by Gun Brooke
“Stop right there.” Briar wrapped her arm around Gella’s shoulders, which made the young woman flinch. Her reaction made Briar wonder if someone had hurt her or if it had been so long since anyone showed her any friendliness, she was taken aback by it. “We’re going to examine you, treat what needs treating, and set you up with a schedule for future visits. First, what’s your living arrangement on board?”
Gella squeezed Nilla’s hand so tight, the doctor actually winced. “Really? Oh. Oh!” Her lips trembled as tears began to form in her eyes. “I—um—I live in one-person quarters on the first level. I’m glad I don’t have stairs, as I often get dizzy.”
“Dizzy?” Briar made a note on the wall screen. “Did you suffer from the food shortage in the camp?”
“I did. Everyone did, but I believe my allotment often went to others who decided I needed to be taught a lesson.”
“I thought as much,” Briar murmured. “You’re very thin, and we’re going to need to get your weight up before your due date. If we run into trouble, and we might, I’ll transfer you to my unit in cube eleven. With your doctor’s permission,” Briar added belatedly.
“I agree with everything Nurse Lindemay says. I will no doubt add some nutri-extra to your diet, which particular kind I’ll know once the nurse has drawn some blood.”
“All right.” Gella slumped sideways, as if her defensiveness had been the only thing holding her up. Briar caught her and helped her lie down.
“Easy now. Let’s get an external monitor on your baby. So you know it’s a boy?”
“Yes. One of the midwives at the camp scanned him even though I couldn’t pay. I just needed to know. It made him…more real to me.” Tears kept leaking and running along her temples and into her hair. “He’ll be disliked for his genetic makeup, but his mother will love him.”
“And we’ll be with you, every step of the way, Gella.” Nilla grabbed a monitor and placed it on Gella’s stomach. “And there he is. You’re six months pregnant, give or take ten days. You have four more to go.”
“A long time.” Gella hugged herself. “But not long enough.”
Briar worked fast, automatically carrying out her tasks while her thoughts were with this young girl. So very young looking. “Gella. How old are you really?”
“Eighteen! Look at the chart.” Gella sat up, grimacing.
Nilla had clearly caught on and now examined Gella’s joints and the outer parts of her ears, and shone light into her eyes. “Gella, you’re sixteen. At the most.”
Gella looked like she was going to object but then sighed and slumped back. “Fine. All right. I’m sixteen.” She paused and studied her nails. “Almost.”
Briar was ready to strangle the man who’d abused this…this child. “It’s better this way,” she managed to say. “Keeping us informed of the truth will help us help you.” She pushed the hair from Gella’s face, just like she did with Caya’s when her sister was upset.
“All right,” Gella said, sounding unconvinced. She must’ve thought there was a catch to their kindness. “And when I’ve given birth, do you expect me to put him up for some childless couple to raise?”
“No. Absolutely not. Should that be what you want, we have proper programs in place to deal with it. What happens with your child once he’s born is your decision and nobody else’s.” Briar prayed no bored politician was tinkering with the laws just to have something to do.
“I guess we’ll see.” Gella still didn’t appear convinced, but she relaxed enough for them to finish the examination.
“Briar, we’re going to have to admit Gella to your hospital.” Nilla looked concerned. “She’s dilated too much for her gestational period. Gella, do you understand? You’re going to have to stay at the maternity ward until your baby is doing better. I’m sure you realize this.”
“Is he going to be a premature child?” Gella sat up again, this time clinging to Briar. “Please don’t let that happen!”
“We’ll do our best. I’ll oversee your transfer to cube eleven. I’m due back there in two hours. It should take the bureaucrats about that long to make it happen.” Briar let the girl cling to her. “This also means you may have to move to a cube closer to eleven in case of an emergency.” Briar knew the planner had thought of medical emergencies like this and created ways to deal with them. Moving people from their original cube to another wasn’t anything they did lightly, but in Gella’s case, it might actually improve her situation.
As she sat there with the trembling young woman weeping soundlessly against her shoulder, Briar dwelled on the similarities between this girl and Caya. If the Oconodian public found out about Caya, they’d react even worse than the Gemosians had toward Gella.
Looking at Nilla, busy filling in the information on the wall screen, Briar had to hand it to her; she hadn’t showed any of the animosity her people had toward Gella. On the contrary, Nilla had proved herself to be a good person behind all the prickliness from earlier.
When Briar let go of Gella and guided her into a comfortable position that helped her relax while waiting for transfer, she thought of the group she belonged to, led by Korrian Heigel. Their first meeting had been postponed twice, but it was scheduled for tomorrow. Now she had something that really mattered to bring to the table. Briar hoped Meija Solimar would be there. She would see things Briar’s way, she was certain.
Chapter Six
“On this thirty-second day of the Exodus operation, I declare this meeting open.” A thin man, dressed in a blue robe and wearing the white crinkled collar that showed he was an official negotiator and arbitrator, tapped the oval table with his square. The ornamented piece of janomo wood was commonly used as a sign of matters being settled in court or by legal arbitration.
