“But it would give us time,” Linnea said.
“For what?” Hana asked bluntly.
“For a better idea,” Linnea said.
“It’s cruel,” Hana said. “Stretching out his death. Lin, he’s in good hands, he won’t suffer—”
Instantly, Linnea turned to Esayeh. “Take me to Triton. Please, Esayeh. I said I would help you. And I will. But right now I need your help.”
He looked at her, considering, his old eyes mild. “If it might be of any use, I’d—”
“Thank you,” she said quickly. Then turned back to Hana. “Hana, will you help me, too? Keep him alive until Pilang can come back, until we can find out if Pilang has any ideas?” The naked pleading in her voice shamed her, but this was no time to worry about pride. He can’t die. I won’t let him die.
There was a silence. Then Hana sighed. “Lin, I’ll try. I doubt they’ll release him to me—I don’t know if they’d do that even for Pilang. But I might be able to get him cold using their equipment.”
“I’ll help if I can,” Esayah said. “I know Perrin Tereu. If I can speak to her—”
“Let’s go then,” Linnea said. “Now, please now. . . .”
“Now” of course meant frantic work, because Hana had to gather the equipment needed to contain Iain’s body safely, and to begin the cooling process. But finally the last bag was packed away in Esayeh’s ship, Linnea and Hana were safely encased in their acceleration sacks, and Esayeh’s ship dropped away from its docking cradle with a hissing chuff of attitude jets. Linnea tried to let the snug fabric enclosing her body calm her trembling. But tears still leaked from her eyes, tears the casing would not let her wipe away. She could see that Hana’s face was turned away—the deepsider custom of granting whatever limited privacy was possible.
Iain.
She would see him again.
She would save him.
Somehow.
TRITON
During the attack and afterward, Tereu took refuge by staying out in public with two guards flanking her. She moved from place to place, offering calming words before as many witnesses as possible. It allowed her freedom of movement, but what was more important, it made it hard for anyone to carry out whatever orders Hiso might have given for private action against her.
And, without arousing curiosity, it let her make her way in time to her real destination: the city’s hospital.
Now she stood with both of her bodyguards in the nano bot-isolation ward at the city’s main clinic. One of the expert physicians on staff hovered attentively at her side—DeVries was his name, she read it on the plastic badge clipped to his coat. But her attention was elsewhere: Through the thick doubled glass window she studied the sealed container where Iain sen Paolo lay.
Now that she saw him there, now that she knew it was all true, sadness left a hollow in her chest. So much that man could have become, in time. So much hope he could have offered my people.
She turned to DeVries. “Have you completed treatment?”
“We’ve done what we could do safely, Madame,” the doctor said. “We don’t risk surgery on the infested, especially in a case this advanced.”
“Advanced? He was attacked only a few hours ago,” she said.
“Yes.” DeVries, a small man with neat white hands and a cap of silver hair, looked regretful. “Madame, his titer—the concentration of bots in his blood—is already very high. This was a deliberate and intense infestation. An injection of bots.” He shrugged. “The Cold Minds have tried this in the past with injured personnel, hoping that we will bring the bots into the city before we are aware of the infestation. But of course we know their ways. We took Level Five precautions on the station and in retrieving the patient.”
“Yet you did bring him into my city,” Tereu said, allowing an edge into her voice.
“Yes, Madame.” DeVries did not meet her eyes. “Those were First Pilot Kimura’s direct orders. He said that it was essential to city security that this man be kept safe. Of course, that is part of his responsibilities, and I could only accede.”
“But what is the point of protecting Pilot sen Paolo?” She took a breath. “He’ll die very soon, will he not?”
“Yes.” The doctor looked grave. “If the puncture wound in his back damaged a kidney, as I suspect, he will die within a day or two. In any case, with that titer of bots, he will meet all the criteria for euthanasia within days.”
Tereu turned and looked at the container, feeling her face go pale. So ends hope.
The doctor shook his head. “I had looked forward to finding an opportunity to talk to him—to both of the travelers—about the state of medicine in the Hidden Worlds. Even laymen might have knowledge that could hint at possible avenues of research, help us advance.” He sighed. “This is so regrettable.”
