Oa pattered down the metal stairs ahead of her, but Isabel stepped gingerly down to the gray-black bitumen of the runway, clutching the handrail. She looked across the expanse of the airfield to an assortment of blunt, rectangular buildings shaded by a few thick-trunked trees. Oa’s nuchi trees. In the distance, hundreds of solar panels angled into the sky, and between the collectors the ocean flashed its vibrant, otherworldly green.
Two longshoremen were already climbing up into the cargo bay by the time Isabel had reached the end of the stairs and was standing uncertainly in the brilliant afternoon light. A tall, stooped man, in the cream-colored syncel of a Port Force official, emerged from the shadow of the delta wing. He greeted Paolo Adetti by his first name, and stuck his hand out to Gretchen Boreson, paler than ever under a widebrimmed hat. She touched the proferred hand with the tips of her fingers. Simon stepped forward to shake the official’s hand, and then turned to Isabel.
“This is Mother Isabel Burke. Isabel, this is the power park administrator, Jacob Boyer. And this is our archivist, Jin-Li Chung.”
Isabel, shading her eyes with her left hand, extended her right to Boyer. He took it, and murmured some courtesy, but his eyes had already strayed past her to Oa.
“This can’t be—” Boyer began, and then stopped. He looked back at Adetti. “Paolo? You’re telling me this is the same girl?”
The note of triumph in Adetti’s voice intensified Isabel’s discomfort. “Oh, yes,” he grated. “She’s the same, all right.”
Boyer had a long, rather morose face, and his eyes were round now with amazement. “But—it’s been two years! She hasn’t—she can’t—”
Simon stepped forward. “Administrator. If you could have someone show Mother Burke and Oa to their rooms, and Ms. Boreson? I’d like to go to the medical facility as soon as possible. Dr. Adetti and I need to review the postmortem on the man you lost.”
Isabel cast Simon a grateful look. Boyer said, “You don’t want to rest first, Dr. Edwards?”
Simon smiled. “Thanks. I’ve been asleep for the better part of fourteen months as it is.”
Boyer nodded gloomily, saying, “True, true. Okay, then.” He called someone’s name, and a man came around the nose of the shuttle, squinting in the glare from the particle shields. Isabel and Gretchen Boreson and Oa followed him away, leaving Simon and Adetti and Jin-Li with Boyer. Boyer watched them go, and Isabel saw Oa cast an anxious glance over her shoulder. Her back must be burning under Boyer’s wondering gaze. Isabel slowed her steps to let the child go ahead, putting herself between Oa and that hot curiosity. Boreson stumbled once, and Isabel thought she must feel as odd as she herself did.
*
JIN-LI FOUND JACOB Boyer to be as straightforward as Gretchen Boreson was complex. And the Virimund Power Park, three years into its existence, was almost raw in its simplicity. The foambrick of new construction had not yet weathered to a natural color. No one had bothered with flower beds or landscaping. The natural vegetation crept up walls and over paths. The roads were loosely surfaced with pale sand that flew in sparkling sprays from the wide tires of Port Force carts. Long, narrow barracks ranged behind the terminal. Longshoremen came out to the airfield, beginning the labor of offloading the shuttle’s cargo, replacing it with the tanks and cubes waiting to be shipped out.
“They don’t waste any time,” Jin-Li said to Boyer, nodding in the direction of the longshoremen.
“Job has to be done quickly,” Boyer said. “Those are cryogenic containers, but even superinsulated storage units admit a small amount of heat. Have to keep hydrogen at minus four hundred twenty-two Fahrenheit to keep it liquid.” He pointed to a thick-walled structure where several men labored in an open-sided room. “Vacuum-insulated hoses move the hydrogen from the power park to the storage facility. We’ve cut our time from production to storage by six and a half percent.”
Jin-Li murmured appreciation of the achievement.
Admin, the r-wave center, and the infirmary all shared the Port Force Terminal. The installation would grow, Jin-Li assumed, if the power park was allowed to expand. The infirmary consisted of three rooms and a tiny reception area with a wavephone, a narrow standing desk, and two chairs. There were two surgeries, each with its medicator and CA cabinet. The data room held readers, computers, data stacks, boxes of rewritable flexcopies. Adetti and Simon and the medtech crowded into the data room, and Jin-Li stood in the doorway with Boyer, watching. For once the two physicians were in accord, discussing details, asking questions of the medtech, checking the deceased’s medical history.
Boyer’s long face was dour. “We’re not set up to store bodies,” he muttered. “Had to put the poor sod in a body bag and stick it in the storage facility. Not very respectful.”
Jin-Li nodded acknowledgment. “Did the best you could, Administrator.”
“My guys don’t like seeing it there. And they want a funeral.”
“Expect so. But Dr. Edwards will want to look at the body.”
Simon glanced up. “Yes,” he said. “I will. Can you have the cadaver brought here?”
Boyer winced, and shot Jin-Li an unhappy glance. Jin-Li nodded sympathy, and Boyer sighed and went to give the order.
Simon said, “Jin-Li, you don’t need to wait. If you’re not used to autopsies . . .”
“I promise I wouldn’t faint,” Jin-Li said, winning a grin from Simon. “But I might be more useful getting the hang of the place. Meeting some of the people.”
“Good idea.”
“Be sure to make archival copies, or give them to me to do.”
“Right, Jin-Li. I’ll see to it afterward. Remind me if I forget.” Simon waved an absentminded hand, his attention already turned to the task at hand.
Jin-Li nodded, and set off to circle the terminal. The Virimund Power Park followed the general pattern of other Port Force installations, with most of the space taken up by the airfield and storage facilities. Where the forest had been bulldozed, the ground was still hillocky and uneven. Behind the terminal, a scattering of trees had been spared to shade the barracks. The trees were beautiful, old and densely canopied, supported by flaring root buttresses.
