Serpent's Gift (42 page)

"Serge?"

He sensed that more time had gone by. The voice was familiar, and came from beside him. He awoke, but did not open his eyes.
',

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However, his nose was busy, recognizing his surroundings by a faint odor. A hospital, that was it. He was in a hospital. Should he open his eyes?

No.

"Serge?" It was the same voice, the one some portion of his mind persisted in identifying as Rob Gable. "Come on, Serge. The monitor says you're awake. Open your eyes, son."

With a tired sigh, Serge obeyed, and the world rushed in upon him with the return of lights and colors and beds and neutral- colored abstract paintings on the wall. Reality returned, with a vengeance.

"Rob . . ." he muttered, eyeing his friend, thinking that the doctor looked terrible. The psychologist's eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and his face bore new lines of strain and exhaustion. "Rob, you do not look well," Serge said, feeling his voice stick in his throat.

"You don't look too great yourself," the psychologist retorted with a wan attempt at a welcoming smile. "How do you feel?"

Serge put an unsteady hand to his head. "What happened to me?" He encountered no tenderness, no lump, but the generalized ache and a tightness, a tautness in the way his skin felt as it stretched over the planes of his face, made him realize that someone had been using a regen unit on him. "Was I unconscious?"

Rob was watching him intently. "You don't remember?"

Serge closed his eyes suddenly, as though there were something he didn't want to see. "Remember? No."

"There was an explosion down in the subbasement. It destroyed part of the lower level, down by the gym. Is it coming back now?"

Serge shook his head, still not opening his eyes. He was afraid to look at Rob's face. Something was there that he didn't want to see--ever. "I remember nothing," he said, though that was not quite true. Images were starting to trickle back, and he feared that trickle would become a flood.

Anything was better than those images, those flashes, so Serge opened his eyes again, sat up in bed, and made himself ask intelligent questions. "An explosion. Was it the radonium-2?"

"Nobody is sure yet," Rob said. "Of course radonium-2 seems like the most likely culprit, especially since Morrow and Lynch warned us thirty-six hours ago that it had been detected in this vicinity."

"Morrow . .." Serge muttered, recalling his discussion with Professor Greyshine. "I attempted to call him ... several times."

"He's probably pretty busy at the moment. He and his people

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have been down in the bowels of engineering ever since the smoke cleared, working."

"Have they picked up any traces of radiation?"

"No, and that's the main reason Janet doesn't agree with H.U. that radonium is breeding beneath the school. She and Lynch have been head-to-head over this since yesterday."

"What exactly happened, then, to cause the explosion?"

'The main radonium power converter overloaded and blew, but we don't know why . . . yet. Lynch says some radonium-2, maybe just a little, got into it, causing the explosion. Janet doesn't agree." Rob rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't know what to think. All I know is, we've managed to evacuate sixty percent of the students to StarBridge Station so far. The rest will be gone by tonight. I hope."

"Is the school damaged? Did we lose pressure?"

"No, the entire explosion was internal, and the safety seals worked perfectly." Rob sat down on the edge of Serge's bed, staring at the younger man intently. "The damage is minor, all except for the lower level. The gyms are wrecked, and the pool is--"

Serge ducked as though Rob had aimed a physical blow at his head, throwing up a hand and making a strangled noise in this throat. "What is it?"

Rob said, watching the young instructor closely, gauging his reaction with a therapist's trained eye. "What is it, Serge? Do you remember anything?"

"No," Serge said in a strangled voice that he had to force out. "No, nothing!"

"Nothing about the explosion? About a chunk of wall hitting you, then the rest of it collapsing on top of you?" Rob drew a deep breath. "About anything else you may have heard--or seen?"

"Non!"

"Well, that's what happened." Rob relaxed, sitting back a bit. "You were out cold, with a bad concussion, half-buried in debris. You also had a broken rib, but Dr. Mysuki took care of that, too, while you were out."

Serge rubbed his jaw, where he could feel a distinct stubble. "I was in regen," he said. "I can tell, because I was not due for] a repressor application for another week or so."

"Right," Rob said. "Rachel says you can get up whenever you feel like it, but to take it easy, get plenty of rest, for the next couple of days."

