A calming presence blanketed the flood of panic, before she could even react. It was Ei’Brai. The projectile weapon is within reach of your dominant extremity, he soothed.
She couldn’t take her eyes off the animal. It acted almost drunk, still trying to adjust to its constantly changing circumstances. But there was no doubt it was hungry. An attack was just a matter of time.
She slid her right hand over the floor, Ei’Brai guiding it to the pistol. She clutched it gratefully, then clenched her teeth and rolled, with considerable effort, onto her side. Why had that been so hard? She paid no heed to the racking pain in her leg and fired point blank into the thing’s head. It exploded, raining blood and disgusting chunks over her.
She coughed, swiped at her face with her sleeve, and tried to sit up. That was a mistake. She came close to passing out again.
She laid back down, panting, and considered her options. Her compressed-air canister was a few feet away. She should go for it. Maybe she could crawl to it before the nepatrox were completely recovered and alert. She could buy herself some time that way, so that someone could come get her.
With a grunt, she rolled back onto her stomach. She tried to raise herself up on her uninjured knee. It wouldn’t cooperate. She squeezed her eyes shut and fought down despondency. Right leg badly broken—that was clear—but the left was… what? Paralyzed? She searched her memory for a clue. The venom. She had felt a burning sensation earlier, but she hadn’t had time to really think about it.
Hate seethed inside her, a bright, glowing thing that eclipsed everything else. She braced herself on one elbow and fired at anything that moved within a few feet of her until the magazine was spent. She ejected it, awkwardly hurled it at one of the animals, and shoved the last magazine home.
Ei’Brai’s voice rumbled inside her head. All will be well. My arrival is imminent.
She heaved with incredulous giggles, certain she’d completely lost touch with reality. How preposterous. That wasn’t even possible. He couldn’t come for her. She had to be hallucinating his voice. Oh, she was really in a pickle now.
Ei’Brai, she mused. He’d said something once about debating the existence of deities and she wished she’d had the chance to do that with him. She needed a deity now. Her grandparents’ fire and brimstone God seemed as good as any other at the moment. Oh, God, help me survive this.
Dimly she registered that people were yelling. Guns were firing.
Blood. Some of it was hers. The floor was slick with blood and brains and other nepatrox gore. She dragged herself through it. The horror of that made her throat close up.
“Jane! Can you hear me?” It was Gibbs, coming from the direction of the closest door. “I’m going to set off a flashbang. Cover your ears and close your eyes!”
She heard him. She knew what he was going to do, but it seemed so impossible that it could make a difference. The animals were hissing, closing in. There were too many of them. Doggedly, she maneuvered on her elbows toward the canister, retching and spitting when she wrenched her leg.
Boots thudded heavily on the floor at her ear. She looked up, expecting to see Alan, Varma, Walsh, or Gibbs, thinking, but, he hasn’t used the stun grenade yet, has he?
She was pretty sure she would have noticed that. They were supposed to be really loud, and blindingly bright, weren’t they?
It was Compton.
His expression was spiritless and unblinking. There was no life behind his eyes.
The flashbang went off, and with it came a concussive force that knocked her jaw painfully into the floor.
She hadn’t been ready for it. At least she’d been looking in the opposite direction, so the searing of her retinas was short-lived. But she couldn’t hear a thing now. That would last a few seconds, she remembered.
Anticipate discomfort, vibrated pleasantly inside her brain.
She gaped at Compton, and rolled over. “Tom? Wha—?” She couldn’t even hear herself.
Compton bent mechanically, at the hinge of his knee, and rested stolidly on his heels. His arms slid under her. He scooped her to him in a single, efficient motion and stood. She blacked out as the movement jarred her leg and came around to find him marching down the hall at an unhurried pace. Each jostling step sent pain shooting up her thigh. A few of the hardier nepatrox surged around them, lashing at his legs and chomping their jaws in frustration.
She touched Compton’s face. He didn’t respond. Not even a flinch. He didn’t turn his head to look at her, just plodded on. “Tom?” she questioned softly.
