by Josi Russell
The Asgre were upon the new creatures in seconds, clamping shackles around their waists and necks. They led them away, ignoring the little group whose lives were changed forever by the first aliens they had ever seen in person.
***
Reagan stood in front of the Cliprig, awaiting the return of the Asgre search parties from the mines. This was day seven, and he wanted these creatures out of his city. Ever since they’d come, he’d been unusually afraid for the humans he was in charge of.
Saras’s words still jabbed at his thoughts. Another deal with the aliens, huh, Reagan? It stung because it was true. He’d been part of selling people into slavery. He didn’t think the pain and regret of that would ever leave him.
Kaia jingled him on his missive, and her lined face appeared on its screen.
“Time’s up,” she reminded him. The combination of his melancholy thoughts and her words hit him in the chest. He tried to push the thought of Kaia’s aging from his mind. She was strong, even before her modifications, and after them he had started to think of her as indestructible. Only, of course, she wasn’t. Her frail form on the screen was enough to tell him that. Her voice now was sharp as she tried to get his attention.
“Did you hear? The Asgre are out of time?”
“Copy that,” he said.
He heard movement behind him. Whirling to peer into the dark mouth of the mine, Reagan saw them returning to their transport. They had, apparently, found what they were looking for.
The sharp-faced Asgre, with their skeletal expressions and their razor-like bones sticking through the stretched tents of their skin under their masks, moved toward him, weapons drawn. They were herding pale beings out of the mine, some of them children. One tiny creature was no larger than Polara. The helpless Vala blinked in the light as they were led in chains to the transport.
Galo approached him. “These creatures are the property I’ve been searching for.” Galo explained, almost ingratiatingly. “They thought that hiding underground would fool me, but I have found them.” He paused, then continued, and Reagan heard the frustration in his abrasive voice. “Well, not all of them.” Galo motioned his soldiers to lead the creatures onto the ship.
Reagan opened his mouth to speak, but Galo continued. “I request more time to find the rest of my slaves.”
Reagan shook his head, “We’ve given you your time. Your contract was that you would leave after seven days. Those days are up.”
Galo spoke quickly. “Do you have anything you need moved quickly across space, Mr. Regan?”
Reagan scoffed, Yeah, about eighty battleships, he thought wryly.
Galo didn’t wait for an answer. “I can help you with your shipping needs. We can move cargo very quickly. Is there something, or someone that you’d like brought from your home planet? Perhaps in exchange for a few more days?” His angular face, behind the mask, contorted into what Reagan thought was supposed to be a smile.
Reagan thought about the battleships. He thought about the YEN drives, piling up in warehouses back on Earth and too far away from the Yynium supply to be of use for decades. Perhaps he’d been looking at Galo all wrong. Being in an intergalactic society could have its advantages, too.
The Admiral blinked, shaking the cobwebbed thoughts in his head. “Could you—could you transport ships? What are your limitations?”
Galo leaned forward eagerly. “Of course! I have transported whole fleets. I could bring you anything you want.”
The fear Reagan had carried for the last few weeks twisted in his chest. Maybe this was the way to keep the people on Minea safe. Reagan began to nod, considering how many extra days he could give the creature to search. The vast stretch of space between Minea and Earth could be bridged by this one bargain. He could bring the fleet here, bring the drives here. That big ship could carry a lot of YEN drives. As he glanced up at the Cliprig behind Galo, Reagan saw the Vala being led onto the ship in chains. He saw the mercenaries loading the smallest Vala child into the cage below the great ship, saw it slump miserably onto the floor behind the bars.
Reagan turned his face away in disgust. Here he was again, at the moment of decision. The freedom of the Vala hung on his decision, and he wouldn’t make the same mistake he’d made before. This time, he would stop it.
“Get off my planet, Galo, and don’t come back.”
Galo grunted, a confused sound. Reagan saw how close he’d come to making a deal with the monster, and he stepped back a pace, but Galo followed him.
