“Um, I don’t know. I’d need to talk to you for a few minutes first.”
She leaned her head back against the tree, eliciting another painful reminder of the damage she’d done. “Good. You shouldn’t let me go. Not yet.”
“Are you okay?”
She considered how to respond. “I don’t know. Do you have the venomcrook with you?”
“Abel offered it to me, but I didn’t want it near you.”
“Probably for the best. I’m craving the shit out of it.” Just thinking about it made her skin come alive with anticipation. She shook her head, trying to drive away the desire.
“At least you’re not kicking and screaming.”
She snorted a brief laugh, surprising herself. “I don’t suppose an apology is going to cut it.”
He scooted closer and put a hand on her knee.
Briefly she wondered if it would be possible to grip his hand between her legs, twist it into a submission hold, and refuse to let go until he called out for Abel to come and give her the venomcrook. She rolled her leg, pushing his hand away. “Don’t! Not yet. The way I feel right now, I could turn on you any second. There’s a goddamn war going on in my head.”
He sat back. “Understood.”
A wave of panic radiated from her gut, and she closed her eyes to suppress it. She tried swallowing, but her mouth was too dry. How long had it been since she’d had water?
“Infinity?”
She opened her eyes but didn’t reply.
“I thought I’d really lost you this time,” Desmond said.
“Yeah.”
He put his hand back on her knee, and again she had to fight the compulsion to turn on him. But this time she didn’t push it away.
“If we make it to bridge-back,” he said, “I think we should do what Armando suggested. We should go ahead and bridge out with colony ST6. Without the radioisotope marker. I don’t think we’ll get another chance. We’re lucky we’ve even made it this far.”
Infinity had been focusing on suppressing her desire for rapture, but hearing him say those words at this moment nearly made her forget the venomcrook entirely.
“We’ve done our share,” Desmond said. “We’ve done almost everything in our power to help two colonies survive. And we can help colony ST6. But someone else can help ST7, if they even get the chance to bridge.”
Infinity frowned at him, although he probably couldn’t see it. “Why’d you say almost everything?” There was something about the way he had uttered those words, like he was bothered by their meaning.
He hesitated before answering. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet. The wild land isn’t an option for the colony. The people living there, the ferals, they’re starving. They barely scrape enough food together to survive the winter, and only enough to sustain small groups. The land simply doesn’t provide enough for them, and the mongrels don’t allow them to farm or use tools. The ferals live in caves like animals because they’re not allowed to construct shelters of any kind.”
Infinity struggled to process this. Her desire for rapture was starting to surge again—with a vengeance. “Damn, that’s disappointing. So tell me what you think we haven’t tried yet.”
Again he hesitated. “I’ve been thinking about this. Most of the mongrel bailiwicks provide food for only a few hundred people, and Abel told me many of them don’t even allow a hundred. The refugees could split up and try to take over multiple bailiwicks. But the existing herds would still fight for their lives to keep them. I have doubts about whether our people could successfully drive them away. It would get ugly.”
Infinity was in too much pain to be patient. “You going to tell me your idea or not?”
“I think the colony’s only hope is to convince the mongrels to provide enough food for all of them.”
Infinity waited for him to go on.
“I’m going to talk to the mongrels,” he said.
“How the hell are you going to do that?”
“I met a feral who has done it before. The guy taught me what I need to do to get them to listen.”
She gazed at his barely-visible face. “The mongrels are dangerous. They’ve been killing refugees, maybe over a hundred now. Just for speaking.”
“Yeah, so I’ve been told.”
“What makes you think they won’t kill you?”
“Are you trying to talk me out of it?”
She considered this. Was she? Probably. Damn, her head hurt. She tried to focus. “Do you honestly think you have a chance?”
He shrugged. “I’ve learned a lot from you, Passerina. If this is the only chance the refugees have, then I don’t have a choice.”
Infinity decided she liked it when he called her by her real name. “My name’s Infinity. You can call me Passerina when we get to our new home with colony ST6.”
September 3 - 3:23 AM
Infinity awoke again as Desmond shifted his weight. Even though her back had been killing her, she had fallen asleep again—apparently the trauma from the rapture ordeal had forced her body to shut down.
“Desmond?” she whispered.
“Yeah, I’m awake.”
“You can untie me now.”
He rolled to his side and studied her. “The venomcrook is gone. I gave it to Abel, and he said he’d destroy it. How does that make you feel?”
She smiled. “Nice job. That’s exactly the kind of thing I’d ask if our roles were reversed.”
“You haven’t answered the question.”
She sighed. At least he was being careful. “Okay. Am I one-hundred-percent past the effects of the venomcrook? No. My head hurts, and every muscle feels like I just ran a marathon in medieval armor. But the last thing I want is another dose of rapture. I’m cognizant enough to get how dangerous it is. I’ve never lost control of myself like that before.”
“And how do you feel about me?”
She stared through the darkness at his face. Then she realized what he was getting at. “Yeah, I probably said some things. I don’t really remember, but I can imagine. I feel… like I’m lucky you’re my bridging partner.” Goddammit, that was lame.
