The Anchor with Eight Days Left

Chapter 2

I waited until Halden left the archive tier.

Nia remained at the protected terminal, entering commands with two stiff fingers. The calibration marks on her arm were inflamed.

She kept tugging her sleeve over them, then pushing it back when the fabric rubbed.

The terminal recognized my Anchor clearance before I touched it.

I placed my palm against the lock plate and removed her access.

The screen went black.

Nia stared at it. “That was rude.”

“You won’t use this terminal again.”

“Then I’ll enjoy all the free time.”

“You volunteered for succession.”

Her mouth flattened. I took that for guilt.

“Did Halden tell you that?”

“He didn’t need to.”

“Of course not. You’ve always been efficient with conclusions.”

She tried to reopen the terminal. My restriction held.

“What did he promise you?” I asked. “Status? Protected quarters? A place beside the people who survive me?”

Nia gave a short laugh without amusement. “You think I’m waiting for your chair?”

“I think that mark wasn’t applied by accident.”

“You know what else isn’t accidental? Locking the one person besides Halden who has lower-archive access out of the terminal you’re trying to search.”

I had not told her what I was searching for. My temper got there before caution did.

“If you know about the archive, you know what this is costing me.”

“I know you’ve had private access for years while the rest of us get escorted through doors.”

“You don’t know anything about my access.”

“And you know everything about my arm?”

A security light blinked above us.

Rowan had reported the revoked clause. Halden would now have lawful grounds to track my movement through protected areas.

I leaned closer to the terminal. “Give me your access phrase.”

“No.”

“Nia.”

“You don’t get to accuse me of waiting for your death and then use my name like we’re negotiating.”

She walked away before I could decide whether to apologize. Her steps were uneven. At the stairwell, she pressed one hand to her side, waited for the pain to pass, then disappeared below.

I reopened the terminal.

My Anchor clearance revealed a settlement directory I had never seen. Most files were locked behind terms that sounded financial: continuity yield, beneficiary allocation, origin maintenance.

One record opened.

GRACE TRANSFER LEDGER

Origin: Temporary Anchor M. Venn

Settlement cycle: Active

Lines of pale text scrolled beneath it.

At every midnight conversion, maintenance credits left my reserve and divided into three channels.

Route anticipation: Rowan Thorne.

Accelerated restoration: Bram Lorne.

Memory continuity: Tess Orlan.

There were no separate rewards. No abilities earned by service or selected by compatibility, as Halden had explained when each function first appeared. They all came from one source.

Me.

A hand settled on the terminal frame, not touching mine.

“Close it,” Rowan said.

I had not heard him arrive.

“Read it.”

“I can see the headings.”

“Read the units.”

His eyes moved across the ledger. “Maintenance credits.”

“Convert the origin balance.”

“You don’t have the authentication field open.”

“Nia does. I locked her out.”

Rowan’s head snapped around. “Why?”

“Because she’s Halden’s successor candidate.”

“Or because she has access you don’t.”

Nia had said almost the same thing. I resented them both for it.

Rowan studied the ledger again. “You approved the renewals.”

“I approved continuance of the mission.”

“You approved maintenance transfers.”

“I was told the transfers kept the habitat interface stable.”

“And you never asked what reserve meant?”

“I asked. Halden said it was my remaining off-world capacity.”

“That could mean several things.”

“It meant one.”

Rowan lowered his voice, the way he did when he thought I was panicking. “Mara, if this is what you believe it is, why didn’t you tell us before taking away my emergency clause?”

“I found the lifespan display this morning.”

“But you’ve been ill longer.”

I shut the ledger. “Yes.”

“You told Bram it wasn’t related.”

“Yes.”

“You reassured Tess the midnight conversion didn’t hurt.”

“Yes.”

His hand dropped from the frame. “Then you concealed the cost too.”

The corridor speakers sounded.

MANDATORY WELLNESS PERIOD COMMENCING

Bonded respondents are encouraged to complete proximity and care actions.

Rowan touched my elbow because the system expected contact.

RETENTION INDEX: 92%

I pulled free.

At midday, Bram brought food to my room and watched until I swallowed half the broth.

Tess sat beside me for twenty assigned minutes, telling a story about our first summer in the glasshouse. Rowan completed a route review with me although there was no route to plan.

RETENTION INDEX: 94%

By evening, I flinched whenever the next care period chimed.

Halden arrived after the last contact period. His silver uniform was perfectly fastened, though there was condensation on one shoulder from the cold lower tiers.

“I understand you accessed a restricted settlement ledger,” he said.

“My settlement ledger.”

“The classification is disputed.”

“My lifespan isn’t.”

His gaze paused on my face. “You have not completed authentication.”

“Because the woman you marked as my replacement won’t help me.”

“That assumption may become relevant.”

“To what?”

“To whether a severance request reflects invalid original consent or present emotional impairment.”

He kept his voice low and watched my face for a reaction.

“If you file without corroboration,” he continued, “the system may require observation restraints during the audit. Hostility toward a perceived successor may count as jealousy-based withdrawal.”

“You built a rule that turns anger into incapacity.”

“I did not build the rules.”

“You administer which definitions people are allowed to see.”

Halden did not deny it.

Behind my eyes, the deposit timer continued to fall.

31:08:12.

He stepped aside from the door. “Think carefully before you spend your only filing.”

When he left, the room recorded his visit as completed care.

The index rose by another fraction.