Read Nova for Free Online Page B

head. One thousand and one, one thousand and two, one thousand and three, one thousand and four . . .
    *00:02:33*
    My lips keep mouthing the counts, but the numbers don’t turn. I am stuck. Frozen in time, just two and a half minutes away from nirvana. In my short time on the station as myself, it never once occurred to me that I might be a—
    No! I will not say it, I will not even think it—
    Dud.
    The word doesn’t bring the expected pain, only emptiness. A whispered resignation that can’t be denied. My identity, my purpose, my existence—they are all one and the same.
    Nothing.
    I wonder why I even woke again at all.
    For a long time, I just lay there, staring at the wall, my eyes caught in some strange trance my mind seems unable to break. Eventually I become aware of voices just outside the door.
    “. . . busy morning and there are a lot of units. Maybe someone slipped in while you weren’t looking.”
    “I’m telling you, I’ve been in line for forty-five minutes and
no one
has gone in or out of this unit.”
    A sigh. Then a soft knock sounds on the door. “Hello? Is anyone in there?”
    I have no choice now. I can either come out or they can come in.
    “I—I’ll be out in a minute,” I manage to call after a couple false attempts. My voice sounds rough, my throat raspy after a night exposed to the dry station air, but it’s serviceable enough.
    “There, you see?” I hear the male voice tell the other. The female’s response is muttered, too low for me to hear, but their footsteps do retreat.
    Standing is difficult, but doable. I limp the couple steps to the sink, stretching my leg to try and rid the pins and needles, and gaze into the mirror. It’s a good thing I didn’t open the unit door. I am enough of a shock to myself; a casual bystander would find me appalling.
    Thick globules of fluid are crusted in the folds around my eyes, the gray gunk echoing the gray of my eyes and congealing in my lashes. Streaks down my cheeks show where the liquid, whatever it was, ran down my face, and when I look down, I see more stains on my jumpsuit and collarbone. It is in dull contrast to the sharper reddish-brown blood coating my lip and chin, and dribbled over the corners of my mouth. I tentatively shift my mouth around and feel clotted remnants inside as well. I must have bitten my tongue sometime last night without even realizing it.
    Turning on the taps, I cup my hands under the water and rinse out my mouth, spitting half-dried chunks of red out with each mouthful. I turn my attention to the rest of my face after that, unzipping the top half of my jumpsuit and using the tail of my undershirt to rub at the various stains. Despite some vigorous scrubbing, though, the gray stains around my eyes are still there, faint smudges that make me look dull and exhausted. Even the whites of my eyes have a grayish cast to them. I look haggard by the time I’m finished, with dark circles under my eyes and skin that looks much too pale, but I am decent at least. Not out of place for a traumatized refugee who spent two years in an internment camp.
    Or a genetically engineered human bomb who spent the night malfunctioning on the floor of a hygiene unit.
    As I smooth my shirt back into place, I notice a nasty bite mark in my shoulder, in the fleshy part just above the armpit. A corresponding tooth hole peeks through the fabric of my jumpsuit. I blink at it. Did I do that? I must have. I don’t remember that, though. I wonder what else I did last night that I don’t recall.
    The showers are located in the other block of hygiene units, but I use the toilet and clean the rest of myself up as best as I can using only the soap and water from the taps. My clothes look presentable enough once I put them in order. Everyone’s clothes are so dirty and worn by this point that a few gray stains, a couple drops of blood, and a tooth hole blend right in. My hair, too, looks okay once I pull out my ponytail and tuck the bloody