The Ninth (43 page)

No response.

“My life isn’t worth yours.  I didn’t ask you to do this for me.”

There was never a response.

“How can I live when I know it cost you everything?  I wish you hadn’t saved me.”

“Don’t say that.”  An impossibly weak voice spoke.

Cassandra held her breath.

“Ye of little faith.  I told you I wouldn’t leave you,” Brent said weakly, as his head turned to face her.

“Doctor!” Cassandra screamed.

Almost instantly the doctor and the Weaver descended on the bed.  The doctor checked the machines, studying the readouts closely.  The Weaver stared at Brent in disbelief.  Cassandra’s surprise quickly faded as relief took its place.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, strength returning to his voice.  “You all look like somebody died.”

“Almost.  How are you feeling?” Weaver Davis asked.

“A little stiff.  How long was I out?”

“Eleven days.”

“That’s it?  Felt like an eternity.”  Brent stretched.

“You seem to be taking this well,” Doctor Benedict said slowly.

“Cassandra is safe and sound and I’m not dead.  What more could I ask for?”  He shrugged.

“Do you remember what happened?” Weaver Davis asked hesitantly.

Brent looked at Cassandra’s chest and sat up.

“All of it.  Although, sitting here, it’s more like a nightmare than a memory.”  He moved to get out of bed.

“Hold on there.  I’d like to run a few more tests before you start running around again.”  Doctor Benedict gestured for him to lie down.

“And if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you some questions about what happened on the tower top.”  Davis took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“I’ll tell you what I remember, although I think I blacked . . .” Brent paused.

A surprised look flashed over his face, as if he just realized something.  His head spun and locked on Cassandra.  The speed of his movements startled her.  He stretched out his hand and started slowly moving it from side to side half way between them.  She watched the hand, perplexed.  His eyes widened.

“What’s wrong?  What do you see?” Cassandra asked.

“It’s not what I see, it’s what I
don’t
see.” Brent said.

“You mean . . .”

“It’s gone.”

Anguish washed over Cassandra like the tide.  She hadn’t taken his life from him, but she had taken something just as precious.

“Doctor, could I have a moment with the boy – alone,” Davis commanded as much as asked.

The doctor gave him a mildly hostile look before departing.  Davis watched the doctor carefully, waiting until he was completely sure she couldn’t overhear.

“I’m guessing you can’t sense the girl anymore,” Davis said, when the doctor was far enough away.

“I can’t see the outline anymore,” Brent said casually.

“It doesn’t seem to be bothering you,” Davis said, trying to hide his surprise.

“Well, not as much as Cassandra.  I don’t suppose it would help if I said it wasn’t your fault.”

“What?”  Cassandra was startled.

“It’s not your fault.”  Brent had a worried expression on his face.  “If I lost my abilities, it isn’t your fault.  Don’t hate yourself for something you didn’t do.”

Davis stared at the girl at Brent’s side.  She was filled with despair and anguish.  However, she didn’t betray those emotions in any visible way.  How had Brent known?

“Brent.  What do you think of the doctor?” Davis asked quickly.

“She’s a caring person.  Seems to like you.  Although I doubt she’d ever openly admit it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It was written all over her face.”

Davis turned his attention on the distant doctor.  A growing look of surprise spread over his face.

“Weaver Davis?”  A tall woman in gray tapped Davis on the shoulder.

Davis jumped off the bed.  He was clearly startled as he faced the maintenance worker.

“That’s me,” Davis said, regaining composure.

“The Administer sent me to find you.  He needs you right away.”

“Can it wait?”

“I’m afraid not.  He was very insistent you come as soon as I found you.”

“I’m afraid he’ll have to wait.  I have a very . . .”

“If you declined, he told me to tell you something. ‘It’s more important than Janet Hawkins.’  He said you’d understand.”

Davis was already bolting out of Medical.  The maintenance worker shrugged to the two troopers and returned to her duties.  Doctor Benedict noticed his mad sprint and quickly headed back to Brent and Cassandra.

“Where is he off to in such a hurry?” Doctor Benedict asked.

“The Administer wanted him for something.  Something important I think,” Cassandra answered.

“I see.  Well, you two are free to go, as far as I’m concerned.  The tests came up clean; just take it easy.”

“When did you . . .” Brent asked.

“The Weaver said he wanted some privacy; he didn’t say I couldn’t run my tests.  You didn’t think all this equipment was for looks did you?”

“Wait.  So we can just . . . leave?”  Cassandra’s brow furrowed.

“Of course.  There isn’t a medical reason to keep Brent any longer.  I’m sure Davis can track you down if he needs you.  Although, he does like his secrets.  Probably best if you two don’t say anything about the trial to anyone else.  Besides that, I don’t see any harm in releasing you.”  Doctor Benedict smiled blissfully and walked off.

Cassandra shot a glance at Brent.  He was deep in thought.  Noticing her gaze, he shrugged and smiled.  Helping him to his feet, she supported him as he stiffly walked along side her.

“Well that was odd,” she said.

“The Janet Hawkins thing?” he asked.

“Okay, that was weird, but I meant the doctor.  She’s been watching over you all this time, running tests constantly.  You wake up without warning and she just lets you leave?”

“At this point I’m dying to eat something.  I’ll accept anything if it gets me closer to the mess hall.”

As the pair made their way to the mess hall, Brent kept quiet.  Something was wrong, but he didn’t want to alarm Cassandra.  She had been right; his departure from Medical had been too easy.  Davis clearly had more questions to ask when he was conveniently called away.  A minute earlier, Dr. Benedict had wanted to keep him there for a plethora of tests.  For her to have completed every test, all in the space of their interrupted conversation with Davis, was hard to believe.  Then, to just let him go.  Brent had the impression it wasn’t in Dr. Benedict’s authority to release him.

