Part 23 (1/2)
Her eyes were narrowed in amus.e.m.e.nt-and understanding. ”If we hadn't gotten whatever this illness is. How long would we have guarded one another against taking risks- meanwhile getting more and more frustrated?”
”I-” Ross let his breath out in a whoosh. ”I don't know.”
Eveleen turned away, no longer smiling. ”We should have found that old transport system, Ross. You and I-weeks ago. Misha and Viktor stumbled on it only because they were looking for some kind of shelter from one of those rainstorms. That station is right near us. We should have been out, exploring, ages ago. We two are action agents, not Vera and Irina. They are communicators, a.n.a.lysts. But they've been finding out data, much more than we have.”
Ross sighed. ”I know. It's just-”
”You don't have to say it, because I felt exactly the same. You're used to taking action-taking risks. And when you were risking only yourself, it was perfectly all right. I know because I felt the same way. But when it came to considering your safety, I couldn't stand the thought that something might happen to you, and I meant to stay with you every minute. Keep you safe. Keep you out of harm's way.”
Ross laughed a little raggedly. ”h.e.l.l, Eveleen.”
”And we didn't even talk talk. Just heroically did our duty as spouses-guarding each other from doing our duty as agents.” She gave him a troubled look. ”If we can't work this out, we shouldn't be partners. If we were on our own again, we'd have that old freedom of action. And we're both action people- you have to admit it. That's what brought us together in the first place.”
Ross said, ”Don't think that.”
”But we have to,” Eveleen said. ”If we can't handle the emotional consequences of our jobs, then we'd be better off working separately. We have to consider it-but later. Right now, we'd better get to work. Gordon said we don't want to alter our routines any.”
Ross nodded, forcing himself to grab his share of the breakfast. He would munch it on the way, though he really didn't want to eat. Didn't want to work. Truth was, he felt heartsick. Anger would have been better than that logical calmness.
The worst of it was, he knew she was right.
Outside, the air was slightly cooler, a strong breeze smelling of rain bringing some relief. Eveleen walked beside him, her profile serene, as she made light comments in Yilayil.
Ross didn't talk. He thought about his night with the Jecc-and when they got to work, and the Jecc recommenced their little game, he thought about Eveleen.
On the way back from work, he said, ”You're right. And I promise. No more hiding. Half and half, share fair and square, as we used to say on the streets when I was a kid.”
”Share fair and square,” Eveleen repeated, her eyes steady and bright with a sheen of unshed tears. ”That, my dear, is real real trust.” trust.”
Ross didn't respond. As always, his deepest emotions were impossible to express. He looked forward to their being alone at last, so that he could at least try.
But when they reached the Nurayil dorm, they found Misha waiting outside their cell, pacing like a caged cat.
A small group of Moova trundled past, but he paid them no heed. As soon as he saw them he said abruptly, ”Open up.”
In mute surprise, Eveleen palmed the door open.
As soon as they were inside, Misha said, ”The flyers. They got Viktor.”
Ross looked to Eveleen. She looked back, question in her eyes.
”What are we waiting for?” Ross said. ”Let's go get him back.”
CHAPTER 24.
SABA SPENT THE day drifing in and out of consciousness.
Gordon called her once, and then again. His worry penetrated the strange dreaming wakefulness that she couldn't seem to escape on her own. Patiently, slowly, he bade her describe-in detail-her room, her hands, courses she'd taken in university. Anything to anchor her to reality.
But as soon as they quit conversing, she lay down again, exhausted, and the strange dreams seized her-always punctuated by Yilayil voices singing never-ending chants. Twice she rose to shut down the Yilayil computer, so that the sound would cease and she could sleep, but both times she found it dark. Was the sound coming from hidden speakers? Or- somehow-was she dreaming it, too? Except how could she dream language she only partially understood?
Her mind kept insisting on listening, and trying to pa.r.s.e the complicated levels of verb and modifier until she'd rise again, cram more anti-inflammatory meds into her dry mouth, and wash it down with long gulps of water.
Once she awoke suddenly, and Zhot seemed to be in her room. He demanded definitions for time and s.p.a.ce and insisted that she learn the terms for those who stood outside temporal reality...
She slept again, and when she woke a second time-now drenched in sweat-she wasn't sure if she'd dreamed the conversation or not.
As soon as she sat up, the sensors flicked the lights on. The lights seemed dim; she felt a sudden longing for the bright clarity of sunlight.
She looked up, about to reach for her medication-and there was Zhot, standing in the shadows of the corner.
”Are your senses one, or many?” Zhot's voice blurred in a scintillation of green-tasting rainbows-Saba knew the thought senseless, but it was the only description that fit.
”Many,” she said slowly. Her lips felt dry and cracked. She reached for water, drank. When she looked up, Zhot was still there.
”Different modes of sensation, yes?” he insisted. Now she heard the wisp-wisp wisp-wisp of his slippered feet on her floor, the quiet hiss of his robe as he walked back and forth in front of her door. of his slippered feet on her floor, the quiet hiss of his robe as he walked back and forth in front of her door.
Her muzzy mind jumped to the musical modes, and she worried a moment at the problem of whether the taste of water was Dorian or Myxolydian.
When she looked up again, her vision had gone blurry; in Zhot's place she saw Katarina.
Katarina did not wait for an answer, or maybe it was an hour later. Saba didn't know.
”But you can imagine colors for tastes, sounds for shapes, different modes?” she continued. ”Symbolically a.s.sociate them?” Katarina spoke in Russian, or was it still Yilayil?
Katarina was a warm slurpy column of melted licorice emitting blue bubbles that enveloped her head, each conveying a quantum of meaning.
Now Saba tried to a.s.sign the proper color to the modes, until she suddenly, but only for a flas.h.i.+ng moment, realized that she was below the words, below the world of symbols, in a seamless unity of sensation. Then everything wrenched back into focus, intensifying her headache, and Katarina was gone.
Synesthesis, Saba realized.
Unable to think beyond that, Saba lay down, and slept.
Urgency bled through her dreams: there was something she had to understand, to learn, to know. Now! Now!
She gasped, woke up, fumbling with trembling fingers for her water.
As she drank, she realized that the sound that had wakened her was that of movement outside her door-not footsteps, but voices. Yilayil voices, chanting.
She levered herself painfully off the bed, all her joints aching. The room spun about her for a moment, then steadied. After some experimentation she found that she could walk, albeit slowly, as long as she did not move her head quickly. It took all her strength for her to pull on her robe, but she welcomed its warmth.
She opened the door, in time to see two weasel faces look directly into her eyes before pa.s.sing onward. They did not pause in the eerie whistle-punctuated chant, but pa.s.sed slowly onward, their robes swaying in time to their steps.