Mildred hugged the man. “Keep hoping we get back, and for God’s sakes keep yourself alive until we do. It’ll only be a day or so if we’re coming back,” she said as she held on to him.
She let him go and stood back. “Keep yourself alive—we’ll be back. And get some rest! That’s from one doctor to another.”
“I’ll try, but you know how that is.” He shrugged.
Mildred shook her head. “Damn fool.”
Hector stood at the back and watched as she left, answering her departing gesture with a small wave of the hand.
As soon as the door of the med building was closed, he forgot all idea of rest and returned to his patients.
THERE WERE SEVEN SUITS and helmets from the chilled Illuminated Ones that would be worn by those who would travel in the wag and make the initial entry to the redoubt. Not all of the companions would be able to make the cut, partly because of the problem of matching available suit sizes to the individual, and partly because of the possible failing health of Mildred, Doc and Jak.
Yet the argument for noninclusion because of health was that the infected companions would be slower, and not so reliable and quick to react as usual. Therefore, the usual—and almost psychic—level of cover between them may be broken. However, it occurred to Ryan that if some of the Gate traveled with them, then this reliance would already be broken, and perhaps the infected companions would be able to make the trip— or, to be more specific, one of them: Mildred.
The companions had gathered by the wag and were making their own preparations for battle, checking their weapons and restocking on ammo and grens from the traveling supply that J.B. always carried with him. Mildred had joined them and was shocked when she heard Ryan state that she should travel in the vanguard of the attack.
“Why? I’m in no fit state to be trusted. God alone knows I would gladly go if I felt— Ryan, my reflexes are shot to shit and I’m slow.”
“But you’ve got something much more important that that,” the one-eyed man said calmly. “You’re the only one among us who would be able to tell the disease cultures and the possible antidote in the Illuminated Ones’ laboratory.”
“You’re right, of course,” she stated. “But you could bring me in on the second wave, and I could lead the search when they’ve been driven back. I just don’t trust myself in combat, the way I feel right now.”
“We can’t take the chance that they would destroy everything as they pulled back. Whatever else they may be, they aren’t stupes. They’ll know that one of the reasons we’ve come is so that we can try and snatch the antidote from them. Chances are that they’ll try and get rid of it before we can get it. That’s why you need to be in the front line. We have to increase our chances to the max.”
Mildred bit her lip, thinking hard. She tried to tune out the world around her and listen to her body—to assess the degree to which the disease had taken hold of her so far, to see how much she was aching, to see how slow it had made her.
Finally, she nodded to herself and then at Ryan. Fixing the one-eyed man with a steely glare, she said, “Okay, You’re right on the reasons. I figure I may still just about have it together enough to hold my own in a firefight. I’ll do it.”
Ryan clapped her on the back. “Good. I know you’ll be okay, because you have to be.”
“I wish I could share your confidence in me,” Mildred replied.
“You’ll be all right, Millie,” J.B. said. His face was as impassive as usual, but Mildred could see in his eyes that he was worried about her. A worry tempered by the fact that they had no choice in the matter, the struggle had to go on. The Armorer looked away after their eyes met, and directed his attention to Ryan.
“Okay, so that’s one of the uniforms taken,” he said laconically, “and I’d guess that you take another—” he looked for the one-eyed man to affirm this “—so what do you want me to do?”