"I understand," Serge said absently, wishing Rob would go| away. He wanted to go back to sleep.

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But the older man continued talking, still eyeing the patient with that alert, waiting look. "If it hadn't been for Heather Farley, we might not have found you as quickly as we did," he said. "Even though you were unconscious, the kid could still 'read' your location--especially with Doctor Blanket helping her focus her abilities. She was like a little bloodhound--we had to hold her back from digging you out with her bare hands."

Serge was no longer listening, because it was too much effort. He was so sleepy. He yawned widely. "Tired," he muttered, starting to slide down in the infirmary bed. "Need sleep ..."

"No, Serge," Rob said firmly. "The monitors tell me that you've slept enough.

I'm thinking that it's time you woke up--all the way."

Reluctantly, Serge straightened back up and opened his eyes again.

Resentment and anger bubbled within him. He was
tired,
couldn't Rob see that? "Very well, I am awake," he said coldly, folding his arms across his chest, feeling the faint twinge of soreness in his left side. "Are you satisfied now?"

"Not quite," Rob said evenly, his bloodshot eyes still intent on the younger man's countenance. "There's something wrong with this picture," he said slowly, and Serge could feel his compassion, despite the stern tone.

"Oh?" Serge said, when what he actually wanted to say--actually,
scream--

was
Go away! Shut up!

"Yes, there is. I think it's very odd that a kind, caring person such as yourself wouldn't ask whether anyone else had been hurt in the explosion," the doctor said quietly.

Serge's mouth seemed to move by itself--he certainly hadn't willed the words that emerged.
"Was
anyone injured?"

"A couple of students. We were lucky that it happened so early in the morning, and very few people were down there. A Drnian had his arm broken. One of the Mizari kids had to have an appendage amputated, because it was crushed by flying debris. Assorted bumps and bruises. If it weren't for one thing, I'd say we were fortunate . . ." He paused, as if waiting for Serge to ask what that "one thing" was.

The young instructor sat silent, but he could feel himself starting ¦ to tremble.

Rob's eyes held him pinned like an insect in a collection. "Serge," Gable said very gently, "you can't keep running from it. You know, don't you?"

No!
Serge's mind screamed as he squeezed his eyes tightly [-shut, shaking violently now.
No, I do not know, I do not want to know, don't tell me
anything, I
only want to
sleep,

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let me sleep, let me hide
-- He gasped, his chest suddenly hurting so badly that it was as if the entire school had fallen on it, instead of part of a wall, only the pain didn't come from the broken rib or the bruises, no, it came from--

"Rob," his voice was an agonized whisper,
"do not. Please.
I can't. I
cannot."

He felt Gable slip off the bed, felt the older man's hand grip his shoulder for a moment, "Okay, Serge," he said softly. "I understand, son. I'll have them give you something to make you sleep. You just take it easy."

Serge heard Rob's footsteps, slow and tired, as he headed for the door.

Then he heard words emerge from his mouth, words that he hadn't willed, words that he hadn't thought he could think, much less speak: "Hing is dead.

Elle est morte, n'est-ce pas?"

Rob stopped, then came back. When his shadow fell across Serge's face, the younger man opened his eyes in time to see the doctor nod, his expression a mixture of concentrated grief, frustration, anger, guilt, and misery. "I'm sorry, Serge, sorrier than I can ever say."

"I know," the young archaeologist said dully. "I know that you are, Rob.

You . .. you loved her, too."

Rob nodded, then suddenly, as though his knees had given out, he sat down beside Serge with a thump, muttering in a voice that cracked, then broke completely, "She was so ... special. . . my Little Friend .. ." He pressed his fists against his forehead, then ground them against his eyes, fighting for control. Serge drew a deep breath, was surprised to find his own voice relatively steady. "Heather . . . how did she react?" "She's devastated," Rob said, his voice hoarse, but once more

controlled. "I think she may have cared more about Hing than about anyone since her mother died. I just wish the poor little kid would cry, get some of that grief out--but she's bottled so much up, over the years, that she can't express sorrow, even when she wants to. I'm worried about her."

