Gallo had been more stoic and gracious about his injury than any of them could have hoped. He’d tried to downplay the pain, even when he was white-faced and sweating with it. Insisted that he didn’t need help, though God knew it had been offered. He had a new stubborn set to his jaw that made him look older, harder in a way he never had before. So many would have wept and despaired, but Gallo had absorbed his trauma and it burned hot in his chest, fueling him the same way that Rose’s fueled her.
“Hm,” Morgan hummed. “Maybe I could help.”
Rose paused with her hand on her knight, and glanced up. “Help how?”
Morgan was examining her own fingers. “I’m not sure. But I could try.”
~*~
“Absolutely not,” Captain Bedlam said, shaking her head for emphasis. “Greer, are you insane?”
Rose bit back a sigh of frustration. “Ma’am, what could it hurt to try?”
“She could kill him, for one,” Bedlam snapped. “Or have you spent so much time with her that she’s turned you against us?”
“Captain,” Lance said, firmly, before Rose could respond. “That’s not fair.”
“Did you forget what she is? This is a conduit, Sergeant!”
“I’m aware.”
“Last time I checked, we kill conduits – we don’t invite them to perform medical experiments on our Knights!”
“This one’s different,” Rose said, and earned a scathing glare of challenge from her captain. “She helped us. She’s cooperated with every one of our requests. She stays locked up in that cell and never complains, even though she could burn this whole place to the ground if she wanted to.”
You could have cut glass with the clenched edge of Bedlam’s jaw. “And who says she won’t?”
“I do.”
Rose heard Bedlam and Lance inhale at the same time.
Lance said, “Captain–”
Gallo interrupted. He stepped forward and inserted himself into the conversation, where before he’d been hanging back near the door.
“Francis,” Tris hissed.
He was ignored. “I want to try it,” Gallo said, boldly, chest thrust out, cradling his stump with his good hand. “I want to stay, and I want to fight, and the current prosthetic isn’t good enough. If…” He glanced toward Rose for confirmation. “Morgan?”
Rose nodded.
He nodded in return, and looked back to the captain. “If Morgan can help make it more efficient, then I want to let her try. My choice. I’ll sign whatever waivers I need to.”
Bedlam pressed back into her chair, and stared at him. Nodded toward Rose. “Did she put you up to this?”
Rose opened her mouth – and Lance closed a hand around her wrist, squeezing tight.
“No, ma’am,” Gallo said. “But if this can work, then I want to try.”
“We’ve seen how powerful conduits are,” Lance said. And rushed to add, “They’ve blown shit up and tried to kill us, yes. But. Maybe they – maybe she can do more with her power.”
Bedlam surveyed each of them in turn, and then flopped back in her chair with a defeated sigh. “I guess I’m outnumbered, then.”
Out in the hall, once the door was shut, Rose turned to Gallo. “Are you sure, Frankie?” She couldn’t help but notice Trist standing behind him, nearly hovering, his gaze concerned. Sweet Frankie, it only took losing an arm, didn’t it? she thought.
“I’m sure,” Gallo said, with a nod. She saw a tremble in his throat that was nerves, but his face was all bravery. He lifted what remained of his left arm, the sleeve of his jacket pinned up neatly. “I want to get back to real action, and really be useful on ops.”
Over his shoulder, Tris’s mouth twitched.
Rose said, “I’ll go and set it all up with Morgan. Do you know when the doctors will be ready?”
“This afternoon, I think.”
“Good. Text me with an exact time.”
When he turned away, Tris fell into step beside him; they didn’t touch, but Rose could see the pressure of the wanting to.
Rose turned, too–
And Lance blocked her path. After the night in the locker room, his kindness, yet another glimpse at his true caring, she couldn’t bring herself to snap at him. It felt like weakness when she simply said, “What?” her tone soft as ever.
He was as surprised as her, if his lifted brows were anything to go by. He lowered his voice, and leaned in close – too close, but she didn’t want to shrink away. “Are you sure about this?”
