Isabel nodded.
“We should test you, too, see if you’ve developed the antibody.”
“There were hydro workers exposed, at the Virimund power park.”
Simon shook his head. “I saw all their scans. They’re routinely transmitted to World Health in Geneva. I didn’t see this.” He reached for a sandwich. “All the imaging data is missing, by the way. Chemical spectroscopy might have already identified the virus, but Adetti kept some things back.”
Isabel had a sandwich on her plate, but she couldn’t eat it. She drank coffee, looking away from Simon to the streaks of fresh rain on the windows.
“Adetti’s fixed on his own purpose. He doesn’t see Oa as a human being.”
“No,” Simon said. “I’m sure he doesn’t. He sees her as an opportunity.”
Isabel set down her cup, and looked into Simon’s eyes. “For what, Simon? What in God’s name does he want with her?”
“I don’t know. Whatever it is that’s strange about her, he plans to profit from it.” He shook his head slightly. “He’s not much of a scientist, I’m afraid. It looks like he kept doing the same tests over and over, hoping the answer would fall into his lap by chance. Hoping the medicator would do his job for him.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes again. “Ambition without ability. It’s a damned disaster waiting to happen.”
“And Gretchen Boreson?”
Simon shrugged. “I imagine he’s convinced her there’s profit in it. ESC always needs cash, always has big plans. There’s nothing wrong with that, essentially. But the way they achieve it is what organizations like World Health have to monitor.” He laughed a little. “Big business is both a curse and a blessing, Isabel. They work wonders, sometimes, and feed a lot of people. Profit is a powerful motive, but it’s a dangerous one.”
“Oa isn’t a business,” Isabel said bitterly. “She’s a little girl. We were just making progress—she had begun to talk to me, and to trust me—I allowed her to trust me! She will think I abandoned her.” She stood up, moving away to the window. She picked up the teddy bear from the sill and hugged it to her. “We must find her, Simon, and soon. We must.”
*
JIN-LI PUT IN a long day unloading a shuttle and transferring its cargo of rhodium to the insulated storage bay. The containers were small and heavy, and it took several trips to finish the job. When the last container was in the storage bay, Jin-Li shut the door with a bang, and went in search of Matty Phipps.
Matty was in the cafeteria, hollow-eyed with lack of sleep. She lifted a freckled hand in greeting. “Johnnie. You as tired as me?”
“Yes.” Jin-Li slipped into a chair opposite. “Did you locate the priest?”
“I haven’t seen her, but I found the driver who took her from Admin to the guest suites. Got a buddy over in the garage. She had somebody with her, too, he said.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, some man. Not too tall, little bit older.”
“Not a priest?”
“Well, apparently not. No collar.” Phipps grinned. “Has hair.”
Jin-Li smiled a little. “Lots of priests have hair, Matty.”
“Yeah, I know. But this Magdalene . . . don’t you find it sort of strange?”
Jin-Li shrugged. “I don’t know. Everyone takes their own path, I guess.”
“Yeah, I guess. Just seems like she gave up a lot.”
“We need to tell her where the girl is.”
“Sure, Johnnie. But she won’t be able to do anything about it.”
“Maybe she will. If we help.”
“That’s a secure complex,” Phipps said, shaking her head. “And we don’t know which building she’s in, either.”
Jin-Li frowned, thinking. “The question we need to ask is why they moved her. And why, after ExtraSolar brought the Magdalene here, they’re keeping her away from the girl.”
“Oh, that’s an easy one.”
“It is?”
“Sure. They thought they could hire this Enquirer, then use her to cover their asses. They didn’t know she’d have a mind of her own.”
“That makes sense, Matty. She stepped right in the middle of whatever’s on.”
“Yeah.” Phipps leaned forward, her pale blue eyes intent. “And listen, Johnnie, I watched that bastard for fourteen months. He’s obsessed with the little girl.”
“Obsessed? You mean, sexually?”
“No, no, that’s the strange thing. He examined her constantly, had her under the medicator every damn day. Yet he never touched her, not skin to skin. Frankly, if I had thought it was something else, I would have reported him to the captain. But he wore a quarantine suit every time he went into her room. I know, because he kept me on the hop replacing them!”
