Chương 47: Ch 27b – Consequences

Cara knows it is locked the first time she tries to open the door. Her building anxiety about what it might mean makes her try repeatedly. She tells herself it is because of the fumbling fingers of her right hand which are mildly swollen and ginger in their movements. As her breathing becomes too quick, too shallow and she risks tipping into a panic attack, she forces herself to stop. She slumps back onto the treatment bed. Away from the door and away from the urge to bang and yell for someone to let her out.

She knows she needs to be calm; hysterics will rile Wyndeer further. She dares to hope that, after she endures his outpouring of anger at her accident, he will be amenable to continuing her limited freedoms. Her wounded right arm nestles on top of her left in her lap. It is wrapped in clear plastic film giving the skin underneath a sickly yellowed dough appearance. She can see all six puncture points. The small dots haloed by the whiteness of swelling are deceptively small for the pain they have caused.

Wincing, she shifts her arm away from the hard surface of her cuff. Her right arm is bare where Draig cut away the sleeve and washed away the dried blood after he finished dressing her wounds. She rubs a hand against her bare arm to discourage the bloom of goosebumps. As she does so she considers the cuff peeking out from her left sleeve, so far it has been useless to her. Her few attempts to generate a visual screen on a wall have failed every time.

In fear that she may be activating functions she cannot see or that she might accidentally call someone like Vheece, she hasn't put much effort into trying to understand how it works. Ironically, had Flavitt placed the cuff on her right forearm she might not be in her current predicament. Instead it is nothing but a reminder of her circumstances. With a slow realisation she curses herself for her stupidity.

She could have used her time with Flavitt this morning to ask him to teach her again how it works instead of poking through his things. She looks around the room. Draig had been tidying up as the drug he had given her pulled heavily on her eyelids and melted her body into sleep. The cabinets are locked securely; the surfaces cleared of tools and medicines. The wheeled tray table has been stowed at the end of the bed. Atop it, she sees, is a folded black jumper.

It is larger and thicker than the one she wears; it's inner fabric soft and fur-like. She holds it to her nose, detecting the faint aroma of sea salt and nutmeg, of Draig. He had not been wearing it as he treated her, he must have left it for her. Careful of her arm, she removes her old jumper and replaces it with this warmer one. It is far too big, falling mid-way down her thigh and requiring rolling up at the sleeves. She tents the neck over her nose, taking a deep inhale of his scent.

The door clicks as it unlocks. Wyndeer appears, no greeting, no inquiry as to her injuries.

"I can explain," she says, clearing the jumper from her face. His stare silences her. He takes a step back from the doorway and gestures into the corridor.

"Rec room," he orders. ….. Wyndeer looks on disapprovingly as Cara takes her seat in the armchair. The arrangement feels all too familiar triggering her stomach to churn violently with nerves.

"You gave her a Trisec jumper," Wyndeer accuses Draig, not waiting for him to finish settling into his chair.

"I had to cut hers," Draig replies matter-of-factly.

"There are spare Cadet jumpers," Wyndeer returns quickly, stamping his authority into the conversation. He sits near the edge of his seat, his back as straight as an iron rod. Draig props his elbow on the armrest, his attention on his flexing fingers.

"The Trisec thermals are more suitable."

"She isn't Trisec." Draig lets out a long huff, finally turning his attention on Wyndeer.

"She isn't a Cadet either."

"She has been provided with adequate clothing."

"She was cold," Draig replies, an edge of exasperation creeping into his voice.

"She didn't say anything to me."

"I stated it in my last report." Draig's lips have thinned as if he is holding back words. He prods the air in front of him, flicking an invisible speck at Wyndeer. Cara sits perfectly still as both men feed the other's irritation. Inside, her emotions fight for dominance. Her annoyance at how they discuss her without acknowledging her presence. Her insult that neither has cared to ask her how her wounds are. Her dismay at the idea her conversations are being written up in reports.

But mostly, her fear of engaging Wyndeer in any sort of conversation. From the locked door and the frosty walk from the medical room, she has no cause to be optimistic about what he is about to say. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"It's too big," Wyndeer announces after a pause, as if the garment's size is the point in contention between the two men.

"Crathsun will find something more suitable." He shifts in his seat, closing the matter. Draig flexes his neck from shoulder to shoulder and resettles in his chair. He wipes a hand down his face, his fingers massaging his jaw as they pass. She watches, fascinated as his expression transforms from one of irritation to one of indifference.

"Cara," Wyndeer begins. She takes a deep inhale. She has tried to prepare her explanation beforehand, but she already feels her rehearsed words muddling in his oppressive presence.

"When I laid out my rules, you agreed to follow them, and I agreed to trust you. Do you understand those rules?"

"Yes," she says quietly.

"Explain to me then, why you evaded Erro and why you were in Flavitt's room? And why-""I didn't evade Erro, I was just helping Flavitt with a box," she blurts out.

