thefiremargins

by Lisanne Norman

  Maro pushed Zashou's bed over beside Rezac's while the other nurse took the restraints from Dr Kimin and dived under the beds to lash the legs together.

  "I'm advising you to keep the restraints on Rezac for the moment," said Nyaam. "I think you're taking a foolish risk and I refuse to help you. However, I've no doubt you're going to ignore my opinion."

  Goran began moving the ice packs from what was now the middle of one large bed, making room for Zashou to be placed beside Rezac. The sheet, dried out by his body heat, was taken off him and as he flinched away from contact with the others, he lurched briefly against Zashou. He froze, then as Zashou was moved closer so the contact was maintained, his body went into spasm.

  "What did I tell you?" demanded Nyaam, grabbing his hypo off the treatment trolley behind them. "Just touching her has made him worse! Give her an anticonvulsant before she starts too! Hold him still for the Gods' sake," he said, trying to get a grip on Rezac.

  Goran took hold of Rezac's head. "Hold his arm," he ordered Maro.

  Nyaam stuck the needle in Rezac's arm while the two males held him as still as possible.

  Almost as they watched, the spasms that wracked his body began to diminish until suddenly, Rezac relaxed and lay there limp and panting, his tongue partially protruding from his mouth.

  "Give him some water, Layul," said Dr. Kimin, leaning forward to unfasten the restraints.

  Nyaam frowned. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, reaching out to stop her. "You should be moving the female away! That's what started the convulsions!"

  "For the Gods sake, Nyaam, look at his wrists!" she said, batting his hand aside with one of hers. "The leather has already lacerated him, he's bleeding. Goran's right, Rezac can't help but fight against your restraints. That's what made him convulse, not Zashou! Do something useful, pass me the dressings," she added. "We're working blind with these two, we've no idea what will help them since they're not responding to our treatment like any of the other telepaths. They're suffering identical symptoms, as if they were one person, not two." She took the dressings that Goran held out.

  "I'd put money on it that they're amplifying each other's fever dreams. If they're touching, it might just give them the reassurances they need to cope with the hallucinations," she said, wiping the blood from the cuts with an antiseptic pad.

  Vartra began unfastening Rezac's other arm.

  "On your head be it, then," snapped Nyaam, standing back.

  Kimin looked up from bandaging Rezac's wrist. "This isn't a competition, Nyaam," she said quietly. "If you want me to take sole responsibility, then I will. I have a gut-feeling that Goran is right and this will work."

  Maro poured a small amount of water onto Rezac's tongue and when he swallowed reflexively, gave him a little more. When his panting began to decrease, Goran released him.

  Rezac moved his head slightly, his face creasing in pain. He opened and closed his hands, automatically checking to see if they were free.

  "We telepaths learn to trust gut-feelings and instincts, Dr. Nyaam," said Maro quietly as he replaced the water container, then moved round to Vartra's side and began dressing Rezac's other wrist.

  Nyaam grunted disbelief. "We've got the damper on, Maro. Neither you nor Dr. Kimin can be picking anything up from him."

  "We're inside its influence, Doctor," said Kimin, releasing Rezac's ankles. "Our thoughts don't escape the field, that's all."

  It was Zashou who moved first, turning on her side to lie close against Rezac. The anticonvulsant had sedated him and he continued to lie still save for a slight movement of his head and the blinking of his eyes.

  He fought against the lassitude, trying to make sense of what was around him. His eyes refused to focus, everything was a blur that made his stomach tighten with nausea. The touch of her body against his was somehow helping the fire in his body die down. When a damp sheet was laid over them, it no longer made him burn, and the coolness that surrounded him, except for where they touched, was welcome.

  He was tired, and his eyes began to close. His arm was too heavy to move more than a few centimeters. His hand touched her, reflexively closing on her arm. Now he could sense her mind, feel his heartbeat slowing till it matched hers. All he wanted now was to join her in sleep.

  Carrie woke to find herself swathed in a blanket with Kusac holding her close. Jack was sitting beside them, a concerned look on his face. She was drenched in sweat and still shuddering convulsively, though that was beginning to pass now. Gradually she grew still, and as she did, she began to push against the blanket.

  "I'm fine now," she said, her voice hoarse. She swallowed, realizing how thirsty she was. "A drink," she said. "I need a drink."

  Jack fetched one while Kusac allowed her to push the blanket open so the cooler air of the room could get at her body. He insisted she keep it round her shoulders though.

  "What happened?" she asked, having drunk her fill. "Am I all right?"

  Jack leaned forward, feeling her forehead. "You're fine now," he said. "You were feverish, that's all, but it's broken now. Probably caught a chill."

  She pushed her hair back with a shaky hand. "I dreamed. It wasn't me who had the fever, it was Rezac. The new Leskas all took the fever and they didn't know how to treat it then."

  "Carrie, you had us worried," said Kusac, touching her face to check her temperature for himself. "You really did get burning hot, that's why I sent for Jack."

  "I tell you it wasn't me," she insisted. "Maybe he and I were linked in too closely in the dream, but it wasn't my fever."

