48: Deva
Deva
Deva’s breathing was shallow. She tasted stale air, air she’d already breathed in too often. Chiron said the boffins reckoned she’d be fine for oxygen, but it still worried her.
Which was why the terminal fitted to the inside of the nook monitored the air. It hadn’t shown an alert yet, so Deva figured she was fine. The light-headed sensation was probably down to all the movement.
That had been a while ago, though. The nook—a misleading name, when it was such a tiny space—was part of a crate, one of six being delivered to Research. Chiron had someone inside the delivery company—Deva forgot their name—and he’d arranged the altered crates. He’d also confirmed delivery dates, even though Deva had figured this out through monitoring the facility.
The terminal flashed
