Catalyst (4 page)

“Where are you?” I cry, spinning around to face the wall.

“I’m right here, idiot,” Caliga mumbles from the floor.

I’d love to step on her face to shut her up once and for all. Why doesn’t Cy speak again? Something brushes against my cheek, and Caliga and I swipe away the sensation simultaneously. It’s as if Cy’s broadcasting to everyone. I don’t understand. I thought only Ana could do this.

Ana’s voice whispers to me.
I heard him too.

I’ve got to find out what Caliga knows about Cy. I turn to her, crossing my arms. “How would you like a hot bath, a glass of ice-cold water, and a sandwich?”

Caliga cracks open one scarred eye. It’s the hungriest-looking eye I’ve ever seen.

“Okay.” She stretches the word out, making room for the question silently embedded within it.

“And then we talk,” I say.

“Maybe.”

“That was not a request,” I snap. Caliga turns her bony shoulder to me as a response, and I leave.

In the hallway, I gingerly touch my cheek where Cy had brushed my skin. “Marka,” I call.

Marka wall-coms me back immediately, crackly but clear enough. “I heard him too, Zelia. Come to my room so we can talk. How is Caliga?”

“She’s a royal bitch.”

“I mean, how is her health, Zelia.”

I roll my eyes. “She’s up and ready to eat. The sooner we get some information, the sooner she can leave.”

“We’ll see.”

Great. What is it about parents? They never give the answer you’re looking for.
We’ll see
is definitely Marka-speak for
We’ve just adopted a new Carus member
. Ugh.

In the empty kitchen, I punch in an order for a tomato sandwich from the food efferent. I grab the full plate and a glass of water, then return to the infirmary, where Caliga abandons her dignity and crams big bites into her mouth. She makes little
umf umf umf
sounds when she chews.

“Easy,” I warn. “There’s been enough puke in this place because of you. I don’t need more to clean up.”

Caliga stops chewing. Her eyes travel up and down my body, as if she’s scanning for a good holo channel and finding nothing to her liking.

“You’re not what I expected.” She puts the sandwich down, only half-eaten. “Between Cy and Wilbert talking you up, I thought maybe you’d be wearing a nun’s habit. Saint Zelia, you’re not.”

“If you want your bath, follow me. Saint or not, I’m not carrying you.”

“Fine.”

It takes Caliga a few minutes to stand on her spindly, wounded legs and get to the door without falling over. We make our way downstairs to Dyl’s room, ever so slowly. Once, she stumbles and nearly falls. Without thinking, my hands go out to catch her, forgetting for a moment who and what she is.

“Don’t touch me!” she snaps. Her body twists away so fast, she nearly goes down on her knees from losing her balance. I back off, hands splayed in the air. You’d think I was the one with the poison touch, not her.

Finally, we get to Dyl’s room. I start filling up the bathtub, popping in a few tablets of self-bubbling soap.

“Normally one tablet would do, but you stink,” I explain.

“You were probably looking forward to telling me that.”

“Well! Looks like we’re starting to understand each other.”

Caliga doesn’t hide the longing in her face when she sees the tub full of iridescent foam. After a second, she leans over and tugs at the dressing on her leg. The edges are bonded to her skin, and she pants from exhaustion after several useless pulls.

An irritable hiss escapes me. “Ugh. Let me take off the dressing.”

Caliga straightens up and lifts her chin in the air. I guess that’s a yes, so I dart in as fast as I can. I force my quickly numbed hands to pull away the edges of the dressing, peeling it in one fluid motion. I back away and fall against the far wall, slapping my palms together to revive the deadened nerves.

When I turn around, I find Caliga’s scarred eyes on me. Her face is pained, which surprises me. I’d expected she’d be all smiles.

“I hope you don’t need help getting undressed,” I say.

“I don’t.”

“Hooray for small miracles.”

Caliga makes a soft hooting noise. It’s nearly a laugh.

CHAPTER 3

M
ARKA AND
I
HAVE NO EXPLANATION
for the Cy hauntings.

