“What did you say?” she replied, just as she rounded the corner and stopped short beside me.
“I said—”
“Oh,” she said in a very small voice. “Oh, no.”
When I turned to look at her, her face had gone completely pale. Then, to my complete shock, she fell apart.
CHAPTER 7
TORVEN
The competent, practical, chatterbox scientist who’d handled atmospheric storms and a crash landing without losing her composure started shaking like a leaf. Her breathing became rapid and shallow, and her eyes went wide with what looked like pure terror.
“They’re dead,” she was saying, backing away from the aisle. “They can’t hurt anyone. They’re just bones, but they’rehereand they’redeadand what if we end up like that, what if—”
“Hey.” I stepped toward her, concerned by the panic in her voice. “It’s okay. We’re safe.You’resafe.”
“Are we? I’m not so sure we are. If they’re dead, that means it could happen to us. Statistically, the odds are that we won’t survive this anyway,” she babbled, still backing away. “I know it’s absurd and irrational but I just have thisproblemwith corpses. It makes no sense, I know. But ever since I was little and I found them and they were supposed to be safe but they weren’t and—”
She was hyperventilating now, her words coming so fast that I could barely understand them. Without thinking, I crossed to her and pulled her against my chest, wrapping my arms around her trembling form.
“Breathe,” I said firmly, walking both of us well away from the pile of bones in the aisle. “Just breathe. You’re safe.”
She buried her face against my shoulder, and I could feel the warmth of her fast, shallow breath through my shirt. Her whole body was shaking, and for a moment I was completely at a loss. This was the same female who’d faced down a planetary electromagnetic storm with scientific curiosity. What could have triggered such an extreme reaction to a long-dead skeleton?
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled against my shoulder. “I’m sorry, I know it’s ridiculous.”
“It’s not ridiculous.” I ran my hand down her back, trying to provide what comfort I could. “Everyone has something they’re afraid of.”
It took several minutes for her breathing to return to normal, and even then, she didn’t pull away from me. If anything, she seemed to press closer, to melt against me. I swallowed hard and pushed down the sudden and acute awareness that holding her drew up. My body was completely unaware that this wasnotan appropriate time to be aroused.
“Can you tell me what happened?” I asked gently. “You mentioned finding ‘them’ when you were little.”
She was quiet for so long that I thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “My grandparents. When I was eight. There was a string ofvery bad storms this one season, and a tornado hit their farm.”
I wasn’t familiar with the word “tornado.” She spoke Destran to me, but there was no word for that in my language, so she used the word in her language. Nevertheless, I was able to put together that it was some kind of disaster. My chest tightened as I comprehended what she was telling me.
“They didn’t survive,” she said thickly. “They were in their storm room. It was supposed to be tornado-proof, reinforced concrete and steel. But the storm was stronger than anyone predicted, and the whole structure…” She swallowed hard. “I was the one who found them when my parents and I came to check on them after the storm passed. It…left an impression, I guess.”
“Stars above,” I breathed. “No wonder you’re afraid.”
“They were supposed to be safe,” she repeated, and I could hear the eight-year-old child in her voice. “The weather predictions said the tornado would miss their area. The safe room was rated for much stronger storms. But none of it mattered.”
“Is that why you became an atmospheric scientist?” I asked. “To understand storms better?”
She nodded against my shoulder. “I wanted to be able to predict them better. To make sure other families didn’t go through what we did.”
The irony wasn’t lost on me. The woman who’d dedicated her life to understanding and predicting weather patterns had been failed by a storm forecast, just like her grandparents had been years ago. Now she was stranded on an alien planetbecauseanotherstorm had been stronger than anyone predicted.
“I need to get you out of this room,” I said, guiding her toward the door. “You don’t need to be in here.”
“But the data—”
“I’ll search the room. You wait in the stairwell.”
I helped her to the landing outside the records room, where she sat down heavily on the metal steps. The color was slowly returning to her face, but she still looked shaken.
“I’ll be right back,” I promised, then returned to the archive to examine the skeleton more closely.
