“Right here.”
I brushed the Seeker’s coarse black hair out of the way, exposing the little pink line at the base of her skull. I stared at her olive tan skin and hesitated.
“Would you cut, Doc? I don’t… I don’t want to.”
“No problem, Wanda.”
I saw only his hands as he came to stand across from me. He set a little row of white cylinders on the cot next to the Seeker’s shoulder. The scalpel winked in the bright light, flashing across my face.
“Hold her hair out of the way.”
I used both hands to clear her neck.
“Wish I could scrub up,” Doc muttered to himself, obviously feeling underprepared.
“It’s not really necessary. We have Clean.”
“I know.” He sighed. What he really wanted was the routine, the mental cleansing that the old habits had given him.
“How much room do you need?” he asked, hesitating with the point of the blade an inch from her skin.
I could feel the heat of the other bodies behind me, squeezing in to get a better view. They were careful not to touch either of us.
“Just the length of the scar. That will be enough.”
This didn’t seem like enough to him. “You sure?”
“Yes. Oh, wait!”
Doc pulled back.
I realized I was doing this all backward. I was no Healer. I wasn’t cut out for this. My hands were shaking. I couldn’t seem to look away from the Seeker’s body.
“Jared, could you get one of those tanks for me?”
“Of course.”
I heard him walk the few steps away, heard the dull, metallic clunk of the tank he chose knocking against the others.
“What now?”
“There’s a circle on top of the lid. Press it in.”
I heard the low hum of the cryotank as it powered on. The men muttered and shuffled their feet, moving away from it.
“Okay, on the side there should be a switch… more like a dial, actually. Can you see it?”
“Yes.”
“Spin it all the way down.”
“Okay.”
“What color is the light on top of the tank?”
“It’s… it’s just turning from purple to… bright blue. Light blue now.”
I took a deep breath. At least the tanks were functional.
“Great. Pop the lid and wait for me.”
“How?”
“Latch under the lip.”
“Got it.” I heard the click of the latch, and then the whir of the mechanism. “It’s cold!”
“That’s sort of the point.”
“How does it work? What’s the power source?”
I sighed. “I knew the answers when I was a Spider. I don’t understand it now. Doc, you can go ahead. I’m ready.”
“Here we go,” Doc whispered as he slid the blade of the scalpel deftly, almost gracefully, through the skin. Blood coursed down the side of her neck, pooling on the towel Doc had placed underneath.
“A tiny bit deeper. Just under the edge —”
“Yes, I see.” Doc was breathing fast, excited.
Silver glinted out from the red.
“That’s good. Now you hold the hair.”
Doc switched places with me in a smooth, swift movement. He was good at his Calling. He would have made quite a Healer.
I didn’t try to hide what I was doing from him. The movements were too minute for him to have any chance of seeing. He would not be able to do this until I explained.
I slid one fingertip carefully along the back ridge of the tiny silver creature until my finger was almost entirely inserted into the hot opening at the base of the host body’s neck. I traced my way to the anterior antennae, feeling the taut lines of the bound attachments stretched tight like harp strings into the deeper recesses of her head.
I twisted my finger around the underside of the soul’s body, caressing down from the first segment along the other line of attachments, as stiff and profuse as the bristles of a brush.
I felt carefully at the juncture of these tight strings, at the tiny joints, no bigger than pinheads. I stroked my way about a third of the way down. I could have counted, but that would have taken a very long time. It would be the two hundred seventeenth connection, but there was another way to find it. There it was, the little ridge that made this joint just a bit bigger—a seed pearl rather than a pinhead. It was smooth under my fingertip.
I pressed against it with gentle pressure, tenderly massaging. Kindness was always the way of the souls. Never violence.
“Relax,” I breathed.
And, though the soul could not hear me, it obeyed. The harp strings loosened, went slack. I could feel the slither as they retracted, feel the slight swelling of the body as it absorbed them. The process took no more than a few beats of my heart. I held my breath until I felt the soul undulate under my touch. Wriggling free.
I let it twist itself a little farther out, and then I curled my fingers gently around the tiny, fragile body. I lifted it, silver and gleaming, wet with blood that was quickly shed from the smooth casing, and cradled it in my hand.