Serpent's Gift (30 page)

He didn't answer until she had pushed back her hair and looked at him. The artificial glare lightened his eyes, turning them silver-blue. "I deserve no accolades for courage," he said quietly. "I acted strictly on instinct. I never thought about what I was doing."

"And I suppose it was your instinct for self-preservation that made you shove me in here first?" Hing asked tartly. She glared at him, suddenly angry--

though she wasn't sure exactly why. "Dammit, Serge, I'm trying to thank you, and you're just shrugging it off! You were brave--a real hero, and I--I--" she stammered to a halt, realizing suddenly that their faces were only a handbreadth apart. She sucked in a breath of cold air, feeling her heart race.

He was smiling faintly. "In Rob's old movies, the heroine does not rely solely on
words
to thank the hero for saving her life," ¦ he told her softly. "If you are truly grateful, you might consider reviving that trad--"

Hing leaned forward and stopped him in midword.

It had been so long since they'd kissed! The feel of his mouth was both familiar and strange, comforting and exciting--like taking a bow before a cheering audience, or sipping fine champagne on opening night. It was like coming home after a long and unhappy exile.

Hampered by their awkward positions--
I'm glad no one can see us, necking
in a leaky airlock, they'd die laughing--
Hing] pulled back after the first moment, running her fingers through!

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his hair, stroking it back as she murmured endearments. "I've got to figure out another way to go about this," she muttered, kissing his left earlobe, her lips brushing the sapphire, her gift. "If I don't, I'm going to end up with a serious crick in my neck. Maybe I could slide underneath you," she said, half-serious.

"If you do, we will both get warm," he warned, smiling, then he turned his head to nuzzle her fingers as they caressed his jaw. His tongue felt hot in the chill air as he ran it along the underside of her wrist, where the pulse was.

"Very warm, that I promise you."

In the end she compromised by ducking beneath his arm and leaning back against the wall. Serge could not hold her, for obvious reasons, but she held him tightly enough for both of them. The feel of his skin, and the muscles beneath it made Hing's head spin. Or was it the thin air? She couldn't tell, and at the moment she didn't care.

Finally, it was Serge who pulled away, gasping. "Hing--Hing,
stop!"

She tilted her head, giving him a lascivious smile. 'Too much for you, eh?"

she murmured. "Just wait, you haven't seen--"

"Listen!"
he commanded.

She obeyed, then immediately began wriggling out from under him.
The
intercom!

"Attention, Dock Five airlock," a female voice was repeating. "Is anyone there? Answer me, please! Dammit"--the voice grew fainter, as though the speaker had turned her head--"I've got an alarm from that lock here on my board, but there's no one there."

Hing slammed her hand against the switch. "Oh, yes there is!" she cried.

"We're here! We're alive! Get us out of here, please!"

"Thank God!" the woman exclaimed. "Who are you? Please identify yourself."

"I'm Hing Own, and I'm trapped here with Serge LaRoche. We're both from the Academy," Hing said in a rush. "Can you get us out of here?"

"We're working on it. I'll alert the emergency crew in your sector," she promised. "It shouldn't be too long. Just hang on."

"We will," Hing vowed, "but, listen, if you can't get us out right at this moment, can you at least repressurize this lock? We lost partial pressure following the crash. We're freezing and our air isn't too good!"

"We'll work on it," the security tech said. "But systems in that area are pretty scrambled."

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Hing grimaced and swore under her breath. "I understand," she said aloud.

"Can you tell me whether the pressure is normal on the station side of the lock? Because if it is, we can just open the station-side door."
If it's not
jammed,
she thought, remembering the way they'd been bounced around.

"Negative on that!" the woman ordered sharply. "It may be okay, but we can't be sure. There are minor leaks all over. We have crews out in pressure suits checking, so we'll soon know. There is debris blocking the main entrance to Dock Five, but security is working on clearing it. Are you still losing pressure?"

"No, at least we don't think so. If we are, it's so slight we can't notice it."

"How bad is your air?"

"We're breathing okay, but it's getting pretty stuffy," Hing allowed.

"Do you have a first-aid kit?"

