Playing God

by Sarah Zettel

  The ovrth looked dubious. “I do not want you to get in trouble, Sisters, but Bioverse will want to know why their personnel were endangered without cause,” added Arron.

  Their ears ad twitched uneasily. “The boat must be removed from the harbor,” said one with a crisscrossing of scars on the backs of her hands.

  “Of course,” said Cabal. “As soon as possible.”

  The shortest of the soldiers made some marks on Cabal's harbor permit and handed it back to him. Cabal stuffed it into his pocket. He and Arron walked a ways down the dock, where the crowd had room to flow around them.

  “I owe you for that,” said Cabal. “I tried to make one run too many. Missed my ride out. What happened to you?”

  Arron's tongue froze to the roof of his mouth. “There was a mix-up,” he said at last. “I need to get out.”

  “No problem,” Cabal said easily. “I'm ready to go now.”

  Arron held up his hands. “I've got a friend and a t'Therian who need to go with me.”

  “A t'Therian!” Cabal's voice dropped to a stage whisper. “Are you crazy? Those are the t'Therians out there!” He stabbed his finger toward the mouth of the harbor. “If the Getesaph catch her, she's dead.”

  “I know that,” said Arron flatly. “Do you think you could get us out to one of the warships?”

  Cabal shook his head. “I do owe you, Arron, but making a run out to the enemy ships across an aquatic war zone, it is not worth it. It's just not.”

  Arron licked his lips. He should have known. Cabal had never been exactly altruistic. “What would make it worth it?”

  “What?” Cabal's forehead wrinkled.

  “What would make it worth it?” asked Arron urgently. “My friend, she's a senior with Bioverse. She can pull more strings than a nest of spiders. What would make the run worth it?”

  The incredulity on Cabal's face bled off into consideration. “A trip back to Sol.”

  “Easy. There's ships back and forth all the time.”

  “You shouldn't sound so desperate, Arron.” His mouth twisted. “It makes it hard to believe you can do what you're saying.”

  “Come on, Cabal.” Arron tried to force some easy camaraderie into his voice. “You know me.”

  “Yeah, I do.” Arron was taken aback by the irony in his tone. “And I'll bet you're willing to swear to me she's got pull with the Mars colony trade council, too.”

  This time, Arron's grin was completely genuine. “Let's put it this way. Help me, and you'll be saving one of the daughters of the founding family.”

  Cabal gave a low whistle. “You've got a Shin t'Theria? Here? What have you been doing?”

  “I told you, there was a mix-up.”

  “Yeah, right. Okay,” Cabal looked across the harbor. The armored transports pulled away from the dock. Another flight of planes screamed overhead. “Okay, get them down here. I'll get the engines going so we can get out fast. The more we delay, the uglier the way out is going to get.”

  I'm with you there. “Okay, but one thing, Cabal. Have you got any spare clean-suits on board?”

  Cabal actually gave him a small smile. “Anything else, Mon-sewer?”

  Arron shrugged. “A couple bottles of water and some carbo-protein rations, if you've got any. And a medikit.”

  Cabal gave a startled laugh. “Suits and supplies and a suicide run. Hagopian, she'd better be Shin t'Theria.”

  Arron grinned. “I swear on my doctoral thesis.”

  “I suppose I can accept that,” Cabal sounded warier than Arron would have liked. “Okay, let's get you your goodies.”

  The planes were still flying when Arron emerged from Cabal's boat, freshly clean-suited and with a backpack of supplies slung over his shoulder. He climbed the ladders up to the street and found his narrow pass-through. He was halfway along it, wincing as his helmet grated against the building's cement wads, when he heard the whistle, the screams, the bass rumbles, and the multilayered sounds of destruction that meant the bombs had started falling on Mrant Chavat.

  Arron cursed and tried to move faster. The cement dragged at his new clean-suit, slicing into the organic. Another bomb fell. The ground trembled, and the buildings on either side of him swayed. He cursed again and pulled himself out into the street.

  It was deserted. Everyone from this quarter was where they needed to be. He saw a dust cloud farther inland, and the remains of one of the major bridges. Firelight reflected on the buildings that still stood.