“Oh, but I’m sure we can make an arrangement! What can I bring you?”
“Anything you brought here would be stained with the blood of those children.”
There was an exasperated edge in Galo’s voice. “What do you want, Ray-gun? Anything!”
Squaring his shoulders, Reagan spoke slowly, with force. “I want you gone.”
Galo’s eyes showed fury and defeat. He leaned in close to Reagan. “I will retrieve my property.” Galo’s voice was hard.
A puff of the bitter gas that filled the Asgre suits drifted into Reagan’s nose as Galo spoke. As the vapor entered his body, Reagan felt a tremor shake him. He stepped back just as Galo bowed and strode onto his ship.
The tremor remained, and Reagan clasped his hands together behind his back to stop their shaking. What was this?
By the time the ship rose, Reagan had regained control of his muscles, but a new fear had lodged itself in his chest. How far were they willing to go to get the Vala?
When Reagan returned to his office, new defense orders had arrived from the UEG headquarters on Earth. A death had been reported in the mine. The Asgre were aggressive, and the UEG wanted them gone. The Vala were to be returned to their masters, and he was to assist in gathering them. The UEG would not be responsible for endangering any more human lives.
But Reagan had made his choice. He would not be responsible for making anyone else a slave.
Chapter 35
Aria and Ethan had spent the last two days filling Polara’s room with hastily-prepared Taim trays, and the bright colors of Luis’s pottery shone around the room like pieces of a rainbow.
They held each other in the green-tinted light of Polara’s room. Taim trays covered the windowsills and shelves, the cupboard on the far wall, and the bed inside Polara’s tent. She had eaten well today, and she was playing with her new doll from Hannah.
Rigel crawled happily on the floor. Aria had stopped responding to his every whim, and wanting things that were out of his reach had moved him to mobility. Each of the family wore a Taim patch, a little wearable chip of pottery with a pin stuck on the back and Taim growing on its front. The little plants waved cheerfully in spite of the bleak scenes in the rest of the hospital.
Rigel clapped as Ethan scooped him up. “I’m taking him for a little sunshine,” Ethan said, and Aria caught them both for a kiss before letting them leave.
Moments later, a cleaning worker appeared at the door, and Aria rushed to meet him before he entered the room.
She pointed to a sign she’d made that hung on the door: “NO ZAM CLEANER ALLOWED IN THIS ROOM.”
The worker glanced around at the plants. “Lady, it looks like you need it more than anybody.”
“Don’t come in.” Aria said, her voice sharp. “No Zam is allowed in here.”
The cleaning worker shrugged. “Okay,” he said, “but tell the floor supervisor that. She’s tough.”
“I’ll tell her.” Aria felt relief as the man continued on to the next room. A new floor supervisor? That explained it. She’d have to go talk to her immediately.
“Polara, Mama will be right back, okay?”
Polara looked up and smiled, and Aria’s heart caught at the beauty of the simple movement. She gave a little wave and left to find the new supervisor.
***
Marcos couldn’t taste the gar candy in his mouth, but it kept the terrible dryness at bay. He wanted to lie down, to close his eyes and give into the weakness, but as Veronika m
aneuvered his wheelchair down the hospital hallway, he couldn’t help glancing in the rooms. Some patients lay still in their beds, the clear bed covers tented over them, their struggle for breath evident by the wheezing that filled the hospital. Marcos heard it in his own breath.
If they were breathing, however laboriously, they were the lucky ones. In many rooms Marcos saw that the struggle for life had ended and the dejected family members of the dead gathered in the rooms and in the halls, weeping.
So when they passed the room with open curtains and a little girl playing happily with a doll under the cover over her bed, he held up a hand. Veronika stopped immediately.
“Take me in there.” Saras said.
“Marcos, we’re not allowed—”
“I own this hospital. I’ll go where I want to go.”
