Serpent's Gift (29 page)

Serge straightened his StarBridge jacket, then tugged at his best jumpsuit, feeling suddenly nervous. Most Esteemed Rizzshor was one of the greatest archaeologists who had ever lived. His work had set the foundations for most of what the Mizari now knew about their own prehistory. He was also the foremost expert on the Lost Colony.

Calm down!
he scolded himself as he squared his shoulders.
You've met
hundreds of celebrities before, remember?

He had, too--monarchs, emperors, planetary rulers, presidents, holo-vid stars, athletes--all had come to hear him play and expressed admiration for his talents.

Serge's mouth quirked slightly as he recalled one particular time, meeting the Queen of England, Victoria III. Ten years old, feeling giddy and full of himself after a superb rendition of Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 1, he'd forgotten that he was not to speak unless spoken to, and had asked "Mrs.

Windsor" how she had liked his playing. His parents had been mortified by this breach of etiquette; he'd been grounded for a week and required to view endless holos on the subject.

"Am I too late?" a breathless voice called. He turned to see Hing racing down the hallway. She'd dressed up for the occasion in her best uniform jumpsuit, and her hair tossed behind her as she ran, billowing like a black wave. "Did I miss them?"

"No, they will be docking in a few minutes," Serge said, eyeing her armful of packages. "Here, we had best stow these

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in a locker," he advised, keying one open with his thumbprint. "I would prefer to meet our guests down at the end of the tube, if that is okay with you."

. "Sure," she said agreeably, obediently filling the locker, then snapping it shut. "Where is Ssoriszs?" The Mizari had accompanied them up in the Academy's smaller shuttle, the
Fys,
which Serge had piloted.

"The Esteemed Liaison is waiting in the lounge," he replied. "He was too keyed up to wait in public, he said."

"Don't worry," Hing told him, slipping her arm through his companionably,

"I'll be your moral support, and, if necessary, prop you up physically!"

Serge gave her a wan smile. "I
am
rather nervous," he admitted. "Does it show that badly?"

She squeezed his arm against her. "Only to someone who knows you well,"

she said, flashing him one of her irrepressible grins.

He laughed, feeling his anxiety slip away. Hing was with him and suddenly he felt wonderful. "By the way, I want to thank you for helping me make up with Heather," he said. "I acted like a ..." He cast about for a suitable idiom.

"Creep? Heel? Sumbitch?" Hing suggested helpfully.

"One or all of them," he said. "I'm the adult, but I let her prying make me lose my temper."

"Welcome to the human race," she said, and the expression in her dark eyes made his breath catch in his throat.

Slightly flustered, he added, "It is too bad that Heather had so much studying to do that she couldn't accompany us today." He mentally crossed his fingers as he spoke, because, truth be told, he was delighted to have these moments alone with Hing.

She nodded. "Either Heather's really decided to apply herself after the pep talks I've given her..." she paused, then added cynically, "or she's up to something. Come to think of it, she's been spending an awful lot of time in front of her terminal lately."

By this time they were through the backup airlock, which stood with both doors open, because the primary airlock was at the docking area at the end of the long tubelike structure that was Dock Five.

The entire docking tube was made of transparent plassteel, affording a magnificent view to those accustomed to the vastness of space.

(Newcomers usually docked at Docks Six or Seven, which had opaque walls, to coddle their delicate stomachs.)

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Above Serge's head, a ship winked out of realspace existence a splash of color.

Serge glanced around them for the
Night Storm,
thinking that he oughtt to be able to see it heading in past Dock Six, where the
Fys
as berthed. He glanced down, staring past his feet, his attention omentarily diverted by the sight of a Drnian freighter popping out of metaspace. 'They ought to be in sight any moment," he said. "Dr. Andreiovitch will be--"

He broke off as Hing gasped, eyes widening in horror. She was staring over his shoulder, then pointing. "Ohmigod, Serge! That ship's coming in too fast!

It's going to crash into the tube!"

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Hing stood frozen as she watched the
Night Storm
hurtle toward them, feeling a scream caught in her throat and trying to claw its way out.
This can't
be happening!
she thought. Her worst fear, coming true!

