Page 5 of Star-Born Anomaly
Setting down the binoculars, she checked beneath the holotable’s cupboards and found a container of unused PALMs. She pinched the top one.
The gossamer filament clung to her left hand, the plugs inserting into the tiny ports at her thumb, pinkie, and middle finger. Connected to her body heat, it turned on. A CORE insignia rotated above her hand while she waited for it to connect to the grid.
But the icon kept spinning and spinning.Storm must be interfering with the grid.No updates then. Huffing out a breath, she removed the PALM entirely, and tossed it on the terminal beneath the window.
She picked up the binoculars again. The person was there, closer now, but slowing. He had to be from Research Station 214, right?
The assumption didn’t lessen the unease crawling up her spine at having a stranger approach on foot. It was just so… unheard of. Especially in conditions like these. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, underscoring the thought.
The hovercart probably wouldn’t even work in this sort of downpour, too waterlogged after leaving it outside instead of parking it in the shed. She lowered the binoculars and tried to see through the deluge of rain, but saw nothing but gray.
And someone was stuck out there.
She waged a war inside her mind, contemplating suiting up and retrieving him while simultaneously talking herself out of it. Limbs frozen in indecision, she stood there, waiting, watching, not knowing which way to go or what to do.
A familiar itch crawled over her skin, one she knew would tighten into a sensation of spinning, of losing control, and she’d need to find something to grab onto for focus. A need that she had buried for the past few years because she had this outpost, this purpose, and Foster as a friend.
The beasts had taken all of that away from her.
The thought sent her spiraling further. Wynn set the binoculars aside, and grabbed her forearm over the straight, raised scars that marred her skin. She curled her fingernails into her flesh until pinches of pain erupted.
It should have focused her, but it wasn’t enough. The world spun faster, obscuring her vision; the sensation of falling filled her chest. Her exhales escaped her lips in short bursts.
Foster had destroyed her kit long ago—laser scalpel, regenerator, regeneration gauze—almost immediately after he found her in the midst of an “episode” as he’d called it. But since his death, she’d made a new one, hadneededto.
She’d tried to be strong like he’d asked her to be, but his death had changed everything. Now, reality felt disjointed, spinning, fragmented, and the lure of searing pain promised to make it all go away, to make the ground beneath her feet feel solid again.
She dug her fingernails in further, knew she probably drew blood, but didn’t look down. She kept her eyes trained on the cascading rain and wind as it whipped around the outpost, and tried to breathe through shortened inhales.
Fuzziness invaded her sight, and a buzzing noise rubbed the insides of her ears, making her want to scratch her brains out. The spinningcontinued, getting faster and faster. It would only get worse if she didn’t do somethingnow. She needed her kit.
She stepped backward, away from the blurring landscape, when her feet jerked to a stop. A form emerged from the pounding rain. Clad in black, the man solidified against a gray world. If she hadn’t already noted his route through the binoculars, she would have thought it a figment of her imagination.
The fingers digging into her arm relaxed. Was he wearing a helmet? Or…?
Another flash illuminated the terrain, but didn’t shed more light on the puzzle. Shaking her head, she grabbed the binoculars, fiddled with the settings so she could see better, then choked on a gasp. There was no helmet.
Drenched from head to toe, his black jacket hung past his knees. Dark glasses covered his eyes.
He’s not wearing a UV-suit.
Her mind blanked, then a tumble of thoughts cascaded one on top of another.
No one could survive a walk across Earth’s surface without protection. Then add the acid from the rain? He would have been exposed to a staggering amount of radiation during the past hour.
Her ribs squeezed tight as her stomach churned. Wynn tried to make sense of why a person would do this to themselves, but she found no answers.
And still he headed toward her.
She lowered the binoculars, no longer needing them to see. The man stumbled again, and she inhaled sharply. No wonder his pace had slowed the closer he walked. The radiation sickness would have gotten worse the longer he remained in the elements.
She needed to help him.
The binoculars slipped from her fingers to land on the terminal.Thunk. Wynn spun, then darted toward the main entrance and thespare UV-suits stored in a wall compartment. She grabbed the first one, shoving her legs through the pants and into the boots with shaking hands. The four crescent-shaped marks she’d just gouged into her skin glared an angry red at her, but she ignored them as she stuffed her hands in the sleeves, then gloves, and shoved her neck through the helmet closure. She zipped and snapped everything into place.
A flick of her thumb, and her helmet engaged. Then came the agonizing task of making sure every section was airtight and secure. She slapped the control panel on her arm, waiting for the suit’s systems to blink on her visor, but it never did.
She’d left her replacement PALM in the lab, and now her ocular implant had nothing to sync to. She looked down at the control panel on her arm instead. It blinked green.