“You heard him. He wants to try, and I think it’s a good idea.”
“Do you really?” The tilt of his head sent a warning skittering across her skin, one she bulled past and ignored.
“Do you think I’m lying?”
“I think you hate conduits more than any of us,” he countered, smoothly.
She started to protest.
And he said, “But I also know you care about Gallo, and I don’t think you’d let him get hurt on purpose.”
She took a measured breath. “It’s nice to know you don’t think I’m a traitor to my own team.”
“I never said that.”
“Yes, you just did.”
He blinked first, during the stare-down that ensued. His lashes flickered, and his gaze dropped; it didn’t strike her as a submission, exactly, but more like a refusal to challenge her any further. “I’ll talk Bedlam into being more on board. You and Gallo can talk to – Morgan” – everyone still tripped on her name; the idea of a conduit being a person, in that way – “and set things up on her end.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes.”
Rose jerked a nod and spun away.
She didn’t mean to look back; didn’t want to, and had no reason to. But something pricked at her, when she reached the bend in the hall. Another tingle across her skin, like a warning, like moments ago.
Her steps faltered, and she pressed a hand to the wall, and she glanced back over her shoulder.
She’d expected Lance to be scrubbing at his hair the way he did when he was frustrated, staring off into the middle distance, his jaw tight.
His jaw was tight, but he was staring at her. Hands balled into fists at his sides, body tense all over, muscles pulling his jacket taut in the arms and chest.
She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help but read his expression. She’d seen it directed at her before – though Beck had hidden it so much more cleverly, at least at first; when he’d let it bleed through, it had been tinged with a predatory, animal intensity. Lance’s hunger, by contrast, was edged with a sharp sadness, desperation evident in every tense line of his body, in the way his throat jumped as he swallowed.
Rose whipped back around, and kept walking, heart knocking wildly at her ribs.
~*~
Three junior Knights bearing guns, stun batons, and with Wraith Grenades dangling like clusters of grapes from their belts, stood behind Morgan, all stricken and nervous; Rose swore she could smell their fear sweat. It was ridiculous overkill, but on order of Captain Bedlam. “The first time a conduit gets invited to walk down these hallways, do you think I’m gonna let her have free reign?” she’d asked with a condescending snort. Morgan wore heavy, silver-and-lead cuffs, anklets, and even a torc. The chains clanked and slithered every time she moved, and the image she presented was absurd: the slight, unthreatening body of a teen girl swallowed up by all that metal, gun barrels pointed at her back.
Rose felt a hot spike of anger on her behalf, a surge of aggression that surprised her. Lance hadn’t been wrong when he’d said she hated conduits.
But Morgan was different.
And as for Lance…well, she’d managed not to make eye contact with him today, so that was something. She didn’t count on the situation lasting, though.
They stood in the med bay, one curtained-off part of it, Gold Company, Captain Bedlam, Morgan, and her escort. Gallo was sitting upright on a bed, rotating his left arm, working the awkward, articulated fingers of
his new prosthetic: a matte black carbon fiber creation, its waterproofed panels lifted to allow Dr. Hodgkin access to the wiring inside.
“Hi, Morgan,” Gallo called, waving with his flesh hand, offering a smile.
Morgan smiled back, that faint, mild curving of her lips that left no one in any doubt that there was no longer a human at the helm inside her body – but which was pleasant and reassuring all the same. “Hello.”
Dr. Hodgkin said, “Well, if we’re gonna do it, let’s do it.” An effective tension-cutter.
Rose had the keys for the cuffs, and she started unlocking them – all of them, even the torc.
“You’re taking all of it off?” one of the guards asked with alarm.
“The lead dampens her energy flow,” Rose said, her tone matter-of-fact. She’d already discussed this with Bedlam, and she wasn’t going to justify anything to a green kid with an itchy trigger finger. “She’s going to be touching a man’s nervous system: might as well make sure she’s firing on all cylinders.”
Lance made a noise, a little grunt of muted emotion. Rose darted a glance toward him, before she could catch herself, and his gaze slid away before it could lock with hers. His jaw looked carved from granite this morning.