A hand seized her wrist in an inhumanly strong grip, nearly yanking her off her feet.
"Run!"
. Serge shouted, dragging her toward the backup airlock.

Hing tripped, would have fallen if not for his grasp, then she was pounding after him. Inside the airlock they had a small chance. Outside it, none at all.

Twenty meters ... ten ... five. ..
She caught a glimpse of the ship out of the corner of her eye--it was almost upon them!

Two meters. .. one--

As they reached the airlock, Serge shoved her in ahead of him, then jabbed frantically at the controls. Hing staggered, fell in a heap. The doors began sliding shut. Watching them glide in seeming slow-motion, she sobbed with terror, willing them to close faster--
faster!

Just as the doors sealed shut with a faint sigh, they heard the screech of bending plas-steel, then a gigantic ripping
crash.
Hing screamed as the floor bucked beneath them like an enraged bronco, side to side, then up and down. Then the crashing, ripping sounds were drowned out by a massive
whoosh
as all the air in the dock-side of the tube exploded into space, trying and utterly failing to fill that endless void.

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Then, abruptly, all sound was gone. Hing knew there was no longer any air outside the dock-side airlock door to carry sound waves. Their refuge was still shuddering, but the little cubicle was intact--

--almost.

Hing heard a rapid popping sound as the automatic sealer released from its case in the wall above her head, even as she heard the shrill hiss of escaping air. Down in the corner beside the door, the plas-steel must have been struck by debris, for it was now buckled inward. There was a thin rip at the juncture of floor and wall.

Suddenly, painfully, Hing's ears popped, even as the automatically released sealant splatted against the leak. The hissing whine lessened, lessened ...

But it didn't stop. The sealer hadn't been enough to cover the entire crack.

"Serge!" Hing gasped, pointing, but he was already moving, ripping off his StarBridge jacket, then dropping to his knees to jam the wadded fabric against the tiny lethal fissure.

"Get the emergency kit!" he ordered. "We are still losing pressure!
Vite, vite!"

His voice sounded funny, higher-pitched, whether from fear or the sudden drop in pressure, she didn't know.

Hing scrambled to her feet and lunged for the emergency kit that every airlock held by law. Her movement caused the cubicle to sway, and she wondered for a horrifying instant whether the lock had broken clean away from the station, and they were now drifting in space. But even as she thought that, logic told her that they were still attached; the artificial gravity was still functioning.

Grabbing the kit, she opened it, tossing aside the first-aid supplies, scrabbling for the tube of sealant. Yes, it was here--
thank God, thank God!--

and she thrust it at Serge. "Here!"

"Bien,"
he said. "Now I am going to stand up for a moment, and I want you to put your foot down to hold this jacket in place,
comprenez?"

"My foot?" she said, staring down at the soft boots that went with her uniform.

"I can hold it better with my hands..."

"No," he said firmly. "It is very cold. Use your foot."

Carefully, he eased his fingers up, one at a time, as she placed her foot down to hold the jacket in place. They were still gradually losing pressure; Hing's ears popped again.

Serge frantically unsealed the front of his StarBridge jumpsuit. "The sealant patches may not hold. I will double-seal it with sealant spread over this."

Yanking the uniform down over his

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waist, he paused to pull off his boots. A moment more, and Serge stood clad only in his low-cut briefs, briskly rol ing his jumpsuit up.

Hing eyed him worriedly. With the lost air had gone much of the warmth, and the temperature inside the airlock was now as chilly as a brisk autumn day back on Earth. "You'll freeze!" she protested. "Can't you use the jacket?"

"The material of the jacket is too stiff and porous. This fabric is better."

Cold was creeping up Hing's foot from where it rested on the jacket. She watched Serge spread the sealant along one side of the rolled-up jumpsuit, unable to halt the shivering that wracked her. He caught her motion out of the corner of his eye, and said reassuringly, "Almost finished . .."

Within a second he was through, dropping down to cautiously tug the jacket away, millimeter by millimeter, as he did so pressing the sealant-coated fabric of the jumpsuit into the narrow fissure.

The faint hissing grew still fainter, then stopped altogether.

