Part 47 (2/2)

”You want to die here?”

Zed's face spasmed again, not from pain; his mouth made a grotesque and terrible smile. ”Yes.” He looked past Dana to Darien's body.

”You're crazy,” said Dana. ”Rhani sent me here to get you and I'm going to do it, if I have to stun you with her stun gun and take you out over my shoulders.”

Zed started to reach for him in reflex rage. He curled, sobbing at the pain. His face writhed. Dana watched. He was sweating terribly; the suit was having trouble keeping up with it. The same internal voice that had spoken before spoke again. It said: This is payment; this is right. Remember what he did to _you?_ But the sweat rolled down his sides like water over rock, and he kept having to swallow.

Before he could change his mind, he rose and went to Darien's corpse.

Yanking the stun pistol from her belt, he returned to Zed and held it out. ”I mean it.” He checked the dial and turned it to a one-hour stun.

When he looked up, Zed was on his knees. ”No,” he said. Dana reached to help him. The Net commander snarled, and staggered, una.s.sisted, to his feet.

Keeping his hands in front of him, he walked toward Hole Four. Dana stayed behind him. At the closed door, Zed stood aside to let Dana open it.

”Tori, I'm bringing in an injured pa.s.senger. Get some anesthetic spray and get ready to cut loose. This station's going to blow to bits in ten minutes.”

”Clear,” said Tori.

Zed went ahead through the lock. Twice he stopped and leaned on the wall.

Tori had _Lamia's_ door up; she was standing at the door, anesthetic spray in her hand. Her face paled as Zed walked in. ”Sweet mother,” she said, and aimed the spray. As it hit the charred flesh, Zed sobbed and nearly fell. Dana caught him under the armpits, and half dragged the Net commander to the lowest of a three-tiered bunk. He put Zed into it. He felt the jog as the lock tube coiled into place, and scrambled to the navigator's chair. ”Five minutes,” said Tori.

”d.a.m.n it, if a hunk of that thing hits me it'll slice the hull like cheese. If only we could Jump -- ” But they couldn't Jump. Unlike some planets, Chabad was not in a hypers.p.a.ce current. Dana had no idea what happened to s.h.i.+ps that tried to use the Drive when not congruent to a current; n.o.body did. If anyone had tried it, they had not come back from wherever they had gone.

”Accelerating,” Lamonica said. ”Hold tight!” Dana took a deep breath.

Tori flashed him a grin. He let it halfway out. The s.h.i.+p hummed. He was pressed into the seat, harder, harder, his muscles began to scream -- Tori was pus.h.i.+ng the s.h.i.+p to the limit. Ten gees. He watched the gauge climb. Twelve gees.

Fifteen gees. The blood began to drain from his head and settled in his feet. If the thrust exceeded fifteen gees, he would certainly black out. He saw red: There goes a capillary, he thought.

The thrust stayed at fifteen gees for fifteen seconds, until the numbers on the compscreen said they were a quarter of the distance back to the planet.

Then Tori slowed to one gee thrust. She used the compensator to reduce the gravity to three-fourths gee. Dana stretched as the pressure subsided. ”Better check your patient,” Tori warned. ”Stars.” He hurried to Zed's bunk. The Net commander's eyes were open.

Blood trickled from his mouth, but he was conscious. Grabbing a cloth, Dana wiped the blood away.

”Bad?” he said. ”You want more anesthetic? A pill?”

”No,” said Zed. He sat, very slowly. Dana marveled at his strength. ”I.

Just. Bit. My. Tongue.”

Across the room, Tori said, ”LandingPort Station, this is _Lamia_. Tell Chabad our mission's completed and we're on our way home.”

”Clear, Starcaptain. Congratulations on your success. We'll notify -- ”The voice broke off into a muttered oath.

A second voice, thinned with awe and incredulity, said, ”Jesus G.o.d.”

Tori punched the unit to silence. She said, ”I guess we know what that was.”

Tori set course for the Abanat Main Landingport.

There was nothing for Dana to do. He went to the food unit for water and a food bar. Glancing at the silver-and-blue suited figure in the bottom bunk of the right-hand tier, he raised his voice. ”Zed? Do you want a narcotic?”

_Lamia_'s medikit, like the kit of any MPL stars.h.i.+p, was equipped with several different narcotics.

”No.”

Dana walked to the bunk. Zed was paper-white. His facial muscles twitched. Fluid dripped from his hands. The sheet was damp. His pupils were pinpoints; pain lines like gullies ran from the corners of his mouth. It was easier to look at his face than at the fingers that stuck out from his wrists like sticks out of a fire, coated thickly with hardened spray. His eyes were dull. Suddenly his brows went up. He croaked, ”Make. You. Feel. Good?”

”No!”

Zed's eyes closed. His body heaved. Eyes locked shut, he said, ”Make.

Call. For. Me.”

”What call?”

”To Tam Orion. Message to -- Sai Thomas. Medic. Main Clinic. Tell her -- ” he fought to breathe, sucked in air, continued, ”bring burn trauma team. Get Ja. Narayan. Name's important. Narayan. Surgeon.”

”Why?” asked Dana.

Zed said nothing.

”If you want me to call, tell me why.”

The air hissed through Zed's teeth. His face contorted harshly. _Make you feel good_? The mocking question teased Dana's mind. The stench of burned flesh pervaded the cabin like the smell of some drug. He had hoped to see Zed Yago thwarted; he had not expected to see him helpless and hurting. It did not make him feel good. It made him want to be sick. He looked at the wall clock. Tam Orion could be home in bed. The clock was calibrated in Standard. He had forgotten how to think in Standard. He had forgotten how to think. He was tired.

He walked to the navigator's chair, working it out: it was not quite dawn over Abanat.

Chabad bulged in the vision screen. He switched to audio communications.

”Abanat Flight Tower Control, this is _Lamia_, MPL48; home registry, Nexus; pilot and owner, Starcaptain Tori Lamonica; navigator, Starcaptain Dana Ikoro; pa.s.senger, Zed Yago. Permission to berth?”

”Permission granted, Starcaptains. We've been expecting you to call.”

”Thank you, Flight Tower. Request for personal communication to be delivered to chief pilot Tam Orion from Zed Yago. This is urgent. Message to be relayed to medic Sai Thomas at the Abanat Main Clinic. Please bring a burn trauma team to the Landingport to meet us, and a surgeon named Ja Narayan. This communication's important, Control.”

”Clear, Starcaptain. It will be delivered. Please keep your computer locked in.” ”b.i.t.c.hin' Control,” said Tori.

Dana rubbed his eyes. His head felt thick. With longing, he thought about ten hours' sleep. He went back to Zed's bunk. The burned man had not moved. As Dana leaned over him, his eyes opened. ”I made your call,” Dana said.

Zed's mouth flickered in what might have been a smile.

Tori brought _Lamia_ in like a snowflake on a breeze. As they settled into the black, powdery surface of the Flight Field, the com-unit said stridently, ”_Lamia_, this is Port Administration. We understand you have a casualty in there. We have a medical team standing by. Please open up.”

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