Starbridge (30 page)

"Automatic reminder to the occupant of this suit. You have ten minutes of air remaining. Ten minutes of air. You are advised to change breathing paks within the next five minutes."

Rob listened to Mahree's breathing over the radio, remembering the first day they'd met, the nearly instantaneous rapport between them; only she, of all the people aboard
Desiree,
had

190

matched his own eagerness for making the First Contact--not because doing so would make them famous or rich, but because she, too, had an abiding belief that contact with extraterrestrial beings would be a Good Thing for the human race.

And then his own belief had wavered and nearly toppled . . . along with Raoul's and the rest of the human crew--and, to hear Dhurrrkk' tell it, the Simiu had lost faith, too. Only Mahree and Dhurrrkk' had managed to retain their belief in each other's continuing goodwill. Was that because they were so young that they hadn't had as much opportunity to have their hopes and ideals trampled?

"Rob, how much air do you have left?"

The doctor sneaked a glance at his readout.
Seven minutes.
"Seventeen minutes," he lied glibly.
There's nothing she can do about it,
he rationalized, repressing a stab of guilt for lying to her,
and worrying will just make her use
air even faster. Our only chance is for Mahree to stay on her feet and locate
those oxygen concentrations.
"How about you?" he asked.

"Twenty-seven minutes," she replied. "How far are we from Dhurrrkk'? He must be almost out of air by now."

"We're close," Rob said, checking the location grid. "Here, you carry this."

So I won't drop it or damage it when I fall . . .

She took the instrument without question, and they pressed on. Rob watched her stride forward, forcing herself onward, though he knew she must be at least as tired as he was.
Not one complaint,
he thought.
Not even
the suggestion of a whimper. I wonder if she'd concede that this counts as
courage . . .

The doctor experienced a sudden rush of affection for Mahree; they'd grown to know each other so well during this strange odyssey. Comrades, friends ...

in some ways, Rob mused, Mahree had become one of the closest friends he'd ever had.
Too bad I won't get to see her all grown up . . . she'd have
been something, I'd bet.

"Automatic reminder to the occupant of this suit. You have five minutes of air remaining. Five minutes of air. If breathing pak is not replaced within four minutes, hypoxia will commence."

Oh, shut up,
he thought irritably.
There's not a goddamned thing I can do
about it.
Acting on a sudden impulse, he twisted his head around and deliberately tongued the two manual controls that would shut off his suit readouts. The air gauge and location grid went dark.
There, that's better.

191

Rob found himself thinking back over his relationships with women. He'd had liaisons with several while he'd been in school (and was proud that, after the affairs had ended, he'd remained friends with all of them)--but he'd never been
in love.

If there's anything I regret,
Rob thought, pushing himself after Mahree with dogged persistence, and realizing with a sinking feeling that he was beginning to gasp a little, and not from exertion,
it's that I never felt that way
about--

"There he is!" Mahree cried, as they caught sight of the moss-plant hollow and the phosphorescent growths. Dhurrrkk' lay sprawled among them, hands clutching his helmet.

"Is he breathing?" Rob asked, coming to a halt on the edge of the hollow.

His voice sounded strange in his own ears, tinny and far away.
But I'm not
far away, I'm right here,
he thought fuzzily. He tried to move forward, staggered a little, then recovered by bracing himself on a low outcrop of rock.

He let himself slide down until he was sitting atop it. All his limbs felt pleasantly heavy, and his mind was beginning to float.

Like drifting off to sleep after a few beers,
he realized detachedly.

Somewhere a portion of his brain was shrieking "hypoxia!" but the word meant nothing. His head nodded, and his eyelids began to close.

"He's still alive!" Mahree's voice reached him, and Rob had to think hard to remember whom she was talking about. "But he's barely breathing!"

He forced his eyes open, saw Mahree crouched on the ground beside Dhurrrkk'. I
should get up,
he thought.
Go help . . .

But his body would not obey him. Black spots danced before his eyes, and he closed them again because they were making him so terribly dizzy.

