Starbridge (18 page)

The Simiu did not respond to the apology--they ignored both humans completely, working around them as though they were inanimate objects placed in their path. Working with smooth

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efficiency, one slid the chessboard off the hole, even as the other slid the plate over it. The Simiu then propped the board against the wall of the tunnel, and Drummond picked it up.

"Please, how is the person who was injured?" Ray begged. "We are so sorry--"

The Assistant Engineer broke off as the two Simiu deliberately turned their backs on him and began working on the patch.

"Leave them alone, Paul," Raoul ordered bitterly. "You two come on. It's no use."

"C'mon, Mahree," Yoki said, helping her sit up on the infirmary examining couch. "Let's get you out of those messy clothes, honey. Rob'll be here in a moment."

Mahree winced as she sat up enough for the Cargo Chief to pull the stained garments off. Yoki gave her a concerned glance. "Does your head still hurt?"

"Like someone's swinging a hammer inside it," Mahree said, lying back down with a sigh. "And Simon isn't helping."

Both of them could hear the Bio Officer where he was confined under guard in the quarantine section of the infirmary. Viorst was alternating between fits of sobbing, wailing that he was sorry, and hysterical shrieks that the Simiu were coming after him.

Yoki's little rosebud mouth thinned. "If Rob doesn't give him something to shut him up, I'm going to go in there and
kill
that sonofabitch."

Mahree stared at her, startled at her vehemence. "But. . . but . . . Yoki, he's not responsible for his actions!" she protested. "He sounds like he's gone completely round the bend."

"So?" the Cargo Chief retorted, wringing out a towel in cold water and gently wiping her patient's face. "So what if he's cleared his jets? It's his fault Jerry's dead and we're in a terrible mess--he ought to pay for what he's done. But because he's conveniently gone crazy, he never will. Screw him!"

Mahree didn't know what to say; this was a new Yoki, one she had never seen before, implacable and hard. "Here, honey, slip this on," the Cargo Chief said, holding out a clean patient's gown.

A few minutes later, Simon's howls abruptly ceased.

When Rob Gable finally walked into the room, he had the

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look of a man who has seen his most cherished dream destroyed before his eyes, but as he came toward Mahree he mustered a reassuring smile.

"Hey ..." he said gently. "How you feeling, hero?"

Taking her hand, he held it in both of his, his fingers sliding down to her wrist to feel her pulse.

"I'm fine," Mahree said, trying to pull her hand away. "All I need is some rest, Rob. You don't have to--"

"Let me be the judge of that, okay?" he said absently, his gaze intent on her face. He ran his fingers gently over her head, sliding them through her hair.

"Hmmmmm."

"I'm fine!" Mahree protested as he began passing a portable bioscanner quickly over her head and torso. She colored deeply as his fingers brushed against one breast, but the doctor didn't notice--he was too intent on shining a light in her eyes so he could check her pupil response. "Tell me when you see two fingers," he ordered, holding up his forefinger, then moving it toward her nose.

"Now," Mahree said immediately. "I told you, I'm fine."

"Bullshit. You're seeing double," he corrected her without rancor. "Are your ears ringing?"

"No. Well ... just a little. Honest, I'm
okay."

"Breathe," he said, ignoring her, moving the scanner slowly over her chest and back again. "Deeply, now."

Mahree took a couple of breaths, then began to cough weakly. The pain in her head made her whimper despite herself.

"Hmmmmmm . . ." He checked her pupil response again. "You're a very lucky kid. By rights, your brain ought to be scrambled, but you've only got a touch of concussion." He gazed at her intently. "Bet you've got one hell of a headache, don't you?"

"Yes."

"I want you to rest here in the infirmary for the next couple of days, where I can keep an eye on you." He turned away to rummage in a cabinet. "Here, this should help the pain."

Mahree meekly downed the medication, then took a drink from the cup Yoki held out. Swallowing triggered another coughing spell.

"You're coughing because of the decompression," Rob explained.

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"Can I have some more water?" She sipped gratefully. "Thanks. How's my aunt?"

"Resting comfortably. Raoul is with her. She'll be fine in a few weeks, after a couple of hours a day on the regen unit."

