Terran Tomorrow

by Nancy Kress

  He stood. Lindy scrambled to her feet beside him, putting a hand on Luke’s shoulder. Her green eyes were wide.

  Jason said grimly, “At the base, the Settlers will all have to accept military rule.”

  “Yes,” she said, and he was surprised to feel her fingers brush his hand before she ran toward the FiVee.

  CHAPTER 8

  Marianne sat with Ryan beside Colin’s bedside. Colin, freshly out of OR and still sedated, slept deeply in one of the tiny, windowless rooms in Lab Dome that had actually been intended to be part of the infirmary. Less severely wounded people were jammed into a makeshift ward nearby. Because every single Settler was contaminated with RSA, they had had to be brought in batches through decon, even the dangerously wounded.

  Marianne and Ryan shared a wooden bench, dragged into Colin’s room from the Army mess. Luke lay curled asleep on the floor, his huge body taking up most of the floor space. He’d refused to leave Colin.

  To Marianne, the entire scene felt unreal. Ryan was now only three years younger than she was, and looked ten years older. His right hand shook with Parkinson’s. After he’d asked about Noah and his family on World, Ryan fell silent. He’d always been a quiet, even secretive, person, but as he gazed at his younger son without speaking, his left hand rested on Marianne’s and she was comforted by its veiny, callused touch.

  She said, “Lindy says that Colin will be all right.”

  Ryan nodded.

  If Marianne wanted information from him, she was going to have to pry it out. “What went wrong between her and Jason?”

  “I didn’t ask, Mom.”

  “But you know.”

  Long silence. Then merely, “Jason and Colin are very different people.”

  She wanted to say Duh. She did not. Was “duh” even understood slang anymore? She said instead, “When did Jason grow such a turtleplate?”

  “A what?”

  “A hard shell. Colin was always a gentle kid, but Jason wasn’t always this hard.”

  Another long silence. When Ryan did speak, it clearly cost him pain. “You don’t know what the Collapse was like, Mom. People dying, dead in just a few hours, nearly everyone. The cities were full of stinking corpses, industry gone overnight, some places with just a handful of survivors in an entire town. People reacted in different ways. They gave up, or started fighting each other, or went crazy, or started organizing what was left. Jason was already a major in the Army. He took control of Monterey Base, which had been under a dome less than one year. Everybody above him in the chain of command was dead. He sealed the base and used copters to bring in scientists from all over California, either before they were infected or after they survived, along with any surviving families. He sent soldiers in esuits to get whatever additional equipment the scientists asked for, plus more supplies and weapons and I don’t know what all. He moved fast and efficiently, and he made enemies doing it because he could not take in everyone, and because some people wanted to mourn instead of moving on. He did what he had to, and none of us might be here at all if it weren’t for him.”

  Ryan stopped. Marianne waited, sensing there was more to come.

  Finally Ryan said, “Some of what he did might be called brutal. Was called brutal. His first goal was to not contaminate the base with RSA, because he needed the scientists who were not immune to stay alive and find a way to combat the weaponized disease. He kept out sick people begging to get in. They died, some of them, just outside the airlock, including children. Lindy wanted to go out in an esuit and do what she could to at least ease their dying, but he wouldn’t let her, even though she’s an RSA survivor. He couldn’t risk some crazy survivor killing one of his two doctors. He instituted strict control of the birds brought into Lab Dome for research, and he enforced it with weapons when he had to.”

  She said, startled, “There are RSA-bearing birds inside Lab Dome?”

  “There’s a biohazard lab in the underground annex, with its own decon. Not a biohazard level 4, unfortunately, but an engineer rigged up negative pressure. Everybody allowed to work there is an RSA survivor, I’m told, which pissed off some scientists who aren’t and feel their hands are tied, relatively.”

  Ryan had once been a scientist, too, long ago. A botanist concerned with invasive species, especially purple loosestrife. Not relevant now.

