“That’s…” She paused, running through the possibilities. Could his language share roots with hers? Some early contact somewhere in the distant past? But even common roots wouldn’t explain his rapid familiarity with modern English.The nanites,she thought again. Could they have some connection to the cyborg’s nanites? Except everyone knew that only Earth Government controlled that technology. Even GenCon had never gotten their hands on it…
“Jaz.”
She’d zoned out again. “Sorry. It’s just a lot to think about. If you’re right?—”
“I am right,” he said with such conviction that she couldn’t help but believe him.
She laughed. “Okay, but that would mean… I don’t know what it would mean. That your people and mine had some kind of connection in the past, maybe? That you’re accessing information that’s stored in the nanites?”
He stiffened, his eyes narrowing. “Nan-ites.”
“You recognize the word?”
He tilted his head for a second, then nodded.
“The scanner shows that you have them in your bloodstream. They’re what’s helping you heal so fast.”
His expression darkened, and he stood abruptly, his massive frame filling the room in a way that made her instinctively want to back up. She held her ground, but her heart rate kicked up a notch.
“Who?” he demanded.
“Who what?”
He gestured to himself. “Who put… inside?”
“You’re asking who put the nanites in you?” At his nod, she shook her head. “I don’t know. As far as I can tell, you were trapped in some kind of chamber far beneath the glacier, one that must have been there for millennia. I don’t know howyou could have had any contact with that type of modern technology.”
He nodded slowly, and she realized he’d understood most of what she’d said. His vocabulary might be limited, but his comprehension was expanding by the minute, his mind making connections and filling in gaps with frightening efficiency. She thought he’d ask more questions, but instead he returned to the original topic.
“Teach me,” he said, sitting back down on the bunk. “More words.”
Something about the directness of the request and the hint of vulnerability in his voice made her chest ache. He was trying so hard to bridge the gap between them.
“Okay.” She went over and sat next to him, folding her legs beneath her. “What do you want to know?”
As they continued, she realized he didn’t learn words the way anyone she’d ever met learned words. He absorbed them. She’d say something once, twice at most, and he’d have it—pronunciation, usage, approximate meaning. When she moved to simple sentences, he parsed the grammar almost instantly, rearranging words with an intuition that bordered on unnerving.
“This,” she said, pointing at the environmental panel, “controls the temperature. It keeps us warm.”
“Temperature.” He rolled the word around. “Controls. Keeps warm.” His eyes moved to her. “You keep me warm. Before.”
Heat immediately rose to her cheeks. “That was the blankets and the heating system?—”
“No.” He touched his chest, then pointed at her. “You. Warm.” A pause. “Safe.”
Safe.The word hit her harder than it should have. She’d spent the night wrapped in his arms because she’d felt safe and apparently, impossibly, he’d felt the same way about her.
“Yeah, well.” She cleared her throat, looking away. “That’s what you do when someone’s injured. You keep them warm.”
“Is normal? For you?”
The question caught her off guard. “What do you mean?”
He gestured at the space between them. “Sleeping. Together. Is normal?”
Oh God.
“Not… I mean, it can be, b-but…” She was stammering. Why was she stammering? “It depends on the relationship. Usually people who sleep together are… close. Partners. Family.”
