WE USED UP WHAT WE HAD

1563 4D

Andrew finished closing up Arlen‘s coverall; time resumed its dance, and Angie‘s voice rose to an unaccustomed screech. He took off his helm, turned to the shocked faces staring at him and Jeddin from across the utility space, and faced the muzzles of beam weapons.

From behind her gun Marande said, her tone harsh, “You’re aliens! Why were you fighting with us against them?”

“We’re not aliens,” Andrew said. “We’ve got aliens with us, but they’re renegades, rebels.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re outcasts.” Andrew pointed at Arlen‘s crumpled form. “Do you know who he is?”

“No.”

“That’s— that was Arlen. He owned ArCorp.”

“You killed HIM?”

“He killed my family.”

Marande lowered her gun. The other survivors didn’t move. One of the soldiers next to Marande sagged to the floor, groaning. Marande said, “So what’s Arlen doing here? If that’s really Arlen, why would he try to board the alien ship himself? Look, we’re wasting time. We’ve got to send our wounded back for treatment, and secure this ship. Or was this all your plan, to get us on board?” She raised her beamer again.

Another soldier spoke. “Better blow these two away first. No aliens.” Murmurs grew into a chorus of “Yeah.”

Andrew, trying to keep desperation from his voice, said, “Wait. We can heal.” He pointed to the body of Nazrelo at Marande‘s feet. “If you let me, I’ll bring him back to you. That’s what the aliens can do for us. They’re not all on the same side, I told you.”

“Bring him back? No way in blood. He’s dead.” Marande looked down at the body as if to speak to it.

“If I can bring him back to the way he was, will you reconsider?”

Another soldier said, “How do we know he won’t be an alien?”

“You can give him any test you like, now or later.”

Looking up again, Marande said, “All right, you can try. I’ll give you five minutes. We’ve got no more time than that. No, wait. We’re moving back to cover you. You, Jeddin, go with Andrew.”

This is ridiculous. I never get a break. Five minutes. Can I get help from Onnhasshakh?

The soldiers, muttering and gesturing vehemently among themselves, withdrew with their wounded to one side of the utility room, leaving Nazrelo‘s body by the door where they had entered the ship. Andrew came up beside the body and knelt down over it. “You can get whatever help you need,” he whispered to Turiosten. Jeddin came to his knees opposite Andrew across Nazrelo‘s chest and removed the man’s helmet. Nazrelo had taken a beam hit in the lower face and throat, and strangled; his visor had shielded his eyes.

Andrew had trouble finding Nazrelo‘s mouth, but Turiosten seemed to open a path for herself and move into the man. Andrew watched, amazed; Nazrelo‘s face took shape once more, its skin seeming to move backward in time from flame-eaten to blistered to scarred, the crisped edges turning to dried shards of char that fell loose. The aliens took turns, two each.

A last withdrawing kiss, and Jeddin drew away.

Nazrelo gasped and spoke, choking, hoarse. “I’m here? I was—" His brows and lashes white dust, he stared, wide-eyed, at Andrew.

“Nazrelo? Is that you?” Marande, her eyes glistening.

“Marande.” Nazrelo said, his voice clear now. Andrew pulled back as Marande and two of the others bent over Nazrelo, his face still blackened with soot but showing stretches of fresh tan skin. Tenderly, Marande smoothed away the dark tatters and held his face in her hands. “Get me water,” Nazrelo said. She found her sac and put its nozzle to his still-too-red lips.

One of the two other soldiers nearby said, “Damn.” Hushed whispers from the others.

“Can you get up?” Andrew asked.

Nazrelo finished drinking. “Yeah, I think so.” Marande helped him to his knees, then to his feet. He wobbled, she steadied him, and he smiled. “I was flying over this country—" He looked at the bodies around him and asked, “Can you get the others back?”

Andrew and Jeddin exchanged looks.

It would take more feedings, Turiosten said. None of the dead here are in shape for that.

“No. I wish we could, but we used up what we had on you.”

“Shit. They were good people.” Nazrelo shook his head.

Marande walked to the remains of Arlen‘s body and prodded it with the toe of her boot. “So where are the aliens? I want to know what they look like, by themselves. Can you show us your ‘friends’?” In the distance an alarm hooted softly.

“First let’s shut off access to this ship,” Nazrelo said.

Andrew spoke. “The rest of the aliens don’t seem to be here. If we can keep them out, we’ll be in a better position to get what we want. And, no, I can’t show you any aliens. Not now.”