"And Simon?" Mahree asked.

Rob shook his head grimly. "Sedated. Raoul's ordered me to freeze him as soon as possible. He appears to be experiencing a ful -blown psychotic episode. He's paranoid and delusional."

"That asshole's wrecked
everything,"
Yoki said viciously. "Too bad he didn't shoot himself. We're going to go down in history as the people who screwed up the First Contact, and it's all Viorst's fault. Damn him to bloody hell."

Yoki's voice was so cold and flat that Mahree knew she meant the curse literally.

The doctor sank down onto the edge of Mahree's couch, his whole body sagging. "Take it easy, Yoki. Simon's not responsible for his actions." He ran his hands through his hair, biting his lip.
"Shit.
It's really
my
fault. I should've advised Raoul to order Simon into hibernation before we ever entered this system."

Mahree's heart went out to him. "You couldn't have known he'd react like that, Rob."

"I should never have taken the chance," the doctor insisted angrily. He clenched his fists impotently. "But I could've
sworn
he was getting better!

Adjusting! I never
dreamed
he'd react the way he did!"

"What's done is done," Yoki snapped. "Sitting here beating yourself up about it isn't very useful. Pull yourself together."

Mahree glanced up at the older woman, shocked by her brusque tone of voice.
How can she talk to him like that if she loves him?
She realized suddenly that Yoki was
not
in love with Rob Gable, and never had been.

"Nobody could've predicted this, Rob," she said, touching his arm comfortingly.

He shook his head fiercely, not looking up. "That's not the point, Mahree.

The point is that I
knew
Simon was xenophobic and had paranoid tendencies, and I should
never
have allowed him anywhere near the Simiu.

I'm to blame for this ... for Jerry's death, too."

Yoki sighed, and made an effort to be conciliatory. She put a hand on her lover's shoulder and gave it a slight shake. "C'mon, you're being too hard on yourself, honey. You told me yourself you haven't had any actual psychiatric counseling experience

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outside what you did in school. You're young. You made a mistake. It's something we've all done."

Rob jerked his head up as though he'd been slapped: "What the
hell
does my age have to do with it?" he demanded, furious.

Yoki took a step back, her mouth tightening. "Sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

"Yeah, you did," Rob said, his voice deadly quiet. "And, damn it, you're probably right. But you shouldn't have said it."

The Cargo Chief shook her head, her eyes no longer meeting his.

"Uhhhhh . . . listen, we're all upset, right now. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

Rob said nothing as she walked out.
Whatever was between them,
Mahree thought,
it's over now.
She supposed she ought to feel selfishly glad, but she didn't. She just felt numb.

After a moment, the doctor drew a deep, shuddering breath, then raised his head. "Excuse me," he muttered. "I ... uh ... I'd better . . . check on Joan."

Mahree put a hand on his arm, holding him back. "You okay?"

He swallowed. "Yeah. I'm ... sorry. You shouldn't have had to witness that.

Yoki and I ... well ..." He shrugged. "The worst thing about it is that she's right. I
am
young, and I didn't have the experience to make a judgment in this case. I should've admitted that to myself, and to Raoul, and insisted Simon be frozen, just in case."

Tears were glistening in his eyes as he finished, "And now, because of me, Jerry is
dead.
This thing with the Simiu, it's all
ruined.
I'll never forgive myself." He gulped, blinking, and a tear slid down his cheek. He wiped it away, embarrassed and angry. "Excuse me."

"Rob," Mahree said gently, through her own tears, "you
have
to forgive yourself. You made a mistake, yes. But Jerry's death was an accident. And Yoki may not have expressed herself very tactfully, but she was right. You've got to accept what happened, you've got to get past this, or you're not going to be any good at all to us in the coming days. And we're going to
need
you, we're going to need you badly. Understand?"

He nodded. The motion caused another tear to fall.

Mahree reached over and picked up his hand. The clenched fingers slowly relaxed, then curved until they gripped hers tightly. "I thought I was so smart," he said bitterly. "I thought I could

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cure Simon, but I couldn't, any more than I could cure so many of those people during the Plague."

