Skeen's Return (22 page)

“You know as much as I do, Ti.”

“That's not saying a whole lot.”

“If you had objections, why didn't you voice them before?”

“You were so sure of yourself, Scholar.” Timka slid off the bunk, settled Skeen as well as she could; still not-looking at the bucket, she gave Pegwai a tremulous smile. “Don't mind me. That was nerves talking.”

“I know.” He held out his hands. They were shaking. His face was a greenish gray, his eyes glazed. “Lifefire curse and claim the Funor Ashon. They know so much we've forgotten or never knew; if I could have taken her to one of their medical centers, well, none of this would have happened. They grudge the Lumat every scrap of knowledge from their store, though they're greedy enough to claim what we get from everyone else.” He squeezed his eyes shut, pressed a fist into the space below the spring of his ribs. “I've got to get out of here. Ti, you able to stay until I can send someone?”

“Yes.” Involuntarily, her eyes flicked to the bucket. She wrenched them away, gazed into the beam of brilliant light coming through the window. “Don't be too long. Sending someone, I mean.”

For the next dozen hours Pegwai and Timka kept watch, alternately hoping and despairing as Skeen's fever bobbled up and down; the red streaks began to fade after the sixth hour and after that the peaks of fever were each lower than the one before. Timka fed her cordial and clear soup, changed the bedding with Pegwai's help, bathed Skeen and collapsed near tears when the fever broke shortly after midnight and left Skeen cool and peacefully asleep. Pegwai helped Timka across the cabin to the other bunk. They sat side by side and watched Skeen, not yet willing to trust this change. They'd been suckered before by one of the infusions when the fever dipped close to normal; the thing that kept hope simmering in them both this time was a small difference. Before, the hand didn't change—if anything, the swelling worsened; now, the hand was gone, the ominous red streaks were gone. One hour passed. Another. Timka turned to Pegwai. “It's over; she's going to make it.”

More cautious, Pegwai hesitated before he answered. Finally, he nodded. “I think so, but I'll be sure if she's still improving come the dawn.”

Shortly after noon, Skeen stirred, moaned, opened her eyes. “Wha.…”

Timka bent over her. “Skeen?”

Skeen produced a thin smile. “I'm not too sure of that.” She lifted her head, tried to pull her arm along and raise herself on her elbows; the pain in the stump stopped that. She grunted, tried to raise the arm high enough so she could see it, but she was still too weak for so much effort; she lay back. “Things have been happening.”

“We had to take your hand off. I'm sorry, Skeen, there wasn't anything else we could do—I'm sorry, yes, but you're still alive. We used the cutter, you needn't worry about that, the cut was clean.”

“Pah! Timmy, don't babble on like that, you make my head ache.” There was a weary fretfulness in her voice, pauses between the phrases. “If you expect me to scream at you, you're being stupid. And don't worry about the hand, Once I make the other side, I can drop into a Tank Farm and have the flesh sculps regrow it for me good as new.” She drew her tongue across her lips. “Think I could have some water?”

Timka brought her a cup of water, lifted her head so she could drink. When she was finished, Skeen lay back looking exhausted, great dark smudges under her eyes, so little flesh under the smooth white skin her face was uncomfortably like a skull. Timka knelt holding the cup and wondered not for the first time just how old Skeen was; she'd muttered about ananile shots which kept age at a comfortable distance. Cutter beams, drugs that stopped aging, Tank Farms where you could grow back missing parts; that otherside world sounded more frightening the more she heard about it. Pit Stops, world ships, stars that are suns, suns thick as islands in the Spray.…

Skeen yawned, muttered, “Gonna sleep a while, my gear.…” The mutter sank into inaudibility as Skeen's breathing went deep and slow.

Timka waited long enough to be sure she wasn't going to wake soon, then she went out.

She stood a moment blinking in sunlight she hadn't seen for days. The Aggitj came running and swirled like windblown leaves about her, even Hart excited and babbling. “Yes,” she said, “Skeen was awake for a little. Yes, she's going to be all right. Yes, you can see her in a little, but she's sleeping now, she's very weak. Where's Petro?”

“Up there, still playing with Skeen's tools.” Hal waved a hand at the quarterdeck rising over them. “Where she's out of the way. You want me to fetch her?” He leaned toward her, his thin face eager. The Aggitj had been passionately concerned about Skeen; they had tried to help tend her, but Timka sent them away. They couldn't control their reactions; they shared Skeen's every pang and developed sympathetic fevers that rose and fell with hers. Once they were back in the light, with the crew and the scatter of passengers, they recovered some of their ebullience, but nights were still difficult; they took mattresses off their bunks and put them on the floor, slept huddled together in a pile of warm flesh.

