Page 86 of The Mars House

“It’s okay,” he tried. “You’re safe, it . . . Just try and drink something.”

“What? I can’t understand what you’re saying!”

He frowned, because he’d been speaking Mandarin. “You can. I have an accent, it’s quite strong, but I’m not . . .”

“Oh my God, it’s so . . . quiet . . . ”

“God, is that how this place looks without any overlay?” said Mx Ren, managing to look disapproving. “What a dump.”

January laughed, as much because it was an enormous relief as because it was actually funny. “Are you okay? Can you help check the others?”

“Oh, fuck, is that your real nose?” Mx Ren said to Mx Francis. “That’s upsetting.”

January wanted to applaud.

“You’re—such—a bitch,” Mx Francis whispered. They hadn’t stopped shaking, but January didn’t think a blanket would help. “Is the Senator . . . ?”

Gale was wrenching themselves upright. They were clearly a lot more annoyed about folding than the internet itself. “Well, this is illuminating,” was the irritable verdict.

“Fire!” someone shouted from the kitchen. “There’s a . . .”

January ran to help. It was only a little fire; someone had knocked a grill as they fell, and not far. He put it out, had a tiny moment of joy with the extinguisher, and by the time he went back to the others, some of them were starting to stand up.

“I don’t—know the way back to my room,” Mx Francis said, shocked. “Where do I . . . ?”

“It’s that way,” January said. “The elevator’s just there, can you . . . ?”

“I can see, but I can’t—make the house—make sense, is this how you live all the time?”

“Seventh floor, room seven two five I think,” January said. “You turn . . . left, out of the lift at the top.”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s just above us now,” he said.

“That’s a sense of direction,” Mx Francis said indignantly. “That’s a myth, nobody really . . .”

“Let’s go together, I’m near you,” Dr Okonkwo said, limping. They always had a bad knee, but something must have twisted now. “Come on.”

January knelt down to listen to Sasha breathe, because they were still flat on the floor. But they were breathing, and nothing seemed badly wrong. Maybe it was just too sudden a shock. He had no idea. He had never reacted to anything like this, and he didn’t think he understood what people were losing.

Gale was upright and checking on other people.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine. Empty, but . . . fine.” They blinked slowly. “It’s so quiet.”

January nodded, helping Dr Molotov into a chair. Dr Molotov was gripping his hands hard, not very steady at all. Their eyes flared as a call came in and for a second they looked relieved, but their whole expression crumbled after they’d listened for a second.

“It’s my partner,” they whispered. “But I can’t—understand.”

January sat down in the next chair. “What language do they speak?”

Dr Molotov stared at him drowningly. “I don’t even know.”

Gale folded down on their other side. “May I listen?”

Dr Molotov nodded and touched Gale’s temple, which was a way to share the signal as far as January understood. Gale listened.