“Regrettable, yes,” Tereu said evenly. “Tell me. Is Pilot sen Paolo’s presence in this hospital a secret?”
“No special precautions have been ordered,” the doctor said.
So this is a trap. A trap for Linnea. Hiso’s determination to have the Hidden Worlds ship under his control demanded Linnea’s presence. He had not been able to bend Iain sen Paolo to his will. But Hiso—Hiso would be certain that no woman could resist his wishes; especially not a woman broken by grief.
Tereu’s hands tightened on the handrail below the window. Linnea would come for Iain; Tereu knew that as surely as Hiso did. His imminent death would draw her to his side—and into Hiso’s control. As Hiso intended.
Well, Tereu was not powerless. Hiso hadn’t yet bothered to complete her arrest, no doubt thinking her too weak to act on her own behalf. Or anyone else’s.
That will cost him. Tereu turned away and sent a coded summons to her chief of security.
The long arrival process on Triton barely registered with Linnea—only the time it cost to descend from orbit, the precious minutes wasted waiting for port security to clear them. But they were cleared, and promptly. Esayeh’s look of perplexity at that barely brushed the surface of Linnea’s perception. Iain. Oh, God, hurry, hurry. . . . Hana packed her medical bag with methodical care, flicking one glance at Linnea. “Should I give you something to keep you calm?”
Linnea realized she was crying again. She wiped her face and shook her head without speaking. No drugs. She needed all her focus, all her intelligence for this.
And all her courage. Because Iain might already be dead.
Still, she was unprepared for what awaited her and Hana when they left the dimness of the skyport tunnel and entered the city square outside. It was empty and silent, the shops shuttered. And Perrin Tereu stood there waiting for them, her expression severe, accompanied by at least a dozen of her green-clad guards.
Linnea approached Tereu slowly, dread choking her throat. When the moment for speech came, she had no words. Hana saw it; Hana spoke for her. “Madame,” she said, and ducked her head in an imitation of a bow. “We understand that Pilot sen Paolo is being treated for his injuries in your city. My friend Lin and I would like to see him. Can you arrange it?”
This violated several different kinds of protocol, Linnea knew, but to her surprise and gratitude, Tereu did not appear to notice. “I can arrange it,” she said to Hana with a gracious smile. Then she stepped forward and laid a hand on Linnea’s arm, with what seemed to be genuine sympathy. “I expected you to come,” she said. “I’ll escort you there—to avoid any possibility of delay. Come.” She indicated one of the silent utility carts that were sometimes used in the corridors.
As they climbed in behind the driver, Linnea saw Tereu glance at Hana, who was settling a bag of medical supplies in the long, deep cargo bin at the rear of the cart. “A doctor, isn’t she, Linnea? Do you know—is there some deepsider treatment for infestation?”
“I hope there will be,” Linnea said, and closed her eyes as the cart started off.
You have to let me see him,” Linnea repeated raggedly. “I’m his next of kin.” She stood, flanked by Hana
and Tereu, in the outer area of the isolation ward. So far they had not been able to persuade this man to allow them any farther. A single hospital security man stood facing Tereu’s men, and a distressed-looking nurse, a tall, capable-looking woman, stood at the doctor’s side.
The walls of the waiting area had been painted a delicate, calming blue that made Linnea want to scream. “Please. I have a right to see him and decide on his treatment.”
“There won’t be any treatment, Miss,” the doctor said. “Surgery would endanger my staff, and for nothing. I’m sorry to be blunt, but there is no hope for that man.”
Tereu faced him, standing very straight. “Dr. DeVries,” she said firmly, “you cannot ethically make any decisions about this man’s care without the permission of Kiaho Linnea. After all, she is his wife.”
Linnea’s heart thumped in startlement, but she kept her gaze on the doctor, who only looked more angry. “I apologize, Madame,” he said, “but our procedures require proof of relationship.”
Tereu did not look at Linnea. “I am satisfied that it is true,” she said. “Do you care to challenge my word? Pilot sen Paolo told me himself that it was so.”
