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  “She'd get a lot more chummy with him if he'd let her.”

  Dustin thought about it. Merrie was generally a pretty good judge of character.

  James saw his expression and laughed. “Can't have all the women!” he complained. “Isn't Ren enough?!”

  “It's not Merrie I'm wondering about.” Dusty hesitated, then blurted, “Ren hasn't been around.” He heard something like self-pity in his voice, and clamped his lips shut.

  “And here you did all that big, brave suffering, and she didn't even bother to come and watch.” James was smiling again. “What a waste of angst.”

  Dustin looked embarrassed.

  “For your information, she's too far away.” He sobered. “She's with Josh—in Mexico.”

  “Another ‘field trip'?” Dustin asked, worried.

  “Unfortunately, yes. If it helps, Ren only went once she knew Dainler was here.”

  Dustin smiled.

  “Symtech has it all set up to maximise their results,” James said, somewhat bitterly. “Pairing us off to see what happens. Josh and Ren, you and me, Merrie and Zar.”

  “Zar?” Dustin asked.

  James looked amused. “Haven't you guessed? Come to think of it, I don't think old Zar knows it himself. Whether he realises it or not, Valterzar is one of us.”

  Chapter Four

  Josh made her sit in his shade and drink some water. “You're going to look like a broiled lobster,” he remarked.

  “I feel like one,” she said, lifting her face as the faintest of breezes swept her face. “Damn it,” she sighed. “Just a teaser.” As she shifted, the rocky sand crackled and crunched beneath her hiking boots. She closed her eyes to dream of more breezes. “Tell me about—” she began. Her eyes popped open and she told Josh, “There's someone ... a man. It's close.”

  “Good,” Josh sighed. “Because I'm getting the wreckage.”

  “A plane?”

  “Yeah. Stay here, while I go about 100 metres that way.” He headed down the slight incline, moving nearly at a jog across the sandy soil. Ren listened to the crunching steps, and watched the untouched surface marked with the pattern of his boots. When he waved at her, she punched in his number. “What direction do you get?” she asked.

  “Northwest. What about you?”

  She focussed on the wavelength of that other individual—the one who was emitting all kinds of distress and fear. “Just east of north,” she said.

  She could hear the smile in Josh's voice. “See you there,” he replied.

  * * * *

  “What do you think you're doing?” James had to scoot the chair to one side so Dustin could finish climbing out of the bed. The plastic at the base of the chair legs gave out an obnoxious rubbery squawk that grated on his nerves. “Damn, but you're rude! Still visiting, you know.”

  “And I can't tell you how much I'm enjoying it.” Dustin turned his back, hopped over to the closet, and pulled out the small suitcase Josh had brought over—when was it? two days ago?

  “Duty call. If I'd known it was going to make you crazed I would've waited.” James lifted his eyebrows when Dusty got impatient with the IV stand and yanked out the needle. “Excuse me, but I don't think that's part of your therapy.”

  “I should've known that my stunt with Josh would have some kind of backlash,” Dustin said angrily, as he tugged on a shirt. “Either that, or this is payback for Ren's healing efforts. Moving her far away so she can't be contaminated by my ‘fight for freedom'.”

  “Damned insurgent,” James said calmly. “Maybe they want to switch the mix to find out if Josh is the trigger.”

  “Or me. Doesn't that worry you a little?” He perched on the edge of the bed and gingerly slid his sore leg into his pants.

  “Hey, I work in geological time. Old rock, new rock, what do I care? If you're going somewhere, you'd better take along a prescription. Unless you prefer being dead.”

  “More complications. There must be some prescription written up somewhere, if they planned on having me go off, filming volcanoes.”

  “Animating them. No gyrating lava or tapdancing pumice, please. Besides, that was a future event. Say, two to three weeks in the future. Something to occupy your mind while you healed.”

  “Or convince me to run to Erik for help.” Dustin was stuffing miscellanea out of the drawer into his bag now. “More manipulation. Even when we think we're fucking them, they're actually fucking us.” He sounded tired, and he sat down on the edge of the bed.

