The Terminals (24 page)

They gathered at the beach. Same routine. Boat, helicopter, and blindfolds the entire time, until they were in the gli club. This time, Zara beat him handily at Ping-Pong, and he couldn't score even a point on Donnie. They were getting better, Cam thought.
Faster, stronger, more focused.

There was a buffet with fresh fruit, bread, soft ripened cheeses, and a pepper pot stew for those waiting. Tegan and Owen went first.

Cam sat beside Zara while Wally and Donnie played pool. She ate mango with a toothpick, then rolled the toothpick around with her tongue so that it danced back and forth across her lips like a thorn on rose petals.

Cam pointed at the door to the exam rooms. “The last time these guys did a scan of my tumor, it looked like it was getting smaller,” he lied.

“That's odd,” Zara grumbled. “They haven't done a scan of me the entire time I've been here.”

“Weird. You'd think that would be the first thing they'd do.” He watched Zara frown and persisted. “What do they usually test with you, then?”

“Speed. Strength. TS-9 stuff. I have the fastest reaction time of anyone on the team, you know.”

“They didn't test mine.”

“You're not enhanced, so why bother? No offense.”

“None taken. You're right. That's probably why they're actually working on the thing that's killing me. In your situation they're clearly focused on the drug they're killing you with instead.” Cam whistled, waiting for her to think about it. He didn't have to wait long.

“Your checkup was short last time, wasn't it?”

“Yeah, but the scan machine was amazing. It's in another room. Takes an image in real time. I don't know why they don't do it for you.”

Zara sat bolt upright now and had scooted to the edge of her seat.
I've got her
, Cam thought.

“Did they say you might be getting better or that it's even possible?”

“They don't say much. But sometimes I wonder if they misdiagnosed me. You know. Mistakes happen.”

Zara sat back. Her dark brow wrinkled into a sort of Z shape so that Cam could see her thinking. They sat for a time, the click of the pool balls, smacking hard or kissing lightly, the only sound.

“I didn't feel sick at all when I was diagnosed,” she said suddenly.

Cam nodded. “What about now?”

“Just light headaches so far. The primary TS-9 symptom. And my stomach isn't right.”

“Your stomach?”

She rolled her eyes. “Bloating.”

“I can't tell.”

“Thanks. But I can.”

“That's it?”

“My pee is dark yellow. Beyond yellow. More like orange. And my hair…”

Cam glanced at her short, dark locks. “It looks normal, except that you took a knife to it.”

“Not that hair.” She frowned. “I had to shave my upper lip the other day, my legs are going crazy, and it's not like you can get a good waxing around here.”

“Did your own doctor diagnose you?”

“No.”

“Did a specialist nobody knew fly in and do it?”

Just then, Tegan and Owen were led back through the doors by the tight-lipped woman who had examined Cam on their last visit.

“Zara and Donald. You're next.”

Wally snickered. “Calling Donald Duck.”

Donnie shot him a look and slapped his pool cue on the table. Zara stood and headed for the door, but she cast Cam a backward glance. He shrugged.

Tegan looked pale. Cam asked him to play some pool, but he declined. Cam asked again, winking to try to get him away from Owen, who was circling the food table. Finally, he understood and grabbed the rack. Cam whispered to him as he lined up the balls, alternating solids and stripes.

“You look like crap.”

“Only because that's how I feel.”

“What's going on?”

“Headaches, man.”

“Did you ask them for something to deal with them?”

“They don't want to mix anything with the TS.”

“Maybe you should stop taking it.”

“It's keeping me going, they said. I'd be worse off without it.”

“But…”

Tegan turned irritated eyes toward him, and Cam could see that he'd been crying. “Look, they're the doctors. Not me. And not you!”

It wasn't the right time, Cam decided. Maybe it would never be.

When it was Cam's turn, he went in with Wally, and they were taken to separate rooms. This time, Cam was closely escorted through the door with the stretchy-faced woman at his shoulder, and she closed it behind her with a telltale click.

They locked me in this time
, he thought as he hopped up on the padded, paper-covered exam table.

“I'm ready,” Cam said simply.

“Ready for what?”

“For the TS-9. Or is the TS-10 ready?”

“TS-10?” She glanced up at a mirror on the wall.

The mirror was large and set into the wall, not hung. The reflection was strangely dark.
One-way
, Cam thought.
Somebody's watching this.

“Ward just said—” Cam pretended to catch himself. “Or maybe I wasn't supposed to say anything.”

She flashed a smile without showing her teeth. “We're always hoping for a new, better medication. It's normal to wonder. TS-9 is what we have.”

“I'd like some.”

“I don't think so,” she said a little too quickly.

“We were told it's voluntary when we're ready, because we're dying anyway, right? Ward says that all the time. I'd hate to tell him you're not on the same page.”

She nodded carefully. “It's your decision, yes, in consultation with your doctor.”

“My doctor is
you
, right?”

“Yes.”

“And here we are consulting.”

She took a deep breath and forced another smile. “Well, let's check you out then, shall we?”

She was not happy—he could tell—but she took out a checklist and began to administer tests. She took blood pressure and a blood sample again, shined a light in his eyes and ears, and she asked him a series of questions: whether he felt persistent headaches, nausea, vomiting, mood swings, emotional instability, memory loss, seizures, lowered alertness, changes in vision, hearing loss, fatigue, weakness, difficulties in speech or swallowing, decreased coordination, fever, uncoordinated movement, paralysis of the face, drooping eyelids, eye movements, confusion, disorientation. His answers were universally “no.”