It is not your Dr. Thomas Compton that secures your health and safety, Dr. Jane Holloway.
She stared at Compton’s face in confusion. She felt so lightheaded. She must have lost a lot of blood. “Ei’Brai?”
Tell your shipmates—it is imperative that they go into the chamber.
She continued to speak aloud to Compton’s blank face, “Why?”
It is only a matter of time before this individual’s structure malfunctions. Tell them now. I cannot protect them without your assistance.
She could sense then, that this undertaking was tasking him to the reaches of his capability. He let her see his determination, his assurance, that he was going to make amends. He was almost to the deck-to-deck transport.
She wrapped her arms around Compton’s neck and lifted herself to look over his shoulder. The others were fighting fruitlessly at both doors. Alan was yelling her name, over and over.
She called to them, “Go inside and shut the door!”
“Jane! Are you okay?” His voice was so full of anguish.
She blinked hard. Her vision was blurry. She didn’t know how to respond to that. Everything was swirling out of control. She wanted to trust Ei’Brai, knew she didn’t have a choice and… they didn’t either. “Yes! I’m okay! I’ll be okay!”
That was all she could muster. She leaned her cheek on Compton’s shoulder, fighting her eyes closing, and watched dully as Gibbs and Varma went through the closest door and shut it.
Seconds later, she saw Walsh haul Alan through the other door by the scruff of his flight suit. That door closed too. A moment later, Compton strode into the deck-to-deck transport. Yet another door shut between them.
A few nepatrox had followed them inside. Jane couldn’t maintain consciousness as Compton’s body, forced like an automaton by Ei’Brai’s mind, kicked them into death or submission.
She roused again when Compton staggered through the outer chamber of the medical facility. He stumbled past the diagnostic platform and through one of the many doors there.
His breathing was labored. Something was terribly wrong. The calming force that had tethered her, kept her from shrieking in pain, was gone. Her vision was fuzzy around the edges. She gritted her teeth and clung to him.
All will be well, he thundered clumsily in her mind. Do not fear.
His loss of control did not inspire faith. She couldn’t comply.
This room was completely filled by a sea of large, molded tubs, each filled with a sparkling-clear, gel-like substance. Compton lurched to the nearest tub and unceremoniously dumped her in without a word of explanation.
Her head went under and she thrashed at the shock of it, arms blindly seeking purchase. Ei’Brai gushed reassurance as she broke the surface, gasping. Compton’s body was collapsed against the side of the tank, clearly no longer inhabited. There was no time to contemplate what that meant.
Calmly, now. This is critical care. You are unaware of the damage you have sustained.
There was activity taking place, she realized faintly, within the goo. Bright blue lights gleamed under the surface, beautiful and surreal, highlighting the swirls and disturbances she’d made in the crystalline-clear gel. She watched numbly as a purple blob seemed to bloom from her right leg. A tiny tube emerged from the side of the tank to suction it away.
Her horror grew as she became aware that the tank was alive with nearly invisible mechanical devices. She squirmed, grasping f
or a handhold to pull herself out. Ei’Brai clamped down on her, mentally forcing a semblance of calm. She could no longer move.
She peered through the gel in a confused stupor as thread-like filaments swarmed over her body. Some of them brandished miniscule tools at their tips, some too small and moving too fast for her to make out their shapes. Others snaked over her skin, effectively binding her. Still more of them painlessly pierced her skin, slipping inside to deliver some form of treatment, she supposed with dismayed detachment.
The royal blue legs of her jumpsuit were swiftly snipped to ribbons and swept away, revealing a jagged, white bone protruding from the torn flesh of her right thigh. She closed her eyes. Even through the distortion of the gel, it was too much to see.
Warmth flooded her body and she felt her skin flush, sweat prickling her hairline. Pain dissipated to nothing but a numb, hollow feeling. Some combination of drugs seeped into her, promoting pain relief and relaxation. She felt her taut muscles yielding, even as a network of filamentous webs encased her and tugged her lower into the gel. Her arms grew heavy and sank into the gel of their own volition. Or had they been pulled there?