"Did you .. ." Serge had to struggle to breathe, but his words came out in flat, even tones, "I remember very little. Did you recover... a body?"

"Yes," the doctor said. "She didn't die from the explosion, Serge, though it was almost instantaneous anyway, if that is any comfort. .. Oh, God!" he muttered. "Listen to me!"

"How did it happen?"

"She fell through the floor, where it buckled. Broke her neck ..." Rob had to stop again.

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"I want to see her," Serge said, still in that dead tone.

"Serge, son . .."

"I
need
to see her." Slowly, deliberately, the patient swung his legs out of the bed, muscles protesting everywhere. There was a jumpsuit lying folded on the tiny bureau, one of his, and he picked it up and took it into the bathroom with him. Within a few minutes, Serge was back out, dressed. He slipped on his boots. "Take me to see her, please."

Minutes later Rob opened the door to the room where the school's two stasis chambers rested. "Wait here," he said, then went inside. Serge knew Rob didn't want him to watch while he opened the unit, removed the shroud, but he could see it anyway, in his mind's eye.

"You can come in now," he heard Rob call, moments later.

Serge walked in, his footsteps loud and heavy in the terrible stillness. Hing lay in the unit, her hair neatly arranged around her shoulders, her features composed and pale. Only a slight abrasion showed on her throat, and on one cheekbone, but there was no way her rest could have been mistaken for sleep.

Serge had never seen anyone who was dead before.

Putting out a hand, he tentatively brushed her face with the living flesh that began just above his wrist joint. Gently, he ran the soft skin of his forearm over her waxen cheek, stroking it. Cold, and not just from the stasis unit.

Cold with the absence of warmth, of life. Dimly he was aware that Rob had turned away, giving him privacy, and was grateful in one part of his mind.

He thought of kissing her still lips, but he just couldn't. The woman he had loved was simply not
here,
and he could not bear the thought of kissing a dead body.

The ring he had given her still glittered on her left hand. Serge turned to Rob.

"What does her Will say?" he asked softly. "Will she be going home to her family?"

Unable to speak, Rob nodded.

"Could you do me a favor, and ask them to let her keep the ring on? I--I think she would have wanted it that way."

Rob nodded again. "I'm sure they will agree," he whispered.

"Merci,"
Serge said, then he turned back for one last look.

Long moments later he turned away. "I am going now," he said, then waited outside while Rob returned the body to stasis.

When the doctor came out, Serge straightened up from where he'd been leaning against the wall. "If the school is being evacuated," he said, "you will need relief pilots. I am going down to Traffic Control and offer my services."

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"Do you feel up to it?" Rob gazed at the younger man appraisingly.

Serge nodded. "It will help me to work," he said simply. "And if I have a free moment up at the station, I will check on Heather. I want to thank her for finding me."

Rob nodded. "All right, Serge. Whatever is best for you, but promise me, if you feel your concentration slipping, give it a rest, okay?"

"I promise," Serge said, and then they went their separate ways.

"That's better. I guess I'll live," Janet Rodriguez said hoarsely that same afternoon, keeping her voice low, as though she were afraid that someone might hear her through the locked doors of Rob's office.

When the Chief Engineer had first entered, several minutes ago, she'd been so pale and shaky that Rob refused to speak with her until she'd consented to eat something. The doctor had firmly sat her down, then stood over her until she choked down half a sandwich and a cup of heavily sugared coffee.

"Good," Rob said. "Now tell me why you came."

"I found out what caused the explosion," the engineer said, and for a moment the psychologist was afraid that she and her abbreviated meal were going to part company. He'd never seen the usually imperturbable Janet look so frightened, so
sick.
But she drew a deep breath, then, when she spoke again, she had regained control. "I know why the main radonium power-converter went up. It was sabotage, Rob. Just like Khuharkk's toilet.

Just like the
Night] Storm's
crash. Sabotage, done deliberately through the computer."

Seeing her face, Rob didn't waste words asking if she was sure.] "Another patched-on program?" he asked.

"I think so. But the traces of tampering had been almost totally erased, so I can't be positive that that's how it was done." She gave him a level look. "In other words, I can't be sure that it wasn't <
inside
job, if you get my drift."