Everyone’s been distracted by stray words and touches from Cy. A fingertip on our wrist, a confusing babble of words.

Absences

The same sky

Quarters and halves

I don’t understand them. None of us do. But they’re happening more frequently.

“Whatever it is, it’s real,” Marka says. For once, she’s turned off the news and focused on me. Sitting on the bed with her legs tucked beneath her, she seems tinier than her six-plus feet, and younger than usual. Fragile.

“It’s like he’s got Ana’s trait. But I’ve never heard of people carrying more than one trait,” I say.

“It could just be Ana’s memories, playing tricks on us.” She stands up. “So how is Dyl doing with the sample?”

I tell her I’ll check. Marka does this sometimes. She takes any hope lingering around, wraps it under thick layers of worry, and puts it on a shelf. I know she’s protecting me, but it’s irritating. I need straws to grasp. Twigs. Anything.

When I arrive at the lab, I find Dyl wasting the liquid nitrogen in the lab. Which she never does, so she must be frustrated. One by one, she takes a miniature hothouse peony, dips it into the liquid nitrogen tank (our last), and shatters the bloom on the floor. Shards of melted fuchsia, yellow, and orange petals form a kaleidoscope around her feet.

“Caliga antidote working?” I ask.

“It’s . . . I need more time, Zel. I can’t do this in five days. I even used some of Wilbert’s leftover ForEverDay, to stay awake longer. Must have expired, though. Didn’t do a thing,” she says, disgusted.

“What do you know so far?” I ask.

Dyl shows me everything she knows. The open vial of Caliga’s blood has the same effect on us as she does. When my hand strays too close, the fingertips go numb. When I withdraw, the effect goes away. Dyl wraps the sample in a sealed plastic baggie and the effect goes away. We put a drop in water, in liquid nitrogen, burn it, vaporize it, and boil it, trying her limits.

“She’s fascinating,” Dyl says, taking off her safety glasses.

“Yeah. That’s nicer than what I’d like to call her.” Dyl throws me a look and I roll my eyes.

Dyl goes to Cy’s old desk and points out a protein electrophoresis. “She’s actually a lot like Ana. They both shed abundant amounts of a protein particle that affects other people.”

“So can you make an antidote? A reversible antagonist, maybe?”

“I tried. And failed. It’s so annoying.
She’s
so annoying. It’s like her body chemistry doesn’t want us to figure it out.”

I grimace. “Ha. I’m sure Caliga’s loving that.”

“Loving what?” Caliga mutters behind us.

Dyl and I whip around, beet-faced and twitchy. Caliga limps in, white hair in a tidy ponytail and clad in a skirt and shirt that I know are Dyl’s. I’m sure she didn’t ask, just took. How typical of an Aureus member. She leans heavily on a makeshift cane I gave her.

“Nothing. Just talking about boring lab stuff,” I explain. We haven’t told her we’re making an anti-Caliga medicine. The less she knows, the better.

“Huh.” Caliga pauses to glance at the screen on Dyl’s desk. It’s covered in tiny scribbles of formula and calculations. She squints to read the writing, and then shakes her head, as if it’s too complicated to understand.

She takes another few clacking steps toward us, when Dyl and I reflexively jump behind the table, putting distance between her and us. Caliga stops moving.

“How afraid you are. Like little birdies.” She takes a small step closer. We squeeze ourselves farther back. I can already feel the cottony nebula of her atmosphere against my face. “I know what you’re doing here. Playing scientist.” She waves her stick directly at the computer screen. “Nice try.”

Dyl nudges my foot with hers, and I look down to see that her hand is an inch away from the canister of liquid nitrogen. The top is open, still spilling clouds of cold nitrogen gas onto the floor and obscuring our feet. We could use it as a weapon, if necessary.

Caliga’s eyes follow mine to the canister. She takes a halting shuffle backward and rubs her arms.

“I’m cold enough as it is. No need for that.” She turns around and heads back to the door. “I came to tell you that you’re probably doing it all wrong. A protein antagonist will never work. It’s too short-acting and unstable.” She takes a folded piece of paper out of her pocket and tosses it on the table.