  He went on, “When the war started with New America, I think Jason did … other things. I’m not sure what. But that’s when Lindy left him. She doesn’t understand that Jason is doing what he thinks is necessary. So is Colin. Mom—what about this virophage you brought back from World?”

  She could have asked why Ryan chose to live with Colin instead of at the base, but she didn’t. Ryan’s tone said he was done discussing his sons. She said, “Zack McKay told me that the virophage from our tissues has proved useless against the weaponized version of R. sporii. The leelees—that’s an animal native to World—aboard the Return were also infected with both virus and virophage, but they all died when Terran air filled the ship. The cultures that Claire and I made on ship died, too. None of us refugees is going to be much help to Zack and his people.”

  “You are a help. You brought the ship.”

  “Well, yes, there is that. We— Come in, Jane.”

  The Kindred woman stood uncertainly in the doorway. Marianne saw that to Ryan, Jane still looked alien. Marianne had been around Worlders so long that now they just looked like another group of Terrans, no stranger than people with red hair or brown skin.

  She saw something else, too: the way Jane looked at Colin. Unlike Ryan and Jason, Jane was not guarded. Her whole young heart shone in her big eyes.

  She said in her musical English, “Will Colin become completely well?”

  “We hope so. Dr. Ross says he’s recovering as well as can be expected.”

  Jane glanced at Ryan and then at Luke, snoring loudly on the floor.

  Marianne said, “This is my son, Ryan Jenner, Colin’s father. And that’s Luke, a friend of Colin’s from the Settlement.”

  “I greet you, Ryan Jenner.” Apparently Jane had decided to resume the World greeting; for a while she had dropped it. It must be difficult to decide how much of your culture to keep or shed in such different surroundings.

  Ryan said, “Hello.”

  Lindy suddenly pushed past Jane. “What are all you doing in here without so much as a face mask? Where’s Amy—why did she let you in? Out, all of you!”

  Marianne said, “Don’t blame Amy. She has too many to nurse in the ward. We snuck in, but we’ll go now if you say so.”

  “You and Ryan can stay, with masks, but not until after I examine Colin. And get this big sleeping lump out of here, now. You, Jane: don’t come back until I say so, and—Jason? No, you can’t come in, stay out there in the corridor, and the rest of you—out. This is a vulnerable patient, people. I wish you would all remember that!”

  Ryan woke Luke and got him out of the room, although only by constant soothing murmurs as he tugged Luke along. Jason and Jane left, followed by Marianne. Jason and Jane stood at the end of the corridor, talking in low voices. Sooner than Marianne expected, Lindy emerged from Colin’s room.

  “He’s doing well—everything looks good. Find Amy and get a face mask before you go back in there. Jason, I need to talk to you.”

  He said stiffly, “Colonel Jenner, please.”

  Before Marianne heard Lindy’s reply, she left to find a face mask. Marianne had no intention of leaving Colin until she could see for herself that he was awake and rational.

  Although the more she thought about it, the less rational everything seemed. Why should Colin be any different?

  At least her headache had lessened. That was something.

  * * *

  “What did you do with him?” Lindy demanded.

  Jason didn’t have to ask whom she meant. Her green eyes, shadowed with fatigue, glared at him. Jane glided discreetly away. Jason didn’t let his gaze follow her.

  Just be
yond the infirmary corridor, Zack McKay conferred with two other scientists. Boxes of God-knew-what lined the walls and narrowed the hallway; one of the scientists sat on a tall crate. By last count, 203 Settlers had survived the attack by New America, and all of them had been jammed into the base wherever they would fit. Families in two-room apartments were now down to a single room. Storerooms had been emptied to use as quarters, which was why the corridors were now crowded with crates and shelving. All but the main conference room in Lab Dome had been commandeered, and most other such amenities had been eliminated. Sergeant Tasselman, the billeting officer, had done the best he could. Susan McKay, quartermaster, had stretched blankets and cots and kitchenware as far as they could possibly go. Jason was sleeping on a cot in his command post. But, then, he’d often done that since he and Lindy divorced.