Desmond continued watching her silently.
Infinity knew she should say more. If ever there was a time to put her feelings into words, this was it. “Look, I have some fuzzy memories of what I said and did to you. I was an asshole. If I could undo it, I would. You know you’re more than just a partner to me. I’ve had plenty of partners, but I’ve never… you know.”
“Are you trying to say you’re falling in love with me?”
“Are you trying to make me say it?”
He may have smiled, but it was hard to tell. “Do you want to say it?”
“Jesus, who’s being an asshole now?”
He huffed out a laugh. “I think you were right. It’s safe to untie you.” He started working on the knots at her ankles.
“I’m not like you, Desmond,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve met your mom. I know what kind of life you’ve lived. But you don’t know anything about me. I don’t… I don’t really know what love is, or what it should feel like.”
One of the knots came undone, and he removed the first rope. “I understand.”
“I don’t think you really do.”
He pulled another knot loose and then paused. “This is new to me, too. I’ve had a few girlfriends. But this desire to spend my last remaining time with you, even knowing I might die tonight? How could my life—which you say is so different from yours—have prepared me for that? Maybe we’re both just trying to figure this out as we go.” He quickly unwrapped the second rope and set it aside. He caressed the area around the torn skin on her ankles. “You’re going to need antibiotics when you bridge back.”
“Stop talking like you’re not going back with me. If you really think speaking to the mongrels is a suicide mission, don’t do it.”
He moved behind the tree and started on her wri
sts. “I’m tired of losing refugees. And we’re out of options.” The knots loosened quickly, freeing her wrists. He moved a few yards to the side and crouched, watching her.
Good—he was still being cautious.
“Relax, I’m not going to attack you,” she said. She inspected her wrists and then stretched her arms and shoulders, working out several kinks. “How far are we from the refugees?”
“Maybe seventy-five yards. There should be about 560 now, minus all those the mongrels have killed and those that have run away and not returned.”
“When do you think you’ll try to speak with the mongrels?”
He moved closer but remained in a crouched position, ready to move quickly if necessary. “Soon. Before daybreak. Definitely before the painted herd comes to feed.”
She held her hand out and waited until he took it. “Then there’s something I want you to do first.” She pulled him closer.
“Are you serious?”
“Damn right I’m serious, especially if you’re going to die in the next few hours.”
He sat beside her and ran his hand up her arm to her neck. “You know we’re both covered with sweat and muck, right?”
Instead of answering, she pushed him to the ground and climbed on top of him.
As they kissed, his hand roamed down her body.
“Wait,” she said, grabbing his hand. “This isn’t happening until I take a pee.”
17
Mongrels
September 3 - 4:58 AM
As Desmond and Infinity watched, group thirty appeared and dropped to the ground, illuminated by the purple glow of the mongrels’ looming bubble. Twenty volunteers rushed in with practiced efficiency, each grabbing a newcomer and clamping their hands over the their mouth, not only silencing them but also preventing them from falling into a floundering heap. The volunteers then kneeled beside them, hands still clamped over their mouths, as the newcomers doubled over with dry heaves. Within a minute, the newcomers had recovered and again stood upright. Without a single casualty, the volunteers led them away to join the other refugees.
Only Desmond and Infinity remained. Now, in the bubble’s glow, Desmond could see the true extent of Infinity’s self-abuse. Blood vessels had burst in her eyes, turning portions of the whites to a red that looked black in the purple light. Bruises and scratches covered the back of her body, especially her head. But at least she seemed to be past the rapture madness that had possessed her for so many hours.
Desmond pointed to a spot on the ground about ten yards from the mongrel bubble, silently telling Infinity he wanted her to stand there. She shook her head and glared at him, making it clear again that she thought this was a bad idea.
But she didn’t try to stop him, which Desmond took to mean she understood this was important enough to take the risk.
Desmond tried to smile but doubted it looked very convincing. His smile faded as he turned away from her and approached the bubble’s membrane. He stood transfixed by the mostly-clear fluid within. He saw movement. Suspended particles swirled in small eddies as something nearly invisible propelled itself closer to him. Another amorphous figure moved in and positioned itself beside the first. The two mongrels hovered in the fluid, moving slightly every second or so, the only evidence they were still there.
Soon a third shape appeared beside the first two. Desmond definitely had their attention. Now all he had to do was convince them to actually listen to him.
He held out his right hand, his palm inches from the membrane. Disturbances in the fluid just on the other side indicated one of the mongrels had moved some part of its body to the same spot. Desmond thought of Gavin’s horrific transformation into a deer. Was he seconds away from a similar fate?
He visualized the sequence of images he’d used to memorize Reason’s verbalizations. He opened his mouth and uttered the sounds, which wasn’t difficult—the sequence was made up of only eight separate sounds. Desmond had no idea what creatures had originally made some of the sounds, but he was sure of three: a deer’s wheezing snort, a fox’s screech, and a flicker’s yelp. He had practiced several times a good distance from the mongrels and was confidant he’d done a decent job of mimicking Reason’s impressions. When he was finished, he watched the mongrels for signs of a reaction.