He gave a short, ugly-sounding laugh. "So much for the Boy Wonder. Talk about hubris . . ." He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, still clinging to Mahree's hand like a lifeline. They sat there silently for a while, then Rob turned to look at her. "You know, that was the bravest thing I ever saw, what you did today."

She gave him a shaky smile as she brushed her own tears away. "I didn't think about what I was doing," she said. "I believe it only counts as courage if you have time to think about it before you do it."

He looked down at their clasped hands. "Bullshit. That Simiu owes you his life. And I owe you something, too. If you hadn't been here just now, I--" He shook his head and took a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't know what I would have done."

Mahree gripped his hand, hard. "Bullshit," she said, deliberately copying his own words. "You don't owe me anything.
We're friends,
and friends help each other out, don't they?"

Rob nodded, then reached over to hug her. Mahree rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes with a sigh.

After a moment he stirred, then gently let her go. "I'd better check on Joan, and I've got to prep Simon for hibernation. I'll be right next door, so if you need me, buzz me, okay?"

She nodded. "Okay."

"It's been over a week," Raoul Lamont said heavily, "and they still aren't speaking to us. I'm beginning to wonder whether we shouldn't just disengage our moorings and get the hell out of here."

Rob sighed. He'd been forced to wonder the same thing as the days crept by.
Dammit, there must be something we can do. Some way to make them
listen to us.

He glanced around the circle, seeing the strained faces of Joan, Paul, and Mahree as they all sat huddled around the largest table in the galley. "Maybe Paul and I should make another attempt to talk to the guards at their airlock,"

the doctor suggested. "If we could only speak to Rhrrrkkeet' personally--"

"You've tried that twice, Rob," Joan Atwood pointed out. "Those guards aren't wearing voders, so you can't ask to see anyone." The First Mate's face still showed the marks of pain and stress, and her arm was in a repressor-field sling. "They've

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cut us off, face it. We definitely ought to get out of here while the getting's good."

Rob sighed and slumped down on the base of his spine, turning his hands palm upward in a gesture of surrender. "I don't agree, but, frankly, I'm out of suggestions as to what we
should
do."

"I think we ought to wait a few more days," Paul Monteleon said. "They'll
have
to talk to us again, even if it's only just to tell us to beat it." In the overhead light, his face bore new lines, and his faded red hair looked even thinner. The star sapphire he wore in his left earlobe winked dully.

"Besides," he continued, "Mahree's working on a message we can transmit to their communications center at the station, and it ought to be completed soon."

"What does it say?" Joan demanded.

Paul shrugged. "Ask Mahree."

All eyes fastened on the girl, who sat twisting her hands together in her lap, obviously uncomfortable. "I ... uh ... it's complicated," she said slowly.

"Getting the right wording is pretty delicate. It... it's kind of a cross between an explanation and an apology. I don't want to discuss it until it's finished."

"Do you think we might be able to transmit it tomorrow?" Raoul asked.

She shook her head, looking trapped. "I ... well, for various reasons, I won't be able to send it unless I can speak to my friend Dhurrrkk', first. Maybe they'd let
me
in if I went."

Lamont shook his head again. "No. I don't think that would be wise. I think we'll just have to wait until
they
make the next move." He narrowed his eyes as he took in her dark-shadowed eyes, her fined-down features. "You don't look well,
cherie."
He turned to Rob. "You sure she's recovered?"

The doctor nodded. "Physically, at least. I released her from the infirmary day before yesterday, so she could attend Jerry's memorial service. She's under orders to take it easy for a while," he added, then looked around the table at his comrades. "Truth to tell, none of us is looking real perky."

Raoul shrugged. "Yeah. Well, I think we should--"

"Captain!" Azam Quitubi interrupted from the door of the galley. "The First Ambassador is in our airlock, requesting to be allowed to speak to you."

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Raoul's bushy eyebrows rose nearly to his receding hairline. "She
is?
Well, bring her to the galley immediately!"

Moments later, the Simiu official entered, attended by two other aliens Rob thought he recognized. Raoul hastily knelt so that he was eye-to-eye with the First Ambassador, then made the greeting gesture, as did all the other humans present. "Honored Rhrrrkkeet'," the Captain said, and paused, obviously at a loss.