Kidnapped (27 page)

It was a rhetorical question, and he answered it himself. "You want them to get back up and continue fighting. If you have a police officer pursuing a criminal, you want them to keep doing just that. Thus, all pain relievers are substances that would be outlawed in any civilized world. They allow you to get back up, to continue doing what you were doing, and not to care whether you live or die, or if your blood is gushing out of you with every heartbeat."

He was putting something around Travis's arm, tightening a noose around it to prevent her husband from bleeding to death, and continued. "Many of them give you berserker frenzy, all of them make you high as a cloud, and all of them are extremely addictive."

Grimacing, he added as an afterthought, "That is perfectly evil too. In the off chance they do survive, any soldier will be begging to go back into battle for just one more shot. If not, they might die from withdrawal, and thus my dear girl, the wars move on."

*****

Listening to the old doctor made Travis shudder. He remembered those two weeks locked in the room on his ship all too well. He'd had more than his fair share of wounds and accompanying drugs during the years, and that last time he'd been mostly sitting on the floor in a corner, sick and shaking, feeling as if his head, heart, or both were about to burst, telling himself the creatures crawling towards him from the walls and erupting out of his own skin weren't real.

He had almost killed himself just to make it stop. He would have, if a part of him hadn't clung stubbornly to the memory of Patricia. He had no desire to go through all that again, especially not with her watching. In spite of his words of having no secrets, this was a thing he didn't want her to know about.

Malcolm glanced over at him, as if checking how far he could go without risking retribution. "Now, that is why your husband is choosing to go through this extremely painful procedure the way he is. I don't think he wants you to see him like that, and I don't think he wants you to have to cope with it."

Patricia had fallen pale and sat down on the floor, and Travis said calmly, "Let's get on with it."

Once the torment started, Travis felt cold drops of sweat form on his forehead. He tried not to look, and found it difficult, at least to start with. Malcolm had to open the old wound, and once the muscles were freed, they needed to be connected with the mechanics of the arm. It was extremely painful, but not as bad as the connections of nerve-endings to electronics; a thing necessary for the brain to be able to receive signals from the new limb.

The knowledge that it would frighten Patricia and the child was the only thing keeping him from screaming. The dark void of unconsciousness wanted him, and it would have been more than welcome, but a part of him clung stubbornly to awareness.

The procedure took almost two hours, and in the middle, Malcolm decided to take a short break, allowing the patient some rest. Patricia gave Travis some water, and he wished he could have held her hand. He saw that she had been crying, but he didn't have any comforting words in him. He longed for her human touch, reminding him why he was doing this.

She kissed his cheek and whispered, "I love you. I can't believe all the things you do for me, and I'll find a way to make it up to you. I promise."

He glanced up, wanting to say something, but Malcolm was coming back.

*****

Every minute that day seemed like an eternity, and Patricia sat on the floor, trying to keep her eyes on her hands. No matter how hard she tried not to watch the surgery, she found it almost impossible to look away. It made her queasy, but keeping her gaze fixed on the wall didn't work. Neither did covering her eyes with her hand; she still peeked.

If she had thought that far ahead she would have gotten something from Madison for Travis' pain. The infirmary on the Redeemer was filled with alien potions and remedies, but the implications of this procedure had never crossed her mind. She thought of wandering off, going to explore the rooms to the sides just to get away from the sight, but she couldn't make herself leave him.

Eventually, she stared at the ring and forced herself to count backwards down to zero from a million to keep her mind from thinking about what her husband was going through. Malcolm's voice drifted over to her, "Try to move your fingers, one at a time."

She glanced up carefully, and saw mechanical fingers almost identical to his own move. The old doctor was nodding, looking pleased. "You should refrain from using this for at least a week. You won't want to during the first few days, the pain will be too great, but even after that you have to let it rest. You have to let it heal."

Getting clumsily to her feet, she watched their new friend proceed with testing reactions and sensitivity of the hand. She approached carefully, keeping her eyes fixed on Travis's face, thinking he was much too pale. When she came close enough, he reached out his left arm and pulled her close, burying his face against her, and she caressed his head soothingly.

*****

Travis was astounded in spite of the pain. His old prosthesis had worked from all practical aspects, but this actually felt as if it was his own. At the moment, it hurt as if it had been his own, but he could also feel through the skin. Maybe, sometime in the not too-distant future, he would be able to feel Patricia touch it.

He was dimly aware of the old doctor closing the edges of his skin with nanogel and saying quietly, "I'll go clean up, I'll be right back."

The gel was working, it itched, and the most acute, screaming pain was residing, being replaced by a deep throbbing that was already driving him crazy. He held Patricia harder, trying to focus on her warm body, on her smell. She said softly, "How are you doing," and he shook his head ever so little.

He eventually released his grip on her and patted his lap, mumbling, "Come here."

She sat down obediently, careful not to touch his right side. He was finding his footing again, and told her, "Don't worry. I'll be good as new."

She kissed his cheek and answered with an intensity that surprised him, "Oh, you'd better be. I love you."

Chapter Twenty-Seven

When Malcolm returned, Patricia was still sitting on Travis's lap, careful not to touch his right side.

"How are you doing?"

She glanced over her shoulder and saw the old doctor grimace. His merriness probably sounded false even in his own ears. He seemed to be a nice person, and she didn't think he enjoyed seeing anyone suffer like this, regardless of their history.

Taking a couple of steps closer, Malcolm fidgeted, "I wish I could offer you something, I really do. I didn't think you'd go through with refusing all drugs."