In between each question, he pestered her, asking her to check his vision, his hearing, his reaction time. He pointed to the machines that Jules had described and asked how they worked, then sat down at them whether she asked him to or not. She glanced up at the mirror at times, but gamely took him through the tests. She even administered the time-consuming memory test after he repeatedly asked to take it.

At the end, he pasted on a grim expression. “So my symptoms must be bad. I probably need some TS pronto, huh?”

“I'd say definitely no.”

“Come on, you can be honest with me, doc. Everyone else is taking it.”

“Every patient is different.”

“But I must be getting worse.”

She hesitated. “Not appreciably.”

“Appreciably?”

“Noticeably.”

“So I'm not getting worse?”

Her eyes flitted to the mirror and back to Cam.

“No,” she admitted.

“So no TS?”

“As your doctor, I don't recommend it at this time.”

Cam did his best to look disappointed, and to further sell his act he hesitated before accepting her advice with a sad nod. When she finally led him from the room, keeping a hand on his shoulder to make certain he didn't walk the wrong direction, he even mumbled dejectedly to himself. “Everyone else is so much stronger and faster than me. I can't even win a game of Ping-Pong.”

The door closed behind him, and he stood in the room with his teammates again, trying not to let his expression give away what he was feeling. Honestly, he didn't know whether to be happy or horrified. He'd confirmed what Siena had told him.

I'm not dying!

 

CAM'S PLAYLIST

28. THE ENDLESS NOTHING
  

by Necromoor

29. HOPE AND CHANGE

by That Weird Girl

30. 'SPLOSIONS

by WTF

“I was your thunder, you were my lightning,

in the storm before this endless nothing.”

Ward caught Cam as the others made their way back to their condos and walked him over to the lagoon.

“The doctor said you were asking a lot of questions, Cam?”

Cam shrugged. “I have a lot of questions.”

“I'd like to think I make myself available for questions,” Ward said. “Anything I can help you with?”

Sure, Cam thought.
What's the best way to stalk and kill a wild boar? How about a runaway girl? Or maybe I should ask: am I really dying?

“No,” Cam said instead. “I think the doc answered them all.”

“I just wish you had come to me first.” Ward didn't persist, and Cam decided he probably already knew what Cam had asked, and what the doctor had answered. Ward flexed his bulging shoulders and rolled his thick neck, a habit he had when he was frustrated.

Pilot sauntered over and joined them. “Our next mission is coming up, Cam,” he said. “And I've got a special assignment for you.”

“Really? What's that?”

“Individual training. I'll pick you up in the boat tomorrow morning.”

Cam nodded. “Is that where Jules went?”

“Cam, you know Jules was released from her commitment. She told us she told you.”

“Oh. I thought maybe it was a secret,” Cam said quickly.

“It is. We don't want a flood of requests. Everybody wants to go home at some point during their year, but we can't do it for everybody. She was a special case. And yes, she shouldn't have told you. Have you told anyone?”

“No.”

“Good. Training is what we've told everyone else. It should feel like when Ari was working on the yacht or Wally was off hang gliding. Only for her it will be a longer period of time. Eventually, her absence here won't matter.”

Pilot pitched the falsehood so easily that Cam was almost impressed.
It should be harder to lie
, Cam thought.

Ward slapped a strong hand on Cam's shoulder. He seemed to want to say something, but Pilot gave him a sharp look. Instead he just patted Cam on the back. It was supposed to be reassuring. It wasn't.

*   *   *

Cam didn't know how to get in touch with Siena, so he simply folded the note and placed it beneath the condo.

I'm ready to go NOW.

What do we need?

It was a dark afternoon that felt later than it was. Rain clouds writhed on the horizon like a nest of snakes. It would be a beautiful and treacherous night, Cam thought. Jungle rain could be romantic under the canopy, dripping and drizzling from leaf to leaf, winding its way to the ground where it soaked into the loam. Wind would rumble through the treetops, but it was divided and conquered by the thick foliage by the time it slunk to the ground, reduced to aimless breezes. And lightning had such a generous selection of tall targets that it never looked for humans to strike. But the open beach afforded no such protections. Cam watched the sea for a time. The storm was coming fast, and its gusts would rattle the condos. The waves would roll up the beach and make them wonder if they should huddle in the bunker or even climb the bluff—no small feat in a storm and more difficult for the unenhanced. The structures held off the rain perfectly well, but Cam had once made the mistake of trotting from one to another in a downpour, and he'd arrived as soaked as if he'd swum there across the lagoon.

It was not a good night to flee.

It was also not a good night to be cooped up with Owen, who, though he wouldn't admit it, was deathly afraid of lightning.

“Cribbage?” Owen offered.

Cam was secretly flipping through Ari's diary up in his bunk. “I think I'd rather trim my nails,” Cam said.

“Okay.”

Cam peeked down over the edge of the bed. Owen looked hurt. He dealt a version of solitaire that Tegan had taught him. He was shuffling the deck of cards with one hand. Cam watched as one card flew free and Owen snatched it out of the air before it fell back to the desk.

“Wow,” Cam exclaimed.

“Yeah, they upped our dosage on this visit,” Owen explained.

“It made you faster?”

“And stronger.” Owen shoved one hand under the solid wood desk and lifted the entire thing a few inches off the floor. He smiled. “You should see what Donnie can do. But Ward says it's the
focus
that's most enhanced.” Owen took four cards and threw them up. He stabbed at each, pinching three of four between his fingers. Not perfect, but impressive. It was clear he couldn't focus completely with the storm clouds rolling in.