  "Calmase," James told him.

  “Not likely,” Dustin said grimly. He went to stand up again, but he just didn't have the strength. “I'm not going to go running—”

  “Silencio. It's obvious you're not running anywhere.” James forced him back into bed and propped his leg on a pillow. "Bueno."

  “What are you on about?” Dustin asked irritably.

  “Practicing my Spanish. Don't worry about it. I'll do the talking for you,” James said with exaggerated kindness. “'Mi amigo es muy gordo.' Things like that.”

  “'My friend is very fat'?”

  “Loses something in the translation.”

  “'Gains’ is more like it. You're coming to Mexico with me?”

  “I'm a volcanophile. I can't deny my calling.”

  “We'll look for one in Mexico. C'mon, Jamie. Maybe I'll find you a nice rock.”

  “Some incentive,” James retorted sarcastically. He gave a dramatic sigh. “I should've known the only pyroclastics I was going to get on this trip were your half-baked ideas.”

  * * * *

  Merrie was asleep in his arms, her head on his shoulder, one hand on his chest. Lawrence Valterzar was feeling raw—as new and exposed as an open wound. The only thing was, it didn't hurt—yet.

  But it would. He'd read too much, seen too much. Talked to too many patients. Witnessed too many of life's failures in the voices of those who'd suffered emotional turmoil. It was this—this angst—that had kept him at a distance for so long.

  Except, he could no longer live vicariously. His avoidance had gone from being the pure gesture of the objective observer, to the unhealthily vicarious role of the voyeur. If he'd denied what he was feeling for this woman at his side, after she'd so willingly exposed her spirit to him, he would have been wronging her—and himself. She hadn't confided in him because she needed a friend, or because he was supposed to be the one with solutions. She'd spoken because he was her “Zar", and she was vulnerable. In too much pain and fear to continue the charade. She'd needed him—not the role he'd agreed to play.

  He loved her. He'd loved her and denied it for so long that he'd no longer known which was stronger—the truth or the lie. Until, for the first time, she'd needed him, and it broke down all the barriers. Her need had made it natural—easy, even—to surmount any obstacles his logic laid in his path. Things like ethics, and keeping his distance in order to perform his job; the problems of viewing all members of his “Cluster” in an equal light, so that he could make judgment calls without discrimination. His responsibility to make himself available to the others, when all he could think of was being with her.

  Now, his being with her was about to be challenged. He could sense it coming, even as she lay innocently asleep. From what she'd said, he guessed that there'd been little sleep for her recently—that she'd fought off the advances of her admirer by giving him no openings. It was only when exhaustion had trapped her that he'd sneaked in, to catch her unaware.

  In those moments, Zar was more naked that he'd ever been in his life. If he'd felt vulnerable moments before, it was nothing to what he was feeling now.

  It was filling the corners of the room. A condensation of space that made the dimensions of the room so much smaller. So dense, and chill.

  Like the confines of his coffin. Zar sensed it—the bitterness, the twisted anger that could only be assuaged by tormenting the weak. Pseudo-strength bought by diminishing others. Zar moved to wake her, to warn her, then paused. The bully would taunt, wo
uld threaten if she were awake—but he wouldn't show himself. He needed to use a weakness to bring himself forth. Then, he'd manipulate that weakness to belittle a woman.

  With him, it would always be women. Zar knew him then. Just another predator who preyed on a woman's trust. Zar's eyes narrowed. Come in, he pleaded. Come in. Something savage was stirring inside Zar, as he lay there, deceptively silent, and stared at the gathering darkness through narrowed lids. The churning inside owed nothing to nerves—if anything, it was anticipation. Zar fought to suppress a smile.

  Some part of his brain was trying to shout a warning, but he ignored it. “That” part of his brain didn't know how to handle this, but there was some instinctive part that did. Some part that was actually looking forward to it.

  Come in...

  Merrie stirred now, and stiffened, as she sensed the violence in the room. She reached for him but he shook his head. “Best if you don't touch me,” he warned. He stood up, naked, but feeling far from vulnerable now. The darkness gathered around him.