“So he won’t harm her,” Jin-Li said slowly.
“Well, he didn’t in all that time,” Phipps said, leaning back now, crossing her arms. “But who knows when the poor kid reaches the end of her rope?”
They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Jin-Li’s eyes were dry with lack of sleep. Dinner had tasted like sawdust. “Come on, Matty. Let’s go over to the guest suites. See if we know anyone in housekeeping.”
*
SIMON SPENT THE evening on the wavephone in Isabel’s suite. She paced, listening to his side of the conversations, marveling at his patience with the web of bureaucracy he was trying to pierce. They had been at it for hours, and it was dark beyond the window, a dark that came early to this rainsoaked northern city.
When Simon finally put the wavephone back in its cradle, he sighed and rested his head in his hands. “Isabel, there’s nothing more I can do tonight. The regents are agreeable to the review board, and they’ll convene it as soon as the members can get to Seattle. But apparently the extraordinary empowerment provision allows Adetti and Boreson to isolate the child. They claimed there were concerns about contamination and infection, both to her and to others.”
“It’s not true.” Isabel’s voice scraped in her throat, and she told herself she must drink some water. She tried to think when they had eaten.
“I know,” Simon said wearily. He stood up, and came to join her, looking out into the sodden, joyless night. She noticed, with mingled sadness and relief, that he stood an arm’s length away. “You know, Isabel, the medicator is a great tool, but it’s only a tool, and only as effective as the people who use it. Adetti’s not much of a physician.”
“I don’t suppose they send the best doctors to the expansion worlds,” Isabel said. She managed a small smile at Simon. “We need them too much here.”
He gave a dry chuckle. “Where we make them fight political battles.”
“Yes. That, too.” He gazed out over the flat roofs of the Multiplex, and she watched his profile, the strong line of his jaw and throat. His hair had just begun to gray at the temples. Her fingers tingled with the desire to touch it, to smooth it back from his cheek. She tore her eyes away, back to the stacks of hardcopies and flexcopies scattered across the table.
Isabel knew Simon to be an intuitive diagnostician, a perceptive researcher, and a tireless worker for the rights of his patients. She had seen him put in twelve-hour days in the camp clinic in the Victoria Desert, and then spend hours more talking to Geneva and other World Health offices around the globe, summoning support, money, supplies. He had worked that way for years, and in her own field, so had Anna. They had lived apart as much as they had lived together . . . but that was no excuse. Isabel knew that if she had not been the direct cause, she had at least been the catalyst in the disintegration of Simon’s marriage. And now, though she regretted it, she couldn’t undo the damage.
She said, “It’s late, Simon. I’ll call for some dinner.” And Oa? she wondered. Would someone bring Oa dinner, and would Oa feel like eating it? Did she have her sweater, and her socks, the little things that had made her comfortable? Isabel went to the house comm to order, but it was mostly for Simon. Her own stomach roiled with tension, and she doubted she could eat a
nything.
Fifteen minutes later, the door to the suite buzzed, and Isabel spoke to it. As it swung open, she moved to the table to clear a space for the tray, hearing Simon’s polite murmur behind her, and two voices respond. Isabel straightened, and turned to see two white-coated people standing in the suite, one holding a tray with covered plates, the other a carafe and cups.
“Jin-Li!” she exclaimed. “And—Matty, isn’t it? Matty Phipps?”
Phipps laughed. “You can call me ‘ship lady’ if you want to!” she said.
“Mother Burke, could you order the door to close?” Jin-Li said in a low tone. “We’re not really supposed to be here.”
11
IT SEEMED TO Oa that the spider machine’s appetite would never be satisfied. Its microneedles sucked at her wrists, her elbows, her knees, her temples. Its black legs trailed over her face and her chest and made her tremble with horror. Isabel had said there would be no more of it. But Isabel was not here. There was only Doctor.
Oa closed her eyes and retreated into memory.
The anchens found a new nest, after Micho was killed. It was a place of entwined branches and arching roots, a shallow bowl of leaves and moss that they reinforced as best they could. They had tried many times to weave vines, pulling on the thick thorny stems until their fingers bled. If three worked together, they could manage to twist the vines into thick braids, the plaits shading from green to brown as the air leached away the color. The stems stiffened as they dried, and the corner knots became impossible.
