Playing God

by Sarah Zettel

  The frame car didn't run any more smoothly than the bus had. Each rattle and jounce sent fresh flashes of pain up Praeis's arm. She wanted to ignore it and talk to her daughters about what they'd been through. All she could do, though, was stare at the green, hilly country with its fortifications and compounds and think about the strange, frightening moment when the world had entirely narrowed down to her body and her immediate sensations. She'd come down from the Burn dozens of times when she was a young arms-sister, and it had never felt like that.

  Don't think about it. You've got so much to worry about. If it's happening … she swallowed. If it's happening, then it'shappening, as it must, and I have less time to work with than I thought.

  Resaime stretched her neck up and shouted in Praeis's ear. “We were not afraid, Mother. Of any of it.”

  Praeis turned her head. Res was so close, her face blurred in front of Praeis's vision. “I wish you had been, my own. What you saw was worth fearing, and worth avoiding.”

  “I don't want to sound childish, Mother,” said Theia, leaning as close to Praeis as she could without touching her bandages, “but they started it.”

  Praeis sighed. “ ‘They’ generally do,” she bawled over the noise of the engine and the rushing wind. “But notice, my own, you were the only ones with the good sense to leave the fight. This makes you the only ones with whole skins right now.”

  Praeis's cheek twitched. Neys had turned around and was staring at her.

  “Is something wrong, Arms-Sister?” Praeis shouted.

  Neys hesitated. “No, Sister. Nothing at all.” She faced forward again.

  Praeis closed her eyes briefly. Yes, Arms-Sister, I teach my daughters to be detached, to be cowards, to long for peace above blood. To be like me.

  The Cesh compound lay just outside the Charith city walls. Over the years, it had become an unoffical checkpoint and barracks. The yards were filled with arms-sisters in the uniforms of the Great Family and assorted near families. Arms-sisters marched across the lawns and the tops of the walls. Outbuildings that had once housed livestock now housed mechanics’ stations. The livestock looked on from hastily constructed pens that some third- and fourth-sisters in bad grace with their primes repaired and shoveled out.

  Neys and Silv's inner home was a sprawling dwelling under half a dozen peaked roofs. It had been continuously added on to for the past four generations. Four little daughters ran around the yard, playing games of tag with laughing arms-sisters.

  At the door, three servants hurried to set out cold drinks and help Neys and Silv strip out of their armor, but no other sisters came forward. Praeis bit her tongue. When she had last been here, there had been nearly two dozen Cesh, counting aunts, mothers, and sisters. She looked at the empty room and wished desperately for a way to go off and be quietly sick with her daughters.

  If the horror of her realizations showed on her skin, Neys and Silv gave no sign.

  “Shall we take your daughters to meet ours?” asked Neys as she handed Praeis a glass of sweet, scented juice.

  Praeis took her greeting sip. It tasted marvelous, and she wanted to gulp the rest of it.

  “It will have to be later,” she said. “I need my own to be here for this.” Resaime's ears pricked up with pride, and she squeezed her sister's hand. Thieareth just looked solemn.

  Praeis sat down on the nearest divan and kept her daughters on either side of her. Generally, everyone thought Res was the smart one, but Praeis was now sure that honor belonged to Thieareth. She just hoped Res would listen to her quiet sister in days ahead.

  “So talk with us, Arms-Sister,” said Silv, as she and Neys sat close together on one of the sofas, now wearing only bleached white shirts over their belly guards. “Tell us how we can help you.”

  Praeis nodded. “I need to know what my sisters have gotten themselves into.”

  Neys sighed. “That's a good question. When the Queens-of-All agreed to the Confederation, they didn't have a lot of support down at the shoreline. They still don't. Senejess and Armetrethe came out early and loudly against it. The guess is they retained their position under the Council of True Blood so that somebody could keep an eye on them.”

  “That and the fact that no one could legally strip their name from them without creating a real ruckus, even after …” Neys glanced at Res and Theia.

  “After what Jos, Shorie, and I did,” Praeis finished for her. “We all know what I did, and we all know, Arms-Sisters, I'd do it again.”

