Abel is always somewhat surprised by his dreams—it’s a kind of input he’s not designed to process. Dream logic bears little resemblance to reality; he knows that much. But what would Freudian analysis make of the dreams of a mech?
He lies on his bunk in the dark for a long time after that. His memory keeps going back to the hurt on Mansfield’s face, and Abel’s cruelty in sending him out into the Gate. How could he have turned against his creator, even in a dream?
29
NOEMI STANDS ON THE BRIDGE OF THE DAEDALUS, screaming. With fear, with rage, with horror—every reason a human being can scream, all of it’s pent up in her and coming out in one anguished howl.
On the viewscreen is Genesis, or what’s left of it.
The bombing has turned their green continents gray. Mud-colored seas shrivel and evaporate before her eyes. Every city is gone, every church, every person. Earth has destroyed her world, and now they all have to die together.
“It’s not too late,” Abel says. “We’ll go back in time and stop it.”
“We can’t go back in time.”
“I can. Mansfield gave me that power.”
“Really?” She brightens. They can go back and save Genesis—or further, to before her family was killed—no, even further. They’ll save Earth, go back and fix things there. They can save humanity itself.
Abel opens his chest like a computer panel and pulls out a smooth, asymmetrical chunk of red glass. Somehow she knows this is what will send them back in time. But Abel goes limp and slumps against the wall. Only then does she realize this is his heart, or his power, something he needs to live. He’s broken himself for her.
“No, Abel, don’t.” Noemi tries to shake him, but his eyes are closed, and maybe he’s dead—now she’ll have to bury him in a star—
“Noemi?”
She awakens at the moment the dream would’ve gone from disturbing to nightmare. Noemi takes a deep breath and lets the images slip away. Even the scariest dreams fade quickly if she refuses to think about them during her first waking moments.
“Are you all right?” It’s Abel, lying a few meters away in a medical bed, although he isn’t hooked up to electronic monitors like she is. “You seemed to be experiencing disturbing REM sleep.”
“I was.” She needs to stare at him for a few long seconds, to see him whole once more. “It’s okay.”
“You appear to be much improved.”
The medical sensors beep and glow above her—no wonder she had weird dreams. She can’t interpret whatever data they’re sending, but it doesn’t matter, because Noemi feels better. So much better, all the way down to her marrow. Her fever has broken, and the itchy white lines on her skin have faded almost to invisibility. Earth’s scientists must have gotten further along in fighting Cobweb than she’d realized. Harriet made it sound so dangerous, but probably Vagabonds don’t get the latest medical news.
“I feel almost normal.” She begins to smile as she looks over at Abel, who smiles back. It’s weird how ordinary it seems to wake up near him now, when that first morning on Wayland Station was so incredibly strange. “Just tired, and a little hungry.”
“Should I summon someone to bring meals?” Abel sits upright, clearly eager for something to do. He seems more dedicated to serving her now than he was when he had to. “Or perhaps there’s something in this room. Juice, or a nutrition bar—”
The air seal around the door hisses as it swings open, and the Tare model and Dr. Dunaway walk back in, each clad in white coats. Noemi’s memories of Ephraim Dunaway are blurry, but she remembers his gentle brown eyes and the sureness of his hands.
“Good morning,” says the Tare model. She snaps on the overhead lights, leaving Noemi squinting; Abel, taking the hint, shields his eyes with his hand. “Your condition has improved substantially.”
“I can tell.” Noemi props up on her elbows. How much longer will she and Abel be stuck on Stronghold? They’re under quarantine for twenty-five hours, and she doesn’t think more than ten of those have passed. At least she and Abel can get back to the mission right away.
Or can they? Has their ship been put under quarantine, too? Landing on Stronghold is strictly regulated; takeoffs might be as well.
We can do this, she reminds herself, looking over at Abel. It feels natural to use we. They’re in this together now. She remembers how tenderly he cared for her when she was sick and marvels at how strange and yet wonderful it is to trust someone that much.
But they’re not even out of the hospital yet. “The speed of your recovery is irregular.” The Tare model frowns, like good news that doesn’t match the expected data set is more of an annoyance than a reason to celebrate. “We should run further tests to determine the reasons for your swift response to the drugs.”
So it’s not that Cobweb is less scary; it’s that Noemi kicked it fast. The reason’s irrelevant, in the end. All that matters is that she and Abel get out of here soon.
“And Abel? Um, my husband?” Please let them not have noticed anything, please. She glances over at him and sees the moment when he realizes he needs to act concerned about his health. He fakes it so well she has to struggle not to laugh.
The Tare never looks away from the readouts, never once makes eye contact with her patients. “His culture came back perfectly normal, and he’s shown no signs of infection. Assuming his condition does not change, you will both be released from quarantine in another fifteen hours. We’ll get your additional tests under way as soon as possible. The sooner you and your husband can complete processing, the better.”
“Thanks.” Noemi doesn’t quite understand how Abel’s culture could have come out fine, and from the way he’s frowning, she can tell he’s confused by that, too. Shouldn’t a tissue sample from a mech be sterile? Unable to create life? Maybe the dish got contaminated.
The Tare nods toward Ephraim. “Dr. Dunaway, I will undertake the necessary lab work while you complete rounds.”
“No, no. You do the rounds. I’ll take care of this.” Ephraim’s broad hands go to Noemi’s medical sensors, and he smiles until the moment the Tare leaves the room. Then he starts yanking them off her, so fast and hard it hurts.
“Ow!” Noemi yelps. “What are you doing?”
“This is not correct procedure.” Abel’s instantly on his feet. He crosses the room in a few steps to stand on the other side of Noemi, as if he’s going to bodily pull her away from Ephraim. “Your behavior has been aberrant from the beginning—”
“Oh, yeah, you two are calling me aberrant.” Ephraim keeps going, rapidly freeing Noemi from the final sensor. He looks down at Noemi so intently that she’s reminded of Captain Baz. “You have to get off-planet as fast as you can. You and your husband. Which is why I’m getting you both out of this hospital, now.”