“No,” Timka said, “I'll go. I need to talk to her.” She squinted into the brilliant cloudless sky; the light made her eyes water. She blinked. “When Chulji comes in, let him know, will you?” She turned toward the stairs. The Aggitj parted for her. They watched her climb, wanting (she knew) to ask more about Skeen and why she wanted Lipitero; they were teeming with questions, but they said nothing, not even Ders. Aggitj tact. Lifefire bless them.

Maggí stood in her usual place watching the smooth operation of her crew; she came striding over and met Timka at the top of the stairs. “Skeen?”

“Fever's gone, I doubt it'll be back. She's sleeping now. If you could send down some soup in about an hour? I'm going to feed her a little every hour. She's pretty dehydrated in spite of what we managed to get down her the past week.”

“Does she know about the hand? How did she take that?”

Timka laughed, shook her head. “She wasn't impressed. Do you know what she said? You'd never guess it. She said, ‘Don't fuss, I'll just take myself to a Tank Farm'—whatever that is—‘and have them grow me a new one.'”

“What? Never mind, I heard. Are you going through the Gate with her?”

“I think so. I haven't much choice, you know what's after me.”

Maggí rubbed at her nose, looked thoughtfully at Timka. “Folk who give advice annoy me.” Her mouth twisted into a tight rueful smile. “Keep as many roads open as you can. I don't know your people or your sister, but from what I've seen you could give her one fancy fight if you took a notion to; it might be worth trying. Skeen's world scares the stiffening out of my bones and I'm not ashamed to admit it. If I had a choice between going home to the Boot or following her, I'd take the Boot and you know enough about Aggitj to know what that means.”

Timka smiled, but shook her head. Without saying anything more she started for the cloaked figure tucked away at the bow end of the deck.

Lipitero heard her before she got close, turned, stiffened.

“Skeen is starting to recover,” Timka said hastily, she squatted beside Lipitero and eyed the array of enigmatic objects spread round the Ykx's knees. “Found out anything more?”

“A few hints.” She lifted a squat cylinder. “This seems to have a measuring function, something to do with forces and numbers.” She set the cylinder back where she'd got it. “How soon can I talk with her?”

“I'm waking her to feed her some soup in about an hour. She's very weak yet. Don't push her too hard.”

“No, of course not. Does she want her gear? That why you came hunting for me?”

“In part, yes. She's very calm about the whole thing, even her hand. I can't really understand that. Even if she does think she can get the hand regrown once she's on the other side. There's a lot of pain right now; she's going to have problems with just about everything until she gets used to being without that set of thumb and fingers. You saw what she was like when we were stuck back there in Cida Fennakin, how she hated to have anyone help her with anything. Well, that's going to be a lot worse now. That's another reason I'm out here talking to you. You're going to have to help me with her, Petro. Especially when we reach port. She's going to be wild, I know if. If you could contrive some way of tracing her, so I wouldn't have to follow her around, we can give her the illusion of freedom and still be able to protect her if we have to.”

“Ti, I don't see how I could do it without her knowing; in that place of hers, well, they know a thousand times more than I do about that sort of thing.”

“But we're not there, Petro, don't you see? She won't expect such a thing here. And it's only for a little while, till the stump heals and she's able to take care of herself.”

“Yes. We have to make sure nothing more happens to her.” Lipitero bent forward, began gathering up the instruments and tucking them away. “I'll see what I can do.” She smiled over her shoulder at Timka. “I brought my tools; like Skeen, I'm not comfortable without them. I'll start working right away, I still want to talk to Skeen, though. An hour, you said? Good. I'll bring Skeen's gear when I come. Want to make sure everything's in its proper place.”

Skeen was still too weak to object when Timka insisted on feeding her, but it was obvious she wasn't going to put up with that for long. Her arm was paining her, but she refused to let Timka give her some of Pegwai's drops. “I have to keep my head straight,” she said. She raised her arm, rested it on her stomach. “You and Pegwai did your best,” she said, “but I'd better add a thing or two from my own pharmacopoeia. Djabo bless you used the cutter. That will make things a lot easier for the flesh masons. Where's my gear?”

“Lipitero has it. She was looking through it to see if she could find something to help. She'll be down in a minute; she wanted to talk to you, I told her to come.”

Skeen closed her eyes. “And the others? Everyone's here, safe?”

“Here, yes. How safe it is.… You'd have to ask Maggí that.”

“You paid her? I don't want her thinking.…”

“I paid her the afternoon we brought you onboard. Don't fret, Skeen.”