As she hobbles out the door, Dyl picks up the paper, reading the handwritten formula covering every inch. Our expressions mirror each other.

Surprise. And shame.

• • •

T
HE NEXT AFTERNOON,
I’
M HELPING
D
YL IN
the lab. Caliga’s instructions are perfectly detailed. I’d compliment her, if I didn’t hate her so much. We’re so close to a final anti-Caliga product, when a rosemary scent breezes by. Vera pops in from the door with a tray of golden cakes in her hand.

“How goes it, my little lab squeaks? Just wanted to tell you that your patient is in the common room. She’s freshly bathed, waiting to be fed.”

“Like a dog,” I mutter under my breath.

“And her leg smells rotten.” Vera makes a face. “Can’t you do something about that? It’s tainting my vanilla biscuits.”

I blow out a raspberry of annoyance and make my way downstairs. Caliga sits by the window. Ana’s perched on the end of the big dining table, and she and Caliga seem to be having a staring contest. Neither of them moves, but Caliga’s eyeballs bulge more with each passing second. I wonder if Ana can make other people’s head’s explode. I certainly hope so.

Caliga slams her hand down on the chair.

“Get
out
of my head!” she yells.

Ana’s mouth twitches, and she tilts her head, as if trying a new visual perspective. Caliga squeezes her eyes shut and clamps her hands over her ears. That’s as effective as cleaning your hands with spit. But I’ll let her figure that out.

I sigh. “C’mon, Ana. I have to work on her leg. You should be packing, anyway.”

I have everything.
Ana jumps off the table and leaves, after gifting me with a whispery kiss on the cheek.

Ana’s cryptic words are either meaningless or so insightful that I’m too stupid to understand.

Caliga cautiously uncovers her ears. I stop three feet away, the farthest reach of her effects.

“How are you?” I ask. Actually, I don’t care, but it’s part of the job.

“I’ve been better. And worse.” She shifts uncomfortably, watching me with her pale blue eyes. There’s a box of wound care stuff sitting next to her on the couch. I get to work cleansing, squirting on antibiotic salve, applying a new bandage, all the while darting in and out of her circle of anesthesia.

The doors to the kitchen open, and Marka strides in. “Here’s our patient,” she says, stopping at the imaginary line surrounding Caliga. Her voice is gentle. I swear, Marka could make rabid dogs go all Zen. Caliga tilts her head up and gives a small smile—the first I’ve ever seen that wasn’t suffused with malice. Marka refrains from overtly sniffing around Caliga (we’ve been working on getting her to tone down the bloodhound behavior), but her eyes glaze over as she reads her. “Ah. You are better today.” The concern on her face intensifies. “Caliga, dear. Can you tell us what happened?”

Caliga nods. I stop putting away the medical supplies.

“They came when we were sleeping. We were in northern Arla, by the border of Ilmo and Okks. Everyone was sleeping, except Wilbert, of course. He sounded an alarm, but it was too late.”

“Who were they?” I ask.

“They were like us. They had . . . traits. One guy was like strangely tall, and there were others, the guy with no eyes—it was crazy. We fought back, and they killed SunAj.” Caliga swallows and tries to catch her breath.

“Wilbert and I ran into Cy’s room. There were single evacuation pods in some of the rooms. They made me take the first one and said they’d follow soon.” Caliga stops staring at the floor and her eyes find mine. “Cy said if he didn’t catch up, to find you in Carus. He said you’d help me. I waited in the woods for them. I waited for days. But they never came.” Caliga’s stoic face trembles and she breathes frantically, unable to speak for several seconds. “I didn’t want to come here. I wanted to be with Wilbert. I wish they’d never put me in that pod.”

Marka extends her hand to reassure her. Caliga eyes the gesture hungrily, but Marka pulls back when her fingertips deaden from getting too close.

Marka takes a breath. “How did you get here, Caliga? All by yourself?”

“I traveled along the refuse pipelines. Wilbert told me how to hack the codes a long time ago, so I accessed the pipes to cross State lines.”