, I don’t even know exactly where the gym is. I have to pull up a map of the dome on my ocular to figure it out. Turns out it’s right down the corridor from the cycler, which strikes me as oddly appropriate in the moment.
I take the long route around, following one of the spoke corridors to the outer ring and then taking that halfway around the dome before cutting back in, with the idea that I’d be less likely to run into anyone on their way to the caf or to start the new shift in Agriculture. I still pass a half dozen people, though, and I feel like they’re all looking at me strangely. Paranoia? Maybe—or maybe they all just saw Eight and Nasha passing by, they’ve figured out exactly what’s going on, and they’re pinging Security as soon as I’m out of sight.
We’ve only been at this for two days now, and I’m already losing it.
When I finally reach the gym, I crack open the door and duck inside like I’m being pursued. I slam the door behind me, close my eyes, and lean my forehead against the cool plastic surface.
“Is there a problem?”
My head snaps around and my heart lurches so hard that for an instant I’m afraid I might be dying. This isn’t much of a gym—just a row of treadmills, a rack for pull-ups, and a half dozen dumbbells in a space maybe two or three times the size of my room.
It’s not empty.
In fact, there’s a woman on one of the treadmills. She’s turned around now, feet on the side rails, mat running away beneath her.
It takes me a long second of heart-thudding panic to realize that it’s Cat.
We stare each other down. She stops the treadmill, steps down onto the floor, and folds her arms across her chest.
“What are you doing here?” I manage.
She rolls her eyes. “You sure you’re the one who should be asking that question?”
I close my eyes and breathe until my pulse settles down to something close to normal. When I open them again, Cat’s expression is shading from confusion to concern.
“Sorry,” I say. I cross the room in three steps, turn, and lower myself down to sit on the last treadmill in the row. “I’m having a weird day.”
“Yeah,” she says. “I know. Do you need to go back to Medical? You look a little crazed right now.”
“No,” I say, maybe a little too quickly. “No. I’m fine. I just wanted a little space to myself, I guess, and you kind of startled me. It never occurred to me that someone might actually be down here working out.”
She smiles, drops her arms to her sides, and comes over to sit beside me. “That’s fair.”
I turn to look at her. Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, and she’s dressed in the tight gray under-suit from her combat armor. Somehow, she manages to wear it well. She isn’t really sweating, so I’m guessing she hasn’t been here for long.
“Seriously,” I say. “What are you up to down here? You know we’re in the middle of a famine, right?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I’m aware.”
“So?”
She sighs. “Gillian Branch was my bunkmate.”
“Oh,” I say. “Who’s that?”
She shoots me a sharp, angry look. “We’re all just anonymous goons to you, huh?”
I lean back, both hands raised in surrender.
“No! No, it’s definitely not a you thing. It’s a me thing. I don’t socialize much with anybody, Cat. A lot of people around here think I’m some kind of abomination, you know? And a lot of the ones who want to talk to me are just looking to play out some weird fetish fantasy. It’s just easier most of the time if I keep to myself.”
“Oh,” she says. “Ghost chasers, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say. “You’re not…”
Her eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”
“Sorry,” I say. “It’s just…”
“I already told you I’m not a Natalist, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Right,” I say. “I mean, that’s good, I guess. Berto’s told me more than once that being fetishized sounds fantastic—but trust me, it’s not.”
Her face softens, and I lower my hands.
“Yeah,” she says. “I get that. You may not have noticed, but Maggie Ling and I are the only two women on Niflheim with epicanthal folds. I’ve gotten a little of that myself.” She grins. “Tell you what. I won’t objectify you if you won’t objectify me.”
I offer her my hand. “Done.”
We shake. Her smile widens briefly, then fades when she drops my hand.
“Anyway,” she says, “Gillian was part of the sortie yesterday.”
“Oh,” I say. “Right. That Gillian.”
She nods, and looks away.
“Oh,” I say. “Oh, I’m sorry. Afterward, you didn’t seem … I mean…”
“I don’t want to make this more than it is,” she says. “She wasn’t exactly my best friend. It’s not the easiest thing, sharing a space that small with another person. If I’m being honest, most of the time we were barely friends at all.”
“But still…”
“Yeah,” she says. “But still. I went back to my rack after my shift ended today, and I just…”
“Couldn’t?”
She rubs her face with both hands. “Right. I couldn’t.” She lets out a strangled laugh, then drops her face into her hands as it tails off into a sniffling sob. “You’d think I’d be psyched to have the place to myself, right?”
I reach out to touch her shoulder. She lifts her head to look at me, then scoots over until she’s half onto my treadmill and our hips are touching. I slide my arm around her, and she leans her head against my chest.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “You didn’t come here to be my grief counselor.” She straightens, and turns to look at me. “Why did you come here, really? You’ve got a solo rack, right? If you wanted privacy, why didn’t you just go there?”
“That’s a good question,” I say.
She stares at me. I stare back. After what feels like forever but is actually probably more like ten seconds, she says, “Are you going to answer it?”
I sigh. “Nasha’s there.”
“Oh,” she says. “Are you…”
“She’s with someone else.”
That stops her for a moment.
“In your rack,” she says finally.
I shrug. She shakes her head.
“You know what? I don’t want to know.”
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s a good call.”
We sit in silence then for a while. I’m starting to think that I’m going to have to go wander the corridors all night like the freaking phantom of Niflheim when she says, “I may regret this, but … I’ve got a double, you know.”
I turn to look at her, one eyebrow raised. “Are you objectifying me right now?”
She laughs. “I am not. All I’m doing right now is offering an empty bed to a homeless person. I’ve gotta say, though—I’m kind of surprised that you and Nasha are open. Sure didn’t seem like she thought so yesterday.”
I shrug. “It’s complicated.”
“Okay,” she says. “Is it the kind of complicated where I wind up getting gutted tomorrow?”
“No,” I say. “I mean, probably not. Worst-case, I might get shoved down the corpse hole at some point.”
She brings one finger to her chin and pantomimes deep thought.
“You know,” she says finally, “I think that’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
016