Free Fracture Lines (The Glass Complex Book 2) by John Hindmarsh Page A

of the treatment bed until it settled down. The third nurse, who seemed to be the senior of the three, picked up a scalpel. Her purposeful move belied any innocence in her intent. The second nurse placed a restraining hand on her arm. He recognized the threat; he knew Fain protected their own against any who would abuse them.
    “Why do you say Fain?” asked the second nurse.
    “I—I have some memories—of a Fain.” He felt pain. It was not physical.
    “I thought you’d lost your memories,” challenged the third nurse.
    “I had, yes, although they’ve been returning in larger batches, and I’m also experiencing additional flashbacks.”
    “Where did you meet this Fain?” Again, it was the third nurse.
    “On a mining planet. Her Fain-master had been assassinated, and his killer was hunting her. She and I, we formed an alliance, I think.”
    “And what happened to her? Where is she?”
    “She—she was killed. I’ve a memory of carrying her—her body.” Images flashed through his mind of a struggle down into hidden regions of a city, level after level, and then carrying a still, tiny body to the surface on a faraway planet. “I—I don’t know. I don’t know.”
    “Who killed her? Was it you?” asked the third nurse. She held the scalpel in her right hand. It was poised for action, and Steg realized she knew how to use the blade. Perhaps not only as a surgical instrument.
    “No. I rescued her.” His memories were growing more definite. “There was someone, a corporate security chief; I can’t remember his name. He caught up with us and shot her. It was revenge. She hated him. He had killed her master. She—her name was Milnaret, Milnaret of Fain. She asked me to call her Millie.” Memories were starting to link; another neural network was building, strengthening. His confidence was growing that he would soon have all his memories, and soon his recollections would be complete.
    The third nurse dropped the scalpel onto a tray with a clatter. “Very well. As far as I can determine, you’re telling the truth.” She turned her attention away from monitoring screens above his bed.
    Steg realized he was hooked up to various devices. The first nurse began disconnecting him, removing sensor after sensor.
    “We were checking in case your new head wound was more serious,” explained the second nurse.
    “It was convenient you were still connected,” the third nurse said. “Our equipment provides an effective lie detector. Fortunately for you, you passed.”
    “Can you remember anything more?” the first nurse asked. “We would like to know about one of ours.”
    “No. It’s flashes of scenes. Some are—personal.” His face colored. “I won’t tell you those.”
    The three nurses laughed; it was a mutual expression of sympathetic humor. The first nurse finished removing and storing sensor leads while her companions tidied the small surgery unit.
    “Do you know what happened? How long was I unconscious?” Steg asked. “I’ve no idea how I got here.”
    “You’ve been here about twelve hours.” It was the third nurse. Steg thought he would get dizzy, switching his attention from nurse to nurse.
    “Monty alerted your Sergeant Kirby, and he and a squad of your men rescued you. It was professional, I understand. They were seconds too late. We think you were hit across the head from behind and shot. The shot may have been accidental, in the confusion,” the first nurse said.
    “Did their hostage escape?”
    “Oh, yes. She’s safe. She’ll want to thank you,” she replied.
    “What happened to the prisoners?”
    “Rippin’s dead. So is the man who shot you,” the first nurse continued. “The others? They were beaten. No bones broken, though. The colonel’s returned the survivors to the planet. The shuttle has returned, and we’ve got all our supplies. I understand the colonel’s been waiting for delivery of a munitions order, and it’s now loaded. We’re scheduled to depart orbit