“That's good. I don't want her wondering how much we're taking her for. How is she? Peeved about not opening another market in Fennakin?”

“I saw no sign of that. She's got her daughter on board now. Tall skinny girl, looks a lot like Ders, poor thing, though that doesn't seem to bother her. Always got her nose in a book, except when she's playing with the Boy or talking to Pegwai about the Tanul Lumat. He's agreed to get her in there, says he'll arrange with the High Mother Ramanarrahnet to sponsor her once we hit Istryamozhe. Maggí is miserable about losing Rannah, that's her name, the daughter's, I mean. Same time she swells up near twice her size with pride every time she thinks about it. Let me warn you, don't tease her about Rannah; she's got no sense of humor at all when it comes to that girl. I suspect she'll be looking in on you the next time Domi brings the soup along here.” A knock on the door. Timka got to her feet, went to open it. Lipitero came inside carrying Skeen's backpack and belt.

She put the gear on Timka's bunk, crossed to stand looking down at Skeen. “We worried,” she said.

Skeen snorted. “What am I supposed to say to that?”

“That you won't do it again.” She started to say more but thought better of it, and pressed her lips together.

“Hah! Tell that to Mala Fortuna, then jump back before she dumps on you.” Skeen sighed, closed her eyes; her face was strained, weary. She seemed too fragile to support the spirit that had showed itself a moment before. “Bring my pack over here, if you don't mind.”

“You should rest.” Lipitero hugged her arms across her flat chest, scowled at Skeen. “There's no hurry now, is there?” She couldn't keep the anxiety out of the last two words.

“You want me to rest, bring me the fuckin' pack. This thing hurts, or can't you understand that?”

Lipitero turned to Timka. Timka spread her hands. “She won't let me give her any of Pegwai's concoctions.”

Skeen produced a tired snarl. “I'm not about to get addicted to primitive painkillers. Scares the shit out of me when I think of the glop you two poured down me before.”

“Oh. I hadn't thought of that.” Lipitero brought the pack from the bunk, held it dangling by its strap. “What do you need?”

“I need someone to help me sit up.” The irritation was back in Skeen's voice. It's starting, Timka thought, and it'll get worse. She hesitated, shifted her weight from foot to foot as she tried to make up her mind what to do. With an angry spitting sound, Skeen drew her elbow higher and tried to lever herself upright. Hastily, Timka dropped beside her and supported her shoulders. When she was settled to her satisfaction, Skeen said, “I want something that looks like a disc about the size of your palm, Petro, and a cylinder—squat, gray, like the cutter but twice the diameter.” She inspected the bandages on her stump. “Go into my right boot, feel around, you'll find a roughish spot about halfway up; fiddle with it until you work loose a thing that feels like a flat strip of cartilage, pull it out, but be careful. The business end of that thing can cut a thought in half. That's all for now, at least, that's all. I can think of.” She was leaning heavily on Timka. The Min wanted to suggest Skeen lie down until Lipitero was finished, but she didn't quite dare.

The disc was made of some gray smooth material; it might have been metal, but it was none Timka recognized. There was a knurled knob in the center and a small round hole near the rim on the opposite side. Skeen reached for the disc, then swore with weak fury as she realized she couldn't work it with one hand gone. “Hold it up so I can see into the aperture,” she said. “Yes, that's good. Now put your thumb on the knob and turn it. Good. Keep turning until I say stop. Yes, yes, stop.” She made an effort and held out her mutilated arm. “Press the disc against the inside of my elbow, aperture down, then … urn … you see the edge of the knurling, put your thumbnail under there and lift. Right. The knob flips up when you hit the right spot. Ah. Good. When you've got the disc in the proper place, touch the sensor once, and keep holding the disc against my skin until I tell you to move it.” She caught her breath as Lipitero followed her instructions with neat-fingered precision, allowed herself to smile when the job was done. “You can take it away now,” she said. “Antibiotic, that was, clean out the blood.” She closed her eyes for a minute, let herself lean more heavily on Timka, then she shivered, sighed and gave more instructions to Lipitero. This time the Ykx touched the disc to the end of Skeen's shoulder. Skeen sighed with relief. “That one kills the feeling in the arm. Now, we start work. Ti, cut off the bandages will you. Petro, you should look for a pair of dumpy gray cylinders. I've got several, I know that, hold each up so I can see it. Ti, use the thing that looks like a glass knife. Be careful with it. It's flexible enough to fool you and it'll cut to the bone before you know what's happening. Yes, I know it's been in my boot. Trust me, it's the best thing to use close to the wound.”