Breath of Life (The Gaian Consortium Series) (11 page)

“I don’t know,” I replied. I knew I sounded as sulky as a thirteen-year-old caught skimping on her chores, but at the moment I didn’t care. “I guess it’ll be all right—as long as we take the early shuttle.”

“Not a problem,” Libba said promptly. “I’d already planned on it, just to accommodate you.”

Right
, I thought, but I decided silence was probably the wiser course. I nodded and even forced out a smile, but something inside me knotted—and it wasn’t because of hunger pangs. I didn’t want to contemplate how angry Sarzhin might be if I were late returning home.

True to her word, my sister was ready very early the next morning, early enough that we could catch the eight hundred shuttle from Port Natchez. I was feeling less than sanguine about the success of the day, but it seemed so far everything was going according to plan. We took the first shuttle and were up at the Four-A spaceport in less than half an hour.
 

The stores there operated around the clock, as of course incoming and outgoing long-distance flights didn’t bother to adhere to local time. We tromped around the duty-free area as Libba had me try on various outfits and then ended up rejecting them one by one. The whole procedure only served to make me increasingly irritated, as I knew she was just wasting my time—even if she didn’t realize it yet. Besides, I had clothing back at Sarzhin’s house as nice as the pieces she was selecting, but whenever I tried to point that out, she responded in typical fashion by either rolling her eyes or ignoring me.

Of course my mother was no help. She just would say, “Do this for your sister,” or “What difference could one more outfit make?” In the grand scheme of things, maybe not that much, but by the time we walked into the fifth store I was ready to scream. Really, how many shops could a spaceport in such a backwater system support?

In fact, I did let out a little shriek when I stepped out of the dressing room in the last store, only to see that the chronograph on the wall opposite read 11:55.

“The shuttle’s leaving in five minutes!”
 

Libba sent a languid glance over her shoulder at the chronograph. “Oh, foo. That’s nothing. Besides, they never leave on time.”

“How would you know?” I retorted, and immediately retreated to reclaim my own clothes so we could get the hell out of there. This procedure only took a minute, and I bolted for the door even as I finished shaking my hair free of my tunic’s collar.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” Libba demanded, as she and my mother started trotting after me.

Of course the final store just had to be located on almost the opposite end of the facility and two levels down from the shuttle pad. Somehow I managed to keep from running, but I did speed-walk the entire length of the spaceport and then burst into the disembarkation area—only to see the gates closed and the sleek shape of the planet-hopper blasting up into the black sky.

I let out an incoherent sound of dismay and ran to the window, a huge expanse of vacuum-rated clear polymer. There I paused, hands pressed flat against the cool plastic, as if somehow I could force myself through it and on into one of the seats of the disappearing shuttle.

“Oops,” said Libba, and I rounded on her.

“This is all your fault!”

Her green eyes widened. “Oh, please, Anika, can you spare me the Greek tragedy? It’s just a missed shuttle—the next one will be along in…” She paused and looked up at the board above the ticketing desk. “Four hours.”

“Four hours!” I wailed, and then ran for the comm station at the far side of the waiting area.

But when I typed in Sarzhin’s comm code, I got only a hiss of dead air. My hand shaking, I tried again. Nothing.

Ignoring my mother and sister, who looked at me as if I’d just lost my mind, I practically ran over to the ticketing counter. “Excuse me.”

The clerk there didn’t even look up from his computer screen. “Mmm?”

“Your comms don’t seem to be working.”

He gave a laconic shrug. “Solar storms. Been playing havoc with our systems the past two standard. It’s a mess getting signals down to the planet. You’d have better luck direct-dialing Eridani. Heh.”

I didn’t find anything remotely funny in the situation. All I could do was turn away from him and stare out the windows in the waiting area. I couldn’t even see the shuttle anymore.

My mother shook her head at me. “Goodness, Anika, you’re acting like your best friend just died. You can just explain to the Zhore that you missed the shuttle and the comms were down. It’s certainly not the end of the world.”