Oa remembered her father’s big hands bending, forcing, swiftly twisting the vines to make wall mats and floor mats, to make the roofs of shahto that kept out any raindrops that slipped through the forest canopy. Shahto kept out the forest spiders, but the anchens had only their nest. They had better luck with nuchi bark, soaking it in the surf, pounding it with stones to soften it. They made sleeping mats of the pounded bark, and spread them in the nest, snuggling together at night like abandoned fledglings.
They took turns watching for the forest spiders, crying the alarm when one minced out of the forest on its long, jointed legs. But sometimes the watcher fell asleep. Once, in their old nest, Oa had woken to feel a forest spider crawling up over her hair and onto her face, its legs like needles, its forward eyes glowing amber in the starlight. She had frozen with horror, whimpering in her throat. Micho heard her, and leaped up, seizing one of their digging knives, striking the spider down before it could sink its fangs into her throat. He speared the spider, and flung its body as far as he could into the forest. All the anchens huddled around Oa, stroking her, comforting her. They all knew the forest spider’s bite.
When Doctor released Oa from the spider machine at last, she crept to the long gold couch and curled up in one corner. She tucked her forehead against her knees, and wrapped her arms around her ankles. She still wore the pajamas from the infirmary, with the black sweater pulled tightly around her, more for comfort than for warmth. Night was coming again, and there was still no sign of Isabel.
Gretchen came in after Doctor left. She tried to get Oa to move, to uncurl her body, to join her over a tray of food. She shook her by the shoulder. “Come on, honey, come on now. Eat. Drink something.” Oa tried to cover up her icy, desperate scent by burying her nose in the black wool of her sleeve, breathing the calm fragrance of Isabel. Eventually Gretchen went away, leaving a bowl of soup to chill on the table.
Beyond the locked door, crockery clinked, doors closed, water ran. Past the tall windows the sky darkened. Brilliant lights like tiny white fires burned in the buildings and the streets, flamed from the tops of the great towers like bonfires on the hilltops of the three islands.
When the sounds quieted, and Gretchen didn’t return, Oa slowly unwound herself. She got up gingerly, wincing as she straightened her stiff knees. The room lights had dimmed, though the one on the ceiling camera still winked its warning amber. The chairs and couches and tables cast thick shadows on the white carpet. Oa went to kneel beside the windowsill. The rain had stopped, leaving tracks on the glass like tear marks. The strange crescent shone dimly white in the night sky. Moon, they called it. Virimund had no such Moon, but Oa had read about it in her books.
Even now, the not-canoes floated back and forth in the bay, blazing with lights strung in looping patterns over their spread sails. What were they doing there, on the night-dark water? Perhaps there were fish to catch. Perhaps the people had islands to visit. But they seemed only to drift, going nowhere, crossing and recrossing the bay.
Oa remembered a feast day, long ago. She was very small, having passed no more than four or five tatwaj. Canoes came from all the three islands, and there was roasted fish and steamed pishi and hot nuchi milk spiced with honey. The people sang, and danced, and went in and out of shahto, giving gifts and receiving them. It was the feast of the ancestors, a time to sing the songs and tell the tales.
The anchens struggled to remember the songs and stories. In the evenings, the anchens sat on the great boulder on the northern side of their island, with the waves of Mother Ocean splashing up to their toes as they sang the songs of the three islands.
Oa remembered the mildness of the evening air, the brilliance of the stars, the deep song of Mother Ocean, the treble voices of the anchens reciting memories. Kikya spoke of Raimu-ke. Kikya claimed to remember Raimu-ke, and the others pretended to believe him.
Oa crouched by the sill for a long time, until she began to get cold, and then, slowly, she stood. Isabel had not come. Isabel was not coming.
Oa wandered back to the couch, and curled up under the blanket. The soup Gretchen left had grown a skin of pale yellow, with bits of vegetables and rice poking from it. The bread had gone dry and hard. Oa drank a bit of water, but ignored the rest. She lay for a long time staring out at the white lights of the alien city. Before she finally fell asleep, she sent one feeble, hopeless prayer into the night. At least, she prayed to Raimu-ke, at least send me Isabel.
