Girl Gone Nova (32 page)

Vidor pulled up what they knew about Kikk. A nasty, inhospitable place in an obscure corner of the galaxy. The Earth expedition had two ships in orbit there, both formidable ships with impressive armaments and skilled squadrons of pilots. The outpost was cloaked, not shielded, according to his intell.

He knew something else about her people: they liked to talk first, shoot later.

So they would talk first.

Doc worked on her report for the General on the bridge of Kalian’s ship. It had, she’d learned, a name that, in an obscure Gadi dialect, meant: hidden warrior—very appropriate and not that different from her code name of Chameleon. It would have been funny that they had so much in common if it weren’t for the dying thing, though she was glad they didn’t have that in common. Those two little boys had already lost their mother. They needed to keep their father.

His fever control med was working almost too well. She’d been afraid of the flu when she should have been worried about
them.
Theoretically she knew she’d be too far gone to be aware of being carried aboard babbling like a crazy person, but she didn’t
know.
What if Robert
did
know how he was? What if he was inside there, beating on the walls of his prison, screaming to get out?

When she met Hel the first time, something about him had pushed
them
back, but they weren’t going anywhere this time. They knew they had her. Bits of her thoughts hung in the air, like cobwebs without mooring. She wanted to swipe them away with her hands. She clenched them on her knees, haunted by the memory of Robert flailing at nothing just before his psychotic break.

“You fear more than flu symptoms, do you not?” Kalian’s voice was soft, as if he worried he’d spook her. Did she already look wild? “Is it your brother that worries you?”

Doc didn’t know how to answer that.

“You could leave a message for him. You know General Halliwell will see that he gets it.”

She took a shaky breath, striving for calm amidst her inner storm. “It wouldn’t matter. He isn’t aware of much, least of all me.”

She tried to smile, like it didn’t matter, saw his eyes and knew she’d failed. What did he see when he looked at her like that? Was it the ragged edges of her sanity?

She looked too calm, too controlled. In the past, she wore her control like a skin, now she huddled in it like a coat that failed to warm. He saw something in her eyes he didn’t expect: fear, a fear somehow connected to her brother. She wouldn’t give up her secrets easily. In this she was like him. But he couldn’t help her if she didn’t tell him what concerned her. In this at least, she could trust him.

“Tell me about him,” he said, when what he wanted to say was,
tell me what you fear. Let me help you
. “He is older or younger?”

“Older. Five years older.” Both hands gripped her knees. “He was brilliant. And funny. A good big brother.”

“Until?”

“He stopped being anything.”

“What happened?”

“They called it a psychotic break.” Her fingers dug deeper into the sides of her knees, her voice unnaturally calm.

“How old were you?”

“Ten. I was ten.”

Hel frowned. “You were very young for such a loss.”

She almost smiled. “I was never young.”

“Your parents…”

“They didn’t know.”

“What didn’t they know?” He ached to bring her close and comfort her, but he also feared to touch her. She looked like she’d shatter if he tried.

“About
them.
That
they
took him. That
they
broke him.”

Hel’s insides flinched as he processed what she said. Whatever she thought had happened to her brother, she feared it would happen to her. She sounded younger somehow. She looked up, the way a child might to a beloved older brother. He had to touch her then, though he was careful to keep his touch light, letting her process it and return from where she’d been. It felt like it took forever for her head to turn toward him, for her gaze to clear so that she saw him.

“What are they? Who are they?”

The edges of her mouth twitched. “They’re not really a who or even a what. I do know that, though they seem alive sometimes.” She sighed. “It’s the way we’re made. The way our brains were wired.” She touched her temple. “My parents wanted geniuses and they got them, but with a twist.”

He tightened his grip on her. “What twist?”

She pointed at a cup of water in the holder by the co-pilots chair. “When you look at that, what do you see?”

After a pause, he picked it up, turning it in the bridge lights.

“I see a cup. I see water in it.” He looked at her, catching a flash of intense pain in her eyes, before she closed them. “What do you see?”

Her breathing shallowed and then sped up. He watched her fight her way back to calm.

