Page 39 of Mutant Mine

“No,” I say at once. “Life is far too complex to define any action as always good or bad, right or wrong. What matters most is yourreasonfor acting. You did what you had to do to stay alive. That is all.”

Rory looks at me carefully. “You’ve had to do bad stuff too, I guess?”

I nod. But I must not give into the temptation to let her imagine me as a better man than I am. “Sometimes. Other times, it has been more of a choice.”

She nods too, seemingly to herself. Then a pained expression crosses her face.

“I’ve been treating you like the worst person in the world,” she mumbles. “But you came and saved me anyway. Yousaved me.And now you’re comforting me.”

My heart plunges past my stomach. It is exactly what I have longed to hear her say, of course. But this sudden mood change…

“I fear you may have a mild concussion,” I say.

Rory laughs again. Then she looks at me intently, studying me as if she has never seen me before. I hold her gaze, letting her look.

We are sat closer together than I realized. My hand is still on her shoulder. She is looking down at me where I am knelt on the floor, my chin tilted up to face her. Her eyes drop from my own — down, then back up, just for a second.

The back of my neck prickles. There is a moment — one long, taut moment, where something vibrates in the air between us. I do not dare to breathe. Rory’s eyes drift down again… Then she gasps, her expression contorting into one of outright horror.

Of course,I think.What a fool I am.

“Roth,” she says. “Is that your blood?!”

That is the first time she has called me by my name. Distractedly, I look down and observe the spreading dark patch on my jumpsuit.

I pull the suit aside. Beneath it, I am wearing a white undershirt. The contrast is much clearer against this light fabric. Over my ribs is a wet pool of dark purple. That is the color of my blood: between humanity’s red and the blue that was spliced into my DNA.

“Hm. Yes,” I say. “He did manage to keep hold of the knife at first. He must have stabbed me.”

“Stabbedyou?” Her hands hover near my torso, as if she wants to help but is uncertain of touching me. “Shit. Fuck. What do we do? Is there a medic on board? Like, an alive one?”

“Rory,” I say. “This is not a significant injury for me.”

“What the hell do you mean, ‘not significant’? You got stabbed!”

“I have healed from much worse without any medical care.”

Rory fixes me with a long, hard stare — then seems to calm down somewhat, as she sees that I am truly not distressed.

“Okay… You don’tseemto be keeling over or anything.”

I smile. “No. I have no plans to do that.”

She purses her lips. “Take off your shirt,” she says. “I saw a little med kit in the bathroom.” She wriggles past me, off the bed, and marches out of the room.

Her own injury seems to be forgotten. I am glad to see that she looks stable on her feet.

Obediently, I strip my jumpsuit down, tying the sleeves around my waist, and pull off my undershirt altogether. Then I seat myself on the edge of the bed, bare to my waist.

Rory stops and stares at me when she comes back in. Perhaps she is intimidated by the job ahead of her, or perhaps the sight of my uncovered wound makes her queasy.

Whatever it is, she shakes it off, then comes to stand before me with a med kit clutched in her hand. With me sat on edge of the bed and her on her feet, she is taller than me again, and must stoop a little to reach my ribs. It is awkward.

“Um,” Rory says, “Maybe this would be easier if you lay down…?”

I lie back on the bed, with my feet still resting on the floor. She climbs onto the mattress and kneels at my side.

“Yeah, that’s better,” she says. She coughs, once, when herfingers first touch my skin.

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