Adina heard someone mutter, “Well, about damn time,” and glanced at the individual two seats down from her. Admiral Heigel. Of course. She was right, though. This meeting had been postponed ever since the white-garnet incident a week ago. The thought of the dangerous substance made her wiggle her fingers and roll her wrist. It was healed, but the skin still felt tight in some spots. As long as it didn’t hinder her in doing her job, she didn’t really care, but a few times the tightness gave her flashbacks. It could be about the searing pain from the white garnet eating away at her or, and this was better, about Briar risking her life to save Adina’s.
“First, we must establish the order of the issues brought to the—” The arbitrator stopped in midsentence as Korrian Heigel stood. “Admiral?” He looked mildly affronted.
“Revered Arbitrator Sir, I apologize for interrupting, but I don’t want to waste your time. This meeting has been a long time coming, and as this gathering of different people, representing different categories of people aboard Pathfinder, was my idea, my initiative, we’re not going to waste half of our valuable time that should be dedicated to reviewing the issues listening to the old-fashioned Oconodian bureaucratic nonsense.”
“Oh, for the love of…Korrian!” Meija whispered from where she sat next to her wife. “No need to be insulting.”
Adina hid a smile as Korrian replied, “I’m not. Our revered arbitrator isn’t responsible for the impenetrable system we’ve upheld in absurdum for centuries.”
“Still.” Meija’s gentle word, and possibly the firm kindness in her eyes, must have done something. Korrian laced her fingers and turned to the arbitrator again. “We may feel we have a very long journey ahead of us, somewhere around two years, but it’s really not long enough. So much needs to happen during the time we’re in transit. Leaving Oconodos doesn’t have to mean we leave all our traditions behind, but we must abandon the ways that put us on this journey to begin with. And not to put undue pressure on either of us, but the president is well aware of our impromptu group and has sanctioned us taking time away from our duties to brainstorm for the sake of Pathfinder and its passengers.”
“And liberating ourselves from the old-fashioned Oconodian bureaucratic nonsense is a first step,
Admiral?” the arbitrator asked, his severe features changing into an unexpected smile. “I’m not sure you believe me when I say that nobody is more thrilled to hear that than I.”
Adina was stunned. This was the first time she’d heard an arbitrator speak like a genuine person. The times she’d been involved with any legal mess, she’d been ready to throttle the individual sitting at the podium with their janomo block as if they were closer to the Creator than anyone else. This man, whose eyes glittered mischievously, looked more like somebody’s favorite uncle having pulled a successful prank.
“Revered Arbitrator—” Korrian said.
“Please, if we’re going to be informal, call me Edgram.”
“Oh. All right. Thank you.” Korrian glanced at Meija. “You were right. Happy?”
“Very.” Leaning back in her chair, Meija winked at Adina, who couldn’t help but smile. How could anyone not fall in love with Meija Solimar? As if her mind made a connection that was totally unintentional and obviously misfiring, Adina looked across the table at Briar. They had said a polite hello as they entered the conference room, but Adina had avoided looking at Briar since she was concerned about her flashbacks. She completely blamed the one she’d just gone through on Briar’s presence. And how was it she hadn’t known Briar would be part of this group?
“Some of us have met a few times before, in less formal settings, but now that our group consists of fourteen members—”
“We should have at least two more.” Briar was clearly not afraid of speaking her mind or interrupting Korrian. “While we’re on the subject of members in this group, I mean. Shouldn’t at least two of us be Gemosian? For relevant representation.”
“This is hardly a political gathering,” Adina heard herself say. Why she was objecting, she wasn’t quite certain. Perhaps it was about Briar being so damn fearless among a group it had taken Adina years to get used to dealing with.
“As I understand it, we’re a think tank, put together to anticipate, solve, discuss, and acknowledge problems that can and will arise while in transit to our new home. We have just over 100,000 Gemosians on board the Pathfinder. There’s a lot we don’t know about them, and I find it rather arrogant for us to think we can anticipate anything regarding their culture, or any issue when it comes to them. And arrogance is a well-known Oconodian trait that I for one had hoped we’d leave behind too.” Briar’s transparent eyes didn’t waver as she held them locked on Adina’s.
“Well said.” Korrian sat down again. “And you’re right. We should find two people who can give us their point of view.”
“I know many of them by now as I work in their cube once every fifth day. I can put you in touch with someone who can help select who’d be a good fit.” Briar smiled broadly.
“No. You pick two. That’ll save time and it’ll keep bureaucracy at a minimum,” Meija said.
Adina was starting to realize this group wasn’t just Korrian’s idea. This approach, working from different angles and sort of outside of sensor range, was more Meija’s thing than her wife’s.
“Me?” Briar’s smile vanished. “You sure, Meija?”
“I am. I’m convinced you’ll be aware of just who might have a lot to offer.”
“I think I know exactly who to bring. It’s just…I’d really like to bring three people.”
Korrian gazed around the table. Adina did the same, curious if anyone would openly disagree. Either Korrian had chosen open-minded people or she intimidated them enough that they kept their mouths shut. “Good. We’re in agreement. Edgram, you’ll be in charge of entering them into our logs?”