  It was trying to crowd him. Waves of billowing black with odd glimmers of light that could mould a hand, or an arm. Pseudo-humanity attempting to prove itself through an act of remembered virulence. Zar wanted to laugh as it attempted to jostle him—to crowd him much as a knife-wielder might in a dark alley. “Wanna rumble?” Zar said harshly. He was actually smiling, as, palm-extended, he shoved his hand into the densest mass of swirling black. "Die, Fucker,” he said calmly.

  The black began to whirl faster, and Merrie covered her ears against the wails that filled the room. The black condensed still further, becoming swirling strings of black matter—thick, gooey, with a viscousness that flowed back and forth between layers.

  Zar squinted and slowly drew his fingers into a fist. As his fingers curved, they seemed to draw the black with them. The gyrating vortex upped in intensity, but it now had an irregular wobble that grew worse as the vortex narrowed. As his hand closed, the blackness tore into his fist with a whine reminiscent of swift-singing wind.

  It disappeared, with a tremendous bang that shivered the walls of the room.

  Zar dusted off his palm distastefully, then turned to look at her. It would be a while before he could calm down. His adrenaline was still pulsing, and some of that primitive sense of domination was still with him.

  She reached for him, but he shook his head. “If I take you now, it won't be love,” he warned her in a growl. Lust, pure and simple. The need to dominate. To rape, if that's what it took to make her his.

  She had to know.

  She pulled back the covers and spread her legs. As he mounted her in a frenzied, passion-pounding release that bore no resemblance to their former lovemaking, her insides swelled to meet him, and she came, again and again. Not love? With Zar? She whispered huskily, “It is for me.”

  * * * *

  They could have warned us, Ren thought worriedly as she hauled her sweaty body across yet another empty-looking swathe of desert. Josh was emitting similar patterns of worried impatience, and the beginnings of frustration. There was a huge difference between liberating a few leaves from a plant, and liberating a person from a downed plane.

  I'm not that kind of doctor! She hoped Josh was better versed in first aid than she was. The mini kits they were carrying in their packs were hardly stocked to cope with a severe injury. The most they could hope for was to keep the man alive while they broke radio silence and called for help.

  They should have asked Erik along. Maybe they thought he wouldn't go—or maybe they thought the pilot was already dead.

  Josh was of a different opinion. She punched in his number. “I don't think you should be so negative, Josh. If they didn't care, they wouldn't have sent us.”

  "Will you cut that out!" he complained. “I let down my guard for an instant, and you're in there, picking my brain!”

  “It wasn't that way. I was thinking how hard this might be, and what may have motivated them to send us instead of Erik. And your thoughts sort of ‘sifted in'.” She sounded slightly embarrassed.

  Josh was hot and sweaty and frustrated. “Maybe. It's still unethical.”

  “What about those times you described my underwear to Dustin?” she flared.

  “That was years ago—” he began.

  “Are you trying to tell me you never do that kind of thing now? You never meet somebody and pry, just a little, to see what they're made of?” There was silence on the other end. Ren added, “Seems to me I recall, just last week, some jokes about Dr. Armadillo's—”

  “Arbuthott's,” Josh corrected.

  “—Arbuthott's inadequate lecture notes. Something about how lucky he was to bullshit his way through it.” She sniffed loudly, into the phone. “I thought we were working together,” Ren went on sadly. “I mean that, Josh—I never would've pried. I-I didn't mean to.”

  “That's okay, Ren. I was just giving you a hard time. Don't take it so hard—” He went quiet when the sound of her laughter came buzzing through the phone. He grinned and shook his head. “I'll get you for that one, Magnus.” The tone of his voice changed. “Ren, how close are you?”

  “Dammit if I know! Why?”

  “I think I've found it,” he said seriously.

  She took a nervous breath. “Wait for me, Josh. I'll hurry.” She tuned into him for a moment, sensed he was deliberating going in without her, and added, “Promise me. Because if you damn well hurt yourself, I'm probably going to have to heal you—and you'll have to live with that!”