The fluid near his outstretched palm swirled as something moved. Then the membrane itself bulged outward several inches. Desmond had to pull his hand back to avoid contact. The bulge in the bubble remained, as if waiting. Was this an invitation to touch the membrane? This seemed like the most logical explanation. But touching the bubble hadn’t ended well for Gavin.
Still, the bulge remained.
Desmond took a breath and pressed his palm against it. The surface felt like a water balloon coated with vaseline, and it was warm to the touch.
His heart pounding, he repeated the sequence of sounds, in case the mongrels hadn’t gotten his intent the first time.
His hand suddenly passed through the membrane up to the wrist. Something warm and solid closed around his fingers and gently pulled. In the fluid he could see nothing but slight distortions near his skin, but something was definitely pulling him. Within seconds his arm was in past the elbow.
And he hadn’t been transformed into an animal.
This was it. This was what he had been hoping for. But now he felt panic take hold of him. He turned to look at Infinity. She was staring, her brows furrowed with concern. But then her head tilted down in a simple nod.
That nod was all Desmond needed to solidify his resolve. Although Infinity would be powerless to help if things went south, at least she had acknowledged he was doing what had to be done.
Desmond was now in up to his shoulder. The side of his body was pressed against the membrane, which seemed to be dissolving at the touch of his skin. He turned away from the bubble and took a deep breath as it began engulfing his head.
Within seconds he was inside the bubble, eyes closed, suspended in thick, warm fluid.
The mongrels were still holding his right hand, but now they grabbed and began pulling his left hand, as well as both his legs. He opened his eyes, but all he could see was blurry purple fluid. The mongrels were pulling him toward the center of the bubble, away from the membrane and the life-sustaining air beyond it.
His lungs started burning for air, and within seconds the pain became unbearable. He started struggling, trying to get back to the outer membrane. But the mongrels held tight.
“Breathe.”
He stopped struggling. He’d heard the voice clearly, in spite of the fact that his ears were filled with fluid.
His lungs were burning, and he began struggling again. He was drowning.
“Breathe.”
The fluid pressed against his skin, against his nose and mouth. There was no air to breathe. The mongrels were toying with him. Instead of turning him into a creature, they would hold him inside their bubble and watch him drown. He felt himself try to scream as he fought to break their hold on him.
“Breathe.”
His whole body felt like it was on fire. He needed air now.
Something gripped his face and tried to force his mouth open.
He twisted and jerked. But it was too late. He didn’t even know which direction the outer membrane was. His brain relinquished control and his body forced a dying gasp for air. Warm fluid gushed into his mouth and filled his lungs, and he spasmed wildly with panic. He tried to cough but only sucked in more fluid.
He heaved over and over, trying to purge the fluid. But each heave only brought more fluid into his lungs.
Desmond’s mind began to clear. He wasn’t dead. In fact, the burning in his lungs was subsiding. He sucked in more fluid and then forced it out. In again and then out. In spite of the horrifying sensation of breathing liquid, he began to relax.
The mongrels released their grip on his legs and his left hand, now holding him only by his right hand.
He sucked in fluid, forced it out. In and out.
The fluid was apparently loaded with oxygen, keeping him alive.
“From whence did you come?” It was the same voice, and the words were loud and clear, but obviously not spoken with sound waves.
Desmond tried to speak but only managed to move fluid in and out of his lungs. His vocal chords apparently needed air to function.
“Converse with your wits, not your mouth.”
With his wits? What was that supposed to mean? Desmond squinted but could only see the purple fluid surrounding him.
“Concoct your words with your wits. Cogitate them such as you wish to speak them. We ask you again, from whence did you come?”
Desmond tried to think, still struggling with the strange sensation of breathing liquid. He concentrated and formed a series of words, silently moving his lips as he focused on the sounds each word would make. “Do. You. Understand. This?”
“We understand. From whence did you come?”
Desmond let out a silent, astonished laugh. They were actually understanding his projected thoughts. He tried forming words more smoothly. “We came from a different version of this world. An alternate timeline.”
“Yes. How’d you learn to do such a thing?”
Desmond could see no harm in being honest. “We discovered a radio signal transmitted through space from a distant civilization. The signal had instructions for building a machine that would allow us to do this. But the machine is destroying our world. We came to this world to avoid the destruction of our species. But today you have killed many of our people. I’m here to ask you to help us.”
Seconds passed without a response. The force gripping his right hand tightened slightly.
“You seek our help. But we know nothing of who you are.”
“What do you want to know?” Desmond waited for an answer, sucking fluid into his lungs more easily now.
“Who you are, who you ain’t, who you wish to be, and who you fear becomin’.”
Desmond tried to make sense of this. He was about to ask for clarification when the glowing fluid around him vanished.
Bridgers 3_The Voice of Reason Page 15