The torc came unlatched, and Rose handed it to one of the guards, along with the rest of the chains and cuffs.
Morgan touched her throat, briefly, and flicked another small smile. “Thank you,” she said, softly, just for Rose. Then, head lifted to a proud angle, her movements slow and deliberate – no sudden moves for the scared kids behind her – she headed toward the bed, and Gallo, and the doctor – and Tris.
He stood on the far side of the bed, on Gallo’s good side, hand resting at the edge of the pillow, right by Gallo’s head. He watched Morgan approach with stern trepidation, and he gripped the pillow tighter, knuckles paling. Worried, protective, ready to intervene, if he thought he needed to.
Gallo looked only hopeful, though. “What do you think?” he asked, brandishing his prosthetic. “Kinda has a Terminator vibe, don’t you think?”
“Pretty badass,” Rose agreed.
His smile slipped. “It’s slow, though. Dr. Hodgkin said it would get better, but…”
“You’ve only had it attached for a day,” the doctor said. To Morgan, he said, “We attached the nerve hookups last week, and it takes time for them all to heal and start working properly. This is really too soon to have the arm in place,” he said, with a disapproving glance toward Gallo, who only grinned up at him.
Morgan gestured to the arm. “May I?”
Gallo shifted it toward her readily. “Sure. That’s why we’re all here, right?”
Morgan didn’t answer. She took the opened, carbon fiber limb into her small, neat hands, and studied it a moment, rotating it by degrees. Then she stilled, fingertips pressed to the cool metal. Her eyes slipped closed. “The nerves are hooked up to electrodes: living, human flesh tied to machine.”
“The technology continues to advance,” Dr. Hodgkin said.
“It’s primitive,” Morgan said, tonelessly. “Crude.”
“Well,” Hodgkin started, affronted.
“Please,” Morgan said. To Gallo: “Hold very still.”
A faint, blue glow appeared between the gaps of her fingers. It swelled, pulsing out in little ripples.
Gallo gasped, quietly, but did hold still, as told.
“What’s happening?” Tris demanded. His hand shifted from the pillow to Gallo’s shoulder. “What’s she doing to him?” he barked at Rose, gaze bright and frantic.
“Let her work,” Rose shot back. She wouldn’t have been able to get away with that, ordinarily, but this wasn’t an ordinary moment.
From a silence punctuated only by nervous breathing, a low hum started up. It swelled as the blue glow swelled.
“What is that?” Gavin asked.
Gallo gritted his teeth, and swayed forward without moving the arm – encased in blue, now, buzzing. Sweat gleamed on his face, and Tris’s hand spasmed on his shoulder.
“Francis?” he asked, low, rough, so worried. It would have been sweet at another time. Now, it only told Rose that if something went wrong, they’d have a fight right here in the med bay.
“It’s okay,” Gallo said, panting. “It’s – it’s okay. I’m fine. Please don’t stop, Morgan.”
She didn’t – nor did she seem to hear. The glow got brighter – too bright to look at it, and Gallo’s new arm seemed to change. It blurred, and shifted –
And then Rose had to close her eyes against a sudden, bright flare of light. A hard pulse of energy pushed out through the room – like the night Beck went to hell; some breach in the mortal plane that rippled out like a blast wave; shoved her back into the wall – no, into someone. Someone tall, and hard, and strong. Lance, she knew, without looking. She recognized his arms, heavy and sturdy with muscle, as they went around her waist and held her upright.
The light faded, as fast as it had appeared.
Rose opened her eyes, the edges of her vision dancing with sparks, and found everyone else in the room regaining their balance in the wake of the energy pulse.
Morgan stood with her hands clasped together, looking serenely at her patient.
Tris gripped Gallo’s good arm with both hands, one at the elbow, one at the shoulder, fingers knotted in the fabric. He looked ready to drag him down off the bed and cover his body with his own, a human shield.
But there was no need.