However, whatever the deeper reason was, it would just have to wait.  He was famished.  A powerful, almost desperate, hunger worked away at him.  He felt as if it had been years since his last meal.  Finding a free table wasn’t hard.  The mess hall had an average number of troopers scattered in it.  After gently helping him take his seat, Cassandra ran off to grab the meals.  Brent’s muscles were stiff and his joints inflexible, probably the side effects of resting in a bed for so long.  When she returned, he ravaged his meal.  She watched quietly.  As he finished the last bite he felt worlds better.  Almost impossibly so, as if his hunger had been a figment of his imagination in the first place.  His arms moved more fluidly.  He realized she had just been watching him the whole time; she hadn’t even touched her meal.

“Something wrong?” Brent asked.

“How can you ask that so calmly?  I thought you were a vegetable.”

“Wonder if that makes me a cannibal.”

“What?”

“I just ate a half dozen carrots.”  He grinned.

“How can you make jokes?  Don’t you know what happened?”

“You where shot.  Was a horrible wound; so much blood.  I didn’t think you would make it.  I tried but there was nothing I could do.”

“Brent . . .”

“However, just when I thought I’d lost you, something happened.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know exactly.  I saw some sort of green light.”

“Was it an aura?  You know, the kind your Weaver abilities let you see?”

“I’m not sure.  It was quite painful and blinded me, but I think it saved you.”

Cassandra grew silent.  She was deep in thought.  Brent suddenly noticed that she wasn’t the only quiet one; the entire mess hall was almost silent.  All the normal commotion of eating and gossiping had gradually faded out.  Cassandra’s eyes widened.

“Long time no see,” a sickeningly familiar voice called out from behind him.  “Looks like your friend hasn’t tired of you yet.”

“James,” Brent said without turning.  “It’s been a while.  You’ve no doubt brought Philip with you.”

“Of course, but that’s not all.”

He felt a pit of dread grow in his stomach.  He got up from his seat and turned to face the voice.  Standing with James was a large group of troopers, all of them in the shiny black uniform of the Weaver.  They were gathered too closely to count accurately, but they looked to number more than a division.

“While you’ve been playing nice with the troopers, I’ve been making some friends of my own.”  James eyed Brent with seething hatred.  “Don’t think I’ve forgotten the last time we met here.”

“So you were the one to get rid of Davis and convince the doctor to release me early.”

“You flatter me.  No, I don’t have that kind of talent, but my new friends do.  They do share my opinion of you, though.  I wouldn’t count on anyone coming to your rescue.  Every single instructor has been distracted.  It will be hours before they realize they’ve been tricked.”

“So you are going to do me in?”

“Not personally, but that’s the idea.”

The Weavers grinned menacingly.  Brent heard the shuffle of troopers leaving their tables.  The mass of Weavers shifted around; a female Weaver stepped out from the mass.  She had a particularly nasty look on her face as she addressed him.

“Allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Angela.  They call me the black widow.  Care to guess why?”

“Well, since I don’t see a red hourglass on your butt, I’m guessing it has something to do with you being deadly.”

Brent heard an assembly of laughter behind him; even a few in the mass of Weavers let out a chuckle despite themselves.  The girl flushed red.  A hand rested on Brent’s right shoulder.

“Are you always this jovial when facing death, sir?” said the hand’s owner.

“Dante?” he asked in astonishment.  “What are you doing here?”

“We all heard something big was being planned.”  Owen took a position next to Dante.  “When they found out it was going down, the bookies spread the word.  When we found out you were the target, we naturally came running.”

“Of course I couldn’t let Owen come alone; he’d be lost without me.”  Hiroko winked as she stood to Brent’s left.

“Friends of yours?”  Cassandra asked, butting between Hiroko and Brent.

“We’re his squad from the exams.  And you are?” Owen asked.

“A squad mate from the FF,” Cassandra answered with pride.

“You ended up
there
, sir?” Dante asked in surprise.

He shrugged.  Angela was fuming with rage as she watched the miniature reunion.

“Sorry, where were we?” Brent asked mockingly.  “Oh, yes.  You were threatening me, right?”

“Act as tough as you want.  You know you are finished.”  Angela struggled to contain herself, it was obvious she was furious beyond words.  “There is no way you can stand against us all.  What is one Weaver against an army?”

“Wow, who woke up on the pissed side of the bunk this morning?” Marie shouted.

“Be nice.  I’m sure she just doesn’t know him like we do,” Liz called out to Angela as she hid behind Marie.  “You know, once you get to know Brent you might like him too.”

A massive horde of troopers started pouring into the mess hall from the various corridors.  As they passed by they bowed to Brent in the all too familiar fashion of the tripod.  Row upon row of troopers took their formation around Brent.  The Weavers might have an army, but he had an armada.  Some of the Weavers grew hesitant, taking a step back from the horde, while most remained firm.  Some Weavers even licked their lips in eager anticipation.

“So many, all lined up like cattle for the slaughter.”  Angela grinned to herself.  “Although I have to wonder.”

“Wonder what, spider lady?” Owen asked.

“What happens when you remove the spine from the dragon?  Without your hero will you still fight?”  Angela took a step toward Brent.

While Brent appreciated the gesture, the gathering was a bad idea.  In normal circumstances they’d overwhelm their foes and make short work of the smaller group.  These were not normal troopers though – these were Weavers.  The fact some eyed the horde with bloodlust terrified him.  A chill ran down his spine as he felt a cool fog creep over him.  Turning, he found Dante to be its source.  Brent felt a similar sensation coming from a small number of the other troopers standing behind him.  The sensation was a familiar one; he remembered it from the first time he had spotted Dante.  At the time he couldn’t understand it, but now he knew exactly what the feeling meant.