  “Oh yes,” said Silv solemnly. “We know that.”

  “Listen, Arms-Sisters,” Praeis leaned forward. “I have been commissioned by our Queens to start building real support for the Confederation. But there's more to it than that. There's got to be some reason they wanted me back in the fleet.” She swallowed and forced the words out. “It may be because I am eminently expendable.”

  Both Res and Theia started at her words. Praeis bowed her head. “I'm sorry, my daughters. But you needed to hear that. You are in this with me.”

  “Yes, Mother,” whispered Theia.

  “It can't be true.” Resaime's face was tight and still. “You've fit the pieces wrong, Mother. There is another way to make this picture.”

  “Maybe,” she rubbed Res's shoulder.

  Neys's ears dipped and straightened. “There are currents here we can feel but can't map yet.”

  Silv snorted and tugged her sister's ear. “Thank you for speaking the obvious, Neys. Praeis, let me ask you for a plain answer.” Her ears and eyes focused completely on Praeis. “What do you yourself think of the Confederation?”

  “I want it to work,” said Praeis. “I don't know if it can, but I want it to, and I will do what I can to help.” Her ears flickered back and forth a moment before she could still them. “And you, my Arms-Sisters? What do you think?”

  Neys took Silv's hand and held it tightly. Praeis could see the currents of feeling pass between them in the ripples of their skin. Loneliness burned sudden and sharp in the back of her mind.

  “We are dying,” said Neys flatly. “The Great Family, the near families, the ’Esaph and all their hangers-on, all of us together.” She stopped and her ears dropped backward. “I have wished the ’Esaph all dead, but my soul is a good accountant and won't let me ignore the costs.” She grimaced and swept her arm out. “There are more of us than there are of them. It is possible some of our Great Family will be alive when the plague has killed all of them. But I think the ancestors would howl if we counted on that.” She shook her head. “We need this plague gone. We need the Humans to do that. The incomprehensible Humans will not hear our history with the ’Esaph. Very good. We do this thing for the same reason we have always fought the ’Esaph, because we have to.” One fold in her right cheek jumped. “Those who work to kill the Confederation are working to kill their sisters.”

  Praeis dipped her ears. “I hear you, Arms-Sisters, and you have my agreement. I need to know who else shares this view. I need a staff I can trust, and whom I can send out in my name with directives that might not stand the light of day. Is there anybody like that left?”

  Neys and Silv exchanged thoughtful glances. “Keeia, Ini, Oma Iat,” said Neys.

  “Uait and Rai Baeit,” added Silv.

  “And Ureth Tai.”

  “Yes, and Ureth Tai,” Silv dipped her ears in approval.

  “And they will know more. We can contact them all tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Praeis asked before she could stop herself. “Sisters, we have less than two weeks to change the Council's mind. They can ruin everything by simply refusing to move!”

  “Tomorrow,” repeated Neys firmly.

  “Because today, Mother,” said Res, “you need rest and to have your wounds looked after.”

  Praeis stared down at her daughters in disbelief. They sat rigid in their unity. At last, she threw back her head and laughed. “I give in! I give in!” She waved both her hands over her head. “I am surrounded by mutineers.”

&n
bsp; “At last, she understands.” Silv caught Praeis's shoulder and shook it. “And for our first act of mutiny, we're calling in the care-takers.”

  After that, it was reminiscence and good food. Silv made good her threat and called for a trio of care-takers. Praeis's aching arm was numbed and stitched up tightly. She'd tried to shoo her daughters into the yard, but they refused to leave. They stayed near her all afternoon, seldom straying out of reach of each other or her until the sleeping mats were unrolled.

  As her daughters fell asleep, Praeis lay on the edge of the mat listening to their breathing and trying to understand what they must be feeling. This was all so new to them—the random, incomprehensible attacks, the constant readiness. She had grown up like this. It was nothing. She had nourished her soul-hate of the ’Esaph, contempt for the t'Ciereth, fear of the Porath, for years. She'd breathed it. She'd swum in it.