  Don't stand here gaping. You've got to get Lynn and Res out of this!

  He forced himself into a run. Planes roared and screamed. Whistles, crumps, bangs, the tattered sound of fires filled the world. Arron tried to block it out and concentrate on which way he was going.

  He turned onto the nameless street that held the market building. The smell of dust and burning worked its way through his helmet. Arron looked up.

  The market building wasn't in its place. Instead, there was a pile of rubble with broken girders sticking up through it and sparking wires bristling here and there.

  “No!” He ran to the mound. He grabbed a stone and heaved it aside. He dug his hands into the dirt, flinging it every which way. He threw back more stones, and more dirt.

  “Sister, Sister,” said a Getesaph voice. “It's all right. The building was empty.”

  Arron stared at the owner of the voice, a stooped mother with her grown daughters beside her. “It wasn't empty. There was a mother and daughter in there. I told them to wait in there.”

  The mother blinked. Without another word, she and her daughters lunged at the pile of rubble, lifting rocks and scooping dirt. Arron clawed and scrabbled at the stones, sending them rolling down the mound.

  This is not happening. This can't be happening. I got help. We were going to be all right. We were getting out. It was going to be okay.

  More sisters joined the effort, digging, passing stones down to each other, getting the electrical wires guided away from the girders, pressing their ears to the ground. None of them seemed worried about his poisons. The cooperative spell had descended over them all, and the only thing that mattered was moving the mountain in front of them.

  Dust coated Arron's helmet and he had to wipe it away repeatedly with his sleeve. His gloves split, so did his nails and skin underneath. He kept going. Lynn was alive down there. She was. She had to be.

  Let her be all right. Please. Jesus, God, Allah, Mary, Joseph, Isis, Odin, Mithras, Patrick, Jehovah, Yahweh, Mothers, oh, Mothers, please, Buddha …

  “I hear them!” shouted one of the listeners. She pressed her head against a jumble of broken concrete. “Under here!”

  So many sisters descended on the pile, Arron found himself pushed back. He stood behind them, panting hard. His hands flexed and trembled. Tears mixed with the sweat running down his face. He became aware that the shore guns were still firing, the planes were still roaring overhead, and the shattering, crumbling explosion of dropping bombs still went on, and on.

  Stones passed down to the relatively clear streets. Someone brought in a crowbar. Someone else brought in a brace. He couldn't see what was going on. He couldn't make himself move.

  “She's Human!” unidentifiable voices called and answered one another. “There was a Human.” “Where is she?” “Get her down there!” “Human! A sister of yours is down here!”

  Arron dived into the center of the crowd. He heard a few gasps of “Scholar Arron!” behind him. In front of him, the broken concrete had been cleared to expose a jagged, black hole. Someone shined a light into it. He saw a flash of light, brown skin, a frightened eye, a hand.

  “Lynn!”

  A rope came from somewhere. Arron tied it around his waist. A light tube was pressed into his hand.

  Carefully, one step at a time, he picked his way down the rubble. It shifted and crumbled under his feet, showering Lynn with stones and dust. The ruin cut off the daylight. His boots found semifirm purchase, and he crouched beside her, afraid to move and
bring the rest of the building down on top of them.

  “Okay, I'm here. We'll get you out.” He saw what had happened. A support beam had fallen against one of the remains of the foundation wall, creating a small pocket, just enough for them to …

  Them? Where's Res?

  He saw Lynn's hand, flung toward the interior of the ruined building. He saw it clutching Resaime's hand. He saw the end of the beam that had sheltered Lynn, and he saw the blood.

  His stomach heaved hard, forcing bile up his throat until he choked.

  “Ca … can you move?”

  “Yes,” whispered Lynn. She tucked her legs under her. Slowly, she let go of Resaime's hand.

  Arron wrapped an arm tightly around her shoulders and helped her to her knees. She was shaking violently. Shock. Shock without a doubt.

  “We need some blankets!” he shouted up the hole. “Come on, Lynn.” He placed her hands, pointed out where she could put her feet, and boosted her from the side.

