Becalmed Read Online Free PDF

colors—green, dark green, blue-green, blue. She slides
into a chair across from me.
     
    “We can still leave,” she says.
     
    I shake my head.
     
    “We need a consult, and we can’t
have it here,” she says.
     
    So I am being monitored. “I’m
doing this,” I say.
     
    “You made that clear,” she says. “Now
we determine how to do it best for you.”
     
    Whatever that means.
     
    “There’s a privacy room just over
there,” she says. “We’re using it.”
     
    I’ve read up on advocacy. She’s
not supposed to give me orders. She’s supposed to follow mine. But she’s
worried and I’m not strong enough to fight her. Besides, I’m not leaving the
medical evaluation unit. I’m just stepping into a private room for a few
minutes to consult with my advocate.
     
    I don’t have to take her advice.
     
    She touches the wall and a door
slides open. I hadn’t noticed it while I was waiting, distracted (apparently)
by the constantly changing furniture.
     
    This room is also white with a
black conference table that has grown out of the floor. Two chairs sit side by
side. I suppose if more people walk in, more chairs will grow out of their
storage spots on the floor.
     
    The overhead lights spotlight the
chairs and nearby, coffee brews as if someone set it up for us.
     
    Leona ignores it, but I help
myself. As I touch the coffee pot, pastries slide in from the far wall.
Pastries and an entire plate of fruit, some of it exotic.
     
    “I thought we’re on rations,” I
say to her.
     
    “We are, but maybe the medical
wing is exempt.”
     
    The food gets her up and she
stacks a plate with strudels and Danishes and things I don’t even have a name
for. I grab a banana that looks like it came from one of the hydroponics bays,
and something with lots of frosting and raisins.
     
    My stomach actually growls. I’m
not sure when the last time I ate was.
     
    We sit down with our food and our
coffees, suddenly so civilized.
     
    She picks up one of the Danishes,
but doesn’t take a bite. “I know I can’t change your mind, but I want you to
know what’s at risk.”
     
    I eat the banana first. It’s
green and chewy, not really ripe, almost sour. I don’t care. It feels like the
first food I’ve eaten in years, even though it’s not.
     
    “I found out why they brought you
back to the ship,” Leona says.
     
    That, of all things, catches my
attention. It sounds ominous.
     
    “Why?”
     
    “They need to know what happened
planetside. They need to know if it’s our fault.”
     
    A shiver runs down my back. If it’s
our fault. Of course it’s our fault. The Fleet meddles. That’s what we do.
     
    “What do the other two survivors
say?” I ask.
     
    She doesn’t look at me. Instead
she takes a bite of that Danish and eats slowly. I want to push her on this. I
want her to tell me everything right now.
     
    But some vestiges of my training
remain. I sit and watch, counting silently to myself because it’s the only way
I can keep still.
     
    Stillness used to be my best
weapon. I could wait for anyone. I could listen forever, and learn, without
making a move.
     
    But I seem to have lost that
ability. I’m restless now, and time feels like it has sped up. Even though I
know it has only taken a moment for her to eat that small bite of pastry, it
feels as if she has taken an hour.
     
    “What do they say?” I ask because
I can’t wait any longer. So much for stillness.
     
    “I don’t know,” she says. “I
haven’t spoken to them directly.”
     
    “But you know,” I press.
     
    She shrugs a shoulder—a
sorry-said-all-I-can shrug.
     
    Then she sets the pastry down and
wipes her hand on a small napkin. “Look,” she says. “If that mess turns out to
be our fault, then you’ll probably be executed. Now do you see why I don’t want
you to do this?”
     
    “I need to do this,” I say
softly.
     
    “Why?” she asks.
     
    “The memories are coming back. I
can’t experience