Ouroboros 1: Start Page 8

  The medical team set to work immediately.

  Carson was struck with the realisation this was the second time he'd seen Harper packed gently on a hover stretcher today.

  This time, however, he was going with her.

  As a thin-lipped doctor surveyed her arm, she stood and nodded at him to get out of her way.

  “Hold on, I'm coming too,” Carson announced. Before the doctor could protest, he put his hand up and shook his head. “That's an order,” he said simply.

  “What the hell is going on?” Travis breathed heavily as he stood out of the way and let the stretcher and doctor pass. He shot Carson a pleading look. “I couldn't stop that training block. I mean, I used everything. I couldn't turn it off. I couldn't even slow it down.”

  Carson tried to nod, but he couldn't. Instead, he stood there and shivered for a moment. “It was her implant. It malfunctioned,” he said, but his voice sounded hollow.

  “Implants don't malfunction,” Travis croaked back, “not the new ones.”

  “Well this one did,” Carson swallowed, his Adam's apple pushing hard against his high collar. “That block only stopped once I turned her implant off.”

  Travis looked sickened from his shock, but he finally nodded and pushed a trembling hand through his hair.

  It was his right hand, the one he usually used to manipulate TI objects.

  It probably hurt like hell, Carson realised. “You should get that checked out,” he nodded at Travis' hand.

  Travis looked at it, then nodded. “I intend to. But right now, I need a real stiff drink.”

  Carson gave a sharp, bitter laugh. “So do I. But it can wait. You stay here and—” he began.

  “Explain to anyone that asks what happened to that door,” Travis nodded at the badly warped metal.

  “Yep,” Carson nodded. “I'm going to go to the med bay with her. I want to be there when she wakes up,” he added needlessly.

  He didn't have to be there when she woke up; Carson barely knew Harper, and their interactions to-date all revolved around her injuring herself.

  But that didn't matter; he wanted to be there anyway.

  Travis shrugged his shoulders and shot Carson a knowing look. “Alright then. You run off and I'll deal with the aftermath,” he mumbled as he poked the warped door with his boot.

  With that, Carson gave his friend a quick nod, then picked his way out of Cadet Nida Harper's room.

  As he did, he briefly glanced around at it.

  It was neat and clean, or at least it would have been before a training cube had smashed it up.

  There were several paintings on the walls, and a holo photo of Nida with a smiling man and woman who were probably her parents. She had a big, friendly grin on her face, and her arms were scooped around the both of them.

  He turned away from the photo sharply, realising it was an invasion of her privacy, and walked out of the room.

  Alicia and his date—Bridget—were standing in the lounge room, their faces ashen with fright.

  He barely knew them, and he'd only agreed to accompany Travis on this double date because the guy had twisted his arm.

  Still, he offered them both a sedate smile. “We're going to have to cancel,” he said quietly.

  “What . . . what happened?” Alicia asked quickly, her words barely audible as she spluttered through them.

  “Accident,” he mumbled, his tone reserved. “Everything will be fine. Harper . . . is going to the medical bay, and Travis will stay here to clean things up. Everything will be fine,” he added needlessly as he backed away through the room.

  “What, you're leaving?” Bridget asked through a quick blink.

  “Sorry, I'm going to see how she is,” he answered briefly. He lifted a hand in goodbye, then practically ran from the room.

  Then he headed as fast as he could to the main medical bay of the Academy.

  There he waited as doctors saw to Cadet Nida Harper.

  He had a lot of time to think.

  Yet all he could think of was the moment she'd burst from her door, straight into his arms, blood covering her right arm as her hand had clutched that speeding cube.

  It seemed to take longer than usual for the doctors to fix Harper up, and the hours drew on and on.

  But he didn't leave.

  He just waited until she finally woke up.

  Chapter 9

  Cadet Nida Harper

  She woke with a start.

  She'd been dreaming again. That same damn dream. She'd been back on the planet, her hand covered in writhing blue energy.

  As her eyes shot open, she stared at the ceiling, breathing hard.

  It took her way too long to realise the ceiling wasn't hers.

  Then she heard someone stand sharply by her side, their shoes squeaking over the floor.

  She turned to see Carson Blake.

  She blinked back her surprise.

  “You're in the medical bay,” he said clearly and slowly, “you were injured. You're fine now though,” he actually sighed with relief as he noted that.

  “What? What do you mean I'm in the medical bay?” she asked, her tone high with disbelief.

  Then she realised with a quick glance past Carson that she was indeed in the medical bay. She'd been here enough times to recognise it easily.

  “It's okay,” he reached her side, then his hand hovered awkwardly above her shoulder as if he wanted to rest it there reassuringly. “There was an accident. Do you remember what happened?”

  She stared at him, trying to push past the remnants of her dream. They still fogged up her memory, making everything else seem indistinct and far off. But slowly it came back. “The training centre,” she managed. “That block that hit me.”

  He nodded, but he pressed his lips together hard, the flesh crumpling and turning white and blue. “Yeah, that happened, but do you remember what happened in your apartment?”