I stared at her, at my sister, seeing in their blank, mystified faces absolutely no comprehension or sympathy. How could I explain to them that I had promised Sarzhin I would return on time, and how betraying that promise now seemed like the worst thing I could possibly have done to him? They would never understand. I hardly understood myself.

“No, it’s not the end of the world,” I told her in curt tones I would never have used on my mother a few months ago. I turned away from her to stare at the black heavens outside. “At least, I hope it isn’t.”

The joy definitely went out of the shopping trip after that, and even when my sister offered to buy lunch at one of the spaceport’s cafés I barely ate anything, but only took a few token sips of my soup while she and my mother snacked on soufflés and sparkling water. They appeared to dismiss my black mood as an outrageous case of the sulks and mostly ignored me from there on out as they discussed menus and color schemes and the sorts of flowers available on Eridani. At least my sister knew better than to ask me to try on any more clothes. I did follow them grimly as they went back to a few of the shops where I had had no luck but Libba had seen something she liked, and she did end up purchasing a few outfits—all on Cole’s tab, I was certain. Somehow I managed to hold my tongue and not ask her whether she’d be over her weight allowance for the return trip if she kept adding new clothes.
 

Finally it was time to catch the sixteen hundred shuttle. I insisted on being in the debarkation area a good half-hour before the shuttle’s departure, and at least my mother and sister had the good sense not to argue with me. On the trip back I said nothing, but only stared out one of the viewports as the bruise-colored disk of Lathvin grew larger and larger, and we eventually descended through the soupy gray clouds.

At least I had had the presence of mind to pack everything before we left for Four-A, so once we returned to the homestead all I had to do was gather up my satchel and leave. I gave my father a quick hug, told a rather startled-looking Cole that it had been very nice to meet him, and then put on my breather and bolted for the airlock.

By then it was almost seventeen hundred, and Lathvin’s quick-falling dusk was upon me. I climbed into the transport, turned on the headlights, and headed toward Sarzhin’s property, pressing down on the accelerator with a reckless disregard for the pouring rain and the increasing darkness. In fact, I was going so fast I almost missed the turnoff, but at the last minute I saw the small break in the ranks of moonflowers where the drive was located and took a hard left. The treads snarled at me a little bit, but the traction held, and soon enough I was approaching the garage.

I pushed the button on the remote and pulled inside, then shut the door again so the garage compartment could repressurize. I knew it was silly to expect Sarzhin to be waiting for me here, but even so I couldn’t help looking around as I got out of the vehicle. No one was there, of course.

After grabbing my satchel, I headed for the door into the house. It was quiet and dim in there, all the hall sconces burning at quarter-power, which was unusual for the time of day. Usually they were only set at that level during the overnight hours.

“Sarzhin?” I called out, but only silence met my straining ears.

Hmm. I placed my satchel on the bottom step of the staircase and drew off my rain poncho as well. I could have gone up to my room, but I wanted to see him, and I doubted he would be on that level, as his study and the library and the other rooms he utilized the most were located on the ground floor.
 

He was in neither of those places. The dark images from my dream of two nights earlier rose in my mind, of the house abandoned and dead. I told myself not to be an idiot, that of course Sarzhin must be out back, tending to his plants. I bolted into the greenhouse at a half-run, but then pulled up short as the air seemed to suddenly be ripped from my lungs. Gasping, I paused and looked around, only to see that many of the plants were drooping, dying in their carefully arranged rows. A faint whistling sound reached my ears.

I shut my eyes and told myself not to panic, that surely there must be a logical explanation for all this.
 

Emergency breathers hung from a rack next to the door. It was extremely unlikely that the sturdy polymer out of which the greenhouse had been constructed would ever rip, but Sarzhin was not the type to take chances. I grasped one of the breathers and fastened it over my face, and then took a second breathing apparatus and tucked it into my belt before I headed toward the very rear of the greenhouse, where I knew a secondary door and airlock were located.

Both were open, subjecting the greenhouse and all the tender plants inside it to the painfully thin atmosphere. I closed them behind me as I went outside and prayed I hadn’t been too late to keep them all from dying of exposure.