"Rob!"
screamed a voice over his radio. The doctor opened his eyes again as he felt himself being shaken violently. He saw Mahree bent over him, her own eyes wide and terrified behind the faceplate of her helmet. "Rob, how much air do you have left? Don't lie to me this time, goddammit!"

He tried to tell her that he had turned off his readouts, that it was okay, it didn't hurt, but his tongue moved sluggishly, and no sound emerged. All the black spots coalesced suddenly into an all-encompassing darkness that swooped toward him like a live creature, enfolding him past all struggle.

With a sigh, Rob gave in and let it carry him away.

192

* * *

"Oh, God!" Mahree sobbed, catching her companion as he tumbled over bonelessly. "God, help me! Somebody please, please help me, someone--

anyone!"

How much air does he have left?

She lowered Rob onto the moss-plants, beside Dhurrrkk', then turned him half over so she could read his breathing pak's outside gauge, located on his right hip.

The first thing she saw was the flash of the red "Low Oxygen Level--

Condition Critical" reading on the indicator as it pulsed steadily in the dimness, then before her eyes it changed.

ZERO
02, it read, in double-size letters.
APOXIA IMMINENT- CHANGE

PAK IMMEDIATELY.

Reflexively, then, Mahree looked up at her own display.

Eighteen minutes.

Eighteen long minutes . . .

I
cannot
sit here for eighteen minutes and watch them die, Mahree realized, feeling a calm that went beyond despair.
No way.

Moving as quickly and surely as if she'd rehearsed the procedure hundreds of times, she detached Rob's used breathing pak in a matter of moments, and just as quickly replaced it with her own.
I'm sorry, Rob,
she thought, hearing the sounds of his gasping breaths ease as his oxygen-starved lungs took in the new air.
This is a rotten thing to do to you, love, but I just don't
have the courage to let you go first. If we're both lucky, you won't even wake
up.

Then she sat back between the two prone figures, and, picking up Rob's gloved hand, held it in her lap between her own two.
I've got maybe ninety
seconds' worth of air left in my suit,
she thought, still calm.
How should I
spend them?

Her early religious training argued that she ought to pray, but the only prayer Mahree could remember at the moment was the one with the line about, "If I should die before I wake."

Talk about stating the obvious,
she thought, with grim amusement.
No, I
guess praying is out
...

As she sat there, waiting, Mahree found that she was fighting a growing urge to take off her helmet.

It's the hypoxia,
she thought dazedly.
It must be. The first thing to go is
judgment.

A conviction that if she would just remove her helmet, every

193

thing would be all right filled her mind. Mahree glanced around, seeing the phosphorescent growths gleaming weirdly in the sanguine light.
What's
happening to me? My mind feels as though it's not mine anymore!
By now she was panting, suffocating, her lungs laboring as they strained frantically to gasp in the last vestiges of oxygen her suit air contained.

Darkness crouched on the edges of her vision, an expanding, hungry darkness without end. But the darkness would go away if she would just get rid of her helmet . . .

Mahree blinked, dazed, and realized that, without being aware of her actions, she'd released the fastenings of her helmet, and now had both hands on its sides, preparatory to twisting it, then lifting it free of her shoulders. The urge to remove it was a driving imperative within her, now, a command that she had no strength left to fight.

What am I doing?
she wondered frantically as she twisted, breaking the helmet's seal. She was in agony now, her lungs stabbing fire as they rebelled against the surfeit of carbon dioxide.
Oxygen!
something deep within her mind was insisting.
There will be oxygen! Take the helmet off!

With a final, lung-tearing gasp, Mahree tore her helmet free, dropping it onto the moss-plants beside her. Cold, moist atmosphere smote her sweaty face like a blow. As blackness flowed across her vision, she inhaled deeply . . .

Slowly, the blackness began to recede.

Moments later, Mahree realized that she was crouched on hands and knees between Rob and Dhurrrkk', her head hanging down, and that she was
breathing.

Oxygen!
she thought, hardly able to believe this wasn't some dying hallucination.
Something here is emitting oxygen!

