Manta's Gift by Timothy Zahn Read Free Book Online

half turning around. "The surgeons downstairs say they're ready to go."
    "Thank you," Faraday said as he stepped past Hesse and sat down in the command chair. Time to say good-bye to Matthew Raimey.
    Or at least, to say good-bye to what Matthew Raimey had been.
     
    It was, Raimey thought, rather like being in a coffin. A thick, form-fitting coffin, lined on every wall with conduits and pipes and tubing of every thickness imaginable. The kind of coffin that would be specially designed for the funeral of a master plumber.
    The probe passed one of the corridor lights as it rolled along, and he got a quick glimpse of the particular group of tubes and jars sitting directly in front of his face. His brand-new digestive system, the techs had identified it: an external stomach and set of intestines, hanging out there in front of him where he could keep an eye on it.
    What in the world was he doing?
    From somewhere at the back of his head came a brief, feedbacklike squeal. "Mr. Raimey?" Faraday's voice came. "Can you hear me?"
    "Just fine," Raimey growled. "I thought you were going to do something about that squeal."
    "We're working on it," Faraday assured him. "It should be fixed before you reach the rendezvous point. I just wanted to wish you luck, and to thank you again for your willingness to—"
    "Save it," Raimey cut him off. "There isn't any room in here to wave flags."
    "Mr. Raimey, this is Dr. Sprenkle," a new voice came in. "Just try to relax. It's natural for you to be feeling a little nervous about this."
    "Oh, well, thank you so very much," Raimey shot back, trying hard to be angry. He hated condescension almost as much as he hated pity, and this Sprenkle character was managing both at the same time.
    But the anger wouldn't come. The best he could do, in fact, was a sort of vague annoyance. They'd probably already shut down all the glands that were necessary to drive a good, solid anger.
    Still ninety thousand kilometers away from the nearest Qanska, and already they'd started stripping his humanity away from him.
    A gift, Faraday had called it back in that pastel blue hospital room. Some gift.
    What in the world was he doing?
    "It's not too late to change your mind, Mr. Raimey," Faraday said quietly.
    Raimey snorted, or at least gave as much of a snort as he could in the tight quarters. "Oh, right," he bit out. "Forget all the time and effort and the public pronouncements and the millions of dollars. Let's just call the media and say, sorry, I've changed my mind. I'll bet the Five Hundred would love that."
    "It doesn't matter what the Five Hundred think," Faraday said. "Only what seems right to you."
    "Even now?"
    "Even now," Faraday said firmly. "Nothing we've done yet is irreversible."
    The almost-anger faded into an almost-depression. "No," Raimey said. "Nothing's irreversible. Except my accident."
    "Matthew—"
    "Oh, shut up," Raimey cut him off. "Let's get on with it."
    "It's going to be all right, Matthew," Faraday said. "Everything's going to work out just fine." If he was offended by Raimey's tone, it didn't show in his voice.
    Too bad. It would have been nice to offend the man, at least a little. Being able to offend people was another part of being human.
    The rolling cart carrying the probe continued down the corridor. It hadn't, Raimey noted cynically, even slowed down during the conversation. So much for him having the final say on what happened with his life.
    But then, what life?
    The probe rolled to a stop. There was a moment of tense anticipation; and then, suddenly, there was the stomach-wrenching return to free fall as it was drop-launched from the station. A moment later came the vibrating roar of the drive and pressure against his feet. After that came silence, punctuated every few minutes by the quieter hissing of the maneuvering jets. Faraday had left the various microphones open in the Contact Room, and in the silence he was able to hear snatches of low conversation from the techs controlling his