admitted.
One thin hand splayed over the Daku tattoo on Vidal’s bony chest. “I can’t help focusing on the bigger picture since…”
He said no more, but Marin knew what he meant. He lifted a brow at Travers, and Neil sighed soundlessly. “You ought to be resting,” Marin told him.
“I am resting.” Vidal’s eyes closed.
“You shouldn’t be standing duty like that.” With his mug, Travers gestured back into the Ops room. “Too much adrenaline and testosterone, hormones on the rampage. You’re still too busted up to take much of this. Bill Grant was probably having kittens – you think he isn’t monitoring you?”
“Hormones?” The blue eyes opened to slits, and Vidal looked Travers up and down. “I know Bill’s monitoring me. I’m full of nano. I’m still getting shots. Grant won’t let me out of his sight for more than two hours. In fact, I’m probably overdue at the Infirmary.” But he did not move a muscle, and his lids dropped again. “What I need is to be up and moving.”
A thread of something very like pain wormed through Marin, but it had more to do with memory than what he actually saw of Vidal. In fact, several kilos of body weight had recently begun to flesh out the long, hard bones and Vidal’s face looked just a shade softer. When he walked, he was in full command of his limbs, and his mind was clear again. The pain Marin felt issued from his own memory, and he shied away from it like a skittish horse. He had buried any recollection of the Argos down deep, and did not care to be reminded of it.
He joined Travers at the viewports and frowned at Hellgate’s fractured sky. Neil’s arm went across his shoulders and they said nothing. Marin was conscious of deliberately resisting the urge to analyze the event. Vidal was right – they should be grateful for a little luck; but Travers was also right, any reliance on luck was a recipe for disaster.
“I’m envious,” Vidal said at last, making Travers turn back toward him. He gestured at the two of them and smiled faintly. “Damn, I wish I’d been there.”
“When we handfasted?” Travers guessed. “We told you, it wasn’t much. We just filed the documents and opened a bottle of ludicrously expensive champagne.”
“Which I couldn’t have drunk anyway,” Vidal said philosophically. “Still, I wish I’d been there.” He looked up into Travers’s eyes and the smile softened into a wistful expression, almost melancholy. A wealth of emotion hid behind that smile, but Vidal said nothing of it. Instead, he seemed to take himself by the scruff of the neck, give himself a shake. “And speaking of parties,” he went on, “you’re invited.”
“To what?” Travers took a swig of coffee.
With an enormous effort Vidal pushed himself up in the chair and got both elbows onto his knees. Marin thought he could almost hear the man’s spine crackling as he stretched. “The official Return from the Dead party. Jo and Ernst just got clearance from Bill. They can take a shot of booze and not keel right over. Me? Not a chance.”
“Does Bill know about the, uh, organ regeneration yet?” Travers asked delicately. “That is, if the nano can rebuild –?”
Vidal gave him a mocking look. “You mean, does he think the nano can save my liver, pancreas, spleen, kidneys?”
“That would be what I mean.” Travers considered Vidal critically for a moment. “You look like you’re starting to come around.”
“Not so green around the gills?” Vidal passed a hand over his buzzcut skull. “The last set of scans look promising. Bill tells me he’s optimistic. That’s the word he uses. The organs are repairing … I’m being a good boy, playing by house rules. So I suppose I’ll drink apple juice at the party, or maybe green tea.”
“Both of which are better for anyone’s liver than booze.” Marin was seeing the differences in Vidal, but the frailty was still shocking and he deliberately steered the conversation in the
One thin hand splayed over the Daku tattoo on Vidal’s bony chest. “I can’t help focusing on the bigger picture since…”
He said no more, but Marin knew what he meant. He lifted a brow at Travers, and Neil sighed soundlessly. “You ought to be resting,” Marin told him.
“I am resting.” Vidal’s eyes closed.
“You shouldn’t be standing duty like that.” With his mug, Travers gestured back into the Ops room. “Too much adrenaline and testosterone, hormones on the rampage. You’re still too busted up to take much of this. Bill Grant was probably having kittens – you think he isn’t monitoring you?”
“Hormones?” The blue eyes opened to slits, and Vidal looked Travers up and down. “I know Bill’s monitoring me. I’m full of nano. I’m still getting shots. Grant won’t let me out of his sight for more than two hours. In fact, I’m probably overdue at the Infirmary.” But he did not move a muscle, and his lids dropped again. “What I need is to be up and moving.”
A thread of something very like pain wormed through Marin, but it had more to do with memory than what he actually saw of Vidal. In fact, several kilos of body weight had recently begun to flesh out the long, hard bones and Vidal’s face looked just a shade softer. When he walked, he was in full command of his limbs, and his mind was clear again. The pain Marin felt issued from his own memory, and he shied away from it like a skittish horse. He had buried any recollection of the Argos down deep, and did not care to be reminded of it.
He joined Travers at the viewports and frowned at Hellgate’s fractured sky. Neil’s arm went across his shoulders and they said nothing. Marin was conscious of deliberately resisting the urge to analyze the event. Vidal was right – they should be grateful for a little luck; but Travers was also right, any reliance on luck was a recipe for disaster.
“I’m envious,” Vidal said at last, making Travers turn back toward him. He gestured at the two of them and smiled faintly. “Damn, I wish I’d been there.”
“When we handfasted?” Travers guessed. “We told you, it wasn’t much. We just filed the documents and opened a bottle of ludicrously expensive champagne.”
“Which I couldn’t have drunk anyway,” Vidal said philosophically. “Still, I wish I’d been there.” He looked up into Travers’s eyes and the smile softened into a wistful expression, almost melancholy. A wealth of emotion hid behind that smile, but Vidal said nothing of it. Instead, he seemed to take himself by the scruff of the neck, give himself a shake. “And speaking of parties,” he went on, “you’re invited.”
“To what?” Travers took a swig of coffee.
With an enormous effort Vidal pushed himself up in the chair and got both elbows onto his knees. Marin thought he could almost hear the man’s spine crackling as he stretched. “The official Return from the Dead party. Jo and Ernst just got clearance from Bill. They can take a shot of booze and not keel right over. Me? Not a chance.”
“Does Bill know about the, uh, organ regeneration yet?” Travers asked delicately. “That is, if the nano can rebuild –?”
Vidal gave him a mocking look. “You mean, does he think the nano can save my liver, pancreas, spleen, kidneys?”
“That would be what I mean.” Travers considered Vidal critically for a moment. “You look like you’re starting to come around.”
“Not so green around the gills?” Vidal passed a hand over his buzzcut skull. “The last set of scans look promising. Bill tells me he’s optimistic. That’s the word he uses. The organs are repairing … I’m being a good boy, playing by house rules. So I suppose I’ll drink apple juice at the party, or maybe green tea.”
“Both of which are better for anyone’s liver than booze.” Marin was seeing the differences in Vidal, but the frailty was still shocking and he deliberately steered the conversation in the
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