The Peyti Crisis: A Retrieval Artist Novel: Book Five of the Anniversary Day Saga (Retrieval Artist series 12) Read Online Free PDF Page A

of edema or nose bleed, nothing to indicate that you have severe symptoms that would require medical attention.
    I am going to throw up, she repeated. You need to get me out of here.
    The oxygen levels in this unit are increasing. It will ease your feeling of nausea, although rest is indicated. A medical technician will meet you on the other side.
    After I puke, she sent.
    If they let her out of here.
    You are free of contaminants , the system sent, and are free to go .
    Thank you , she sent, and hoped to hell the sarcasm got through. She was halfway out the door when she remembered the damn box.
    She turned around to get it, making herself dizzy all over again. Black spots formed, and she had to will herself to remain upright.
    She crouched, using her knees, not bending over, and grabbed the box. She couldn’t leave it here. Not after everything.
    She staggered out of the chamber. She was breathing better, and the dizziness was fading somewhat. And so was the nausea. The urge to puke wasn’t as extreme.
    Still, if she clung to that story, she might get through all the protocols faster.
    Another door, an android examining her with its yellow eyes, another watching her, a red sign appearing on its forehead. You are being surveyed. Your actions may be used in legal proceedings. You have no rights to privacy in this part of the prison .
    She knew that too, but she couldn’t take her gaze off those words.
    “Yeah, fine,” she said. “Got it.”
    Just in case she had to speak to it. She took a few more steps forward. Through the five remaining layers of security doors and windows, she could see the corridor she needed. She could even see the bathroom.
    She focused on it, as if it could save her, her fingers wrapped around the evidence box.
    She concentrated on moving forward, on getting out.
    She concentrated, until she was finally free.

 
     
     
     
    SIX
     
     
    MIDWAY THROUGH THE loss of her stomach contents, when Jhena remembered to wipe her hand on her shirt before pushing her hair from her face, she also realized she had forgotten to notify the system about Frémont’s death. She was still light-headed, still unable to wrap her mind around someone dying alone inside the cell block, and shutting down the system.
    Not that she could think much.
    She managed to send a message to her immediate supervisor before bending over to puke again.
    The bathroom had been clean when she entered. Clean and so much warmer than the cell block. She usually found this bathroom cold and impersonal, with its black and gray non-reflective walls, the wide stalls (which she was so grateful for right now) and the sinks that emerged from beneath the mirrors whenever anyone approached.
    She always felt watched here, even if she wasn’t, no matter how many times the staff reassured her. The prisoners had no privacy, they said, but the staff did. The staff always would.
    She had barely made it inside the bathroom before throwing up the first time. She landed on her knees, (which she instantly regretted as they got wet). When she was done, she pulled herself up, and hoped she was done.
    Then the cleaning bots detached themselves from the wall, little black rounded things scuttling toward her, long hose suction devices deploying toward the remains of the expensive tuna fish lunch she had bought herself before getting on the shuttle for work, and that thought sent her into the nearest stall.
    At least she hadn’t made as much of a mess there.
    All she kept hearing in her mind was Didier’s voice, telling her to puke. Well, she had done that. And somehow, she’d managed to keep a grip on the box with the evidence bags.
    The notification she had sent her immediate supervisor was cryptic: Frémont dead in cell. Security shut down. Need assistance .
    And the supervisor hadn’t responded—at least not in the few seconds it took Jhena to lose every meal she had ever eaten in her entire life.
    She sat down on the cold floor, leaning against the