  She stared at him.

  She tried to recall something, anything.

  After a pause, she shook her head. “No.”

  His shoulders sagged and he grabbed his mouth, breathing hard through his fingers. “Okay, one of the doctors should probably tell you this, but they aren't around. You . . . um . . . your implant malfunctioned,” he managed.

  She couldn't do anything but stare at him. She knew she looked like a complete idiot, but she couldn't help it. “What do you mean?”

  “It malfunctioned,” he breathed uneasily, “the doctors have confirmed it. It sent . . . a training block,” he stopped, clearly trying to select his words carefully, “you had an accident with a training block,” he shook his head.

  “I don't understand,” she answered truthfully.

  “You don't remember what happened in your room? You don't remember the small TI block you keep on your bedside table?” he tried hopefully.

  She went to shake her head. But she stopped.

  A thrill of excitement raced through her, almost immediately followed by dread.

  She remembered sitting on her bed and succeeding for the first time in her life at controlling her TI block. She recalled commanding it to come to her, and the small thing zipping through the air with incredible speed.

  Then, with a terrible chill, she remembered the block slamming into her hand and bashing her against the door.

  She collapsed her fingers over her mouth and whimpered.

  He winced. “It's okay. Everything is fine now. Nobody got hurt. I mean . . . nobody but you,” he corrected awkwardly.

  She kept her fingers pressed hard over her lips, forcing the warm flesh against her teeth. Then she jerked it back as she realised it was her right hand.

  She stared at it in horror.

  “They fixed you up,” he assured her. “No permanent damage. And your implant has been recalibrated. It won't malfunction again.”

  She clutched her right hand into a fist, closed her eyes, and tried to control herself.

  Carson Blake was standing by her bedside after
having saved her from another training accident, and here she was, falling apart like the pathetic cadet everyone thought she was.

  Blinking one eye open to see him still staring at her compassionately, she cleared her throat.

  “Thank you,” she managed.

  He laughed. It was a frustrated, disbelieving move, and not one of mirth. “Don't thank me. I should have realised there was something wrong with your implant after that incident in the training centre,” he admitted, his tone tight with guilt.

  She looked at him, assessing him as carefully as she could.

  He didn't look like he was lying, which meant he somehow genuinely thought this was his fault.

  “Why?” she asked suddenly.

  He considered her, his surprise evident. “I just should have realised. That block in the training centre checked out as normal . . . so I should have at least considered the possibility your implant had malfunctioned.”

  “No, you shouldn't have,” she told him evenly. “None of the doctors thought my implant could be acting up, and neither did Sharpe,” she added quickly, “and Sharpe thinks of everything.”

  Carson considered her quietly, then offered a half smile.

  “So you can hardly blame yourself, not unless you want to blame Sharpe too. And let me tell you, he's faultless. Blaming that man will get you nowhere.”

  Carson laughed. It was a soft move, and the sound of it echoing through the empty room was a welcome one.

  Briefly, it made her forget what had just happened to her.

  But its effect didn't last.

  All too soon, she brought up her hand to stare at it again.

  But it wasn't her right hand—the one she'd damaged in her room—no, it was her left palm.

  The one that danced with energy in her dreams.

  She frowned at it, considering the marks in her flesh and the whorls on her fingertips.

  “What is it?”

  She let the hand drop and tried to ignore it. “Nothing. I'm sure it’s just stress. The doctors keep telling me I'm just stressed,” she closed her eyes, “because I'm so far behind on my assignments and so damn unlucky and accident-prone.” She laughed bitterly. “And now I suppose I'm going to miss tomorrow's classes, and get even further behind.”

  “Today's classes,” he corrected gently.

  “What?”

  “It's 6 A.M. in the morning,” he pointed out, gesturing to a window behind him.

  She stared at it dumbly.

  She could see dawn streaming in through the glass.

  “How long have I been out?” she croaked.

  “10 hours, 45 minutes,” he answered, his tone tight.

  “Wh . . . what?”

  “They had trouble rousing you,” his cheeks twitched as he spoke. “Your injuries were more extensive than they first thought,” he reasoned.

  “Oh . . . ,” she managed after a lengthy pause. “Right . . . okay,” she forced a smile, “so it's tomorrow already, and I get the day off, again,” she couldn't hold her smile, “which means Sharpe is going to be on my case for missing too many classes,” she groaned.

  “No he won't be,” Carson said immediately, “he knows what happened here. I told him myself.”

  She blinked as she looked up at Carson Blake.

  With a few rays of light filtering in from the window behind him, he looked almost otherworldly. He stood with such poise and confidence, it seemed he could take on the world.

  Carson Freaking Blake.

  The finest graduate of the Galactic Coalition Academy in years.

  The most popular man around.

  And he was standing in her hospital room, trying his hardest to reassure her everything would be fine.

  What exactly had she done to deserve this? How exactly had she captured the attention of someone like Carson?

