Serpent's Gift (20 page)

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?"

"He was when I left," she admitted. "And he was demanding to speak to you." Her voder's flat voice seemed to take on a stern overtone. "I will allow you sixty seconds--no more."

"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.

The alien was making a palpable effort to cling to consciousness. "My starshrine, Serge . .." he whispered. "The engineers . . . they will disturb it.

Perhaps . . . steal it. It is ... a great treasure. . ."

"I know," Serge said.

"You must take it, lad . . ." the Heeyoon said. "Don't let them have it. .." The gray head dropped onto the pallet, the soft ears drooped limply. The yellow eyes closed.

'Time to go," the Apis physician commanded.

Knowing the alien was either unconscious or asleep, Serge hesitated. But even if Greyshine couldn't hear him, Dr. Strongheart could. She would tell her mate as soon as he awoke. Drawing himself up to his full height, Serge's voice rang out with the strength of one taking a solemn oath. "I will retrieve the star-shrine, Professor, I promise. Don't worry."