  Lieutenant Allen had taken the contaminated Return back to orbit, along with Information Technology Specialist Ruby Martin and J Squad soldier Corporal Jeffrey Michaelson. Jason had hesitated over the decision to park the ship upstairs, even though that would keep it safe from attack. Branch Carter had no idea how much fuel was left, or even what fuel the ship used when it wasn’t jumping through time and space. Carter was not aboard. With no immunity to RSA, Carter lay in the infirmary, having his gut microbes adjusted back to Terran.

  Also aboard the Return was Monterey Base’s only physicist, Major Thomas Farouk. Jason wasn’t happy about that, either, but Farouk, an RSA survivor, was more eager to investigate the Return than to do research on the ground. During the frantic days after the Collapse, Jason had concentrated on gathering up biologists, virologists, doctors, anyone who could help with R. sporii avivirus. He had not anticipated needing more physicists to reverse-engineer an alien starship. But maybe Farouk would learn something useful about the alien technology.

  In addition to the Army personnel, the Return now carried more weapons from the armory, transported to the ship in heavily guarded FiVees.

  Lindy folded her arms across her chest. “That prisoner is underground, isn’t he? In your dungeon?”

  “This is none of your business, Dr. Ross.”

  “It sure the hell is! I’m chief medical officer here and—”

  “You aren’t an officer at all.”

  “—torture is against your rules of engagement that—”

  “For Christ’s sake!” he hissed. Two of the scientists glanced their way and Jason cursed himself. Nobody could make him lose his temper like Lindy. He lowered his voice.

  “The rules of engagement no longer apply in a world without rules. But no, I am not going to torture that kid. He won’t know anything valuable. A simple truth drug will be enough in this case, and since you’re here and Captain Holbrook is in surgery performing a cesarean delivery, you’re going to administer it. That’s an order, Dr. Ross.”

  She wasn’t an officer, but the base was under military law. Too bad so many civilians forgot that.

  Momentarily distracted, she said, “A cesarean? Who’s having a baby?”

  “One of the Settlers.” A baby that, because it was born at the base and not at the RSA-exposed Settlement, had a hugely increased chance of living more than a few hours. Would the new parents appreciate that? Would Colin?

  Lindy was never distracted for long. “You promise? No torture?”

  “Did you not hear me, Dr. Ross?”

  “Yes.” She calmed down. “Now?”

  Why not? A hundred details clamored for Jason’s attention, but everyone except the signal crew and patrol detail were safe inside the two domes. Private Sendis had been buried in the graveyard beside Enclave’s seldom-used southwest airlock. Specialist Lena Tarrant was recovering from wounds sustained in the firefight at the Settlement. The base was not under attack, and Elizabeth Duncan sat in the command post at the top of Enclave Dome, ready to receive any messages from the outside patrol. His second in command was one of the best soldiers Jason had ever seen, although almost unknowable. Always she sat so straight that her back never touched any chair. Her expression seldom changed: alert and unemotional. Sometimes she seemed like a machine, except that nobody was a machine. Least of all, Jason thought, himself.

  Jason said, “All right, now. Get whatever you need.”

  After Lindy fetched her supplies, he led the way to the secure door leading underground. Private Garson sprang up. “All quiet, sir.”

  “Good.” He opened the door.

  She said, “Don’t you need a retinal and digital match?”

  “Both off during daytime if a guard is on duty. Too many scientists and lab techs coming and going from the bird lab.”

  At the bottom of the stairs, Jason keyed them into the stockade. No one, fortunately, emerged from the bird lab opposite the stockade. Building the bird lab inside the dome, even underground, had troubled Jason, but the scientists had insisted. They needed easy access between the bird lab and the research facilities directly above. Jason also hadn’t liked the scientists’ bringing in live birds infected with RSA, even though the sparrows that had been captured outside were brought through the tunnel airlock sealed in esuits, and then taken directly into the negative-pressure lab. The birds weren’t, of course, exposed to decon, which would have negated the whole point, and only RSA survivors were allowed to work in the bird lab. At first, Jason had argued for killing the birds outside and only transporting tissue to the lab. However, the scientists had all protested so stringently that he’d had to give way. Apparently, living and breeding sparrows were necessary to develop vaccines or gene drives. But if any of the scientists got careless for even a second …

  So far, none of them had. “Colonel,” Dr. Steffens had said, not bothering to hide her disdain, “I’ve worked with Congo hemorrhagic fever, Marburg, and Ebola. Dr. Yu headed the team for the Embassy work on R. sporii. Zack McKay is an expert on Lassa. We will not get careless.”

