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“YOU WANT TO SEE HOW much damage I can do with this?”
Aubrey had never seen Don so enraged. He confronted Mateo, wielding one of the electric prods in his massive fist. “Aubrey tells me the left eye is a good place. You want to light up your scanner and give me a good target?”
Megan’s agonized scream brought everyone running to the infirmary. Garr managed to restrain Don as he burst through the door. They grappled in the doorway, their bodies blocking the rest of the Runners from entering. Don snatched the prod from Doc’s workbench, brandishing it over Garr’s shoulder at Mateo.
The rest of the Runners, their meal preparation forgotten, clustered in a compact group in the corridor, agitated and wary.
Mateo stood alone at the far side of the infirmary, calm and unflappable. He cocked his head to one side, eyeing Don as if he were a strange new species to be catalogued. “Must I repeat myself, Don? Why do you still persist in responding emotionally, rather than rationally?”
Don growled something inarticulate, and Garr was hard-pressed to prevent him from acting on his threat.
You don’t make it easy, do you, Mateo? Aubrey was floored by the Tracker’s audacity. If anyone could overpower you, it’s Don.
Megan’s limp form sprawled in a graceless heap on the gurney. The improvised hospital bed was the only barrier separating Mateo from the rest of the group.
Doc hovered over Megan, as if shielding her from Mateo, a look of anguish on her face. Is she dead?
“What did you do to her?” Doc spat over her shoulder at Mateo. “She trusted you.”
“I did precisely what I said, Doctor Simon. What each of you agreed to, including our unconscious colleague,” Mateo replied, observing Megan with detached curiosity. “An experiment, in hopes of reactivating Megan’s self-repair enhancements. Such an undertaking entails a certain amount of risk. I’m sure you’re well aware of that, as a person of science.”
Aubrey heard Sheila’s heated protest behind her. “Megan is not a lab rat.”
“That’s enough, all of you.” Garr released his grip on Don, but remained firmly planted between him and Mateo. “Megan gave her consent. She knew it was risky. Stop with the blame game—nobody’s at fault.”
Don reluctantly lowered the prod, flicking the power off with his thumb. His scowl was unchanged as he tossed the device on Doc’s workbench.
Aubrey marveled again at the Runner’s deference toward the former Colonel.
Sheila slipped past Aubrey, hovering beside the gurney opposite Doc Simon. Doc lifted Megan’s limp arm, fingers pressed against her wrist. Aubrey held her breath until Doc nodded wordlessly; Megan had a pulse.
“If I may . . .” Mateo stepped to the foot of the gurney. He paused uncharacteristically at the baleful look Doc aimed his way. “Doctor Simon, my ability to scan the patient is more thorough than your primitive methods.”
Doc glared at him. “Be my guest. But from a distance, do you understand me?”
“You’d better do as she says.” Garr crossed the floor to stand beside Sheila. “We know Trackers have a lot of range when it comes to scanning.”
Mateo gave him a curious look. “If we’re scanning for Implants, yes. That’s what we were designed to do. Megan is a different matter.”
His gaze shifted from Garr to Doc. Neither of them showed any inclination to budge.
Don coughed into his hand, glancing with exaggerated significance at the nearby prod. Mateo acquiesced with a slight nod, stepping away from the gurney.
Aubrey couldn’t repress a shiver as Mateo activated his scanner, the reddish glow giving his countenance an alien cast. She tried not to stare, but a horrible fascination left her unable to look away.
That circle of light means death.
If Mateo was aware of Doc’s furious gaze, he gave no sign. He scanned Megan from head to foot, and back again, taking his time. His face was as impassive as always.
“There’s no evidence of additional damage,” he said at last. The red circle pulsated with a mechanical rhythm beneath the skin around his eye. “Nor is there any indication whether our experiment was a success. Only time will tell. We must wait.”
“Do we have any way of knowing whether or not you’re lying?” Sheila asked coolly, studying him with shrewd eyes. “As I recall, you tend to be less than open and transparent. Unless it suits you, of course.”
“You should chat with Amos about the value of not second-guessing your allies,” Mateo replied, not looking at her. He scanned Megan’s limp form again, and the red glow faded, restoring his human appearance.
He cocked his head to one side, sniffing deeply. An odd expression crossed his face. “Does anyone else smell something burning?”