Melissa Scott - Shadow Man

Tatian looked back at the displays. “Want me to call a tech? They might be able to tell you something now.”

Warreven started to shake 3er head, stopped. “No—I don’t know. They’re supposed to be getting rid of this thing soon, I thought.” Ȝe touched the collar.

Before Tatian could say anything, a technician—not the man who had been watching the monitors—tapped on the door frame. Tatian moved aside, and the woman stepped past him with a murmured apology to lay her arm in the access cradle below the monitors. The multiple screens lit instantly, filled with data from the cuff and collar. Tatian thought he recognized a skull shape among the numbers and unfamiliar shapes, but the image rotated away before he could be sure. The technician nodded to herself and ran her free hand over the nearest shadowscreen before she detached herself from the cradle. The screens stayed lit, numbers shifting as Warreven breathed.

“Your neck’s looking much better, mir, you can take the collar off now.”

Warreven lifted both hands tentatively to the catch, and Tatian said, “Let me.” He worked the release mechanism, felt the machine go loose and flaccid in his hands, and unwound it and the cable from Warreven’s neck. Ȝe lifted 3er head, and 3er hair spilled down for an instant over his hands, as coarse and fluid as the land-spiders’ raw silk. Now that the collar was gone, the bandage covering Warreven’s left eye looked worse than before, blue-black synthiskin bulging over swollen skin and presumably a medipack.

The technician ran her hands over the shadowscreen again, studying the numbers in her multiple screens, then turned to Warreven. “Your neck will still be sore, but there’s no serious damage—nothing broken, and no muscles torn.”

“Wonderful,” Warreven said, without enthusiasm.

“What we’re worried about,” the technician went on, and laid a probe gently against the conductive bandage, “is the eye. The system would prefer to keep you here through tomorrow—”

“No,” Warreven said.

“—but we think you’ll rest better in familiar surroundings. And that’s the main thing: you need to rest your eyes as completely as possible, give that one a chance to heal on its own.” She removed the probe, looked back at the screen. “It should recover fully, but the bruising is severe, and another shock could do permanent harm. That’s why we have it packed so thoroughly, and we’ll want to check it again in twenty-six hours. We can prescribe painkillers, something to help you sleep, which is the best thing for you, or you can just take deepdream.”

“I’ll do that,” Warreven said. “How’s Haliday?”

The technician touched her screen again, and the displays went abruptly blank. She frowned to herself, laid her arm back in the cradle, the fingers of her free hand working on invisible controls, and a voice from the doorway said, “Raven? God and the spirits, you look awful.”

“Thanks,” Warreven said sourly.

“How’s Haliday?” The newcomer held out a bundle of clothes, and Warreven took it gratefully.

“She’s finding out.”

“Ah.” The newcomer looked at Tatian, tilted his head to one side. “I’m Malemayn, I don’t know if you remember.”

“I remember.” Tatian held out his hand, deliberately foreign, and Malemayn took it warily. He was a tall man, perhaps a finger’s width taller than Tatian himself, and his face was bonier than Tatian had remembered from their earlier brief meeting. Or maybe it was just the hour and the circumstances, he admitted. There weren’t many people who looked their best in a hospital setting.

“Tatian’s talked to his doctor,” Warreven said. “If Hal needs it.”

“Thank you,” Malemayn said.

“I’ve got the records now,” the technician said. “Sorry about the delay, I was waiting for the update.”

“How is 3e?” Warreven asked.

“She’s stable,” the technician said, “and still unconscious. The doctors have decided to keep her under until they can get the first repairs completed. There were a number of broken bones— femur, both bones in the right forearm, three ribs—but her skull is intact. The internal injuries are controlled and under treatment.” She freed herself from the contact. “I’d say she’s out of danger—she’ll have to spend a few weeks in Recovery, but she should be fine.”

Tatian heard Malemayn give a sigh of relief. Warreven said, “3e.”