  “Everybody is careless sometime, Dr. Steffens,” he’d said. She didn’t like him, nor he her.

  Nor did he like putting the stockade in Lab Dome underground annex. But there was no other place. The underground annex in Enclave was used to bring in Settlement crops and forest game, and kitchen staff were in and out constantly.

  The private on stockade duty opened the cell door for Jason and Lindy. The New America soldier sat in the same cell where James Anderson had killed himself. Nothing indicated that fact; the alien material of the floor was as impervious to stains as to ordnance. A plate of untouched food sat beside the teenager. One wrist and both feet manacled, the kid glared at Jason and Lindy from defiant, scared eyes. His wispy beard had become neither fuller nor longer.

  “I’m Colonel Jenner and I command here,” Jason said. “Your name and rank?” Some New America cells kept to old rules for POWs; some did not.

  The boy said nothing.

  “Corporal, secure the prisoner.”

  Thompson expertly pinned the boy with a choke hold. Before he could even struggle, Lindy wrapped a tourniquet around his upper arm and slid a needle into a vein on the inner surface of his elbow.

  Jason neither liked nor trusted truth drugs. They hadn’t advanced much in fifty years; they usually produced an unsortable mishmash of fact, fantasy, and gibberish; a personality with strong defenses and even minimal conditioning could withstand them. They had not worked with Anderson. Jason wasn’t a trained interrogator, and he doubted that this boy had any useful information. But he had to do this, just in case.

  Or was this interrogation, done this gentler way, to demonstrate to Lindy that he was not a monster?

  To demonstrate that to the image of Jane in his mind, more than she should be?

  To demonstrate to Colin?

  “He’s under,” Lindy said. “Just a minute…”

  Jason said, “Corporal, dismissed.”

  “Yes, sir.” He left, closing the door.

  With narcosynthesis, timing mattered. The subject fell into sleep, and then partially aroused from it. Questioning needed to happen during
the brief period of twilight consciousness, when inhibitions were lowered and the cortex no longer functioned as a control over what was said. Maintaining that state required frequent, carefully balanced doses of Lindy’s witches’ brew of depressant, barbiturate, and ataraxic. She had proved to be surprisingly good at this.

  “Okay,” she said.

  Jason said, “What is your name?”

  “Tommy. I am Tommy.”

  A lucid response, but thick and mumbling. “Tommy what?”

  “Tommy knockers. Grandma said … tom toms … magic…” His body in the clean uniform twitched and then he was asleep. Lindy gave him more drug.

  “Where did you get the uniform, Tommy?”

  “Grandma. Sewed my … sewn shut…”

  “Where did you get the uniform? Where?”

  “Sierra Depot.” Suddenly clear and crisp. But only for a moment. “Night … Blackie said … that girl…”

  “Who was at Sierra Depot?”

  “Danced with her but she wouldn’t … they all … Grandma sewed it for me. Her big table, so big … why did Blackie do that? Why wouldn’t she dance with me?” His face twisted, about to cry.

  This was pointless. Bits and pieces of this pathetic kid’s lost life, floating to the surface like jetsam after a shipwreck. He must have been only five or six when the Collapse happened.

  Fragments of lost life mingled with bits of erotic fantasy. “I licked her and fucked her … tits and ass and cunt … Grandma said…”

  Jason put his hand on Tommy’s shoulder and squeezed hard. “Who was at Sierra Depot?”

  “Sierra…” He lapsed into sleep.

  “More, Lindy.… okay, Tommy, who was at Sierra Depot?”