  "Tell us what happened," said Jack soothingly.

  She put her hands up to her face, scrubbing at it before pushing her hair back again as she tried to recall the dream.

  "He had a fever and they tied him to the bed to stop him struggling. It made him worse." She stopped, trying to catch the images that were beginning to slip from her mind like smoke rising from the temple burners.

  "There was a warrior— Goran. He said Rezac and Zashou should be together but one doctor didn't want that. They did it anyway, then packed ice round them."

  "What then?" asked Kusac gently.

  "Their link was like ours, too close, but they were the first." She stopped again, face creasing in concentration. There was someone there, she had to remember who it was. "I remember! It was Vartra! He said, Try it. We've nothing to lose. They didn't know much about Leskas then, Kusac. Why?"

  "I don't know, cub," he said. "It's over now, that's the main thing."

  "Kusac's right, Carrie," said Jack, standing up. "Get back into bed now. You should sleep the night through peacefully. Call me again if you need me."

  Kusac stood up, still holding Carrie in his arms. Jack pulled the cover back and Kusac laid her down.

  The bed felt fresh and cool after the heat of the blanket. Gratefully she lay down and curled up as Kusac put the cover over her.

  "I'll see myself out," said Jack. "Goodnight."

  "Thank you for coming over, Jack," said Kusac. "Goodnight."

  She was almost asleep when he climbed in beside her, dimming the light before wrapping his body round hers, his arm lying across her waist.

  "How do you feel now?" he asked quietly.

  "Sleepy," she said. "It wasn't a scary dream, Kusac. I was there, watching them, then inside Rezac's mind. Vartra was there. They didn't know about the new Leskas, Kusac. There were new Leskas then, ones with a link as close as ours."

  "I hear you. We can record it in the morning. I won't forget what you've told me," he said, gently nuzzling the back of her neck. "Go to sleep now, cub."

  "Mmm."

  * * *

  Fyak's warriors still used the traditional riding beasts for traveling across the desert. Carrie would have said they looked like a cross between an ox and a camel, had she seen them. Unlike aircars, they were cheap to run, supplied many of the tribes' physical needs for food and fuel, and had air inlets specially evolved to cope with the sandstorms.

 
; Kaid, his hands bound behind his back, spent the journey between Rhijudu and Fyak's lair at Chezy pressed hard against the greasy fur that covered the creature's thick bony neck. His captor sat behind him holding firmly onto Kaid's bound hands as well as his mount's reins.

  Pain caused by the stunner still jangled through his body. Pulled behind him as his arms were, the strain on his injured forearm was exacerbated by the jolting gait of the beast, and he spent much of the journey drifting in and out of consciousness.

  He surfaced again as he was being hauled off the creature and into the entrance to Fyak's underground lair. His two guards stopped only long enough for him to set his feet on the ground, then he was hustled along a sandstone passageway till they reached the main chamber. There the bulk of Fyak's experienced warriors were working on stripping down and cleaning their weapons while the others were unpacking crates of new firearms.

  He had no chance to take it in properly before he was hauled off to a smaller side chamber. A large table dominated the room. Bending over it were Fyak and several older males: they were studying a map of the surrounding area.

  Fyak looked up, his eyes glinting as they settled on Kaid.

  "So this is the Brother that Ghezu wants," he purred, moving round the table until he stood opposite him.

  Head still throbbing from the effects of the stunner, Kaid began to sway as his escort released him and moved back to the door.

  "You don't look much like the feared warrior that Ghezu described," Fyak said, walking round him.

  The footsteps stopped immediately behind him. "You're wounded!" Fyak's tone had changed to one of fury. "I said I wanted him brought in whole, that's why you were issued stunners! Who shot him?" he demanded of the two males. "And why is he still bound?"

  "He was bleeding when we found him, Prophet," said one, drawing a knife to slit the bindings round Kaid's wrists. "The wound isn't new."

  Fyak hissed in annoyance. "Get him seen to." He walked round in front of Kaid again and reached out to grasp him by the uninjured shoulder. "When you're recovered, we'll talk again." He turned to the guards. "Take him to Anirra and have his wound dealt with. Treat him with courtesy," he ordered.

  His arms freed, the returning circulation only exacerbated the pain from his wound. He winced as he brought them round in front of himself, then before he had the chance to massage some feeling back into them, he was grasped firmly again and escorted back to the main cavern. This time they took him down a narrow side corridor till they came to an infirmary.

  An odor of antiseptic greeted them as they stepped through the curtain into the small ward. He saw a medic rise from the bedside of one of the patients.

  "Another one? Haven't you had your fill of blood yet? I'm running out of suppressant drugs to treat them with. You'll need to get me more."

  "He isn't a telepath, Anirra, he's one of the Brotherhood. Fyak wants his wound seen to. Says he's to be well treated. Where d'you want him?"

  "In the examination room," said Anirra, gesturing to the far end of the ward.

  Stumbling as they went, Kaid was led through to the back. At last they released him. He reached out for the examination table, holding on to it to steady himself. All he wanted to do was sleep.

  "Help him up!" said Anirra sharply, going over to wash his hands.

