Deathwatch (The Faded Earth Book 1)(28)

“Thanks,” Beck said, guilt creeping up the back of her throat. Here she was trying to protect him from the consequences of her choices—because she could at least do it for one person since doing the same for the whole Rez was impossible—and Fisher was trying to protect her right back.

She pulled her terminal out of a pocket and checked the time. Fisher noticed, realization spreading across his features. “Oh, that’s right. You’re supposed to go in for orientation or something tonight, yeah?”

“Every night until I leave, yeah,” Beck said. It was true in a sense. She was going to the chapterhouse, though she wasn’t staying. The orientation sessions were for the Movement. In preparation for finally managing to find a working stasis chamber, a research facility had been set up months before. Beck idly wondered how Bowers managed to get Loop tunnels dug to off-map locations. He might even tell her, considering the level of involvement tonight would bring.

Fisher nodded toward the small refrigeration unit he kept behind the bar. “There’s some homemade pasta in there. Grab it so you have some real food in your belly.”

“That’s sweet,” Beck said, “but I don’t like the stuff the bioreactor puts out. Vat noodles make me queasy.” Most soy and fungus based foods—which accounted for most foods in general—did, but the pastas especially.

“When I said homemade, I meant it,” Fisher said. “That’s the real deal. Made from wheat and everything.”

Beck’s eyes widened. “How on earth did you manage that?”

Fisher smiled. “The guy who makes all my booze gets great deals on hydroponic grains. I have a couple histories on alcohol you might find interesting. People will trade a lot to make sure they have a steady stream of hooch.”

“I’m not gonna turn that down,” Beck said, retrieving the container. “It’s been ages since I had real food.”

Fisher winked. “You’ll always have it here, kid. Armor or no.”

*

She ate on the Loop ride to Site Zero, which Eshton informed her was usually just called Zero. Much shorter than the trip to the subway station, Zero was located within the range a fully charged set of armor could walk. That information represented the sum total Beck knew about its location.

Zero could not have been more different from the subway station if she had deliberately tried to make it so. The Loop opened to a crisp room with jet black walls formed by construction drones melting stone to give the place stability. Beyond that entrance, however, every hallways and laboratory she saw had finished walls, floors, and ceilings done in clean white panels.

“Why am I meeting him?” Beck asked. Eshton, sans armor, did not shrug away the question as he had every other time she asked it.

“He’s having a hard time adjusting,” Eshton replied. “So far everyone he has seen is a member of the Watch, and we’re all under orders to restrict what we can tell him. The Commander will be here with us tonight to bring him up to speed, and he thought someone less...hardened might help make things more comfortable.”

Beck rolled her eyes. “Translation: you thought a doe-eyed girl would get through his defenses and you’re using me shamelessly.”

Eshton choked out a laugh. “Doe-eyed? You?”

She punched him in the shoulder hard enough to knock him gently into the wall.

Bowers waited in a fairly luxurious room that looked like an oversize version of the shared family room in her old house. A large vid was affixed to one wall, surrounded by sofas with thick cushions which looked so soft and comfortable she immediately wanted to lay down on them to see how well she’d sleep.

“Come in,” Bowers said, waving a hand for them to sit. “Our guest will be here shortly. He is still slightly confused. It’s a side effect of the stasis. But I’m told he’s almost back to whatever counts as normal for him, at least as far as my people can determine. We think he’s ready to be brought up to speed. Ah, here he is now.”

Beck expected the ersatz time traveler to look thin, even unhealthy. This proved the power of preconceived notions over the human mind. Everything she knew told her that anyone sleeping for a hundred years or more should be ravaged by the experience in some way. That they could not have physically come out the other side of such a journey unscathed. Her subconscious believed this absolutely despite having been there when Beck helped Eshton load the man into a suit of armor after decanting him from the stasis tube.

Not that he looked anything like what Beck would call well. Dark circles framed pale gray eyes, two days of stubble lining his cheeks. He held his arms tightly to his midsection as if expecting attack, and his manner was all nerves.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Beck. You can sit over here with me if you want.”

The man stopped, eyeing her. He did not choose her sofa, instead moving to the empty one near her. Eshton and Bowers sat on either end of the third one. Beck noted how the skittish fellow glanced at her several times, always looking away as soon as he saw she was looking right back at her.

“What’s your name?” Beck asked gently.

The man looked at her again, this time for longer than a half second. “What did you say yours was?”

“Beck. Well, really it’s Rebecca Park, but no one calls me Rebecca and lives,” she said.

The smallest chuffing sound escaped his throat. It might have been mistaken for a hitch in his breathing but for the scrutiny Beck was giving him. The fractional quirk at the corner of his mouth told her she scored a hit.