Hing glanced down at the medical supplies scattered all over the floor.

"Yes."

"Good. You should have a temporary oxy-mask in the first-aid kit. Do you see it?"

Hing looked, then pounced. "Yes!"

"Trigger it. It has a fifteen-minute supply of pure oxygen. Hopefully, by the time it's exhausted, we'll be able to give you the all-clear to open the door."

Gingerly, Hing triggered the oxygen mask, heard the faint sigh of the gas as it was slowly released. "It's working!" she announced, immensely relieved.

"Now if it just w-wasn't so c-cold," she said, her teeth beginning to chatter despite all her efforts at control.

"Check the aid kit again," the woman said. "There should be a thermal sheet in it."

"Eureka!" Hing exclaimed a moment later as she unwrapped the small packet that unfolded into a gauzy sheet large enough to cover an adult.

Quickly she draped it over Serge, then pressed the corner to activate the heat. "Whoever you are," she told her unknown savior on the other side of the intercom, "thanks a million. That'll help a lot."

"Think nothing of it," the woman said. "By the way, my name is Ruth, and Esteemed Ssoriszs from your school is here with me. He was the one who insisted that we look for you, because he was sure you'd managed to make it to safety before the crash."

"Tell him thanks," Hing said, using the Mizari word that meant the highest degree of gratitude. "Uh, speaking of the crash, how

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bad was it?" she asked, feeling a pang of guilt. She'd been so busy worrying about herself and Serge that she hadn't spared a thought for Ssoriszs, the station, or the
Night Storm.

"Not good," the woman said grimly. "But I guess it could have been worse.

Only one confirmed death here on the station, plus fourteen injured--but everyone aboard the Mizari ship is now confirmed dead."

"Dr. Andreiovitch and Esteemed Rizzshor .. ." Serge murmured sadly, his expression bleak. "What a terrible loss!"

"Thanks for giving me the news, Ruth," Hing said, feeling tears well up.

"You're right, it could have been worse. Serge and I could have been killed, too."

"You're very lucky to be alive," the tech agreed. "Count your blessings."

Hing flashed Serge a watery smile. "Oh, I am," she said softly. "I am . . ."

"Listen, Hing, I've got some more alarms to attend to. I'll call you the moment the security team signals that you can open your door," Ruth said. "Call me if you need me, okay?"

After the technician switched off, Hing went back over to Serge, knelt, then lifted the thermal sheeting and crawled under it. Sliding her arms around him, she pressed herself against his back, exulting in the warmth that began creeping over her. Recalling survival training that advised skin-to-skin contact to combat hypothermia, she unsealed the front of her uniform, telling herself that it was standard procedure under the circumstances . .. but as she settled against him again, there was no doubt that his skin felt very good against her own.

"Are you all right?" she asked quietly after a few minutes. "You must be getting awfully stiff." A moment later she realized her double entendre, and hastily amended, "I mean, are you sure you don't want me to take over holding on to that seal? I could wrap a fold of the sheet around me to protect my hands."

"I am fine," he replied slowly, his accent suddenly very noticeable as he searched for words. "More than fine. Hing. ..
cherie
... it is a terrible thing to say, under the circumstances, but I truthfully cannot remember having been this happy for a very long time. You know how long."

"Serge . . ."She bit her lip, searching for words. "We can't afford to rush this. It may be just a fluke because of shared danger and almost dying. You know--

love in the trenches." She took a deep breath. "On one hand it feels so good to be near you again... but... I can't forget the way we hurt each other. I'm scared."

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"I bear much of the responsibility for that hurt," he said. Hing wondered what his expression was, what his eyes held. But she didn't have the strength to raise her head and look. All her energy seemed to have vanished now that rescue was on the way. She could only lean her forehead against Serge's shoulder and wait. "And ...
cherie
... I have regretted the things I said every day-- sometimes many times a day. I am sorry, a million times over."

"I pushed you too hard, Serge." It was the truth, she knew that now. "That's one of my biggest faults; I start thinking I can direct the people in my life the way I do my actors on the stage, then I get mad if they won't let me push them around."