Marcos dropped his slick hands to the wheels and wrenched the chair away from her, rolling in next to the little girl’s raised bed. She peered out at him, then waved. Marcos raised a hand slowly and waved back.
There were plants everywhere. The room looked as if no one had Zammed it in weeks, except that these plants were growing on bright trays and strangely-shaped plates and they were placed deliberately throughout the room.
Theo was gazing at the child, too. She waved at him.
“I know her,” he said. “She’s the child of the Caretaker.” His voice was a little sarcastic. “Ethan Bryant.”
Marcos gazed at her a moment more. How Theo knew that was a mystery to him. She looked, to him, like the thousand other children he saw around Coriol. But she had the fever. She should be laying still and covered in the purple marks as he was. Her arms, neck, and cheeks showed the evidence of the marks, but they had faded from deep purple to pale pink. They gave her an almost delicate glow. From her smile it seemed she felt fine. She was, judging by what he’d seen, the only person in this hospital recovering.
“Get me Ethan Bryant,” Marcos said softly, waving a hand and laying his head back against the chair, his energy spent.
“Within the hour.”
***
Bryant stood at the foot of Marcos’ bed. Marcos knew the situation was different than the meeting they’d had weeks ago in his office at Saras Company. He knew the difference between sitting in an Earthleather chair and lying in a hospital bed. His tone revealed that knowledge.
“Mr. Bryant, I owe you an apology.”
“I suspect that’s not what you brought me here to talk about, Mr. Saras.”
“Ethan, I’m prepared to make you a very impressive offer.”
“Does it include stopping the blasting at the edge of the Karst Mountains?”
Marcos closed his eyes. He despised letting other people talk. They never saw what was really important. “Mr. Bryant, it’s a monetary offer.” Before he was finished, Bryant was walking toward the door. Marcos felt frantic, “and a stone and steel mansion. Don’t go!”
The caretaker turned around. “If you want me to stay, you know my requirement.”
Marcos glanced at Veronika. For once, she looked unsure. A coughing fit overtook him and Bryant stood halfway between the bed and the door, unmoving and seemingly unmoved.
When Marcos’s breath came smoothly again, he looked pleadingly at Bryant. “I will stop the blasting. But I need something from you.”
Bryant took a step back towards him. “Prove it. Make the call now to stop it.”
Marcos held, still and quiet. The land grant flashed in his mind. They had extracted some already. It might be enough. And it might not matter either way if he was dead. He held out his hand to Theo. Theo pulled a missive from his inner jacket pocket and dialed, then handed it to Marcos.
The crew leader at the karst tunnel answered. “Hey boss.”
“Stop blasting,” Marcos said, his breath catching in another cough as he spoke.
“What’s that?”
“Stop blasting.” Marcos caught Bryant’s eye and held it. “Send your crew home.”
The man sounded flustered. “We’re—we’re coming along fine, boss, we—”
Marcos’s temper flared. “Send them home now or you’ll be back on the refinery line tomorrow.”
There was silence, then a subdued, “Yes, Mr. Saras.”
Marcos held the missive impatiently out to Theo, who took it and talked quietly, moving around the bed and out into the hall as he spoke.
“Now can we talk, Mr. Bryant?”
The caretaker nodded.
“I saw your daughter today, down the hall,” Marcos said, unable to keep the wistfulness out of his voice. Something about that happy, healthy child made everything else unimportant to him.
Bryant started to snap at him, but Marcos interrupted. “I just want to know why she’s recovering.”
This seemed to take Bryant by surprise. “You’re—you’re not asking me about Yynium?”
Marcos bit back his irritation. “The doctors insist that she has had no special care. Tell me what they’ve been giving her and I’ll make you the second richest man in Coriol.”
Bryant’s eyebrows drew together. “They haven’t given her anything. It was something my wife brought—”
“I’ll buy it, then. I’ll buy what your wife is giving her.”
Bryant seemed to consider. He wasn’t so different, Marcos thought. Everyone has his price. Slowly, Bryant nodded his head.
