Serpent's Gift Page 15
But after a moment the psychologist's expression sobered. "Let me tell you, Heather Farley is personally responsible for at least fifty of these silver threads--first that stunt with Khuharkk's toilet, then calling me today with her instructor, insisting that the students were in danger out at the site."
"She was correct," the Mizari said neutrally.
"She sure was." Rob shook his head. "That kid scares me, Ssoriszs. You know how far it is out to that dig! I never heard of a human receiving from that far away before! Heather is a much stronger telepath than anyone ever expected. I feel like I've got a tiger by the tail. I'm tempted to ship her back to Earth on the next ship."
"Today, we all have cause to praise her abilities," the alien reminded him.
"Yes, but what if tomorrow she decides to play jokes again . . . dangerous ones? She could be as lethal as the radonium-2," Rob finished bleakly. "I'm getting too old for this job, Ssoriszs."
"I was old before your father's father was born, Rob," the elderly Liaison said quietly. "If anyone on this asteroid has the right to complain about being too old, it is I."
"Please remove all clothing and all jewelry, placing your items in the chute to your left," the computer voice instructed.
Serge shivered convulsively as he began stripping off his one- piece garment. It wasn't that the nearly featureless cubicle was cold--like all of StarBridge, the infirmary was maintained at a constant temperature, unless otherwise dictated by the needs of the occupant. The chill came from inside him, and it had a name-- fear. He was scared, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out or, worse yet, whimpering.
All the way back in the shuttle he'd been so composed, so calm--Hing had been the one shivering with reaction. She'd leaned against him, and Serge had put a comforting arm around her, reminding himself all the while not to take it for more than a
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simple comfort-seeking response; any fellow human would have served.
Now, in the cramped safety of the decontamination cubicle, Serge watched gooseflesh spring out on his arms and belly, felt his genitals draw up against his groin. His heart pounded painfully, and he began to shake. Calm yourself, he commanded himself sternly. This is nothing but a delayed "fight or flight" reaction. It will pass.
Forcing himself to take deep, slow breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth, he fought the panic that wanted to consume him, and gradually it faded.
"Sensors indicate you have not removed all clothing or jewelry," the computer said. "Please comply with instructions. These procedures are essential for maximum safety and effectiveness."
"Tais-toi!" he snapped. This was the second time today that a machine had given him orders, and he wished this one would shut up almost as much as the warning system out at the dig.
Fingering his school ring, he was tempted to disobey the command. What difference did it make if he kept it on, he wondered blackly. It wasn't as though his hands could be hurt by radiation-- unless radonium-2
contamination might overload the microsensors, the artificial neurons and ganglia, or the power pak. Staring down at the ring's yellow-orange flame gem set into a golden-red Mizari alloy, he thought of the day he'd first slid it on--and of how he had failed at the mission it symbolized. Scowling, Serge wriggled it off, dropping it on top of his clothing.
"Sensors indicate that you have not removed ..." the computer said again, and Serge realized that he'd forgotten the earring, Hing's gift. For a moment he was tempted to refuse, then he remembered that metal could become radioactive--and that his earlobe was flesh and blood. He had a sudden vision of half his ear oozing and finally falling off. "Merde!" he muttered, startling himself. He rarely swore--and almost never aloud.
Quickly he began tugging at the gem, wincing as he tried to twist the post free of the backing. He'd never taken the earring out since the day she'd given it to him, and the post seemed permanently welded into the back. But finally it gave, and the sapphire | came free. Gently, Serge laid it down inside the circle of the ring, wondering if he'd ever see it again.
Don't be paranoid, he thought. Remember, our suits never warned us. Our exposure levels couldn't have been that high. But he knew that the sensors in the caverns were far more sensitive than the ones built into pressure suits.
How much radonium-2 did it take
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to damage human tissue or chromosomes? He didn't know.
And Hing . .. she had ripped her suit; her exposure had to be more than his.
Fear gnawed at him again, but this time it was fear for her, not for himself.