"I will not let you push me around," Serge promised. "But much of what you said to me that night was true, I know that now. I held you away from me, kept you out of my heart, the way I did everyone else, because I am angry inside. With Rob's help, I am learning to change that."

"I know. I can tell."

"Hing ... you do not want to rush, either physically or emotionally,
je
comprends,
and that is okay. I am learning also to be patient. But--is it possible--would you be willing to try again? Perhaps .. . someday .. . wear that ring I gave you again?" He spoke hoarsely, with many pauses, as though his throat were] tight.

The silence between them lasted for seven heartbeats--Hing knew, because she could feel his heart thudding against her palm. Then, tenderly, she kissed the top of his shoulder. "No promises, no rush," she said quietly, earnestly. "But yes ... I want to try again."

"Bien,"
he said quietly, then they lapsed again into silence, and in silence waited.

As the minutes went by, Hing was vaguely surprised to find herself growing drowsy, and for a moment she worried that it might be hypoxia setting in, but if it was, there was nothing she could do about it. Her eyelids drooped, then closed completely, and her breathing grew regular as she drifted ... drifted...

An unmistakable knock thudded against the airlock door! Two more

followed.

Hing sat bolt upright, then leaped to her feet. "Oh, God, they're here! They've found us!" she cried. It was only now, on the eve of rescue, that she realized how very frightened she'd been. Quickly she rapped back on the door, knowing that the rescue team was probably wearing pressure suits and wouldn't be able

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to hear her voice even if she yelled. But they'd be able to feel the vibrations.

"Hing!" Serge had to shout to get her attention.

She turned back to him. "What?"

"Perhaps you should fasten your uniform," he said, eyeing her with a smile.

"Before you unseal the door. Not that you don't look lovely, but..."

"Smartass," Hing said, hastily resealing her garment. Then, seeing that he hadn't moved, she reached out her hand to him. "Come on, as soon as they signal it's safe, we can get out of here."

Serge's grin vanished; he looked away. "I am afraid that I can't move my fingers to let go," he said tonelessly. "I have not been able to move them for some time now."

"Oh, no!" She stared in distress at his fingers as they gripped the jumpsuit smeared with the sealant. "Are they just stuck, like with glue?" she asked, knowing they weren't.

He shook his head. "No. The artificial neural relays must be frozen. The wrists and fingers will not move, and I dare not pull the jumpsuit away--that might widen the crack in the wall. Tell them they will have to cut me free."

Hing hammered on the door in sudden frustration, angry and worried.
What if
Serge's hands are ruined? It took him a year to learn to use the new ones!

"Hey, is it safe?" she yelled. "My friend is hurt! Can I open the door?"

She pressed her ear to the other side, and heard three knocks, then suddenly Ruth's voice erupted over the intercom. "They're giving me the all-clear, Hing! You can open the door!"

Trembling, Hing pressed the control to equalize pressure, then open the door. Slowly the portal slid aside, revealing three people in pressure suits.

Hing stumbled out, feeling hot tears against her cold face, wondering why she was crying
now,
but too relieved to be embarrassed. One of the rescuers slung a blanket around her shoulders, then half supported her as she haltingly explained Serge's problem.

Minutes later they half carried Serge out. He was swaying, plainly too weak to stand by himself, and both hands were raised stiffly before him, fingers crooked, still clenched on the rags of his cut-away jumpsuit. As he saw Hing, he gave her what was meant to be a reassuring grin, but looked more like a grimace of pain. His rescuers quickly made him lie down on an anti-grav Stretcher, then covered him with a blanket. Hing insisted that she could walk, so she clutched her blanket
around
herself and stumbled in the stretcher's wake. The student

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stared, horrified, as they passed a huge plas-steel viewport that looked out onto Docks Five and Six. StarBridge Station appeared to have been bombarded--rips and holes marred its shining exterior, and naked girders and tangles of debris clustered where the two docking tubes had extended.

"God, this is terrible!" she muttered.

"It sure is," the man who kept one hand beneath her elbow said. He still wore his pressure suit, but it was equipped with special pickups and speakers so he could hear and converse with those not wearing a suit.

"Damage will run to the millions, I'm betting. We're lucky more people didn't die."