A strong sense of affirmation filled her, affirmation mixed with concern.

Mahree hastily groped for the fastenings of Dhurrrkk's helmet. Her gloved fingers couldn't grasp the alien shapes, and, with a sob of impatience, she unsealed her gloves, ripping them off. She fumbled again at the Simiu's helmet, and found, to her astonishment, that the seals had already been released. But the helmet was stuck; she had to use all her strength and leverage to twist it free. Finally it gave.

Seconds later, she had rolled the Simiu onto his back. She could not tell whether he was breathing, or whether his heart was still beating.

194

"Dhurrrkk'!" she yelled, then slapped his face.

When he did not respond, Mahree hastily scuttled around him until she was kneeling facing his feet, then she grasped his chin and pulled the alien's head toward her, tilting it back. His jaw opened, and she peered into his mouth to check the location of his tongue. It was hard to tell in the dimness, but she
thought
she now had a clear airway.

Cupping both hands hard around his muzzle to seal his mouth shut, Mahree inhaled a deep breath of the blessedly oxygenated air, then she bent, placed her own mouth tightly over his nostrils, and blew as hard as she could.

First she gave him four quick, hard breaths to deliver an initial jolt of oxygen, then she tried to settle into a regular rhythm. Mahree
thought
she felt the sense of resistance that meant she'd achieved a proper airway and seal, but she couldn't be sure.

Darkness gathered again at the fringes of her vision as she continued to suck in air, then blow it hard into the unmoving alien's nostrils.

Come on, Dhurrrkk'!
she thought,
I'll pass out if I keep this up much longer,
so come on!

As Mahree dizzily raised her head for the next gulp of air, she started and barely prevented herself from recoiling violently. A hand-span away from Dhurrrkk's head lay a spectrally glowing, faintly pulsing mass.

My God, it's the baby blanket! It
moved!

She missed half a beat, then resolutely inhaled again and blew. Her dizziness returned, but as she snatched a quick gasp for her own lungs, it abated.
That fungus
has
to be what's giving off the oxygen, she thought, with sudden certainty.
And right now it's giving off extra oxygen, as if it knows
how much I really need it! But that would mean that it's--

Beneath her fingers, Dhurrrkk's muzzle twitched.
Right! That's it!
she cheered him on, drawing in another lungful of oxygen- rich air. She blew again, and this time when she turned toward the blanket to gulp air, she unmistakably felt a faint tickle of warm exhalation against her cheek.

Another breath. This time she
saw
his exhaled breath steam in the cold, damp air. Another breath ... and yet another ...

Dhurrrkk' abruptly gasped, twitched, then gasped again.
He's breathing!

Mahree hovered, ready to resume the artificial respiration if

195

necessary, but the Simiu no longer needed her help. Soon Dhurrrkk's violet eyes opened and focused on her.

"Do not try to move, FriendDhurrrkk'. You passed out, but now that we have air, you will be fine," Mahree managed to say, though her abused throat rebelled more than usual at the Simiu syllables. "Just lie still, please. I must check on Rob."

She turned around to regard the doctor, then glanced at the breathing pak's external gauge.
Fourteen minutes.
She shook her head and looked again.

Fourteen minutes? I don't believe it! All that, and it's only been
four
minutes?

Hastily, she pulled off his helmet, then disconnected the airflow from the breathing pak to conserve the remainder. Rob did not stir. Mahree pulled up an eyelid, then touched her fingers to the pulse in his throat.
He's okay . . .

just out cold.

She smiled as an idea occurred to her, then, after making sure Dhurrrkk'

wasn't watching, she bent over and kissed her unconscious companion lingeringly on the mouth. "Call it my fee for saving your ass, you oh-so-noble bastard," she muttered, remembering how he'd lied to her about how much air he had left.

Then, grasping his limp form beneath the arms, she dragged him over the moss-plants until he, too, was lying with his face close to the phosphorescent growth. "Here, Blanket," she gasped, "you can give
him
some oxygen, too. Please."

Then she sat down, gazing wonderingly at the fungus-creature. Their savior.