Jumpship Hope

by Adria Laycraft

  “Because Anaya helped me,” she said. Thoughts tumbled through her too fast. “If we can reach her, she could—”

  “See?” Stepper said. “She even wants you to report in, let them know how well things are working.”

  “No, you’re not seeing it right,” she said. She focused her attention on Stepper, willing him to listen, to understand. “Victor got sick, and one of Anaya’s crew gave me a shot against the same illness. You might be right about it being from the Imag, but Anaya’s crewmate created the cure.”

  Stepper sucked in air.

  “They could make more,” Janlin said, ploughing on. “They could make an inoculation or antiviral.”

  Stillness settled over Stepper. Even the wind seemed to die in that moment.

  “Space me,” Stepper whispered. “Whether inoculation or infection, you really are the carrier.”

  “Not necessarily,” Janlin cried. “Besides, that doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is finding a cure, and Anaya might have it.”

  Stepper shook his head, denying the possibility.

  Janlin couldn’t stop. “We’ve been trying to contact her all along. I’m worried the Imag may have taken them. But if Anaya succeeded, then she could be waiting in orbit, with our ship and the cure, and now I would have no way of knowing.”

  Stepper winced. “Maybe they could fix the device so you don’t have to take the shields out. You have to make sure somehow . . .”

  “How should I ask for that?” Janlin said, cutting him off. “By telling them, ‘we’re sorry we made you sick, now we want to talk to those you barred from your planet? Oh, and by the way, they’re probably the ones that sent the infection?’ I’m sure that will go over really well.”

  It was too much. Janlin couldn’t decide what Anaya’s true intentions were, and talking with Stepper just fed her own doubts that she wanted to discount but couldn’t deny.

  She shuddered, head pounding in the heat of the midday sun. “I can only hope to somehow prove you wrong.” She started walking away, but she heard the derisive snort from Stepper.

  “Give it up,” he said.

  She turned back. “And when you’re on your deathbed, Stepper? Will you be more interested in possibilities then? Or would you like me to reserve a spot beside Sandy right now?”

  He paled. “She’s dead?” A hand went to his throat. “Sandy was the best programmer we had,” he said finally.

  “Get some rest, Stepper. We’re not beat yet.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  AS JANLIN CLIMBED the hill towards the med-hut, she probed at her throat for telltale signs of swollen glands for the hundredth time, with no sign . . . nothing.

  Whatever Yipho had done, she had to believe it had saved her the awful disease sweeping through the humans and Huantag alike.

  “Have they figured anything out? Did they let you ask about contacting your friend?” Teardrop stood at the door, one hand on the frame, the other holding a rag over her mouth.

  “You should be lying down,” Janlin protested.

  “They just came and took Sandy.” Teardrop swallowed hard. “I’m worried Ron will be next.”

  “I delivered the samples. Between the Huantag and Anaya, and human resilience, we will win out, I’m sure of it.” Janlin moved to hustle Teardrop back to her cot.

  Teardrop held up a hand. “You shouldn’t come in. It’s only by some miracle—”

  “It’s not a miracle,” Janlin insisted. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be so important to find those who gave me the injection.”

  “Still . . .”

  Janlin could tell Teardrop didn’t want to take any chances, and appreciated that.

  “I won’t tell you what happened until you’re horizontal,” Janlin said. Teardrop sighed, and it was all too obvious to Janlin that it tired her just to stand. “C’mon, shoo, into bed.”

  It was far too easy to win, and soon Janlin sat beside Teardrop’s cot, relating how she sent a message to the Huantag, and of Stepper’s belief that she was the carrier. “Is that possible, to be the carrier and not be sick?”

  Teardrop reluctantly admitted it was.

  “The Huantag are struggling with this illness, too,” Janlin finally told her. Teardrop groaned.

  “This is not good, not good at all.”

  “Hopefully the Huantag will come up with something.”

  Teardrop didn’t reply, and her eyes were closed. Janlin shifted, unwilling to sit idle but unsure of what more she could do.

  “This is bio-terrorism,” Teardrop said, not opening her eyes.