Radiation sickness was a terrible way to die. He thought of her silky black hair falling out, and felt his stomach lurch queasily. And what about the Professor, who had received the most exposure of any of them? Would he live?
"Thank you for your compliance. Decontamination procedures will begin now. Please remain still throughout each treatment."
Taking a deep breath, Serge braced himself.
"Please close your eyes, as initial decontamination procedures begin," the computer instructed. "First step is a chemical shower. It will last ten seconds and will feel cold."
Serge shut his eyes, grateful for the distraction as he willed the images out of his mind. The cubicle, barely two meters square and infused with dim red lighting, made him feel as though he were standing in an upright coffin.
He heard a hissing above his head, then an instant later, a stinging shower drenched his hair and skin. He wanted to gasp, but he didn't want to taste or inhale the stuff, so instead he clamped his jaw tight and counted the seconds . .. mercifully, only ten or so, as the computer had said.
"Please keep your eyes closed, and wait for the sensor scan," the computer said. "This will feel warm. We apologize for any temporary discomfort you may be experiencing."
It was suddenly as though he were standing in the naked glare of a too-bright sun. Squinching his eyes shut as tightly as he could, Serge counted seconds and tried to make his mind a blank otherwise. But thoughts of Hing and Greyshine kept intruding. Were his friends all right?
The last two procedures were not unpleasant, and then he was allowed to take a normal shower and dress in a fresh coverall and soft shoes. Dr.
Rachel Mysuki, one of StarBridge's physicians, appeared briefly to tell him that his tests results were being evaluated, and would he please wait. When he tried to ask about Hing and the Professor, she told him that they were undergoing much the same decontamination procedures, and that he'd be able to see them later.
The waiting room of the school's infirmary was as neutral and sterile as any other he'd ever been in, despite the holos that hung on the walls. At the moment, probably for his benefit, they'd been prorgrammed to show scenes of Earth, but the views of the Taj Mahal, the Grand Canyon, the Himalayas, and a wildflower-speckled
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meadow in the Alps failed to distract him as he paced restlessly, then finally sank into a seat, arms crossed on his chest.
For the first time in years he wanted to bite his nails, as he had when he was a kid, much to his parents' dismay. I'd probably break a tooth, he thought grimly, staring down at the ends of his fingers.
Where was Hing? It had been nearly ten minutes by now; why wasn't she out here with him, waiting for her test results? The medics Janet Rodriguez had brought to the dig had confirmed immediately that the Heeyoon's leg was broken, so Serge could understand his treatment taking longer. But Hing shouldn't still be under treatment... should she?
Unless something was wrong . ..
Closing his eyes, Serge found himself praying for her safety, then felt ashamed of himself. When he'd lost his hands he'd decided that there was no God, and nothing in the intervening years had ever changed that conviction. So what was he doing now, resorting to superstition?
Moments later, staring distractedly at one of the holoimages that now showed the temple of the Diving God in Tulum, Serge realized that he was praying again. Stop it, you idiot, he
thought disgustedly.
Moments later his breath jolted painfully from his lungs when a silent voice filled his head. Serge . .. Serge . .. I'm here.
Mon Dieu! he thought wildly; for one heart-stopping instant he was on the verge of looking for a burning bush or some other divine manifestation--then he realized who it had to be.
"Heather?" he said softly, out loud. His voice cracked in the empty room.
Yes, Serge, it's me, the voiceless reply filled his mind. I'm sorry for butting in like this, but I couldn't think of any other way!
It was exactly as though she were standing beside him and speaking aloud--
except that Serge was conscious of no sound. For a moment he was
surprised that he should "hear" her mental communication as individual words spoken in Heather's voice, but then he remembered that other people said that was a fairly common occurrence when dealing with telepaths.
Apparently the human mind often chose to perceive mental communication in familiar terms.
"Where are you?" he asked softly. He didn't seem to be able to formulate his thoughts very well unless he vocalized.
