Last time …
Red lost the AR goggles while tangling with her mother … someone who should not be tangled with.
She paced—like a caged wild cougar—back and forth, turning the goggles over and over and over in her trembling hands. Yes, Zophia’s hands trembled. Her space in the AOD, her private alcove, the secret hovolator to the lower decks, to Section Twelve. GAP couldn’t see her here.
But did that really mean she was safe? Could she ever be safe? Maybe—if she handed the goggles over. Maybe—if she would let them do to Red what they had done to her.
A tear struggled to be free. It ran over the smooth iron-clad cheek and dropped from the face of sink or swim. Zophia had sunk as far as she could. Was she to drown her daughter?
She crept to the alcove’s edge and peered toward Issi’s station. Still there. What would he say? Foolish. Of course, she knew what he would say. She knew less about Issi than she knew about his ancestors and the tale of the Ancient Star Wanderer.
But why? She couldn’t remember. No. She couldn’t risk Issi. He would protect Jayla, if it came to that.
She turned and summoned the hovolator. Section Twelve. The stasis vaults still hiccupped and hissed. She clung to the shadows and moved as close as she dare.
Then—
She dared further. No sign of the wobbly technician. Nor should there be at this hour. She entered the chamber itself. She slid between the Gurdjieff pod and the Drayon pod, slowly, carefully. She looked in at the face of Gurdjieff. Still. Sunken. Seeming to search for breath. Not from her. Not ever again. She ran her free hand along the cool glass, and something hummed, sizzled, no … vibrated.
The goggles.
The goggles reacting to Gurdjieff? Or the pod?
She turned around and ran her hand along the bubble above Drayon. The goggles were silent. Back to Gurdjieff and the vibration resumed.
She gasped—jerked her hand back. A cold ripple surged through her, like a whisper trying to crawl under her skin. Her breath stalled. Was she imagining this? Was the pod responding? Was Gurdjieff?
“Ma’am?”
She startled, then composed instantly. She had trained for this—for anything. Even this. “Was there another power surge?”
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he tried to answer her presence. Zophia Finn had never been in the lower decks this late. Why was she here now? What had he done wrong? “No. No, ma’am. Not that I know of.” He wiped his brow with a well-used kerchief. “Everything remains stable.”
“Good,” she hissed. She turned, and her heels snapped before deliberately, slowly exiting. Her poise was restored—temporarily. She ignored the technician and tucked the goggles out of view.
Darting thoughts. Teasing glimpses. More questions. All accompanied her on the hovolator back up to her private alcove. The goggles, still. Quiet.
Peeking around the corner again, she looked for Issi. No one. The AOD was empty. Space before her was not. She turned the goggles over and over in her hands as she approached the massive aluminum glass barrier. Her fingers trembled over the record button. No. She shouldn’t.
She pressed it anyway.
The goggles slid into place.
It was all too clear.
She had been here before.
She bent. Clutched her stomach.
She had seen these symbols before.
A memory stirred—but not as her own. As if borrowed from something ancient. Or stolen.
Is this what Red had been seeing?
She stumbled. Faint.
Weakened.
Awake.
Next: Episode 9—Patterns Manifest
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