“Certainly.” Edgram was already noting something on his tablet. “I do have a few notes from our previous meeting before we left Oconodos. I’d like to hear what our newer members have to say about it.”
“Good idea,” Korrian said. “Recap, please, Edgram?” She seemed pleased to use the arbiter’s name, articulating its rolling r meticulously.
“Before we left Oconodos, we worried about the class differences and how they’d translate when on board the cubes. Here, no matter how wealthy you were before, everyone is living in the same type of quarters. Only the size differs, depending on the size of your family. We worried that new class differences would manifest themselves in other ways. Would you explain, Meija? You do it so much better.”
Clearly charmed by Edgram’s brand-new smile, Meija nodded. “Sure. Credits are no longer a viable means of payment, so anyone who was wealthy that way isn’t anymore. Nor landowners, who capitalized on renting farmland, forests, or even water rights. The only thing people could bring with them that could be considered of monetary value is jewelry. Gold, silver, gemstones. That sort of thing. Granted, it’s the formerly wealthy who usually possess such treasures. Has anyone seen any signs of anyone using them to garner privileges or special treatment?”
Adina raised her hand. “I have. I’ve been offered gold if I personally could come to people’s quarters and add features to their food dispensers. Same with clothing dispensers, recyclers, and so on. When I turn them down, I hear rumors of them going down the chain of command until they find someone ready to do it. I haven’t found the individual among my subordinates accepting such bribes, but when I do…” She shrugged and could guess her eyes had gone almost black. She detested anyone selling out, no matter the consequences. Here they were all literally in the same boat.
“I have too,” Briar said, sounding more sad than outraged. “Not so much with the formerly wealthy, but among the poorest and most destitute. They offer to give what little they have if I will come to their quarters and examine their baby or the new mother.”
“Why?” Adina blurted out. “All clinic rounds are free. Anyone can just show up and be seen by doctors, nurses, counselors.”
“Yes. And no.” Briar shook her head. “Among the Gemosians, some subgroups don’t want to, or can’t, leave their quarters. Some are girls either raped or seduced by Loghian guards in the camps and now pregnant with their babies. Both they and their babies are considered traitors or spawns of such. Others who have appointment in cubes occupied mainly by Oconodians don’t feel safe when riding the public jumpers since not all Oconodians approve of us bringing the Gemosians with us to P-105. So they try to persuade my colleagues and me to do house calls. I have done a few—”
“What?” Adina said. Briar was sitting right there admitting that she accepted bribes? No matter how profoundly sad the circumstances were, this was wrong on so many levels.
“But I refused any payment. Naturally.” Glittering with anger now, Briar’s turquoise eyes turned into narrow slits. “House calls take more than four times as long, even more, depending on where the patient resides, and the nursing staff is stretched so very thin as it is. It’ll take more than five months before the first assistant nurses, on the lowest level, are fully trained. Twice that with licensed nurses like me.”
“This is becoming a problem.” Korrian nodded thoughtfully. “These examples show it. I’m sure there are other areas where this system of bribery is becoming problematic as well. When the authorities gave the go-ahead for the Gemosians to come with us, Meija and I advocated for not placing them farthest out on the ship. They should have their cube among the Oconodians.”
“Unless that would make them feel surrounded.” A young man sitting on Meija’s other side spoke up. “You know. Boxed in.”
“A valid point.” Meija nodded.
“Why don’t we take this question to the Gemosian leaders?” Briar asked, her voice soft and hesitant.
“They’re pretty busy trying to negotiate, still, their position in the Oconodian parliament. You can imagine they’re insisting on a lot of seats, and our politicians are nervous they might lose some. They need to solve this dilemma before we have the election that needs to take place before we reach P-105. Once we’re there, the new leaders need to have gained momentum.” Korrian’s solemn voice didn’t show much faith in the politicians’ ability to reach cons
ensus on very many issues, least of all their own presence on the political scene.
“Can you talk to some of your Gemosian peers?” Adina suggested to Korrian.
“They don’t have many admirals or any ranking military members left for me to talk to. As you may know, their military has been reduced to only a few units, as most of them lost their lives on Gemosis, trying to save their people. Most of the surviving soldiers are the pilots who weren’t planetside when the catastrophe began.” She lowered her gaze for a moment, and Adina regretted asking. “But it’s a good idea. They’d have a good handle on the currents among the population. And they’d know what challenges this would entail.”
“Let’s not forget a traumatized people were just recently more or less liberated from camps where they suffered greatly, and they’re trying to establish roots aboard a vast spaceship belonging to yet another people.” Meija gestured emphatically. “If we just move their cube to another position…I don’t know. But I certainly know it won’t go well if we do it without consulting them. We might even have to put it to an all-public vote.”
“The whole ship? So, the Oconodians get to decide if the Gemosians are worthy to live among them? That doesn’t sound right.” Briar frowned. “Just remember, we’re all homeless at this point. We’re all refugees, regardless of origin.”
“I second that,” a middle-aged woman said. “If they’re going to vote, it should only be the Gemosians. If we allow the whole ship to have a say, we’d be right back in the whole death-by-bureaucracy scenario. Or, as my late husband used to say, bureau-crazy.”