Reede’s gaze went straight to the locked laboratory door. The seals were still red. He raked the room with his eyes, as if he was reassuring himself that they were finally alone. He sat down on a couch covered with brilliant, flame-patterned cloth, looking like a refugee, saying nothing. Staring at the door. One fist was still clenched over something.
Ananke came back into the room, carrying a can of skingraft in his good hand. “I found this, Kedalion—” he said, and tossed it out.
Kedalion caught it, awkwardly, shook his head as he looked at it. “You put some on already?”
“Yeah.”
“Wash it off, or you won’t have a scar. The whole point of it is that they want you marked. Unless you want to go through that again—”
Ananke looked sick, and shook his head. He started away down the hall toward the bathroom. “You did good,” Kedalion said. Ananke glanced back, and smiled feebly. Kedalion followed him; he took a leak while Ananke gingerly rubbed the bandage off his hand, keeping his eyes averted. Kedalion checked through the supplies in the well-stocked medical cabinet, wondering morbidly if someone had put them there as a precautionary measure, in case Reede tried something drastic. He pushed the thought out of his mind, and took out a tube of ointment. “Here,” he said to Ananke. “This’ll kill the pain.”
Ananke smeared some of it across his palm, wincing; handed the tube back to Kedalion. Kedalion took it with him into the other room, where Reede still sat staring at the door. Kedalion spread ointment on his own palm in full view of Reede, sighed as the pain went out like a smothered fire. Then he approached Reede, offering him the ointment at arm’s length. “Boss—?”
Reede looked up at him, down again at his own blistered palm. He closed his fingers over the burn deliberately, and tightened them into a fist. “No,” he whispered.
Kedalion moved away from him, swallowing. “Come on,” he said quietly to Ananke. “Let’s eat.” He went into the kitchen, where they could be private enough to talk and still see Reede. Ananke sat on the counter, looking out the doorway, while Kedalion queried the food systems and put in an order.
“What happened, Kedalion?” Ananke said at last. “Gods, I’ve never seen him like that. What do you think they did to him—?” He touched his own bitten lip, and flinched.
Kedalion shook his head. “I don’t know,” he murmured, feeling fear knot up his stomach again. “I don’t think I want to. But TerFauw’s right … we’ve got to watch him like cats.”
“He needs more than that,” Ananke said, meeting his eyes.
Kedalion nodded, feeling a frown settle between his brows. “I know,” he muttered. “I know that. But, damn it, I don’t know what to do—” He grimaced, filled with a sense of helplessness as he admitted the truth … admitted to himself how much he wanted to help the human shadow huddled on the couch in the next room. The sight of Reede’s suffering and vulnerability had gotten to him, in a way Reede’s anger and moods never had. It made him feel responsible. He hated the feeling. But he realized, suddenly, that he didn’t hate the man. He rubbed his aching eyes, remembering again just how tired he was, how long it had been since he’d had any sleep. He turned back as platters of food appeared on the shelf above him.
Ananke moved them across to the counter and gave Kedalion a hand up onto a stool, before he whistled for the quoll. The quoll came scurrying into the kitchen, greeting Ananke with enthusiastic whistles of its own as he put down its plate of fruit and vegetables. He crouched beside it, stroking its back while it chortled contentedly. Kedalion saw a smile come out on his face.
“Is that thing a male or a female?” Kedalion asked, wondering why it had never occurred to him to ask before.
Ananke straightened up again. He shrugged, stuffing a fishball into his mouth and swallowing it whole. None of them had had a meal in nearly a full day. “Female, I think. It’s hard to tell with quolls. They don’t look that different.” He gulped cold kaff.
“I’m glad I can’t say the same thing about humans,” Kedalion murmured, thinking with sudden bittersweet yearning how long it had been since he had had an opportunity to really enjoy the difference; wondering when he ever would, now. Ananke gave him a brief stare, folded his arms across the front of his coveralls and looked away as Kedalion raised his eyebrows. “Well,” Kedalion said, letting his own gaze drop, watching the quoll eat, “I guess they know the difference.”
He finished his food, drank down a glass of bitter, double-strength Ondmean tea, hoping it would help keep him awake. “We’d better take turns sleeping. One of us should watch him all the time.” He gestured toward Reede.
Ananke nodded. “I’ll take the first watch.”
“You sure—?” Kedalion asked. “Can you stay awake?”
“Yeah.” Ananke shrugged, looked down at his palm. “I don’t think I want to go to sleep for a while, you know?” His voice trailed off. He looked at Reede, sitting alone, and his mouth pinched as he picked up the third tray of food.
“Right,” Kedalion said. “Wake me up in four hours, then. Sooner, if you get tired.” He found his way to one of the bedrooms, dragged himself up onto a bed, and let go. The tea he had drunk was no problem at all.
It felt like he had been asleep for only minutes when he woke up again. Ananke’s hand was on his shoulder, shaking him insistently. He looked at his watch, saw that it had been over six hours, and sat up, yawning. “Thanks,” he murmured, rubbing his face. “How’s he doing?”
Ananke glanced toward the door, his own face tense. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think something’s wrong with him, Kedalion—I mean really wrong. He looks sick.” He spread his hands helplessly.
Kedalion slid down off the bed, shook his head to clear it out. “I’ll see what I can do. Get some sleep if you can. I’ll call you if I need you.” Ananke nodded, holding the quoll under one arm. He stared at the bed with mixed emotions. Kedalion went out of the room.
Reede was still on the couch; lying down now, with his knees drawn up and his arms folded tight against his chest. The tray of food sat on the table beside him, untouched. He glanced up, dull-eyed, as Kedalion entered the room; looked back at the laboratory access door again without comment. The locks were still red.
Kedalion looked toward the far wall of the room—transparent ceralloy from ceiling to floor, opening on an uninterrupted expanse of blue sky. A garden with a small waterfall hid the bitter endless gray of the thorn forests from sight. On the other side of the room was a shielded balcony with a spectacular view down the greenery-wall well of a labsec airshaft, onto more greenery in a park space far below. There was a threedy screen and interactive equipment occupying part of a remaining wall, books and tapes. Kedalion wondered why, with all that to occupy his senses, Reede chose to stare at a locked door. He was only sure of one thing—that it wasn’t because Reede was eager to get to work.
Reede cursed, so softly that Kedalion barely heard the sound. He turned back, saw a faint spasm run through Reede’s body, and his jaw clench. Reede’s white face was shining with sweat, even though the room was not warm. Kedalion crossed the space between them, until he reached Reede’s side. Reede ignored him.
“Reede,” he said. “Tell me what to do. …”
Reede’s bruised, haunted eyes fixed on him suddenly. “Leave me alone,” Reede said, between clenched teeth.
Kedalion nodded mutely, trying to make himself obey and move away. He r eached out, touched Reede’s shoulder with an uncertain hand.
Reede gasped in startled agony, as if Kedalion had struck him. Kedalion jerked his hand away, backed off as Reede pushed abruptly to his feet. Reede stood swaying, and Kedalion retreated across the room. But Reede only stumbled past him and down the hall. Kedalion heard water running in the bathroom; wasn’t certain he heard the sound of someone vomiting. Knowing he should follow Reede and keep watch, he stayed where he was—half afraid of what would happen if he didn’t do it, more afraid of what would happen if he did.