  But her daughters had known them as friends and schoolmates. They'd known peace. How would she explain this to them? How would she comfort them?

  And that's not all you're going to have to explain to them, is it? inquired a voice in the back of her mind. Praeis squeezed her eyes shut and tried to will the voice away, but it would not go.

  One inch at a time, Praeis slid off the mat. She stood and silently picked her way across the room to a patch of moonlight mat filtered through the slit window. With trembling hands, she unfastened her belly guard and looked down at herself.

  Her pouch had been flat for some time now. She'd gotten used to that. She wasn't young anymore. Sometime in the last few days, though, it had shriveled. Unsupported, it hung in wrinkled folds almost halfway down her thighs. She tried to tighten her muscles. The folds spasmed a little in response.

  She swallowed hard. Her ears and skin trembled. She sat on the floor and cautiously reached between her legs, and found where all the swelling had gone.

  She closed her eyes. Ancestors Mine. Ancestors Mine. I accept this. I accept this because it is the natural way of life. I will pass on my soul willingly, but oh, why so fast?

  “Mother?” Theia whispered. Cloth rustled behind her.

  “No, daughter …” A shadow fell across the moonlit floor, and Praeis knew it was too late.

  “Ancestors Mine!” Theia flung herself against Praeis's back and clung there like an infant. “No! No! You can't be!” She buried her face in the folds of Praeis's back. “You can't!”

  Bodies stirred all across the room. Another shadow got to its feet. “Theia? What is it?” Res padded across to them.

  Ancestors help me. Res saw her and gaped.

  “Res, get my belly guard. Everything's good. We'll go outside. With me.” She stood up, holding on to Theia's arms, so Theia could dangle from her shoulders. As quickly as she could, she got outside. Res traded behind, holding her belly guard.

  Fortunately, there was enough moonlight that she could lead them across the lawns away from the buildings.

  “Res, give me my guard and help me with your sister.” She bent down and felt Res pry Theia's fingers apart, murmuring, “It's good, my Sister, come here to me, it's good.” Theia finally let go and collapsed into her sister's arms. She curled up as if seeking to bury herself in Res's pouch.

  Praeis's hands trembled as she strapped her belly guard back on. She turned around.

  Theia's fear had soaked into Res. Res bent over her sister, her back and shoulders rippling like a river in flood.

  Praeis knelt and gathered them both in her arms. Their fear enveloped her. Her heart raced, and her skin quivered. She fought it down. She swallowed it, as she had swallowed their night terrors when they were little. But this went on far longer than those ever did.

  Finally, Res was able to speak. “You're Changing.”

  “Yes.” Praeis stroked her ears. “My second-mother Changed early, but my mother did not, so I hoped it had not carried through.”

  Theia lifted her head. The streaks of tears down her face glistened in the moonlight. “I can't take any more, Mother. I can't. I want to go home.”

  Guilt surged through her, and Praeis clamped brutally down on it. “Home or here, this would still be happening.”

  “But not like this!”

  “Yes, like this. And right now.” She tightened her hold on both of them. “The only difference is what's happening around us.”

  Res's ears drooped so far the tips almost dragged her shoulders. “If we asked you to take us home now, would you?”

  Praeis's heart froze. “Are you going to ask me, my own?”

  Resaime combed her sister's ears. “No,” she said softly. “We're not. Are we, Theia?”

  Theia lifted her trembling head. “What are we going to do?”

  Praeis sighed and rocked them all back and forth a little. “Tomorrow, I'm going to the hospital where Lynn's David works. Alone.” They both instantly opened their mouths to protest, but she shushed them gently. “It's a plague hospital, and you two will be no good to me or to each other if you become infected. I'll have him make sure I'm healthy otherwise, and work out how long I have left before my soul drops.” She leaned her cheek against the top of Resaime's head. “After that, we'll see.”

  Neither one of them said anything.

  “Are you cold, my loves?” asked Praeis. “Shall we go back inside?”

