Homecoming - Christie Golden [64]
His friends remained silent. Icheb recalled a pastime that was popular among cadets and introduced the subject “Does anyone wish to consume pizza this—”
He paused in midsentence, looking at the expressions on the faces around him, his certainty as to the appropriateness of his comments faltering. That had been one of the hardest things for him to learn. As a Borg, there had been no need to communicate through facial expressions or tone of voice. All was known, all was shared. He had had to learn that upturned lips on nearly every humanoid species meant pleasure, that water coming from the eyes meant distress, that drawn-together eyebrows meant anger. Now he looked from one of his friends to the other, trying to decipher their emotions.
They had come to a halt beside a small copse of trees on the ground. Eshe now stepped out from behind one. Icheb looked at her curiously. Her eyes were red and her face was more serious than he had ever seen it.
“Icheb,” she said, her voice flat, “you have to answer some questions.”
“I do not understand,” he said. “What is it you wish to know?”
Tim snorted.. His face was flushed and his breathing was heavy. It distressed Icheb when those he cared about were troubled. Tim was the weakest student among them; perhaps he was not doing well in a class.
“Like you don’t know,” he snarled.
“Truly, Tim, I do not.”
Eshe sighed. “Maybe he really doesn’t, Tim.”
[191] Tim looked away. “Of course he does. He’s got to. My dad got a message today.” His voice was as flat as Eshe’s. “I wasn’t supposed to know about it. No one is, but he can’t keep something like this quiet forever. So I heard all about it. Borg.”
The way he said the last word unsettled Icheb. “That is an incorrect term, Tim. You know I am no longer a member of the collective.”
“Icheb,” said Eshe, “listen. We’ve—we’ve heard something. We want to know what you have to do with it.”
“With what?” Icheb asked. He stumbled forward suddenly. Andre had shoved him! Icheb whirled, staring at his friend’s face. “Andre, why did you do that?”
“My aunt was killed at Wolf 359, you bastard!” Andre cried. His voice was thick and Icheb realized his friend was crying. He was so surprised at the unprovoked attack and so focused on Andre’s lean, tear-streaked face that he didn’t see Sam’s fist coming. The blow to his head took him completely off-guard, and he fell forward onto the walkway, his padds clattering as they tumbled out of his pack.
“What are you doing?” came Eshe’s voice. “We were just going to question him!”
Tim reached down and grabbed onto Icheb’s shirt, but by now Icheb was aware of what was happening, although he didn’t understand why and it pained him deeply. He had spoken truly; he was no longer a member of the collective, but the implants that remained in his body made him stronger and swifter than any of his three colleagues, and his senses were heightened.
[192] With shocking speed he struck at Tim’s arm, knocking his grip loose. Icheb ducked Sam’s blow and dealt one of his own. Andre grabbed him from behind and before Icheb could extricate himself, Tim had landed a good punch to his midsection.
Icheb gasped in pain. Another blow crashed down on his face and he tasted blood. He dropped to his knees, reaching behind him and seizing Andre in the same movement. With effort, for he was winded and hurt, he flung Andre over his head. Andre hit the pavement hard and went limp.
Concern for his friend made Icheb hesitate. Sam rushed over to Andre.
“Okay,” said Sam, breathing heavily. “Okay, this is enough. Andre needs some help.” Sam looked over at Icheb. “Icheb, we—”
Tim fell upon Icheb, raining blows. He felt something hard strike him and realized that Tim had grabbed ahold of some of the rocks that artfully dotted the landscape and was using these as well. Instinctively, Icheb covered his head.
What was going on? Why were they attacking