  At last, they emerged into daylight. Lynn stumbled and leaned against him as he helped her down to the street. Hands held out blankets to wrap her in. Someone else held out a mug of something green. Arron tasted it. It was a cold tea he'd drunk a thousand times. He pressed it into Lynn's hands.

  Her face was a disaster. Her bandage had been torn away along with half the skin on her cheek. Dirt, blood, pus, and mucus caked her face and empty orb. More ran down her cheek and neck, while she sat oblivious with the clay cup clutched in her hands. Her scalp was a mass of cuts and blood. He could see her torn and jagged implant under the cut in her temple. Her clothes were cut to ribbons, exposing shoulder, breast, torso, and knee.

  “I had a bag,” he said to the cluster of anxious sisters. “Can anyone see my bag?”

  It was handed to him. He tore it open and found the medikit. “There's a boat in the harbor. A Human boat. It belongs to Trader Cabal. She was waiting for us. Can anyone run to the harbor and tell her what happened? Tell her she must wait.” His own hands shook as he opened the kit. “We'll be there, but she must wait.” A pair of sisters volunteered and scampered off.

  In the kit he found sterile pads, temporary skin, fungicides, antibacterials, and painkillers. He handed two of the painkillers to Lynn. She stared at them in her scratched and dirty palm. He put her hand to her mouth. She swallowed the pills. He raised the cup for her. She drank.

  Arron's stomach rebelled again. He gritted his teeth in fierce concentration as he swabbed and disinfected the worst of Lynn's wounds. He laid patches of temporary skin across her face and temple and wrapped bandages on top of that. Someone had brought plain water and a towel. He was able to wash down the rest of her face and scalp.

  Her lips started moving. One word, over and over, with no sound behind it.

  “Lynn, I can't hear you. What do you want?” He bent down until her lips brushed his helmet.

  “David,” she murmured, as if to her implant. “David, David, David.”

  “We're going to him, Lynn,” said Arron, and the memory of how they'd told Res they were going to find her Aunt Senejess rushed through him, burning as it went. “We're on our way, right now.”

  She blinked and focused her eye on him.

  “Arron? Oh, God, Res …”

  “I know.” He cupped his hands around hers. “Drink the tea, Lynn. You need it.”

  She drank. Arron looked around. His crowd of helpers had cleared. Mission accomplished. The live person had been retrieved and delivered into the hands of her sister. Now there were other, more immediate tasks at hand. The city was under siege and on fire. There was a lot to do.

  He glanced around wildly and saw an abandoned pushcart lying on its side. He ran to it. Both wheels and the axle were intact. He righted it and shoved it over to Lynn.

  “Let me help you in.” He held out his hand.

  “No. I'll …” She set down the cup.

  “Lynn, we have to go. Cabal might already have left!” It was the first time he'd let himself think about it, and the idea left him numb with terror.

  Lynn didn't say anything else. She let him help her into the cart. Arron grabbed the handrails and shoved the cart forward. Every muscle and joint shot back pain in protest. The smooth wood burned against his raw palms, but he managed to get them going. Moving at a limping trot, Arron pushed Lynn through the ruined streets, while still more planes flew overhead.

  Because of the cart, he couldn't use his pass-through to the harbor. He had to take them by a more circuitous route. A bunch of buildings had been bombed into rubble-filled craters, making for longer detours. No one appeared to help. None of the passing public-health carriers or troop trucks stopped. It was just him and Lynn and the whole world falling apart around them.

  He knew what the bombers were ready looking for. They were looking for the underground crÈches that held the daughters and the carrying mothers. That was standard tactics. He didn't want to think about it, but he knew it was true.

  Finally, they reached the harbor. The guns still thundered, but more raggedly. The t'Therian ships still stood out to sea. Gouts of water erupted out of the harbor at random intervals. The battle down there had been joined.

  The harbor was nothing but a mass of abandoned boats. Arron scanned them, looking for Cabal's nondescript trawler. He didn't see it, and didn't see it, and didn't see it. Panic tightened his throat.

  Something flashed white among the boats. His gaze fastened on it. Cabal waved frantically from his boat's aft deck. Relief robbed Arron of most of his remaining strength. He waved back. Cabal looked across the harbor as another geyser erupted and vanished into the boat's cabin.

