Into the Black Hole

Chapter 30: Compromise

What seems like a second later, I can't open my eyes, but I'm aware of a conversation.

"How did you find her?" Thomson asks.

"She called me," Timour replies.

"What did she say?"

"Nothing. But she wouldn't have called in the middle of the night unless it was something important. I heard—it sounded like someone sharpening tools, so I headed to her room just to make sure she was okay, and in one of the hallways... I saw a hole in the wall... blood... then..." Timour doesn't continue, changing the subject. "What attacked her?"

"An intribot. We use them to repair the ship, since they can fit into small spaces. That way, we don't have to take the ship apart. They're not meant to be weapons."

"Are they remote controlled?"

"No. They're AI. At first, I thought somebody had been messing around with an intribot, and its programmed defense mechanism kicked in. Now, my guess is some sicko trained it to narrow in on Ailee."

"How did it get into her room?"

"Under her door? Maybe it followed her in, I'm not sure. Felix is checking the security feed. And once we identify the bastard, I'm gonna kill 'em."

Timour doesn't reply.

Doctor River announces, "She'll be awake soon."

Another bout of silence, then Timour whispers, "Why would somebody target Ailee?"

I expect Thomson to answer, but a different voice flows through the vicinity, "That's what I'd like to know."

My eyes shoot wide open. I am suddenly very much awake.

"Afternoon, Gunner Bale, Mister Orlov," Huxley acknowledges as he stops just inside the door. "How is our girl doing?"

Thomson glances at him, saying, "Hey, Boss."

Timour ignores Huxley. Still sitting on my left, he reaches forward to brush his fingers against my cheek. "How do you feel?" he asks.

"Cold," I reply, my throat sandpaper. No longer tied down, I raise one hand to my temple. "My head hurts." I've never had a hangover, but this is what it would feel like. I don't want to move. Ever again. "How long was I out?" It could have been one minute, it could have been one decade.

"A little over nine hours," Doctor River answers, lifting a heated blanket off a nearby cart and placing it over me. Thomson and Timour help align it. "Your surgery ended two hours ago. You should be good as new, but I'd like to keep you overnight for observation."

I pull up the sleeve of my hospital gown and inspect my arm. I expect there to be a scar. There isn't. The skin is unblemished, and I wonder what kind of deal the doctor made with the Devil. I don't even recall what surgical machines she used on me.

I'm about to take off the gown and check my stomach when I remember I'm not unattended. "You guys haven't been here the whole time, right?" I ask Timour and Thomson, scanning the contents of the medium-sized emergency room. I'm lying on the only bed, surrounded by medical equipment. Other than the stiff chair Timour is occupying, there aren't any other pieces of furniture.

"No," Timour replies in a too-high voice.

Thomson scoffs, "Course not."

Doctor River rolls her eyes, responding, "I made them leave while the nurses replaced your gown, but otherwise: Yes, they have."

My eyes find the digital clock on the wall in front of me. It reads "13:04," which means the men have been cooped up in this boring room since zero-four-hundred hours. "Get out," I order. "Everyone leave."