"You did it!" Hing whispered, huddled beside him. Serge was still pressing the jumpsuit against the crack, holding it grimly in place. "Can't you let go now?"

"No, I think I had better hold it," he said. "If the crack were to widen even a little as the airlock moves, the jumpsuit might be sucked out, which would widen the leak still more--and that would mean the end of us."

Picturing that, Hing swallowed, then nodded. "Let's put your jacket under you," she suggested. "The floor is freezing!"

"It is," he agreed. "My legs are tingling."

"I don't know whether that's from the pressure drop or the cold," she said.

"So are mine." She rubbed her palms together. "And my hands, too."

He smiled thinly. "Mine are fine."

Remembering the cold that had seeped up into her feet, Hing knew that if she'd tried to hold the jacket against the crack with her bare hands, they'd probably have been frostbitten by now. Would the cold hurt Serge's hands, she wondered, as she took his jacket and unfolded it, wincing at the icy feel.

Spreading it beneath his legs as he knelt there, she used-the sleeves to wrap] the garment around them, anchoring it as well as she could. He was shivering now; she could feel the trembling of his entire body as she leaned against him to pull his socks and boots back on.

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"Activate the emergency alarm, then try the intercom," he said, through teeth that he had to fight to keep from chattering. "They may not know we are here."

Nodding, Hing went over to the control panel, feeling the cubicle shift again beneath her weight. She had a sudden vision of it tilting, ripping free, then drifting off into space. No one would ever know what had happened to them... no one would come looking. They'd assume that she and Serge had been sucked into space when the
Night Storm
ripped the tube open.

Her fingers were growing numb at the tips as she pushed the button for the emergency alarm. The alarm was designed to register in the station's security offices--she had no way of knowing whether it was working or not.

Or, for that matter, whether the security offices were still intact.

Swallowing the dryness in her mouth, repressing the way her teeth wanted to chatter, she keyed the intercom. "This is Hing Own in the backup airlock leading to Dock Five," she said, her voice cracking with mingled fear and hope. "Is anyone reading me? Serge LaRoche and I are trapped in here, and we don't have much air!"

No response.

Hing tried the channel several times, then turned back to Serge with a shrug.

"Nobody there," she said. "Or it's broken and there's no way to tell."

"Wait and try again in a minute," he advised. 'The security area is undoubtedly in chaos, red lights and alarms going off everywhere, because of the crash. No doubt official emergency transmissions have been granted automatic priority over all communications channels--including the intercom system."

"Well, I hope they notice that alarm eventually," Hing said. "We're safe for the moment, but our air won't last long."

Serge nodded agreement; he was shivering all over as he held the jumpsuit in place. Hing stole covert glances at him as she paced nervously in a tiny circle, rubbing her arms for warmth. I
forgot how well built he is,
she thought, eyeing his broad shoulders, long legs, and flat stomach. He swam every day, and his muscles, though well defined, were long and lean, like a dancer's.
He's so damn beautiful,
she thought suddenly, feeling her throat tighten.

Turning away abruptly, Hing tried the intercom again. Nothing. Glancing at her watch, she was thunderstruck to see that less than ten minutes had passed since she'd come hurrying up to him, her arms filled with packages.

My watch must be broken!

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x But no, it was running fine. They'd been trapped in this airlock for perhaps five minutes, tops. "I'll try again in a couple of minutes," she promised, abandoning the intercom. "Let's try and get you warm." Dropping down beside Serge, Hing began rubbing his shoulders and arms hard, trying to restore the circulation. His skin felt chill and clammy. "Let me hold the jumpsuit," she urged. "I can take over for a while!"

He shook his head doggedly. "I am fine."

"Sure you are," she said, rubbing his back, digging her palms in hard.

"You're turning into an icicle."

"Hardly that," he said softly, giving her a sidelong glance.

Hearing the warmth in the tone of his voice, Hing felt herself coloring. She ducked her head, her hair hanging around her face, hiding her from his eyes.

"Serge .. ." she began, suddenly breathless, whether from the thin air or the exertion, she didn't know. "You--you saved my life. If it hadn't been for you, I'd have been rooted to the spot when the ship hit. I froze."