Project Prometheus Ch. 85 - Teaser (Patreon)

Across the staging yard, Maeve had already started her own work. The first group brought to her consisted of six Artucian warriors and four laborers, all of whom had served at least one rotation in the Dead Snows. Two of the warriors were members of Valessa’s honor guard, and one had been there twice. Another laborer had spent nearly three consecutive weeks moving between wreck sites before the newest disturbances forced a shortened rotation.

They had been given a private but not clinical-looking room just inside the dome, which Maeve had insisted on. There was no examination table in the center, no glaring lights, and no one standing over them like prisoners. Instead, there were chairs, warm drinks, and enough space that the Artucian could sit comfortably without feeling trapped.

“You did this often,” Korsa said approvingly.

“For years,” Maeve stated as she sat across from the first warrior, while Korsa observed slightly to one side. Ashaki took notes while Zuzanna handled the more traditional health information. The warrior was large even by Artucian standards and clearly unhappy to be there.

“I am not ill,” he told her.

“I didn’t say you were,” Maeve replied.

“I am not frightened.”

“I didn’t say that either.”

His eyes narrowed, and Maeve smiled, which threw him off more than confrontation would have.

“What do you want to know?” the warrior asked.

“How are you sleeping?” Maeve questioned.

“Fine,” he replied, blinking.

“How many times did you wake last night?” Maeva wondered and silence answered her a few moments. Korsa hid a smile as the warrior shifted in his chair.

“Three,” he stated.

“Normally?” she queried.

“Once. Sometimes not at all.”

“Do any dreams recur?” she asked and he looked toward Korsa while Maeve simply waited.

Finally, he said, “Some.”

“About the Dead Snows?” she pressed.

“Yes,” he replied as his jaw tightened and Maeve nodded as though he had told her the weather.

“What happens in them?” she pressed and his hesitation was longer this time.

“I hear someone walking behind me,” he replied.

“Do you ever see who it is?” Maeve asked, keeping her tone level.

“No.”

“Do you turn around?”

“In the dream?”

“Yes.”

“Sometimes.”

“And?” Maeve queried, hoping he’d answer, watching him flex his fingers against his knees.

“There is no one there,” he told her and Maeve nodded again.

“Anything while awake?”

His eyes darted toward the door, which was enough to make Korsa straighten slightly.

“I am not losing my mind,” the man breathed, hoping they’d believe him.

“No one said you were,” Korsa replied gently and Maeve leaned back a little, deliberately giving him space.

“Seeing or hearing something unusual after a stressful deployment does not mean you’re losing your mind. It means something affected you. Our job is to determine whether that something was ordinary stress or something else,” Maeve explained. He looked between them and, seeing no deception there, he decided to admit the truth.

“Sometimes I think I hear the staff.”

“The Ghost’s staff?” Korsa asked with a frown.

“Wood against ice. Three taps,” the warrior said with a nod.

“Only when you’re alone?” Maeve queried, taking care not to react outwardly.

“Mostly.”