  Unceremoniously, he was lifted up onto the table. He sat there, holding onto the edge, waiting.

  "Well? I'm sure you've got work to do!" Anirra said to the guards.

  Kaid watched them take their leave, then the medic turned to look at him.

  Anirra took hold of his forearm, examining it carefully. The dried blood had stuck his shirt to his arm like glue.

  "I'm going to have to cut your shirt off. It's stuck firmly. I'll only reopen the wound if I try to pull it free. Take your jacket off, please, then lie down."

  Kaid eased the jacket over his shoulder, lifting his injured arm free. As he struggled to push it off his good arm, the medic leaned forward and helped him. Carefully pulling his legs up, Kaid lay down.

  Anirra was reaching across him to the shelf where his scissors lay when he suddenly stopped, his hand going to touch a patch of singed fur on Kaid's thigh.

  A hiss of pain, quickly turning to a low moan, escaped Kaid as his muscles clenched involuntarily.

  "That's a stunner burn!"

  Kaid closed his eyes, waiting for the throbbing in his leg to decrease, trying to focus on the litany for pain. The medic's footsteps receded then returned and he felt the cool touch of the hypoderm against his neck. A slight sting, then the analgesic took hold, quieting his screaming nerves. He could feel the tension drain out of his muscles, and gradually, he was able to relax his body. The pain in his arm was no more than a dull throb now, as was the headache.

  "Better?" asked Anirra.

  "Yes." His voice was a croak. He smelled water and opened his eyes to find Anirra holding out a beaker. He raised himself on his uninjured side and gratefully took it from him, drinking deeply before handing the empty beaker back.

  Anirra set it aside, then began cutting the shirt free of the wound until only a small piece of fabric was left attached to him.

  "The analgesic was strong. You'll find yourself becoming drowsy very shortly. What do they call you?"

  "Kaid," he replied. Lying there, he worked on stilling his mind and beginning the litany to banish pain again as Anirra sponged the stiff cloth free of his arm. It was painful, but at last it was done and Anirra was able to remove the rest of his shirt.

  "You've used Fastheal," he said accusingly as he carefully probed the edges of the wound. "How long ago did you sustain this injury?"

  "Eight or nine days."

  "What dosage of Fastheal?"

  "I forget." He heard the sound of a hand scanner passing over his arm. Opening his eyes, he waited till the scan was complete before grasping Anirra's hand and pulling the unit closer so he could read it.

  "Fastheal has to be carefully administered, otherwise you deplete the body's reserves," Anirra said, anger in his voice as he pulled himself free. "You've abused the drug to the point where this wound will take twice as long to heal naturally. The tissues are inflamed and you'll be lucky if an infection hasn't set in!"

  "Vitamins and rehydration are all I need," said Kaid, letting his good arm fall back by his side. "I injured myself again trying to avoid capture, that's why it's inflamed." His eyes closed again and the world around him gradually faded.

  * * *

  "A month's too much. I want him on his feet long before that!"

  "With respect, Prophet," he heard Anirra answer, "he's already over-used Fastheal. A second dose would be dangerous."

  "Find a way!"

  He heard the receding footsteps, then Anirra swearing. "Dammit! He demands the impossible of me! Get him set up with catheters and canulas— I'll have to do a sleep cure."

  "Yes, Doctor."

  A sharp prick in his arm, a slight feeling of pressure, then nothing.

  * * *

  His sleep was uneasy, haunted as it was by images. Pillars of flame stood before him, calling him to pass through them but he retreated, unwilling to enter the world of fire and devastation he knew lay beyond. Unable to wake properly, he felt his body being moved, examined, then probed by sharp implements that brought momentary pain.

  Against his chest he felt a sensation of coolness, a burning with no fire, no pain. He grasped at the crystal he wore round his neck, holding onto it through all that long night, anchoring his reason to it as the one solid object in his world.

  He awoke abruptly, eyes open, body tensed, hands ready at his sides. He could sense no one else present. The room was unfamiliar. The soft light of an oil lamp on the night table cast a gentle glow on the sparse furnishings and the sandstone walls of the room. As well as the bed in which he lay, there was a small chest against the wall, a stool, and a woven rug.

  The air smelled reasonably fresh but he sensed the faint scent of the medic, Anirra. He pushe
d himself up, then realized he was resting his weight on his injured arm— and it didn't hurt.

  Sitting bolt upright, he examined the wounded forearm. All that remained was a hairless line of bright pink scar tissue. Incredulously he explored the scar with a cautious fingertip. A little sensitive but nothing more.

  He remembered the second hypoderm. He'd been drugged then, but for how long? Running his hands through his hair he realized it had grown by perhaps a couple of centimeters. More than a night, that was certain. A month? Had he lain here drugged for the last month?

  Throwing back the covers, he climbed out of bed. On the chest he could see his uniform jacket, his belt, and a fresh shirt. As he walked over to them, he realized that there was none of the weakness in his limbs that he'd have expected if he'd been unconscious for so long. Not a month, then. For all Anirra said, he must have used Fastheal. That would account for the hair growth.