  Janlin leaned forward. “Not something natural? Are you sure?”

  “All happened at the same time, and it’s so deadly. It was triggered, not natural.”

  Janlin caught her breath. Did that mean the Imag warship was in orbit? If it was, how could she possibly justify any attempt to take out the shields?

  She watched helplessly as Teardrop struggled to breathe. “Can you use me somehow to make a cure? If Anaya’s medic gave me a cure, would it be accessible that way?”

  But Teardrop shook her head. “It would be too weak. Plus, we don’t know what we’re fighting . . . don’t have the right equipment to find out, either.”

  “Dammit, we need Anaya.”

  “I wish I could’ve met her,” Teardrop said.

  “You will meet her, soon, I’m sure of it,” Janlin said, but she studied the pale figure stretched out on the cot and sucked her bottom lip in worry. Anaya had no way to contact her, and no way to get access to the planet. If the Huantag would allow her a way to communicate, especially with a possible cure involved, everything could be solved. But the Huantag had their own political red tape to navigate, and this illness didn’t seem willing to wait. She had to go to Falco and make him understand.

  “Water.” Teardrop did not open her eyes, but her hand reached. Janlin took the hand, frightened by how hot Teardrop’s skin was as she held it gently but firmly. Janlin took up a cool mug of water and brought it to Teardrop’s lips.

  Each tiny swallow brought a flinch of pain, and Teardrop opened her eyes as it brought her around again.

  “Janlin,” she croaked. “You shouldn’t be in here.” She tried to rise, to tend her duties as she saw them, but she couldn’t even lift her head.

  “I know, you’ve told me before,” Janlin said in a whisper.

  “Janlin . . .”

  “Shhhh, just rest. We’ll get word from the Huantag soon.” Janlin’s resolve hardened. “Just hang in there, girl.”

  Teardrop wouldn’t release her grip on Janlin’s hand, however, so she sat with Teardrop the day through, feeding her sips of water, talking when consciousness came, crying when it slipped away.

  Through it all she kept her back to the still form beneath the sheet that was once Tyrell. There would be time to tell Teardrop later.

  THAT EVENING NO Huantag flew the sky above the village. Taking the chance, and hoping she was wrong about why the skies were empty, Janlin went to her flight gear and launched into the sky.

  No one challenged her.

  She turned and flew to the city. As she drew near, the empty skies and silent city made her chest tighten with waves of fear. She flew along the building fronts, calling to Falco, to anyone, hearing only her cries echoed back at her.

  Finally, she circled around and went to Falco’s ledge. Inside the hall, no one appeared to greet her, and when she turned into Falco’s home, she found only more emptiness. She peered into the side corridor in Falco’s home that his mate had always appeared from. Dare she enter such a private place?

  “Falco?” she called. No sound answered her but the sigh of the wind. She took a step, and another, past an empty room, until she stepped into a larger chamber.

  There on a large circular cushioned area she found the bodies of Falco, his mate, and his two sons, each one lifeless and cold.

  Her return flight held remnants of an old familiar nightmare, memories of Earth and the pregnant girl’s slashed thr
oat interlacing with Falco’s family group all dead in each other’s embrace.

  She landed in the common area and ripped off her flight gear, uncaring whether or not it would ever work again. Once free of it, she slumped against a wall in the too-silent village, unwilling to move or even think. Exhaustion took over and she let go, falling into a fitful doze.

  Gordon found her a few hours after dark.

  They walked around the settlement, checking each hut. Gordon carried out three more dead before they’d completed the rounds.

  “We’re going to have to dig a communal grave,” Gordon said as he laid out the bodies. “I can’t keep digging individual ones.”

  Janlin swore softly. She took up a blanket and laid it over the still faces. “I’ll help. Makes sense to dig in the cool of the night.”

  Gordon grunted his agreement. They worked in silence at their grisly task.

  “I’m glad to see you still up and around,” Janlin said, hoping she didn’t tempt fate by saying it.

  Gordon gave her a look so full of despair she gasped with the power of it.