Linnea glanced at Tereu, then looked back at the doctor, whose shoulders sagged in defeat. “Of course I must accept that, Madame.” He seemed to gather himself, then turned to Linnea with an expression of remote but practiced compassion. “Miss, er—”
“Pilot Kiaho,” Tereu said.
The doctor’s eyes widened slightly. Then he seemed to shake himself, to reassume his role. “I must warn you that there is little hope. We have stabilized Pilot sen Paolo’s condition with respect to the injury. He’d lost a great deal of blood, which we have replaced. But the bots are multiplying by the moment, and soon the change in viscosity will begin to impair his circulation, perhaps causing a flurry of small strokes. Then emboli will—”
“I know what happens,” Linnea said. “I know how they die. I’ve seen it.” She swallowed hard. “Please. Take us to him.”
Down a long, cold corridor, and through a lock to slightly lower pressure. And cold—the isolation ward was a cold place. All the windows leading to patient rooms were dark—all but one. It hovered and swam in her vision, a rectangle of harsh white light. She moved toward it, as if drifting, as if drawn, knowing that Iain’s sealed container was just on the other side of the thick glass.
But when she reached the window, she could see only the long silvery box. She could make out nothing through the thick protective plastic film that sealed him in. The inside was filmed with silvery condensation from his breath, his sweat; his body was only a shadow. She looked up at the doctor. “Let us in there, please.”
“Impossible,” the doctor said.
Hana’s calm voice took over. “Is that container adequately sealed?
“Level Five,” the doctor said. “But as a matter of procedure, we still maintain complete isolation. Do you have any idea what it would mean if those nanobots got loose in the city?”
“Yes,” Linnea said evenly. “I do.”
“We have an idea for a possible treatment,” Hana said. “It begins with cooling, physical and metabolic. It’s our thought that this might slow the process enough to gain us the time we need to”—her voice faltered a little—“proceed with treatment.”
“There is no treatment,” the doctor snapped. “Miss, are you even a physician?”
“In training,” Hana said steadily. “Please. We can hardly do your patient any more damage than he’s already suffered.”
Tereu spoke. “It is my personal request that you allow this, Doctor.”
He gave her a challenging glare this time, then a curt nod. “The container is sealed, but protocol calls for full hazard suits.” He waved a hand at the hovering nurse, who turned away, opened a storage closet, and pulled out two of the suits. Linnea’s hands were shaking so hard that Hana had to help her with the gloves and seals.
After an odd, blurred interval, she realized she was standing in the room with Iain. With Iain’s container. Hana had gone straight to the commscreen and called up Iain’s chart. But Linnea moved forward slowly and looked down at him through the thick plastic film. “Ohhhh,” she said, a slow, sad exhalation. Now she could see his face and body, blurred but unquestionably his. Iain’s eyes were closed, and an oxygen tube trailed across his upper lip. He was naked; his left side, toward Linnea, had been smeared with some kind of yellow surgical antiseptic, and partly bound in bandages. It had been clumsily done—by people in isolation suits, of course. People who had not really wanted to touch him.
She set her gloved hand on the film above him. It was stretched taut in its metal frame, and the surface was concave—the pressure inside where he lay would be lower, of course, so any leaks would be inward, not outward. She wished, with a yearning that was pain with every breath, that she could touch him. Against her will she spoke to him. “I’m sorry—” Her voice broke. “I’m so sorry, love. . . .”
And Iain’s eyes flicked open.
She gasped, and he looked up toward her, blindly—no, he could see her shadow above him. But he was still afraid. He couldn’t see her. He didn’t know her.
Linnea tore off the visored hood of the suit, ignoring a shout of protest from DeVries. She saw Iain’s eyes widen—then saw the black despair in his face, the depth of his grief and terror. She leaned close over him. His mouth worked, voiceless. With an effort she made herself see his words, understand them.
Kill me.