“I see chemistry, physics, refracting light, thirst, reflections, memories of ops, danger, puzzles, spills…I see things that matter, things that don’t. And that’s just that cup of water. Everything on this bridge, the stuff out there, the way my clothes feel, the way the light refracts off your face and the metal, it all spurs ideas and associations and problems and solutions. It’s why I could do what I did. It’s how I did the impossible.” Her lips firmed for several seconds. “But it takes concentration to manage so much input. In the end he couldn’t. It drove him crazy.”

Finally he understood. “The flu, you feel it is degrading
your
concentration?”

She nodded, the movement small, contained.

“This is the danger you fear, the reason for the sedatives.”

“I’m creepy enough when I’m in control. You don’t want to know what I’m like when I’m not.” She made a face. “I don’t want to know what I’m like out of control.” She looked at their clasped hands, covered his hand with her free one. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He tugged her out of her chair onto his lap, his arm circling her waist like it had been made to be there. She was warm against him, though not as warm as before. The fever medication was working. She leaned into him, her head nestled against his shoulder, her hair brushing his chin. She smelled of his soap, the fever medication and herself—a warm, feminine scent that stirred longings new to him.

“I do not like to lose control either.” He tipped her face up, so she had to look at him. “I promise I will get you safely to your ship.” Did she understand what he was telling her?

Her lips curved up in a real smile. The tightness in his chest eased.

Her arms slid around his neck and tightened in a hug, soft lips pressed to his cheek. His chest tightened. He’d been right to call her dangerous, though he had failed to realize the true threat from a woman like this. Cynical and innocent, charming and ruthless, hidden and exposed, would a man ever know all the ways she could be, even if he had the time? He wanted to hold her, keep her in his arms, keep her breathing until he found out.

“We should call the General while I’m still coherent.” Her breath whispered against his ear.

He nodded and let her go because that is what she needed. Oh yes, she was dangerous, because he might, just might be willing to give her whatever she wanted, no matter the cost.

* * * * *

Halliwell stared at the image on tracking, as if only his attention kept it on a course for the
Doolittle.
Every time he blinked he expected it to be gone. Instead the small blip tracked steadily their way, unaware or unconcerned about the four squadrons of ships close to intercepting it.

If he were going to make a move, it would be before that point. Unless he planned to somehow use the morass of the intersect point to mask his course change? Just when he thought he had Giddioni figured out, he shifted, changed in unexpected ways. That the man knew it and thought it was funny only made him that much more annoying.

“You’re sure he’s not heading for his own flagship? It’s heading this way, too.”

“He’d have to adjust his heading soon.”

This didn’t track with anything he knew about Giddioni, which meant it was some kind of trick or ploy. The Doc might have been able to unravel it, but he was drawing a blank.

“Is there any way he could know we’re tracking him?”

The man frowned, considering the idea. “Well, our ships are heading right for him but all he needs to do to disappear is adjust his shield modulation again. I thought he would when he made the jump away from Feldstar, but he didn’t. Or he could stop and hide in place. We know he has phase shields.”

“I’ll be in my ready room,” Halliwell snapped. He had to wrench his eyes off the screen. All the way across the room, he waited for the course change, but it didn’t happen. When he was inside, he pulled the tracking up again. Still no change. What was the man up to now?

As if he’d been waiting for him to go private, Halliwell got a ping on his secure connection with the Leader. He wanted to say, “Now what?”, but he didn’t, just opened the channel and waited.

This time the transmission was voice and picture. Only the eyes were familiar. This was Kalian. It was enlightening to see him like this.

“I have someone who wishes to speak with you, General.”

The view widened to include the Doc. He almost didn’t recognize her either. Scratches and bruises were luridly bright against the dead white of her skin. Only her eyes were familiar, despite being deeply sunk into her face.

“General.”

The voice was the same. Something eased inside him he hadn’t realized was tight.

“You look a bit worse for wear, Doc.”