  It was circuitous, but he got it. “All right,” he grouched. “But quit picking the flowers and move your butt.”

  Ren smirked, shoved the last of the plant samples in her pack, and took off at a run.

  * * * *

  “Could you ask the nurse for something? For pain?” Dustin leaned back against the pillows.

  “No problem.” At the door James hesitated, looked at him obliquely, then said jokingly, “Don't go anywhere, okay?”

  Once the door had swooshed closed, Dusty counted to five, then climbed back out of bed. He snatched up the IV bag and its replacement, plus the antibiotic infusion that was meant to feed into it. Enough to get him to Mexico, then he'd find a pharmacy to refill the prescription. He wrapped the lot in a spare shirt and then in a plastic bag.

  There was no way he could carry the suitcase. Instead, he popped it open, snatched up his wallet and phone and headed for the window. After checking for foot traffic, he tossed out the crutches, then eyed the distance to the ground. One floor. No problemo.

  James would be pissed off, but he'd get over it. He'd also know why. He'd want to put the trip off. Jamie was a bugger for caution. No wonder, given the nature of his gift. He'd want to wait, until Dustin was stronger.

  It didn't matter that Jamie was right. Because he hadn't been there when a dinosaur had come charging out of the past and into the present. Dustin doubted whether even the evidence of his holey leg could get through to James or Merrie or Valterzar. It was like happening on an accident, after the victims had been patched up. Erik might have some idea, because he'd done some of the patching. But the others wouldn't. As much as they might object to being experimented on, they wouldn't really know what they were dealing with.

  Any more than Symtech did.

  Dustin was more scared than he wanted to admit. He and Josh had spent lots of time together, but this kind of thing had never happened before. Oh, Dusty had bouts of retro, but nothing with the “graphic” intensity of those moments in the flatlands.

  He had to know. He wouldn't be able to sleep until he knew. Whether it was a fluke, weird timing, their proximity, sunspots, or the way his life was going to be from now on. Whether standing on a nonexistent road would send a chariot careening into his body, or if landing in an empty field would end with a broadsword in the butt. Whether something about him had changed, to bring his “retro” into the present.

  If he was the catalyst for this, then they shouldn't be pairing him—with anybody. A
nd he certainly shouldn't be considering pairing himself permanently with Ren.

  Which made an impromptu trip to Mexico foolish, irresponsible—perhaps, even, reprehensible. A disaster, from the antibiotics he needed for his leg to the uncertainty about what he'd do when he got there.

  When it came down to it, though, none of that mattered. Because Ren was there, and Josh, who was one of his closest friends. If he was worried about them, he had every right to pay them a visit.

  He swung down from the window, gritted his teeth and let go.

  He lay there, his world momentarily eclipsed by pain. Then he grabbed his plastic bag and his crutches and forced himself to his feet.

  Every right in the world...

  * * * *

  Lawrence Valterzar clicked “End” then sat there, tapping the phone against his chin. He was trying to decide what to do. They'd alerted him, of course, as soon as Dustin had left the hospital.

  Lawrence stared a little dubiously at the phone. Despite their threats, they apparently had no intention of firing him.

  The first person he'd phoned had been James Wickham. James had sounded surprised—so surprised that Lawrence suspected he knew exactly where Dustin had gone.

  It would be easy enough to trace Dusty's movements through Symtech—to track his credit cards or ATM, but that's not the way Lawrence wanted to do it. Not if he believed his own claims that Dustin Mallory was both independent and self-determined.

  This wasn't merely an extension of Dustin's independence day—he was headed somewhere. After all, he'd pulled off the self-save, without Erik's intervention. He had no need to leave unless he had somewhere better to go. Lawrence could think of only one place that would seem “better” to Dustin—and that was wherever Ren happened to be.

  Once again, Lawrence felt that repugnance at interfering with the man's life. He'd hate it if someone did it to him. Why did they have to follow Mallory around as though he were a child?

  Because he was acting like one? Taking off, telling no one where he was going to be?

  And if I wanted to do that?

  Why not?