  “I have a sore throat.” He shrugged. “I figured lying around resting wasn’t working for these poor souls, so I just kept going.”

  Janlin swallowed her horror and tried to answer in a calm, reasonable voice. “Well, we’re done for now, and it can’t hurt to get a bit of sleep, can it?”

  They walked down to the pools, washed up, and headed back up the hill to the med hut.

  “Stay out here, I just want to check on Teardrop.”

  The interior was pitch black, with no one to care. Weariness overtook Janlin like a weight that made her want to forget the globe lantern and sink down onto an empty cot. She fumbled with the alien design until finally light filled the space, and she turned to see Teardrop’s gaping mouth and staring eyes.

  Janlin cried out.

  “What is it?”

  Gordon appeared at her side. She whirled on him, adrenaline firing her weary body, and pounded on his chest, forcing him to back up out the door. “No! Get out of here!” she screamed at him. “Get out! I can’t bear to see you die too!”

  Gordon backed from her angry fists, eyes wide. “She’s dead?” he said. “Our little Teardrop?” He shook his head, not willing to believe it, not willing to accept it.

  Janlin turned and stumbled into the hut to fall at Teardrop’s side.

  “I’m sorry I left you alone,” Janlin whispered. “I’m so sorry, so sorry.” She reached to close the lifeless blue eyes and give the medic some respect in death before she lost all control and lay sobbing into the blankets of the sweetest woman she had ever known.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  THE NEXT DAY dawned hot, a gruelling heat that sucked any resistance the sick could muster. Janlin stood in the doorway of the now-empty med-hut. Nothing moved, and a wind swirled the dust into a little twister. Janlin shivered even as a bead of sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades.

  Anaya must be waiting. Janlin had to lower the shields, even if it meant opening the planet to the Imag. If the Imag sent the disease, they wouldn’t do anything while the virus still existed. That would give time for Anaya to come and help. Did that make her a traitor?

  No. She did this to save her people, not to hurt anyone. If they knew Anaya like she did . . .

  The sun scorched her, and she turned away. Her eyes adjusted too soon, revealing the empty mats and discarded bits of lives left behind. Too many lay under white sheets, awaiting burial.

  Except for her. She felt fine.

  A burst of bitter laughter startled her, and she whimpered when she realized it came from her own mouth.

  Footsteps on gravel echoed through the still heat. Janlin dashed to the doorway. Inaba leaned on a wall across the way, his face pale, black circles under his eyes. Janlin let out a little cry of dismay.

  He nodded. “No one has recovered.”

  Janlin hung her head. “Among the Huantag, death travels even faster.” Janlin sank against the wall. “This is ridiculous,” she said a moment later, straightening up. “I have to go take down the shields in case Anaya is there, waiting.”

  “What will you do, Janlin Kavanagh?” His voice rasped, and he blinked slowly, as if the struggle to open them again was nearly beyond him.

  Janlin went to him and took his arm to guide him to a piece of shade to rest. “I will think of something. If I can’t, I will search this planet until I find a ship, then fly this system until I find Anaya, and the truth.”

  Inaba’s steady gaze regarded her. “So, you still have doubts.”

  Janlin pursed her lips. “Of course. It’s been weeks, but the device is broken. They could be waiting, wondering why I don’t answer their calls. Or something could have gone wrong. Or I was taken for a fool, and they are simply waiting for us to all die.”

  “Removing the shields could be what they wait for.”

  “I know. But if we are dying anyway, then there is no reason not to try, is there? Isn’t that what you said?”

  Inaba bowed his head.

  She helped him back to his hut. He was alone there, now, just as she was at the med hut. He sat on the edge of his cot, unwilling to lay down. Janlin understood. It would be an admission of defeat, and Inaba was not ready to surrender.

  “Godspeed, Janlin Kavanagh,” he said then. His soft voice bore pain both physical and emotional. He put his hands together, palms flat, and made a little bow. Janlin attempted to return the gesture, her hands clumsy, goosebumps prickling her upper arms and neck. Inaba acknowledged her effort, and then turned to lay down on the cot, his back to her in dismissal.