  “I want to stay here for a while,” said Theia in a voice small enough to make Praeis's whole loosened soul ache.

  “Then that's what we'll do.” Praeis shifted herself so her back was against a tree and she could pull both of them into her lap.

  They stayed like that until her daughters fell asleep and Praeis was able to lead them, drowsy and unprotesting, back to the house.

  Praeis walked through the doors of the hospital. The scent of disinfectant assailed her nostrils, and they pinched shut automatically.

  The place was a warehouse. The single, long room had been hung with sterile sheets to make clear, temporary walls. Sisters and mothers wearing filter masks moved around the sheets, swabbing them down with whatever added the incredible stench to the air.

  More sheets had been hung around individual beds, turning them into miniature tents. But that wasn't doing much good. The families of the patients worked their way under the sheets, lifting them up and breaking the sterile field.

  The beds were surrounded by metal racks holding bags of saline solutions, blood, or other fluids Praeis didn't want to think about. Care-takers moved between the beds in teams. They worked with the fluids. They injected the patients. They gave the families pills and drink, or clean sheets and other supplies so they could tend their sick family members. The patients in their narrow beds coughed and retched and trembled, held down by straps as well as by family members. Some of them lay rigid as blocks of wood, dying of the paralysis that was the last stage of the plague.

  Praeis knew calling the disaster that brought its victims to this place “the” plague was incorrect. That made it sound like there was just one virus to be tracked down and dealt with. In the wards of Crater Town, David had explained to her what the Humans had discovered. The plague wasn't one virus, or even one set of viruses. By now, it might very well be every virus on All-Cradle.

  “As near as we can tell,” he'd said, leaning close to her and Jos, speaking in his low, steady voice. “Whatever the Octrel let loose was designed to attack the cell pores. Pores in cells are like pores in skin. They open and close as needed to transfer chemicals, waste materials, and so on.

  “The original virus blocked the signals that tell the cell pores to close. If the cell pores don't close, one of the major keys to neurochemical regulation within the body is removed. That sets off a host of problems, the most dramatic of which is paralysis of the voluntary and involuntary muscles.”

  “It freezes your heart.” She remembered how hard she'd squeezed down on Jos's hand as she spoke.

  David had nodded. “Heart, respiratory system … You die because your body can't control itself anymore.” He paused. “That's only the
beginning of the problem, however.

  “We're sure the virus was supposed to die out when the infected population did. That's generally how these things are planned.” The look of distaste on his face was so intense, Praeis reached out instinctively to touch his knee. “But in this case, it didn't die out fast enough.

  “Somewhere in here, the original virus met up with a wild virus. Somebody may have died in a pool of water, or some fecal matter got into a well, or somebody tried to evacuate aboard a boat and it met up with some rodents … There's a million possibilities. At any rate, our original virus got out into the ecosystem and met its cousins. They shook hands and exchanged genetic material. All of a sudden, viruses that have been no problem for millennia can run through a body in days, kill the host, and move on. The word from All-Cradle is that these wunderkind—” Praeis had looked at him, puzzled. “It's German, it means ‘wonder children.’ We've started calling the plague viruses WKVs. These WKVs are taking down everything mammalian on the planet.” He paused and shook his head, heavy irony creeping into his voice. “It will sort itself out. A certain percentage of any given population will probably prove to be immune, and they'll breed. In a hundred thousand years, the WKVs won't bother anybody any more than the normal strains do now. But I personally am not willing to wait that long.”

  There'd been a gleam in his eye and an edge to his voice as he spoke. That was what had warmed her to him. A lot of the Human doctors and researchers seemed to regard the virus, viruses, killing the colony as an interesting riddle. David treated it as an enemy, a very smart enemy to be studied and thwarted using every possible method.

  But not in time to save her sister Shorie, and not in time to save her sister Jos, and not in time to save her four smallest daughters, who all lay in one bed, crying and shaking and dying of pure pain.

  “Sister, are you ill? Do you need to register?” A concerned voice broke Praeis out of her memories. “Are you looking for family?”