  Despite the rumours, Nida was not soppy, and neither did she have particularly low self-esteem. Though she appreciated Carson was popular, and realised he was objectively handsome, that was it. She wasn't the kind of girl who would go pink at the prospect he'd smiled at her.

  Instead, it just confused her deeply.

  Girls like Alicia commanded the attention of men like Carson Blake, because they were made for each other. And she hoped they'd be happy together.

  Nida, on the other hand, wouldn't be able to keep up with someone like Carson. He was too flashy, too important, and too well known.

  She liked a quiet life. Or at least she usually did, when she wasn't tripping over and almost dying, that was.

  But still, she had to wonder what the hell he was doing in her hospital room looking so deeply and genuinely concerned.

  “They'll let you go soon,” he promised, sighing as he did. “But I'm going to get them to check your implant one last time.”

  “Okay,” she answered, incapable of thinking of anything else to say.

  Was this the bit where she was meant to throw herself at him and thank him for saving her? Well, of course she was grateful, but she wasn't going to do it.

  Someone like Bridgett might do it, but someone like Bridgett would want the attention of Carson Blake.

  It just made Nida confused.

  With a sigh, she shifted her head back until she stared up at the ceiling. Then she closed her eyes.

  “You're probably tired,” he muttered.

  “Hmm,” she answered.

  “You should get some rest. I'll have one of the doctors look in on you later,” he promised.

  “Ah ha,” she managed.

  “You'll be okay,” he said one last time.

  It was as if he couldn't think of anything else to say. He'd repeated that exact same phrase like ten times already.

  Realising she shouldn't be rude, she muttered a quick thank you, then let her head sink back down into her pillow.

  She felt sleep creep towards her again, drawing a sheet of perfect black over her mind as it did.

  And there, within the black, she saw a glint.

  A blue flash.

  Light, like water lapping and trickling over stone, washed around her, escaping from her left hand and plunging deep, deep into her chest.

  . . . .

  Chapter 10

  Carson Blake

  Without another word, she turned around and promptly fell asleep.

  He blinked back his surprise.

  Then he saw it.

  Her left hand.

  It twitched as if it were trying to catch hold of something.

  The move was slight, but it was there.

  His expression compressed with confusion and suspicion.

  Just what was wrong with her?

  How had her implant malfunctioned?

  And what exactly did she keep dreaming of?

  Before she'd woken up, he'd sat dutifully in her room. As he had, he'd seen her dream.

  It had been fitful. Her hand had kept clutching back and forth, catching nothing but air.

  He'd pointed it out to a passing doctor, but they'd dismissed it as random nerve activity.

  Carson couldn't dismiss it though.

  He couldn't dismiss anything. All he could do was sit there and remember—in perfect, agonising detail—what had happened in her room.

  He tried to reassure himself her implant had just malfunctioned, but it was a small and bitter consolation.

  He wanted a better reason.

  He wanted this to be more than an accident.

  Yes, that was it. That was why he couldn't ignore her twitching hand. That's why he couldn't pull himself from her side, even though she was asleep again.

  He needed this not to be random.

  Though he didn't really know why.

  . . . .

  With a heavy blink, he realised he was very much tired, and very much confused.

  He'd had one hell of a night, and he couldn't realistically spend the rest of the day sitting by a random cadet's bedside.

  Because, seriously, he hardly knew her.

  People w
ould start to talk.

  Reluctantly, he got to his feet.

  He tried to make it to the door, but he couldn't.

  Instead he turned, and he sat back down again.

  Her left hand kept twitching as she slept.

  Again, a restless silence descended on her, and he sat there uncomfortably on the edge of his chair as he listened to it.

  She shifted her head to the side, sighing heavily.

  She didn't wake up though.

  A part of him felt wrong for watching her whilst she slumbered.

  In fact, again he pushed to his feet.

  This time he walked towards the door resolutely.

  He didn't reach it.

  She whispered something.

  “Help me.”

  Just two little words.

  He could barely make them out.

  And they locked him to the spot.

  She shifted again, her left hand clutching harder at the air.

  He stood there in the doorway, staring at her, waiting to hear it once more.

  Just as his heart started to calm, she whispered those two little words again, “help me.”

  She was still unconscious; the computer panel lodged into the wall above her bed confirmed that.

  She was just talking in her sleep.

  She said it one last time, then she shifted, rolling over, wrapping her arms around herself.

  She stilled.

  Her left hand stopped clutching at the air, and she didn't whisper another word.

  It took him a long time to leave. In fact, it wasn't until a doctor walked in beside him that he managed to shift back from her.

  He told the doctor she'd woken up, then he backed out of the room.

  As he walked through the corridors of the medical bay, he felt numb.

  Her whispered words kept echoing in his head.

  She'd been asleep, and they had meant nothing, but he couldn't stop them from reverberating through his mind.

  It took a long time to shake off their effects, but he couldn't forget them, no matter how hard he tried. Work, however, got in the way. And soon enough Carson found himself pulled into one distracting task after another.