He was crying, and one of his hands came up, pressed against the plastic under hers. Just barely through the thick film, through her plastic glove, she felt the pressure of his palm against hers. She ripped off the glove, and then she could feel—she was almost sure she could feel the warmth of his fingers. Maybe for the last time.
He tried again to speak. Kill me. Please. You promised.
And she had; they had promised each other this, long ago. But only if there was no hope; and there was still a shred.
She shook her head. “You’ll be all right,” she said in an odd light voice.
The doctor touched her shoulder. “It would really be better if—”
And the little stunrod she had been concealing was in her hands. “I need you to release this man to our care.”
The doctor flicked a glance at the small black rod, puzzled, then back to her eyes. “You cannot possibly expect me to allow this man out of isolation. You cannot possibly care for him, even with this—medtech to help. He’ll be dead within hours.”
“No,” she said. “We’ll save him.” The odd strength spread from her voice to her body, spread and filled her. “You must allow this. It will please Perrin Tereu. If you want, I’ll use this.” She shifted the rod a little in her hand. “It knocks you out. It hurts, and it gives you a terrible headache, but then you’d have an excuse for why you couldn’t stop us.” She saw Tereu through the window, watching intently; when Linnea looked at her, she nodded once.
The doctor’s hands went up in supplication. “No need for that. I am more than delighted to allow Madame Tereu to bear full responsibility for this. Full responsibility to First Pilot Kimura.” He and Tereu exchanged hard glances.
Linnea looked down at Iain through the plastic, but his eyes had lost the sharpness of attention; he seemed to be staring into a horror he could not escape. “Hang on, love,” she said bleakly. “The ride will be wild for a while. But soon you’ll sleep. And soon—” She broke off. She had nothing else to promise him.
Hana had already stripped off her own hazard suit and gone to work, injecting a drug into the IV line snaking into the container. “He’ll sleep now,” she said. “He’ll start to slow down. We’ll start cooling him at the ship, as soon as I can get the central line in. Let’s go.” She set the oxygen tank and the IV reservoir on top of the container, checked that all the lines were clear, then nodded at Linnea.
“Please consider what you’re risking,” the doctor said in a hard voice. “You can’t sa
ve this man. You can only endanger yourselves.”
“We have considered it,” Hana said flatly, and slid the inner door of the lock shut in his face.
Another cart ride, this time with Iain’s container filling the cargo bin, and Tereu in front with the guard. Long, slow, dreamlike progress, eerily smooth in the noiseless cart; but at last they reached the tunnel to the skyport.
And Tereu touched Linnea’s arm. “Your ship,” she said. “I’ve ordered it unlocked from its launch cradle. Pod 34 in the patrol sector. I don’t know how soon Hiso will notice and seal it up again.” Her face was pale but resolute. “This may be your last chance to steal it back from Hiso.”
Linnea could not think about that now. She nodded at Hana, and they lifted Iain’s container out of the cart. “Let’s get Iain to Esayeh’s ship,” she said. “Then we’ll see.”
“Esayeh!” Tereu’s expression was perplexed. “Esayeh is your pilot?” They were already moving, but Tereu kept up, trailed now by only two of her guards. The skyport tunnels were still empty of other people, evidently by an order Tereu had called ahead. They traced the maze, following the glowing signs to the branch corridor that led to Esayeh’s ship.
Dread filled Linnea as they came around the last long curve of the corridor. But the docking tube display still showed Esayeh’s ship in place. The tube’s hatch opened as they neared it, and Esayeh stepped out, his eyes on Tereu. “It’s been a long time,” he said, in his mild old voice.
“Esayeh,” Tereu muttered. She had gone rigid. Linnea and Hana pushed past her with Iain’s container and carried it into the docking tube.
In the ship, they strapped it down, then, her decision firm in her mind, Linnea turned to Hana. “Thank you,” she said, her voice shaking. “Now, Hana, please—get Iain safely home to Hestia, to Pilang. She ought to be back by now. She’ll know what to do.”
Hana looked shaken. “You aren’t coming?”
“I’ll follow in my own ship.”
“You’ll follow,” Hana said intently. “That’s a promise, right, Lin?”
The Dark Reaches Page 21