Her mouth twitched in a tiny smile. “Most of it is self-inflicted, sir. I had an unprecedented opportunity to observe a hurricane up close and personal. If not for,” she hesitated, giving her companion a quick look, “Kalian’s timely intervention, I’d have done a Dorothy to who knows where.”

Halliwell wasn’t so sure about that. He looked at Kalian. “I’d like to speak with her alone.”

“Of course.”

Halliwell expected him to look amused, that he didn’t ignited in the General an ill-defined unease. If the two of them exchanged glances, Halliwell missed it. Kalian rose and headed for the rear of the bridge. A thousand questions crowded his throat. He didn’t know what stopped him. Maybe it was the calm gaze in that battered face.

“I needed to prepare a report, or I’d have contacted you sooner, sir.”

No duress word in the short statement. “You were so sure you could contact me, Doc?”

Again a small smile softened her face. “He surprised me, too, sir.”

“You’re sure there aren’t any more surprises coming?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

“You’ll have to ask him.” A rueful look. “He’s an original.”

Her reflection wavered and he thought the signal was going bad, but it wasn’t. It was the Doc who’d wavered, shifted somehow.

“Transmitting data burst now. It’s a bit random, but I was in a hurry.”

“I’d prefer a verbal debrief when you’re back on my ship, Doc.”

She didn’t blink or look away, no change in her face, so why the chill snaking down his back?

“That’s not going to happen.”

“I knew he was up to something—”

“I have the Garradian Influenza.”

The chill turned into an avalanche
.

“If you plan to allow me on board, you’ll need to initiate containment protocols. Otherwise, I can stay here. Kalian isn’t vulnerable to it.”

“How long?”

“I’m final stage. I estimate eight to ten hours.” For the first time, she looked away. “I’ve asked Kalian to sedate me if I become delirious, so please don’t get on his case if I’m out when we arrive.” She looked at him again, her expression almost amused. “I’m dangerous when I’m what passes for normal.”

“We’ll be ready for you when you get here, Doc.” He wanted to say more, say something, change his religion to include apologies. This was his fault…

“I probably caught it before I left the
Doolittle
, when I was working in the infirmary. We’re still not sure of the incubation period.” A pause and then, “I’m sorry. I did make some notes on our problem. Dr. James might be able to make something of them.” A shorter pause and a surprising, though wan smile. “I hate being thwarted, but I did want you to know, it has been a pleasure serving with you.”

Halliwell managed to produce something that tried to be a grin. “You did warn me that the impossible isn’t always possible, Doc. Don’t give up on yourself yet. It’s not over until it’s over.”

This time her grin was minus the wan. “Yes, sir.”

She cut the connection, but her face stayed with him. He keyed in a call to the team working on the Garradian Influenza problem. “I need a progress update.”

That was a lie. He needed good news.

* * * * *

“Do you know, I think you’re the only person to ever to take a weapon from me while I was conscious?”

Delilah’s voice was husky murmur in the low light of her room. Hel understood why she’d lowered the light, tried to imagine what it must be like to be assaulted by input from everything around you. Her breath rasped in and out, despite the cushions elevating her upper body. He managed a chuckle, surprising himself.

“Do you want it back?”

“Not a wise move.” She nodded toward the corner. “I have divested myself of what they didn’t find. You should secure them, just in case.”

Hel looked at the small, but lethal pile of weapons and saw at least three knives, two hand weapons and some stuff he didn’t recognize.

“Where did all that come from?”

“I’m very good at what I do.” The thread of amusement in her voice tugged at his heart.

He pulled a stool close to the bed, noting she’d set up the medication system without his assistance. Her eyes showed the effects of the drug, while a hectic flush to her cheeks indicated that the fever medication was losing the battle.

“Why…” He hesitated.

“…didn’t I kill them? They were too young and stupid to kill. And I didn’t know where their ship was.” She frowned. “I wish I knew what was going on with them.”

“You are so sure there is something more to learn?”

“They aren’t here by accident.” She rubbed her head with her free hand, then dialed up the medication. In just a few seconds the fog in her gaze deepened and the pain lines around her eyes eased.