Page 38 of Skinwalker's Bane
She emphasized Magorian’s reaction to her ideas, too.
Bishan looked completely mollified by the time she had finished. “You are a wonder, my lovely Devin,” he told her. “Take your days off. You’ve truly earned them.”
She disconnected and stood in front of the terminal, her head down, recalling the run of the conversation. Had Bishan really not spotted how she had deliberately manipulated him? She had used the positive outcome of the meeting to deflect his interest in why she needed the time off. Bishan was supposed to be a master strategist. Surely something as simple as that would be as obvious to him as it had been to her?
Apparently, he had not realized what she was doing. Guilt stirred. She pushed it out of her mind. She had done it for a good cause.
Bader came out of the bedroom a while later. He didn’t look unhappy and he held out the empty coffee cup toward her. “Thank you.”
“Is Adam going to be okay?’ she asked.
“He’ll be fine.” He patted the bag of instruments. “I have fine-tuned scanners, that most other doctors don’t bother with. They give me a complete profile and blood work, lots of odd scales and counts that tell me what’s going on inside a skinwalker. So I can tell you with complete surety that it’ll take more than a plasteel pipe to dent that man’s head. He’ll have a headache for a day or so and it will be a strong one. If he could stay where he is, that would help.”
“Of course he can,” Devin said quickly. “It would alarm people if they saw a skinwalker being carried back to their apartment. He shouldn’t move from here until he’s walking by himself.”
Bader heaved himself out of the chair. “Call me if you’re concerned about anything. I’ll come back at the end of tomorrow to check, too. We’ll take it a few hours at a time for a while and decide as we go. He’ll sleep for a while now.”
Adam slept for eighteen hours.
In that time, Devin dozed on her sofa, caught up on paperwork, walked about the Table to release some of her energy. She ate, watched mindless stories and spring cleaned the house AI’s program archives. She read a lot, most of it the biographies and profiles that had inspired her to run for Captain, including her favorite, a retrospective biography on Jonah Solomon, who had pulled himself up from nothing, to become one of the most successful and popular Captains, ever.
Mid-morning, the house AI informed Devin that Adam was awake. Devin hurried into the bedroom. Adam was hauling himself up onto his elbows, wincing.
“How’s the headache?” Devin asked.
“I’ve still got a head?” he replied. “I feel like there’s just a pulsing throb above my neck.”
“Anar Bader left some painkillers for you, if you want them.”
“Anar was here?” He sounded pleased. Slowly, he sat up and put his back to the headboard.
“He’ll be back at the end of the day to check you again.” She handed him the painkillers and water. “Although I’ll have to tell him and Noa you’re awake now.”
Adam lifted a brow. “Was Noa very pissed?”
“I think she was numb. You’re the seventh skinwalker in the last few days.”
Adam grew still. Then he sighed and took the pills.
Devin put the glass on the nightstand. “Bernice Daly, the Bridge Guard Sergeant, said the Cavers like to attack from dark places, in packs. It seems like a coward’s choice, that way.”
“It is,” Adam said. “It’s also a perfect sample of their nature. They can’t claim the ship is in a cave anymore, yet the Cavers are still the lightning rod for resentment and anger. Anyone with a grudge against authority is drawn to them. Outcasts. The lonely. The Cavers take them in and take care of them. That’s why they still survive, because adopting strays builds loyalty. What’s wrong, Devin? You’ve gone white.”
She sat on the bench at the end of the bed, trying to push aside the insistent and unexpected memories tumbling through her mind. Now wasn’t the time to deal with them. Not where Adam could see her. Devin shook her head. “It’s nothing. It’s just been a long twelve hours.”
“I’ve stolen your bed.”
“The sofa is quite comfortable. I’ve fallen asleep on it many times in the past.” She got to her feet. “I think we both need food. That will fix things.”
Adam’s stomach grumbled noisily and he grimaced.
“Breakfast, as soon as I can print it,” she promised and escaped the room.
In the kitchen, she leaned against the counter and pressed her fingertips to her temples, giving into the demanding memories shouting at her.
Dirty alleys. Cold steel walls. Pipes and vents to avoid. When she was small enough to wriggle through them, she had learned quickly which ones not to touch with her bare skin, for the heat or the cold would hurt.
Then, the Man who had offered her a sandwich. That was all. Just the sandwich. He hadn’t spoken. She had snatched the sandwich and run for her life. It had been the most delicious meal she could remember.