“Æ?” The technician looked confused for a moment, then blushed. “I’m sorry.”

“Which is why,” Warreven said, looking at Malemayn, “we need an off-world doctor.”

The technician bridled, and Malemayn said quickly, “We’ll see—I’ll see to it, Raven, you’re in no shape to deal with this.”

“I mean it,” Warreven said, and reached for the bundle of clothes. Ȝe fumbled it open, dropping the shirt, and stooped to pick them up, wincing, before Tatian could do it for 3im. “Can you get me out of this thing?”

The technician, her face still with disapproval, moved to release the monitor cuff. Over her shoulder, Malemayn gave Tatian a speaking look; responding to that appeal, the off-worlder said,

“Look, she said you need to rest, Warreven. Let me take you home.”

“I can stay and look after Haliday,” Malemayn said. “I’ll get the doctor’s name from Mir Tatian, talk to the doctors here, see what—if anything, you don’t know anything’s wrong, Raven—see what needs to be done.”

Warreven turned 3er back to them all, shrugged off the torn tunic. The end of the bandage was just visible where it crossed 3er hipbone and vanished beneath the waistband of 3er trousers. There was blood on them, a little darker than the fabric itself. The technician made a clucking noise, half sympathy, half embarrassment, and reached for the clean shirt, deftly easing it up over 3er arms and shoulders. “Thanks,” Warreven said. “Sorry—”

The woman waved away the apology and turned back to her machines.

Tatian looked from 3im to Malemayn, frowning. He didn’t like the position the other advocate was putting him in, the tacit invitation to side with him against Warreven, to brush away Warreven’s real fears. “I think Warreven’s right, Mir Malemayn. No reflection on the staff here, but Mir Haliday is a herm, and our doctor has more experience treating them.”

Malemayn’s mouth twisted, but then he had himself under control. “I agree that a second opinion would be a good thing—”

“The doctor’s name is Jaans,” Warreven said. Ȝe jammed 3er feet into 3er shoes.

“Jaans Oddyny,” Tatian said, and reached into his pocket for the thin disk. “These are her codes.”

Malemayn took it, and Warreven said, “Give me your word, Mal, that you’ll call her.”

“I’ll call her,” Malemayn said grimly. “I promise, Warreven.”

Warreven sighed, and relaxed slightly. Tatian said, “Let me take you home. Can you walk, or do you want a floater?”

“I can walk,” Warreven began, and the technician shook her head.

“I’ve called for a wheelchair.”

The chair, when it came, was exactly what she had called it, a chair with wheels instead of legs. Tatian walked beside it to the entrance and bribed a waiting faitou to bring the rover around to the entrance. Warreven got 3imself into the passenger compartment without much help and leaned back cautiously against the padding.

“Do you know how to get to my place from here?”

“I’m assuming you can tell me,” Tatian answered, and Warreven nodded. Tatian looked sideways at 3im, thin face outlined in the light from the hospital entrance, and was privately less sure. Ȝe roused 3imself enough to give directions, however, and guided him competently enough through the maze of narrow streets that lay between the Terminus and Blind Point. Tatian wedged the rover up against the side of the building, leaving enough room for a shay to squeeze past, if its side wheels bumped up onto the opposite walkway, and came around the rover’s nose to help Warreven climb out of the low-slung compartment. The indigene was already out, leaning against the rover’s roof. Ȝe saw Tatian looking, straightened painfully, and led the way down the narrow passage between the buildings. Tatian followed closely, grateful for the first pale light of dawn, wondering if he should offer his hand, but Warreven seemed determined to make it on 3er own. Ȝe stumbled once, halfway up the stairs, and Tatian steadied 3im, bracing himself to offer whatever help the other would accept, but then 3e rallied and climbed the last half dozen steps without help. Ȝe fumbled with the key for a few moments, bending close to the lock, but then the door opened and Tatian followed 3im inside.