I'm in my room. Oh, Serge! it was a mental wail. Is Hing okay? She was so scared-- I could feel it all the way from the dig!
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"You mean you sensed her?" He could hardly believe it.
Yes. I told my instructor, and he--or they--whatever--called and notified Janet Rodriguez that there was an emergency.
"Then we have you to thank for the rescue ship already being en route!" he exclaimed, feeling a rush of gratitude. Those five or ten minutes saved might well mean the difference between life and death for Greyshine.
Warmth filled her communication as she "read" his silent appreciation, then concern soon was uppermost again. Serge, is Hing hurt? I can't sense her at all!
"When I last saw her, she was fine. Tired, of course, but she was the one who rescued Greyshine--anyone would have been exhausted after that."
She's so brave! The mental communication was accompanied by a glow of admiration. First she faced Khuharkk' to save me, then she saved the Professor! I wish-- I wish I could be like her. . . Heather finished wistfully.
"Hing has great courage," Serge agreed, feeling his throat tighten. She had to be all right, he told himself. She had to be ...
You have great courage, too, Serge, the mental "voice" came again. Anyone who could go through what you did, losing your hands and your music, and then have to start a whole new life is really brave, too.
Serge felt as though his insides had turned to ice for a moment, then fury blazed within him, and his fists clenched in the empty room. "What do you know about my music?" he said, his voice very soft and cold. "Heather, you have been reading my mind, haven't you? Don't deny it. How could you?
That's--that's--I--" He choked on rage and a feeling of violation. Paranoia flowed over him in a wave. She knew everything, all of his thoughts, his feelings. Had she told Hing? Ruined things for him?
Oh, Serge, I'm sorry! Her "voice" was a silent sob. For a moment her guilt filled his mind. I didn't mean to! I haven't done it since that first day, honest!
I'm sorry--
"Catin!" he snarled, then, in case she hadn't understood, translated, "Little bitch! Stay out of my mind, do you hear? Stay out!"
The mental contact was gone, as swiftly as a thread snapping. Serge was alone in his own mind. He sat back, breathing hard, still so furious that he was shaking. How dared she? How dared she?
"Serge?" the buzzing resonance of a voder filled the silence. The human jumped, startled, then leaped to his feet and rushed over to the being who hovered in the doorway. "Dr. Zemez! How is Hing? And Greyshine?"
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The Apis physician drew back as he barreled at her, then hovered just out of reach, her furry, striped body hanging almost at his eye level. "They are resting comfortably," she replied. "Hing has some bruises, and she is very tired, so we are letting her sleep while Rachel and I keep an eye on her."
Serge let out a sigh of relief that seemed to come all the way from his toenails. "Grace a Dieu ..." he muttered, scarcely aware of what he was saying. "And the Professor?"
"The Heeyoon has what in humans would be called a concussion, in addition to his other injuries, but he will heal, given time," she answered.
Moving closer to Serge, she fixed her huge, faceted eyes on him. He could see himself mirrored, over and over, pale and anxious. "But are you not concerned for yourself, young Serge?" she demanded, gently chiding.
"Not particularly," Serge replied honestly. All at once he was tired ... so tired that he could have collapsed on the floor and gone instantly to sleep. "I suppose I..." he trailed off, then asked, "how much radiation did I take?"
"None," she said flatly.
Serge's jaw dropped. "None?"
"Only the normal traces of background cosmic radiation were present in any of the four of you--or of any of the students on the field trip," the Apis said.
"Under the circumstances, we were puzzled by this, but a consultation with Janet Rodriguez helped to explain it. The radiation alarms installed by the engineers are far more sensitive than they have to be, in order to allow the greatest possible safety margin. Your suits protected you, and your exposure was, fortunately, quite brief."
"Our suits protected us," Serge repeated, scarcely believing the good news.
"Yes. The shielding built into them to handle normal cosmic radiation was more than adequate to deal with the minimal amount of radonium-2."