"I was going to the hall. I bumped into Flavitt. He was carrying a heavy box, so I helped him."

"And why," he ignores her interruption, continuing his question in a slow, deep voice, "did you stab yourself with the head of a slug extractor?"

"I-," she stumbles, thrown by his explanation of what the object was and the further questions it raises in her mind. She shakes them away, "I didn't know what it was. I was just looking. He has so much stuff. I just, I guess, I just picked up the wrong thing."

"Had you been following the rules, Cara, you would not have had the opportunity to ' pick up the wrong thing,' and inflict a potentially serious injury on yourself." His eyes seek out her injury, when they fail to locate her arm under the voluminous jumper, he gives Draig a sidelong dirty look.

"Cara," he continues in his authoritative tone, "if I can't trust you to follow the rules, then I can't trust you to move about freely."

"No," she says urgently as she leans forward, impressing her sincerity on him.

"I mean, you can trust me. I know I shouldn't have been there, but I wasn't going out of my way to break the rules. I was just helping Flavitt with a box, then I was going to go back to Erro in the hall. I promise. It wasn't intentional. I got curious. And then Flavitt and I started talking. And, well, no one seems to talk to him so I just thought it would be nice to stay to talk to him. And he has so much stuff in there it was hard not to get curious.

And-," she trails off, realising from her need to draw breath that she has been rambling desperately while his frown carves deeper into his forehead. She knows that she should wait out his silence, that he is becoming increasingly irritated by her explanations, but she can't stop herself.

"I'm sorry. That's all there is to it. There was no malice, no intentional rule breaking."

"Cara," he snaps impatiently, quieting her with a jolt.

"I talk. You listen. If I ask a question, you answer it, directly."

"Yes. I understand. I just wanted to explain. I-" Draig shifts in his seat. She clamps her mouth shut. Wyndeer makes her wait out a long, excruciating glare before continuing, "Intentional or not, I can't trust you to follow the rules, you'll have to be confined to your room." Cara yelps, shifting to the edge of her seat, "No, please don't do that. Please, it makes it so much harder." Draig, having watched with an impassive, almost bored expression, sets his enquiring eyes on her.

"It makes what harder?" Draig asks. Wyndeer tuts in irritation. Draig ignores him.

"Accepting what's happened to me," she says quietly. She can't bring herself to explain further. She doesn't want to detail how her isolation, both on the Wixam and when she had first arrived here at the outpost, had spiralled her hard and fast into despair. Nor how she would prefer to endure Wyndeer's anger every day than be locked away with only her own thoughts. Her hands, trapped in the separate sleeves of the oversized jumper, curl into fists, her fingernails digging into her palms.

"How long did it take Erro to realise she was missing?" Draig's finger presses hard on his bottom lip as he fires the question at Wyndeer.

"That is not relevant to this conversation," Wyndeer replies icily.

"Yes, it is," Draig insists, "She has a responsibility to remain observable. Your team has a responsibility to observe her. When did he realise she was missing?"

"I have dealt with that separately," Wyndeer says through gritted teeth.

"You are overstepping again, Pink."

"It looks to me that Erro prioritised Vheece's decommissioning over observation of a Visitor." Draig provokes the older man, matching Wyndeer's displeasure with his own frosty demeanour. Cara sits perfectly still, feeling more trapped in this large room than she had when she was locked inside the small medical room.

"Careful Pink. Your contract also requires you to observe her. How long did it take you to realise she was missing?" Wyndeer shoots back. His elbows rest on his knees. His hands clasp firmly together as if they store some of his anger, preventing it spilling into the room. Her heart thumps thunderously in the silence of their stare-down Draig's show of open palms precedes his concession, "You are correct, Orange. The fault lies on me too; I intend to rectify it immediately.

I pledged full observation to Argatta during this assessment. I will ensure Cara is unable to break any rules."

"She seems incapable of following rules." Wyndeer grumbles, cautiously navigating Draig's sudden climbdown.

"True, she has struggled, but she has shown a curiosity and willingness to integrate. Traits that fully align with the Programme Argatta and Vheece agreed with the Assembly. I don't wish to report that she is being punished for it." Draig pauses to incline his head in a subservient manner.

"On Argatta's behalf, I will do my part to ensure that Cara's curiosity does not cause any further incidents." Wyndeer's nostrils flare above his tight-set jaw. Draig is statue still, his gaze fixed on Wyndeer's powerfully clenched hands.

"Watch her every move then," Wyndeer spits, rising up from his chair.

"If I catch her doing anything remotely like this again, I will have you dismissed, without pay, for breach of contract." He turns to Cara with a thunderous look.

"Shard trial in twenty." She watches him march out, not moving until his bellowing for Crathsun makes her wince. Words of gratitude form on her lips as she turns to Draig and disappear like a popped bubble when she sees his expression.

"Follow the damn rules," he hisses in exasperation. He points towards the kitchen, "And for fuck's sake, eat something."