  Janlin turned away. She bit her lip, even as she wondered why she bothered to fight the tears. Out in the burning heat, she walked through the deserted settlement, the only one hale among so many sick.

  A huddled form propped up against a hut wall stirred at her approach, calling her name. Another form slumped beside him, little flies crawling on exposed skin. Janlin shuddered.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help—” she began, trying to be polite but knowing the best way she could help was to get moving on her plan.

  “No, I’m sorry,” the figure said. She realized he held a knife from the cook hut in one hand. He lifted his head, black hair falling away from pale sunken skin, and Janlin took an involuntary step back.

  “Stepper?” She recovered from her dread and went to kneel by him. She touched his cheek. His skin felt like paper baked in an oven.

  “Life is short.” His head lolled, and his staring eyes glazed over with pain. “We shouldn’t fight.”

  Janlin tried to take the knife, but he had too solid a grip on it. “Now’s not the time for this,” she said.

  “I’m a jerk, but I really do love you.”

  Janlin looked away. Emerging from the hut across the way two stooped figures stumbled and struggled with a blanket-wrapped burden. It could be nothing else but a body. Janlin swallowed against a throat thick with dust and regret.

  “Just survive a few more days, you hear me? Whatever you have to do, just don’t die.” She tried again to take the knife. “You don’t need this.”

  Stepper gave her a macabre grin, eyes bright with fever but intelligence and understanding still shining through. He did not release the knife.

  “I wish we had another chance.”

  Janlin stared at him for a long moment, then pulled off her left boot and pried out the nano-recorder. She took up his free hand and placed it there, curling his fingers around it and squeezing tight.

  “You kept it,” he said, just as he had that day in his office millions of light years away.

  “I did. The nicest gift you ever gave me, and I never could make myself get rid of it no matter how mad I was at you.” She took his face in her hands, made him look at her. “Make a notch every day when you wake. Count, and stay alive, and I’ll be back with help.”

  His head slumped forward, and she could tell by his shaking shoulders he wept.

&n
bsp; She ran.

  Hut to hut, body to body, some alive, some not, eyes all staring with fever, skin all pale and hot, mouths gaping in the dead, no one to care for them, no one to chase away the flies and wrap them gently to be laid on a pyre or buried in the ground, no one to bring water to those still struggling for one last breath . . .

  Janlin wiped at her eyes, sweat and tears blurring her vision. The settlement seemed to waver around her, and she grew more afraid with each body she encountered.

  Every hut, every path, she scanned both living and dead, not finding the face she dreaded and hoped for. Finally, she spun in a circle in the central common area.

  “Gordon!” she cried.

  “Janlin?” came the reply, and she choked on tears of relief. She followed the sound to find Gordon sitting in the shade of a wall, Anaya’s comm-unit in his lap. He pushed a button, brought it to his mouth, and spoke.

  “Mayday, mayday, this is the crew of the Hope calling for help. Please respond.” Janlin gasped.

  His arm dropped. His voice held no urgency, and after her initial rush of hope Janlin realized he must have performed the same actions before, perhaps hundreds of times.

  “Gordon,” she began, but he held up one long finger that somehow silenced her. He focused on the device, gently pulling it apart, switching one interior component with another before snapping it back together.

  Again, the comm-unit came to his mouth. “Mayday, mayday—”

  “Gordon!”

  His eyes popped wide open, and eyebrows shot up his forehead. “What?”

  “I need to take that with me,” she said, pointing at the device.

  Gordon frowned, and her heart clenched with fear at his fevered confusion. “Where? Why?” Then he let out a little sigh. “Doesn’t work anyway. We’re goin’ tits up, luv.”

  Janlin sat beside him. She squeezed his knee where the SpaceOp issue pants had torn, his skin scabbed and hairy and far too hot to the touch. “I know, Spin,” she said. “But Anaya’s device might come in handy. So would you, if you feel up to coming.”

  Gordon blinked, straightened. He gave a little nod and handed her the device. “Where?”