Free Tundra 37 by Aubrie Dionne

his fingers slipping on the slick substance. The edge of the tube fit perfectly into the ring in her spine. Brent paused, doubting himself. What if he killed her?
    She already looked dead.
    Pulling his cringing shoulders straight, he stuck the tube in and pushed until the end clicked. The plastic filled with fluid and the Seer’s body jerked in small movements, as if pulses of electricity restarted her heart.
    He turned her around and looked into her withering face, trying to remember her name.
    Mesto? Mesty? He’d read about their impoverished beginnings while studying for lieutenant hood. Plucked from the slums of Old Earth at the ripe age of nine, these sisters were granted a second chance at life. As he looked down into her three-hundred-year-old face, she’d had a third and fourth chance as well. And he’d just given her another.
    The name flowed back to him. “Mestasis. Mestasis please wake up.”
    The eye fluttered. Flaky lips twitched, revealing toothless gums.
    “Please come back to us. We need you.”
    The lights flickered around him. The main intercom buzzed on.
    “Computer, status reports.”
    Her voice filled Brentwood with relief.
    “Thank the stars! You gave me quite a scare.”
    She shivered in his arms and he pulled her closer, feeling her humanity for the first time. She focused on him. Her eye traveled from his face to the rubble behind them.
    “Where’s Bysme?”
    “What? Who?”
    “My twin.”
    Brentwood jerked. He’d forgotten about the other one.
    “I’ll find her.” He placed Mestasis gently on her back and threw himself into the wreckage.
    Did the ship need both twins? He hoped not. A chrome panel as large as a desk lay on the floor, propped up by something underneath. Bracing himself for the worst sight imaginable, he hoisted the panel and threw it against the wall.
    “What the?”
    A globe the size of a bowling ball shimmered back at him. Intricate metal weave work surrounded it, the thread-sized strands thrusting into the floor. Cosmic dust swirled in golden spirals inside the globe, the colors changing from lavender to vermilion, then deep crimson. His ears rang as he stared at the conglomerations, each pattern beseeching him to lean closer. A brief vision of a meadow flashed before him along with a heady scent of animal hides. His hand reached out to touch it.
    “Lieutenant.” Mestasis’s voice yanked him away from the globe. “Leave the orb and tend to my sister. She’s still hanging from the ceiling.”
    He gazed up to see the old machine-woman slouched over, her chin resting on her chest. Confusion shot through him. Why had he put his own cravings first?
    Shaking his head, he searched for anything to stand on to reach her. A ladder would have been ideal, but the Seers had no use for such things. He pulled on a cable dangling from the ceiling. The anchor felt solid, so he climbed hand over hand.
    “Bysme.” He called to her as he dangled just before her ashen face. “Bysme, do you hear me?”
    Her skeletal remains hung motionless.
    “She’s not responding. Mestasis, what should I do?”
    Her voice resonated directly in his head. Use the respirator.
    An oxygen mask hung beside Abysme. Holding onto his perch with one hand, he attached the plastic to her mouth. Her chest rose and fell with the airflow.
    He tried again, “Bysme?”
    Two blind eyes popped open and stared at him, sensing his presence. He almost lost his grip on the cable. “Jeez.” He’d had enough close encounters for today.
    Her voice resonated on the intercom, even though her lips sucked at the breathing apparatus. “Location of the beacon?”
    “What?” Brentwood had never heard of a beacon.
    “The beacon is not your concern, Lieutenant.”
    It must be if one of the Seers placed it above a falling apart ship with crashing systems. A current of anger rose inside him. Brentwood hefted Mestasis and hung her back on the ceiling where she could see the viewing panel with her one good eye.