The tall stalks of the moonflowers crowded around me, seeming to glow in the growing darkness. Between them I could see a faint path, as if someone had stumbled or fought his way through the crowding plants. I followed the path, my own breathing harsh in my ears, my heart beating painfully in my chest. The cold rain soaked my clothing at once, but I hardly noticed the chill. On Lathvin, it wasn’t the cold or the damp that killed you.

I found him lying in a messy black heap some hundred yards from the house. The cloak and hood still shrouded him. Pale moonflowers bent over him, ethereal mourners.

“Sarzhin!” I cried, and knelt next to him in the mud.

Grasping him by the shoulders, I turned him over onto his back. The sodden hood draped itself across his face. I had no idea how long he had been out here, but somehow that didn’t matter. I knew I must try to save him, even if he had been lying in the mud for hours.
 

One moonflower nodded particularly close, and I grabbed it and pressed it against his still-hidden visage. I saw no stir, no answering breath or gasp. I realized then that if he were not breathing on his own, a moonflower would do nothing for him. Neither would the spare breather I still had hanging from my belt.

There was only one thing I could do, and even so I didn’t know if I would be too late. But I had to try.

With trembling fingers, I grasped the edges of his hood and flung it back.
 

Even though I knew time was my enemy, I paused for a second, staring down at him. For he was beautiful.

Alien, yes, from the high, sharp cheekbones to the longish flattened nose. His eyebrows arched, black against black, above crescents of dark lashes. And his skin was dark as night, yet shimmered with iridescence like an oil slick on midnight waters, his face and throat covered in scales so fine I almost didn’t realize what they were at first.
 

All this I took in, and then I lifted the breather from my face and bent down and pressed my mouth against his, breathing the warmth and oxygen from my own lungs into his body, willing him to accept the gift.
Breathe, damn you!
I thought.
 

Live.
 

His mouth was slack against mine, unmoving. I gulped more air from the breather and forced it into him once again, locking my lips on his, pushing every ounce of oxygen I could spare into his mouth. And then he began to cough, his lean frame racked with the struggle to get the good air in, and I immediately lifted my head and slapped the spare breather over his mouth and nose.

“What the hell were you thinking?” I demanded, the anger in my voice somewhat diminished by the tinny quality of the speaker in the breathing apparatus. Hot moisture mingled with the stinging rain on my cheeks, and I realized I must have been weeping as I bent over him.

He coughed again and shook his head. I didn’t know whether it meant he had no answer for me, or simply that he hadn’t recovered enough for speech.

One thing I did know was that I needed to get him inside. Somehow I found my way past all the heavy, waterlogged robes to slide an arm around his torso and half pull and half drag him to his feet. He clung to me, the rasping of his breaths magnified by the apparatus covering his nose and mouth.

Each inch seemed like a foot, each yard a torturous mile. One hitching step after another, we made our way back to the airlock at the rear of the house, and from there on into the greenhouse. It was warmer inside, but I didn’t know whether the air circulation system had compensated yet for the disastrous loss it had suffered while it was open to the outside. Certainly the plants still drooped, although I supposed it was too soon for them to have begun to revive.

So we pushed on to the main part of the house, where I limped Sarzhin into his study, as it was the room closest to the greenhouse. Besides the desk and chairs and various small tables scattered about, it had a large electrical fireplace with a sofa placed conveniently in front of it. I deposited him there and then located the remote for the fireplace. It roared into life as soon as I clicked the button, flames dancing in shades of blue and green over a bed of frosted glass.

No doubt the water from Sarzhin’s robes would ruin the upholstery, but the couch was the warmest place I could think of. Certainly I didn’t have the strength to drag him all the way up the stairs to his rooms.

Almost as soon as he was seated on the sofa, he reached toward the hood of his cloak, as if he meant to pull it back up around his face.

“It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?” I asked.

He paused then, and slowly lowered his gloved hands to the breather, which he lifted away and set down on the cushion next to him. “I suppose it is.” His voice was hoarse, with none of its usual richness.