She sensed movement and opened her eyes to see Compton rise and shuffle to the next tank, then awkwardly dump himself in, head-first. She couldn’t even react beyond a mewling sound of concern. His booted feet stuck out. As she watched, they twisted and were sucked down, disappearing from view.
She felt drowsy. Something tugged at her leg, manipulating the injured appendage. She felt pulling, a brief grinding, then a sensation of blessed relief. She looked down with heavy-lidded curiosity, but could no longer see anything amid the swath of fibrous filaments that enveloped her.
The gel lapped at her lips. It tasted acrid, bitter. She tried to shake her head, to sit up, to raise her chin, but she was so sleepy and the tug was strong.
You will not suffocate, Dr. Jane Holloway. The device will supply your organs directly with all that is needed. Trust.
She railed against the word. She wanted to hurl it back at him. But she couldn’t. She didn’t have the energy. She couldn’t stay above the surface much longer. She could feel the slender tentacles brushing against her face, like a lover’s gentle caress. Whisper soft, they infiltrated her nose, her mouth. She couldn’t deny them entrance.
She felt her breath and pulse slow.
Her last conscious thoughts were of Alan. Was he hurt? Was he safe? Ei’Brai had promised he would be.
If he wasn’t… when she got out of this—whatever this was… there would be hell to pay.
She went under.
18
It was womb-like and quiet. No sound disturbed her drifting slumber. She bobbed in and out of twilight, opening her eyes for brief moments of clarity, gazing into the gloom through the glowing, colored-glaze of the gel, long enough to register that she was there and whole and mending somehow, before something like sleep swept her under again, to wander through unknown landscapes, to touch foreign stars, amidst the scores of remembrances Ei’Brai had gathered from the individuals his mind had touched.
Only the broken leg was completely immobile now. Her other limbs floated within the slackened web-matrix that anchored her, the mechanicals of the device still swarming over her like busy insects. In the hushed stillness, she was aware on some level of the filaments piercing her skin, threading her veins, flushing her body with various medicaments that made her want to move restlessly or slip back into the quiet recesses of Ei’Brai’s mind.
Her hands were limp things. She brushed them against herself absently. She felt numb and unquiet. She noted with faint surprise that her garments had been completely removed, giving the filaments greater access to her.
Ei’Brai was always there when she woke, but he was reticent. He occupied himself diligently with the incessant needs of the ship, rarely resting himself for more than moments. He was a soft reminder of life beyond the gloaming.
She dreamt of Alan… of urgent, open-mouthed kisses and swirling tongues… of heavy-lidded eyes and feverishly hot skin… of inhaling musk and tasting salt… of arms and legs restlessly twining… throbbing… aching… rolling… opening to him… her hands sliding over his broad back… kneading his flesh… rocking… her legs wrapped around him… panting for more… pulling him deeper…
She aroused to find her hips bucking against the ribbons of confinement, acquisitive fingers wending their way to seek release.
She felt dizzy.
Her body was tensed with anticipation, poised at the tipping point. With only a light touch, she was riding unending waves of bliss. It multiplied and compounded in her sleep-soaked, foggy mind, her body arching, contracting…
And choking.
Even as the last twitches of the aftershocks trembled, she fought for breath that wasn’t there. Her heart exploded in her chest. Her heels drummed against the floor of the tank. She gagged, tried to cough, tried to pull in nonexistent air, writhing against the bindings.
It was only seconds before the apparatus compensated, filling the alveoli of her lungs with a greater supply of oxygen to catch up to the pounding of her heart. But she’d had enough.
She thrashed—arms, head, feet—against the sides of the tank in a blind rage, desperate to get to the surface.
Ei’Brai leapt to her mind to calm her, to console her, to assure her it was not much longer now.
She didn’t care. She pushed him away, forcefully. It’d been too long. She needed to see the rest of the crew, to know they were okay.