Serge felt another wave of relief as a new thought occurred to him. "Then that means the artifacts won't be affected!" he blurted. "I can recover them!"
For the first time in over an hour he remembered why the Professor had fallen in the first place. "I will be able to retrieve the star-shrine!"
"Perhaps," the alien doctor said. "However, Janet has also cautioned us that no one must return to the site until the engineers have inspected it thoroughly. Radonium-2 proliferates extremely quickly. All of you were very fortunate, young Serge. And by the way, I believe these are yours." She extended one of her forelimbs,
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with its long, spiky "hairs" that were actually sensory receptors. Clasped in her chitinous "fingers" were his ring and a tiny, winking spark of brilliant blue. "You may wear them without fear."
"Thank you," Serge said, taking them and slipping the ring back on, then inserting the stud back into his earlobe. "I am relieved that I didn't have to give these up."
"All of you were most fortunate," Dr. Zemez said, tilting her head so that the light from the overhead panels caught in the facets of her eyes, turning them to onyx jewels.
"We certainly were," Serge agreed automatically, his mind full of plans for retrieving their finds. Wait until Esteemed Rizzshor found out there was a star-shrine--they'd have a full team aboard the next ship--priority transport!
There would be no question of not funding the site now!
"Serge, Serge!" Dr. Zemez had to speak sharply to get his attention. "Open your mouth."
Dr. Zemez had conducted the young man's last physical, so he knew what she wanted. Obediently, he opened his mouth and extended his tongue so she could taste-sample his saliva. The first time she'd done it, he'd had to brace himself to hold still as her long, tubular tongue brushed his, but this time the procedure seemed almost as normal (not to mention much briefer and less undignified) as a human physician's pokes, prods, and command to: "Turn your head and cough!"
"I taste great fatigue poisoning your tissues, young Serge," she said sternly.
"Perhaps we should confine you in the infirmary so we will be certain that you rest."
"That is not necessary," Serge said. Like most healthy young people, he disliked hospitals. "I swear that I will go directly to my quarters and lie down.
But first.. . could I see Hing?"
"She is asleep," the doctor reminded him.
"Then what about Greyshine? Is he conscious yet?"
"Fine," Serge agreed meekly.
In the corridor they met Khuharkk'. The Simiu's hindquarters were strapped into a rolling brace that would support his injured leg. "Khuharkk'! Are you okay?"
The Simiu nodded, a gesture his people had picked up from humans long ago. "I am well, FriendSerge," he said, using the familiar form of address.
Serge felt a warm glow at this unusual honor. "The injury is not serious. How are you?"
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"I am fine," he reassured the alien. "Thank you very much for your help. We could never have managed without it today, FriendKhuharkk'."
Dr. Zemez buzzed at him, reminding him that the Professor was waiting, so Serge hurried after her. It still felt rude to Serge to simply walk away, but he knew from experience that was what Simiu expected.
Standing in the doorway of the Heeyoon's room, Serge regarded his friend anxiously. Professor Greyshine lay curled up on a pallet, with various scans and diagnostic equipment humming unobtrusively in the background. Dr.
Strongheart, the Heeyoon's mate, lay beside him, her nose almost touching his. At first Serge thought the Heeyoon might be sleeping, and he prepared to tiptoe away, but then the yellow eyes opened, fixed on him. The Professor raised his head. "Serge!" he yipped.
"I can only stay a moment, Professor," the human said, stepping into the room. "But you will be fine, they told me your injuries are not serious."
"Hing? Khuharkk'?" the alien's voice was faint, but he plainly wanted an answer.
"They are well," Serge replied reassuringly.
"Tell them . .. tell them their courage is beyond measure, and that I owe them my life," the alien said. "Tell them .. ." His voice faded and his eyes began to close.
"I will, Professor Greyshine," Serge said, knowing that Dr. Zemez would order him out of the room at any moment. "I will tell them."
He started to step back, but halted as the Heeyoon's eyes opened again.