Gemma ground her teeth and held the strap of her medbag tighter to keep her hands from shaking. She took a deep breath then nodded. “Fine, lead the way.”
The south wing buzzed with tension. A crowd of refugees had gathered, and their shouts echoed throughout the corridor. At the center of the commotion stood a civil protections officer, his black uniform rumpled and stained. He clutched an electropad like a tether.
“I’m telling you,” the officer barked, his tone defensive, “we’re doing everything we can. Supplies are coming. They’re just delayed.”
“Delayed?” a man in the crowd snapped, trembling with rage, fists clenched at his sides. “We haven’t eaten in two days. My daughter is starving.” He pointed to an emaciated girl in the corner. “What are we supposed to do? Wait until she dies?”
The officer opened his mouth to respond, but the spark had already been lit. The crowd surged forward, their voices overlapping in a chorus of fury. The officer took a step back, his ebony hand inching toward his holstered weapon.
“Enough!” Imara’s voice cut through the noise like a blade.
The crowd hesitated. Heads turned toward them. Imara bumped Gemma’s elbow, encouraging her to step forward. Swallowing the massive lump in her throat, Gemma pushed her way through the mob and planted herself between the refugees and the officer.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, but she forced her voice to steady. “Attacking this soldier won’t help anybody.”
The man who had spoken earlier turned his anger on her. “Yeah, but it’ll make us feel better. How come he never seems to be hungry?”
The crowd voiced their agreement.
“And why can’t we just leave with the supply ships?” another added.
Gemma’s legs trembled, but she met his gaze and held up her hands. “I assure you—we’re just as hungry as you are. And the supplies come on cargo planes, not large passenger ships.”
Something stirred beneath her skin, familiar and electric. Her eyesight sharpened, a slight purple haze infiltrating her vision, and for a split second, time seemed to slow. The breaths of those around her grew louder, their movements lagged, and the ultralights’ luminosities grew brighter.
Her hands shook at her sides.Not here. Not now. Please, not now.
The alien part of her seemed to obey. A wave of calm washed over her like cool rain on a scorching day.
Gemma tightened her fists to steady herself and continued. “I know how desperate things are. But I also know this officer isn’t your enemy. What do you think would happen if you attacked him? Hasn’t there been enough violence already?”
The man’s scowl deepened as his gaze flicked toward his frail daughter in the corner. Behind him, murmurs rippled through the crowd, uncertainty breaking through the fury.
Gemma spoke again before she lost her resolve. “Look, I’ve been in your shoes. I’ve gone hungry, wondering when the next meal would come, and I’ve hated the people in charge for not having answers. But tearing each other apart isn’t going to fix this. We can’t make the rations come any faster than you can.”
The man’s hands unclenched, his shoulders sagging under the weight of her words.
Gemma turned to the civil protection officer. “When are rations expected?”
“Fourteen hours. Maybe less.”
She faced the crowd again. “You hear that? Fourteen hours. Let’s give them the time they need. Meanwhile, we’ll distribute what we have left. We’ll make sure no one goes hungry tonight.”
Slowly, the tension dissipated, and the crowd retreated in uneasy waves, their anger still simmering but no longer boiling over. Exhaustion threatened to seep into Gemma’s bones. Imaralimped forward and began offering commands to those assisting the civil protection officers.
Delegation came naturally to Gemma’s best friend. It was heartwarming to watch Imara find joy in the role she’d been assigned, just like Christian had. Even Hawk was excelling in his apprenticeship with Rami, coordinating with other Systems’ space stations, ship captains, and planetary governments to get essentials and disaster assistance.
All three of her friends seemed to have found contentment in their positions. Why couldn’t she?
The biochip buried beneath the skin behind her ear chirped, signaling an incoming message. Sighing, Gemma tapped on the comm device secured around her wrist. She smiled as the eyepiece over her cornea projected Christian’s message for her alone to see.
MEET ME IN THE GYM? I COULD USE A GOOD SPARRING PARTNER.
Apparently, his day with the recruits was over, and—admittedly—she was burned out from playing doctor all day. She could use a good workout.
“Send message to Christian Holm,” she commanded her comm. “On my way.”
Satisfied that Imara had everything handled, Gemma pushed off the wall and jogged toward the stairs. Several flights later, she exited the stairwell onto the floor where the gymnasium was located.