She felt cool sedatives flow into her veins and grappled with the strands, trying to pull them out, to free herself. But even with the new strength of the additional air and a surplus of adrenaline, she couldn’t stop the flow of the drugs, couldn’t remove the latticework of strands tethering her to the device.
Her struggles gradually slowed along with the rhythm of her heart. Her muscles went lax and the fibers ceased to contract against her exertions. She could feel them resume their minute ministrations. A wracking sob rose to her throat that she was powerless to express. She closed her eyes on tears of frustration and drifted away, again.
She opened her eyes to semi-darkness. The glowing lights had been extinguished. She blinked. The drag against her eyelashes, the pressure against her corneas was gone. She inhaled sharply, and let the breath back out as a surprised laugh. She was out of the gel. How had that happened?
She heard movement and froze, every sense acutely attuned to the sound. She couldn’t tell where she was or how she’d gotten there. She felt for Ei’Brai, but he was silent, disconnected. She tried to still her frantic breathing and search for a clue to what was happening.
“Jane?” a groggy voice uttered. “Are you awake?”
“Alan?” Her voice sounded thin, child-like, and choked from disuse. She coughed a little to make it sound stronger. “Where are we?”
She could hear rustling movement, the soft, padding steps of bare feet, and the dry sound of a hand brushing the wall. Then Alan was looming uncertainly above her, shifting from foot to foot, an intense expression on his face. He was wearing an oversized filmy green tunic, which looked ridiculous. She stifled a smile. He seemed self-conscious and worried.
“You okay?”
She realized she was lying flat on her back on a bed. She sat up. “Yeah. I think so.”
Alan averted his eyes and turned toward the door.
“What happened?” she asked him.
“I’m, ah… I’m going to get Ajaya. She told me to get her right away when you woke up.”
“Wait a minute,” she called after him. But he was already gone. She looked down and cursed. Why the hell was she always waking up naked? She pulled the filmy sheet up and wrapped it around herself, then eased herself to the edge of the platform bed. The sheet worked its way up onto her lap as she scooted, revealing her thigh—it was unmarked, pristine, no evidence that it had ever been broken and torn. She was still puzzling over that when Varma strode into the room, exuding bri
sk efficiency. The lights came up to full strength.
“Jane. It’s so good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” Varma was already taking vitals, testing reflexes. She was wearing a tunic too. It was Sectilius, Jane realized with a start.
Alan did not reenter the room. It was just the two of them.
She searched for an answer to Varma’s question. Disoriented? Overwhelmed? Unnerved? “I’m not sure what happened. What’s going on?”
Varma met her eyes, briefly, and nodded. “Understandable. May I?” Varma gestured at the uncovered leg.
Jane nodded and mentally braced herself for pain as Varma ran hands over her right leg, pressing and feeling the long bones under her skin.
“Feel any pain when I touch here?” Varma asked, peering at her quizzically.
“No.”
“How about here?”
“No. Nothing. It feels normal.”
“Good.” Varma held out a hand to Jane. “Let’s try putting some weight on it, shall we?”
Something was wrong. Why wasn’t anyone explaining anything?
She slid down from the bed and stood, slowly, carefully, clinging to Varma’s firm, warm hand. She expected the blood to rush to her feet, to feel weak or sick or incredible pain, but nothing happened. She just stood up.
Varma tilted her head to the side. “How does that leg feel now?”
“It feels completely normal. Like nothing happened.”
Varma nodded, looking thoughtful and pleased.
“What did happen, Ajaya? Are we safe now? You have to tell me something!”
Varma smiled indulgently. “We are safe. Things are progressing quite well. We’ve accomplished a great deal. We still have plenty of concerns, issues, but things are falling into place. You need not worry, Jane.”
That was a paltry explanation. “Why is that all you’re saying?”
Varma sighed and settled on the edge of the bed, primly, assuming her most patient air. “Jane, I hesitate to say too much, because I have no idea what you experienced, what you know. I think it might be best if you tell me what you remember. Then I can fill in the blanks for you.”
[Confluence 01.0] Fluency Page 19