Travis shrugged and grimaced with pain, and Patricia winced. She wanted to hold him, wanted to do something to help him, but she was too afraid to make everything worse.

"I have a suggestion. You're going to need more shots, and I want to keep an eye on you so you don't develop an infection. Why don't you two stay here, at least for the night?"

Malcolm's offer surprised her, and she didn't know what to say. She turned her head and looked at Travis, thinking he was a sorry sight; pale with dark rings under his eyes. Not as bad as he'd been when they reached the Redeemer, but not far from it, and she remembered in addition to this ordeal he hadn't slept. He looked at her and blinked a couple of times, looking confused, before shaking his head a little. "I'm not... don't let me make any decisions, Babe. It's up to you, whatever you think is best."

She was already thinking staying seemed prudent. She couldn't even imagine dragging him out there, among all those people, walking block after block. And, if anything happened, help would be close if they stayed. She smiled at Malcolm and answered warmly, "That is so nice of you, we'd love to stay."

It might be a trap. Maybe the old man just wanted to detain them, and maybe he had called for help when he left the room earlier. On the other hand, if he had wanted to do something, he would have had all chances in the world during the surgery. She pushed these thoughts away. She liked him and wanted to believe he was on their side.

The old doctor said something, but she didn't hear. She felt her lover's arm fall off her and exclaimed, "Travis?"

She jumped out of his lap to give Malcolm room to work, tried to hold her lover up, so he wouldn't fall off the chair, and stared with surprise as the doctor pulled out a stethoscope that seemed to be about as old as he was. It was the last thing she'd expected anyone out here to use. He made a quick examination and said soothingly, "It's okay, he just fainted. I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner."

He gave Patricia a reassuring smile before scurrying off to the side to get a stretcher on wheels. He hurried over to a bench to get a little bottle, and when Patricia quirked an eyebrow he explained, "It's nothing dangerous, just good old fashioned smelling salt. He's too big for us to move him, and you shouldn't be lifting anything anyway."

She sighed with relief when Travis's eyelids fluttered open, but she wanted to cry again when she realized how weak he was. If Malcolm hadn't been there to support him, he would have fallen over when moving to the bed. The doctor made a face and mumbled, more to himself than to them, "I was afraid this would happen. Too much pain, all those endorphins and adrenaline released. You need some rest."

Travis sank down on the bed with a groan, and Patricia took his hand. He mumbled, "I'm just gonna rest for a minute, Babe."

He closed his eyes, and she kissed his forehead. When she was sure he wasn't awake anymore, she ran her hand thoughtfully over his chest, tracing some of his scars gently with a finger, wondering when and how he got them. She shook herself out of it and went to get his shirt, thinking that draping it around him would keep him warm. It would have been nice to have a quilt or something instead, but the shirt would have to do. She pulled a chair next to the bed and sat down to wait, holding his hand between hers.

Malcolm had been watching her quietly, and now he said softly, "You don't have to sit here. Come with me and I'll get you a cup of tea or something."

She smiled and shook her head. "Thank you, you're a very sweet man, but I can't leave him. I wouldn't want him to leave me alone either."

Nodding thoughtfully, Malcolm pulled out a chair for himself. He watched the couple in silence for a minute and ventured, "Forgive me if I'm too forward, but how did this happen? I mean, I met him before and there's no question he has changed, he's not the same person now, but how could it happen. They're not supposed to be able to feel."

Patricia looked over at him; his choice of words made it sound like he was talking about a different species. Then maybe the people who'd undergone the Alliance training were just that. They were more different from ordinary people than some aliens she'd met during these event-filled months.

She tried to focus on the question and bit her lip, remembering how her friends on the Redeemer had asked the same thing. She had no more of an answer now. "I don't know. I see people fear him, but I love him."

She sighed, and surprised herself with giving him an outline of what happened, all the way from the beginning.

*****

Malcolm listened attentively. He was surprised a person from one of those newer worlds had been able to adapt the way Patricia had. When she fell silent, he said simply, "It's amazing."

He understood now. He had worked in the underground resistance for most of his life, and there had always been something a little different about this Commander. Travis was extremely effective, but they'd also intercepted countless reports of his insubordinance, and of him being punished for this or that. He had also been cruel and efficient, and that was probably why the Alliance had let him live after his first disobedience.

There was no doubt in his mind the programming had worked on Travis as it did on everyone else. He had, in fact, just stood there and let the Supreme Commander saw his arm off without even allowing himself to flinch. Yes, he had been a slave along with every other Alliance soldier or policeman, but maybe there had been a little glitch. Something just enough to allow him to occasionally do things in a manner that didn't please the Supreme Commander. Maybe it had been just enough to feel a little sympathy for the lost and lonely girl he'd kidnapped, and when the crack widened, maybe he had somehow exchanged the Alliance for her.

All signs pointed to it; all the things he would have done for the Alliance without question he now did for her. The purpose of his life had been to keep the Alliance safe, without regard to himself, and that was exactly what he now did for her. He had just suffered through a surgery that lasted for hours. In addition, what Veronica had done to him in the name of the Alliance, he had also done to himself, for the sake of the girl.

He shrugged the thought off. Even if Travis had just changed one form of slavery for another, he had surely traded up. Patricia seemed to be a lovely woman, and her story about him realizing he didn't like coffee might mean he was regaining more independence. He might never be able to break through the lifelong programming completely, but that didn't mean he couldn't look forward to a full and happy life now.