*
SIMON SHOOK JIN-LI’S hand, and then Phipps’s. Isabel invited them to the table, hastily clearing stacks of flexcopies and slumping piles of disks from the chairs. They all sat. Isabel watched Jin-Li’s heavy-lidded eyes assessing Simon. A tired grin creased Phipps’s freckled face.
“I’m glad to see both of you,” Isabel said. “But—” She spread her hands. “I can’t imagine what you’re doing here!”
“Same thing as you, I bet,” Phipps said stoutly. “Trying to help the kid.”
“We followed,” Jin-Li said. “When Adetti moved her.”
Sudden hope flamed in Isabel. She leaned forward across the table. “You know where she is? Can you take us to her?”
“Careful,” Simon said. Isabel flashed him a look. “We can’t just break in someplace.”
Jin-Li’s eyes gleamed. “Not possible, in any case. They took her into a complex of condo towers down by the water. With a guarded gate. And we don’t know which building.”
“Tell us what happened,” Isabel said. She wanted to rush out, to bash down someone’s door, but she knew Simon was right. She tried to tell herself that one more night would not matter. But it did. It very much did.
“Please, Jin-Li, Matty, as long as you’re here, do eat something.”
She stood to divide the fish casserole into portions, using saucers to make enough plates. In the bathroom sink, she rinsed the cups they had used earlier, dried them on a hand towel, and poured coffee. Phipps smiled her thanks and took a plate.
Jin-Li accepted a cup of coffee, saying, “Matty knew they were up to something, so we went to the infirmary. It was late, almost midnight.”
Isabel said, “They put a sedative in our food.”
“I guessed that.” Jin-Li nodded. “It was Adetti who carried her out, I think.”
Phipps said, “Bastard,” and then her freckled cheeks flushed. “Sorry, Mother Burke.”
Isabel managed a small laugh. “It’s the right word, Matty.”
Jin-Li went o
n, “He wore a quarantine suit. We followed them out of the Multiplex, down to the condo towers. Had to stand and watch the guard let them in.”
“Do you know who lives there?” Simon spoke quietly, eyes fixed on his steepled fingers.
Phipps said, “Yeah. I asked my friend in transportation services.” She pushed her fingers through her rough red hair and said triumphantly, “The General Administrator lives there. Great apartment, apparently. Big windows, wonderful view of Elliott Bay and the Olympic Mountains. Very, very expensive.”
*
WHEN GRETCHEN CAME in again in the morning, Oa was already kneeling beside the window, watching the slow morning light brighten the vista of sea and mountain and city.
“Good morning!” Gretchen cried.
Oa turned, still on her knees.
Today the pale lady wore a brown suit, with pleated trousers and a tie at her collar. She carried a fresh tray of food, and Oa, though she hated to take anything from her, was ravenous.
“Come now, honey,” Gretchen said, stretching her scarlet lips in a rictus of a smile. “You come right over here and sit with me, and we’ll have some breakfast. You must be hungry this time! Come on, now, come on. I don’t want to have to drag you.” She laid the tray on the table before the gold couch, sitting down, patting the cushion beside her. “Come on, now, honey.”
Oa stood up slowly, and took small, wary steps toward the table.
The fragrance of yeast bread and sugar drew her to a basket full of tiny golden-crusted rolls. A bowl held sliced rounds of some soft white fruit with a yellow rind. Her stomach clenched with hunger.
She didn’t sit on the couch, but knelt beside the table. It didn’t seem to matter to Gretchen. She pushed the tray closer to Oa, her smile fading, the skin of her cheek twitching and distorting her mouth. Her left hand twitched, too, and she gripped it with the fingers of her right. She watched Oa pick up the juice glass.
Oa remembered what Gretchen had done before with her empty glass. She set the juice down without drinking.
Gretchen opened her mouth as if to urge her again, but though she caught a noisy breath, she didn’t speak. She put one of her bone-thin fingers between her teeth, and fixed Oa with a look of hunger. There were snakes on the islands who watched their prey just that way, heads and eyes very still, mouths open.
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