Borders of Infinity

'No,' he answered his own question. 'If I am to be your commander—we have these non-fraternization rules. Mainly to protect those of lower rank from exploitation, though it can work both—ahem!' He was digressing dreadfully. He picked up the hypospray, fiddled with it nervously, and put it back down.

'Anyway, Dr. Canaba has asked me to lie to you again. He wanted me to sneak up on you with a general anesthetic, so he could biopsy back his sample. He's a coward, you may have noticed. He's outside now, shaking in his shoes for fear you'll find out what he intended for you. I think a local zap with a medical stunner would suffice. I'd sure want to be conscious and watching if he were working on me, anyway.' He flicked the hypospray contemptuously with one finger.

She sat silent, her strange wolfish face—though Miles was getting used to it—unreadable. 'You want me to let him . . . cut into my leg?' she said at last.

'Yes.'

'Then what?'

'Then nothing. That will be the last of Dr. Canaba for you, and Jackson's Whole and all the rest of it. That, I promise. Though if you're doubtful of my promises, I can understand why.'

'The last . . .' she breathed. Her face lowered, then rose, and her shoulders straightened. 'Then let's get it over with.' There was no smile to her long mouth now.

Canaba, as Miles expected, was not happy to be presented with a conscious subject. Miles truly didn't care how unhappy Canaba was about it, and after one look at his cold face, Canaba didn't argue. Canaba took his sample wordlessly, packaged it carefully in the bio-tainer, and fled with it back to the safety and privacy of his own cabin as soon as he decently could.

Miles sat with Taura in sickbay till the medical stun wore off enough for her to walk without stumbling. She sat without speaking for a long time. He watched her still features, wishing beyond measure he knew how to re- light those gold eyes.

'When I first saw you,' she said softly, 'it was like a miracle. Something magic. Everything I'd wished for, longed for. Food. Water. Heat. Revenge. Escape.' She gazed down at her polished claws, 'Friends . . .' and glanced up at him, '. . . touching.'

'What else do you wish for, Taura?' Miles asked earnestly.

Slowly she replied. 'I wish I were normal.'

Miles was silent too. 'I can't give you what I don't possess myself,' he said at length. The words seemed to lie in inadequate lumps between them. He roused himself to a better effort. 'No. Don't wish that. I have a better idea. Wish to be yourself. To the hilt. Find out what you're best at, and develop it. Hopscotch your weaknesses. There isn't time for them. Look at Nicol—'

'So beautiful,' sighed Taura.

'Or look at Captain Thorne, and tell me what 'normal' is, and why I should give a damn for it. Look at me, if you will. Should I kill myself trying to overcome men twice my weight and reach in unarmed combat, or should I shift the ground to where their muscle is useless, 'cause it never gets close enough to apply its strength? I haven't got time to lose, and neither have you.'

'Do you know how little time?' demanded Taura suddenly.

'Ah . . .' said Miles cautiously, 'do you?'

'I am the last survivor of my creche mates. How could I not know?' Her chin lifted defiantly.

'Then don't wish to be normal,' said Miles passionately, rising to pace. 'You'll only waste your precious time in futile frustration. Wish to be great! That at least you have a fighting chance for. Great at whatever you are. A great trooper, a great sergeant. A great quartermaster, for God's sake, if that's what comes with ease. A great musician like Nicol—only think how horrible if she were wasting her talents trying to be merely normal.' Miles paused self-consciously in his pep talk, thinking, Easier to preach than practice. . . .

Taura studied her polished claws, and sighed. 'I suppose it's useless for me to wish to be beautiful, like Sergeant Anderson.'

'It is useless for you to try to be beautiful like anyone but yourself,' said Miles. 'Be beautiful like Taura, ah, that you can do. Superbly well.' He found himself gripping her hands, and ran one finger across an iridescent claw, 'Though Laureen seems to have grasped the principle, you might be guided by her taste.'

'Admiral,' said Taura slowly, not releasing his hands, 'are you actually my commander yet? Sergeant Anderson said something about orientation, and induction tests, and an oath. . . .'

'Yes, all that will come when we make fleet rendezvous. Till then, technically, you're our guest.'

A certain sparkle was beginning to return to her gold eyes. 'Then —till then—it wouldn't break any Dendarii rules, would it, if you showed me again how human I am? One more time?' It must be, Miles thought, akin to the same drive that used to propel men to climb sheer rock faces without an antigrav belt, or jump out of ancient aircraft with nothing to stop them going splat but a wad of silk cloth. He felt the fascination rising in him, the death-defying laugh. 'Slowly?' he said in a strangled voice. 'Do it right this time? Have a little conversation, drink a little wine, play a little music? Without Ryoval's guard squad lurking overhead, or ice cold rock under my . . .'

Her eyes were huge and gold and molten. 'You did say you liked to practice what you were great at.'

Miles had never realized how susceptible he was to flattery from tall women. A weakness he must guard against. Sometime.

They retired to his cabin and practiced assiduously till halfway to Escobar.

3

'Whatever happened to the wolf girl?' inquired Illyan after a long, fascinated silence.

'Ah. She's doing well, I'm glad to say. She made sergeant not long ago. My Dendarii fleet surgeon has her on some meds to slow her metabolism down a bit. Somewhat experimental.'

'Will they increase her life-span, then?'

Miles shrugged. 'I wish we knew. Maybe. We're hoping.'

'Well.' Illyan shifted. 'That leaves Dagoola, about which, I might remind you, the only report I had from you before the other operatives took over was that, er, excessively succinct one you filed from Mahata Solaris.'

'That was only meant to be preliminary. I thought I'd be reporting home sooner than this.'

'That's not a problem—or at any rate, not a problem for Count Vorvolk. Dagoola, Miles. Cough it up, and then you can get some sleep.'

Miles frowned wearily. 'It started out so simply. Almost as simple as the Jackson's Whole job. Then things went wrong. Then things went very wrong. . . .'

'So begin at the beginning.'

'The beginning. God. Well . . .'

The Borders of Infinity

How could I have died and gone to hell without noticing the transition?

The opalescent force dome capped a surreal and alien landscape, frozen for a moment by Miles's disorientation and dismay. The dome defined a perfect circle, half a kilometer in diameter. Miles stood just inside its edge, where the glowing concave surface dove into the hard-packed dirt and disappeared. His imagination followed the arc buried beneath his feet to the far side, where it erupted again to complete the sphere. It was like being trapped inside an eggshell. An unbreakable eggshell.