Gallo held his prosthetic up in front of his face; gazed at it with open-mouthed wonder. The panels were closed – no, there were no panels, now, just smooth, now-shiny black metal, articulated at the wrist, and down the length of each finger. He closed his hand into a fist, and the response was immediate, and smooth. No whirring servos, no click of artificial joints working against one another. He opened his hand again, rolled his wrist, gave a thumbs up, and then shot the bird, and then laughed, delighted. The limb moved just as a human one would.
Rose stepped forward, and Lance’s arms fell away. “Can I?” she asked Gallo, making an aborted reach.
In answer, he took her hand in his. The metal was smooth – impossibly smooth, and warm as human skin.
“Oh, wow,” she murmured, drawing another laugh from him.
He ran his thumb across her knuckles, and said, “I can actually feel the texture of your skin.”
“Here.” Dr. Hodgkin pushed his way in and took Gallo’s forearm into a careful grip. “Is there any pain?”
“No.” Gallo’s smile was of the uncontainable sort. “There was a kind of sting, at first. Like when you electrocute yourself.”
Gavin snorted. “Oh, well, as long as it was only that.”
Hodgkin probed the prosthetic. “It’s warm.” He sounded more than a little awed himself.
“I strengthened the internal connections,” Morgan said, voice quavering with fatigue. She was gray-faced, now, Rose saw, swaying slightly. When she blinked, her eyelids were slow to reopen. “There aren’t wires any longer; the limb will react just as a real one. It’s warm. He can feel sensation as normal. It will be as strong as the other – perhaps stronger. There will be no need for maintenance.”
Hodgkin’s fingertips traced smooth metal, searching for panel openings no longer there.
“Morgan,” Gallo said, still smiling, his tone profoundly grateful. “Thank you. You have no idea.”
Morgan nodded, and her too-pale face twitched like she might have attempted a smile.
Rose put hands on her shoulders. “Here, let’s get you back to your room so you can lie down.”
“Thank you.”
“What about all this?” The guard holding the restraints thrust them toward Rose, the chains clinking together.
“She’s not allowed to roam the halls without security measures,” Captain Bedlam said, sternly.
“She can barely stand up,” Rose said, and urged her toward the door. “What can she do?”
“I’ll go wi
th them,” Lance said. He jerked a nod toward the three terrified guards. “Go back to your regular posts. I can handle this.”
Bedlam sighed, but didn’t argue further.
A path cleared to the door, and Rose managed to get Morgan out into the hall and headed in the right direction without any more obstacles. She was keenly aware of Lance’s quiet, steady tread behind them.
“The process was more complicated than I anticipated,” Morgan said as they walked. “Healing is not my specialty.” She tripped, and Rose gripped her arm to stabilize her–
Just as Lance appeared on her other side, and steadied her easily. “What is your specialty?” he asked. Curious, but not accusatory; not fearful.
“I’m a warrior. Like you.” She paused, and turned to regard him. “Well. Perhaps not like you. But a warrior.” Her knees gave out on her next step, and Lance and Rose all but carried her the last distance into the cell.
They eased her down onto her cot. “I’ll have someone bring you some food,” Rose said. “Anything in particular?”
“Something sweet, I think.” Morgan slumped back against the wall, lashes fluttering as she fought not to drop off to sleep. “The sugar helps.”
“Coming right up.”
Lance followed her out, sealing the two layers of doors behind them as they went.
Rose sighed as he fell into step beside her. “Where do you think she’s gonna go?”
“I don’t want to build bad habits,” he said, sternly. “She can’t think we’ll let our guard down, just because of this.”
Rose halted, and turned to him, unsurprised that he mirrored her – although with more posturing through the shoulders. He looked braced for a physical blow, and at another time, she would have laughed at him.
Now, though, she was weary. Ever since that day in the hall, when she’d looked back, when she’d finally gotten a good glimpse at just how much he wanted her, though God knew why…she’d found it hard to laugh about anything.
Night In A Waste Land (Hell Theory Book 2) Page 10