  Arron got the pushcart down to the quay. Lynn climbed out clumsily, one hand clutching the blanket around her shoulders, but she did it under her own power and Arron was glad. He wasn't sure he'd be able to lift her again. They teetered along the docks, leaning against each other's shoulders. They all but collapsed onto Cabal's boat.

  He must have already cast off, because as soon as they hit the wooden deck, the engine roared into life, and the boat pulled away from the dock. She nosed around and headed for open water. It wasn't a straight path, because of all the abandoned boats, but Arron was sure Cabal knew what he was doing. He'd done it a thousand times.

  “Let's get below.” Arron picked himself up off the deck and held out a hand to Lynn. She took it. He helped her down the ladder into the hold.

  Because it was a Dedelphi boat, there were no separate cabins, just a lower hold for cargo and an upper hold for people and yet more cargo. Not being comfortable on a pad on the floor, however, Cabal had bunks built into the sides. Arron installed Lynn in one and went onto the cramped bridge.

  Cabal glanced over his shoulder as Arron entered. His hands gripped the wheel as if they were welded to it.

  “Holy God and Hell, Arron, I thought you'd gotten us both killed.” He heaved the wheel clockwise to steer around a cluster of trawlers and their anchor cables. “Are your friends below?”

  “Lynn is.” Arron collapsed onto a narrow ledge of a bench that ran along the cabin's starboard wall. “Resaime's dead.”

  Cabal set his jaw and kept his eyes on the window. “I was almost dead. Did you see those boats smashed up back there? They're bombing the harbor. You owe me a lot more than a trip back home for this one, Arron. A lot more.”

  Arron looked up at him. For a moment he considered killing him outright and taking the boat for himself.

  Cabal cleared the last of the anchored boats. A boom sounded through the hull, and a wave sluiced over the deck. The boat rocked violently. Cabal cranked up the power to the engine, and the boat lurched forward.

  “Too close, too close,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “God and Hell, can't they see this is a civvie boat?”

  Another boom resonated through the decks. The boat bucked and kicked.

  “You got a speaker station aboard?”

  Both Arron and Cabal jumped. Lynn, blanket pinned around her shoulders with a pair
of small clamps, stood in the cabin's threshold.

  “Yeah,” said Cabal, trying to look at her and out the front window at the same time.

  “Put a call out to the t'Therian ships.” Lynn gripped the railing that had been mounted at a Dedelphi's waist height. “Ask for Praeis Shin t'Theria.”

  “Lynn,” said Arron gently, “we don't know she's here.”

  “She's here,” said Lynn bitterly. “The Getesaph took her sister and her daughter; of course she's here. She's probably dropping the goddamned bombs with her own hands.” She tightened her hold on the railing and stared out the window. “She is most definitely here.”

  Praeis stood in the map room with Neys and Silv. The chart of the Hundred Isles’ waters lay on the table. Small red magnets marked the known positions of the Getesaph ships and fortifications. Black magnets marked the t'Therian positions. Theia sat on a stool next to them, her hands poised over the duplicator's keys, ready to pound out orders or notes. Over the past few days, Theia had moved firmly into the position of junior assistant. There was a little grumbling at first, but as the story of Praeis's family spread through the ranks, urged on by Neys and Silv, Praeis suspected, the grumbling ceased.

  Praeis leaned closer to the map and tried to marshal her thoughts. The skin on her back quivered from being clenched so tightly. It had been too long since she'd been to war. She'd lost the knack of staying calm.

  The door burst open and a runner, a fourth-sister, teetered into the room, caught off-balance by a sudden swell. Water streamed off her armor. Must be raining again.

  “Excuse me, Mothers,” she gasped. “But there's a boat calling for help. There's Humans aboard and they say …” She paused, unable to get the words out around her anxious panting.

  “They say what, Sister?” demanded Neys.

  “They are calling for the Task-Mother. They say they have a friend of hers aboard. A … Lynn Nussba …”

  Lynn? Praeis bolted from the room. She ran onto the deck, barely aware that Theia followed on her heels. Warm rain pelted her face and shoulders. Her first lid closed against it automatically, and her nose and ears pinched down, but she didn't slow her pace.