“All right, Mr. Saras. You want to buy it? We’ll sell it. On one condition.”
It was always conditional with this one. But it was worth it to Saras. “One more condition, you mean,” he said, “you’ve already got me to stop blasting.”
“Fair enough.” Bryant shrugged. “One more condition: You buy enough for every building in Coriol. Every apartment in the tenements, every room in the refinery, every office. Everybody gets one.”
“Fine. Done.” Marcos tried not to show his exasperation. “Gets one what?”
“One Taim tray. When the papers are signed and the scrip transferred, I’ll deliver yours personally, and tell you why it works.”
Marcos was wild at the possibility of a cure. “I will have it transferred before you leave the hospital.” He snapped his fingers at Veronika, then remembered that she hated that.
Bryant nodded. “Then I’ll bring it tonight.” He seemed so used to business dealings at this level that Marcos had to remind himself that Bryant was only a linguist. Where had this ability come from?
Marcos watched him leave and turned to see Veronika making the transfer with her missive. She raised a smoldering gaze to him.
Marcos leaned back. He was tired. Tired of fighting them, tired of worrying about Yynium day in and day out, tired of being alone.
Veronika had reminded him often, at the beginning, that he didn’t have to be alone. He knew she’d envisioned walking right into the Saras mansion on Yynium Hill with him, had figured the two of them could pick up right where she and his father had left off. But he’d seen his mother’s heart broken. He would not see that look in Serena’s eyes. Veronika had underestimated him—he was not his father.
Now, with the haze of his fear clearing, it occurred to Marcos that his dying of Minean fever would have been quite convenient for her. She would step into control of Saras Company in Coriol just as she had planned. Did that vial he’d seen her slip Zuma have anything to do with all this?
Marcos rolled his head the other direction and looked at Theo. It may not have been so easy for Veronika to take over. Theo would have fought for Saras Company, too.
Maybe with these trays, neither of them would get the chance.
***
Ethan called to invite Luis to the cottage. When he walked in, Luis was already there, chatting with Aria. A straw-filled crate of plates sat next to her on the floor, and Ethan smiled. They were going to be put to good use.
“Luis, we have a great opportunity,” Ethan said, glancing at the threadbare clothes the potter was wearing. This could really change things for him. Luis looked at him curiously.
Luis blinked. “My friend, I would tell you you’re crazy. My plates have no place here. They don’t fit in the sanitizer, they don’t match the décor. I only make them because I need something to do, and you only take them because you don’t want to hurt my feelings.”
Ethan reached down and pulled one of the beautiful plates from the crate. Its pale blue surface was glazed clear with streaks of vibrant spring green. The plate’s circular throwing pattern made dips and hills where the glaze had pooled and run. It was, like every one of Luis’s plates, completely unique.
Ethan nodded toward his wife. “Aria has discovered something special about your plates.” She shot him a worried glance, obviously concerned that this would hurt their friend’s feelings, but Ethan smiled broadly to encourage her.
She went into the other room and emerged with a serving tray full of Taim plants. They were about the height of Ethan’s hand and they swayed gently as Aria brought them in.
Luis raised his eyebrows.
“These plants—we’re calling them Taim—” Aria said proudly, “cured Polara.”
“Cured?” Luis brightened, but looked cautious. “How?” He walked closer and ran a finger across the fluffy tops of the plants.
Aria continued. “We figured out that Minean fever is caused by a gas,” Aria said, skipping the part about her stolen vial, “which seems to be coming from the mines. We’ve tried reporting it, but no one will listen. The Taim metabolize both the gas and carbon dioxide and release pure oxygen, thereby cleaning the air. In fact, the more gas and the more carbon dioxide, the healthier the Taim plants. The more Taim, the less gas we measured in the air.”
Luis smiled for real this time.
“So I did some experiments, and I can grow Taim in trays. And you know what? They grow best on your pottery.” She smiled at their friend.