Birds twittered somewhere, and Jin-Li looked up into the forest canopy, hoping for a glimpse. The biologist, when not working on biotransforms, had already recorded a dozen species of long-feathered, colorful birds. The biologist had created a name for the trees, too, but to Jin-Li, as to Isabel, they were the nuchi trees, Oa’s name. Jin-Li sidled through the thicket of their roots to try to catch sight of the singing bird, and was rewarded with a flash of scarlet.
Voices sounded through an open window in the barracks.
Jin-Li turned toward the sound, lifting one foot to take a step. “Look out there, bud!”
Jin-Li froze in place, staring at the ground.
A big-shouldered, cheerful-looking man leaned out of the window to call out, “Gotta be careful. Those damned things bite!”
“Whoa.” Jin-Li let out a breath, and replaced the foot.
“You from the shuttle?”
“Right.”
“Welcome to Virimund,” the man said with a laugh. “Crawlies and all. Most of ’em were wiped out when we took down the trees, but we still see ’em once in a while.”
Jin-Li gave a nervous laugh. “Thanks for the warning.”
“Officers’ quarters are on the other side of the terminal, you know.”
Jin-Li touched the collar of the cream uniform self-consciously. “Well, I prefer the barracks, actually. I was a longshoreman. Kind of new as an archivist.”
“Not quite a suit, then, huh? Come on in, buddy. Give you a cup of something, and you can tell me about it.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that.” But Jin-Li didn’t move until the enormous long-legged black spider minced its way across the path and disappeared into the jungle of roots.
*
“BOYER’S OKAY,” LEO said. His big hands were deft with the teapot as he measured tea leaves and poured
boiling water. The barracks were communal, rows of bunks, shower rooms at one end, common room at the other, all empty at the moment except for Leo, who had explained he was on evening shift this rotation. “Yeah, Boyer tries to watch out for the guys. Couldn’t stop Adetti from leaving with the kid, though.
“We figure Adetti had a friend with some power.”
“He does. She’s here now.”
Leo’s thick eyebrows shot up. He was heavyset and balding, with a day’s growth of beard stubbling his chin. “Who is it, Johnnie?”
“Administrator of Earth Multiplex.”
Leo whistled. “So who’s she answer to?”
Jin-Li accepted a teacup with a nod of thanks. “Only the other administrators. And the regents of the charter governments.”
“But why come all this way?”
Jin-Li sipped the tea. “Good question, Leo. Can’t give you a good answer.”
Within an hour, Jin-Li knew Leo was a cryotech, knew where he was from and why he had emigrated, learned which cooks were best in the cafeteria, which barracks threw the best parties, what biotransformed vegetables were flourishing in the nursery, and all about the two hydros who had died. One had been buried in the fledgling cemetery on a hill west of the power park, next to a small grave marked unknown child. The other hydro had been waiting more than a year for his burial services. There was general condemnation of ExtraSolar for leaving an Offworld Port Force installation without a physician, and an equal amount of ill feeling against the “savages” on their island. Loyalty to Boyer and the constraints of the Terms of Employment kept the hydros from going back to the island, despite feverish curiosity. They had been impatiently awaiting the contingent from Earth. Jin-Li fielded Leo’s questions about the Magdalene, about the physician, about Oa.
Leo directed Jin-Li to the barracks where he thought Isabel and Oa and Gretchen Boreson must have been installed. “Dinner will be on soon,” he said cheerfully. “Come back sometime, Johnnie. Meet the rest of the guys.”
“Thanks, Leo. I will.” Jin-Li waved, and headed out, keeping a close eye on the path for crawlies.
*
“NO NECROPSY TABLE, I suppose?” Simon asked.
“No. Guess it wasn’t considered necessary.” Adetti looked uneasy. The body, sealed in its vacuum bag, lay on a collapsible table he had found in a closet, a swath of paper sheeting beneath it. They had pushed the medicator to one side of the room, but kept its screen extended for imaging. The stillness of the shape in the bag, the air it had of waiting, of ageless patience, made all of them speak quietly. Even Simon, a veteran of such procedures, felt the tension.
“I brought a mobile t-unit with me,” he said. “But I need some way to suspend it.” He glanced around the cramped surgery. “I guess I could borrow the medicator’s scanning arm. The problem is putting the wiring back together afterward. It’s tricky.”
Boyer stood in the doorway, having dispatched the medtechs to other jobs. It seemed the less people present at the autopsy, the better, and no one had objected. “Show me the piece,” Boyer said. “I’ll find something that will work.”
Simon bent to his stack of equipment and brought out the imaging ring, unfolding it from its pillow of soft plastic, and held it up for Boyer to assess.
“What did you call it? A t-unit?”
“Well, more properly, tomography unit.”
Boyer stroked his long chin with one finger, frowning. “How stable does it have to be?”
“Fairly. It has its own power source, though, as long as it has a frame to ride on.”
For a few minutes they discussed tolerances, and then Boyer went off in search of something that could be used as a framing device. Simon saw that Adetti was setting out the other bits of his equipment, still avoiding the corpse itself. He felt a stir of sympathy.
“Paolo. It’s been a while since you assisted at an autopsy, I’m afraid.”
Adetti nodded without looking up. “Always hated them.”
“I can understand that. Not the easiest part of medicine.” Simon opened another carton with masks and gloves, and connected the t-unit to the medicator readout screen. He checked to be certain the wavebox was empty, ready to deal with their contaminated materials. Boyer came back with a rack pirated from the meal hall that had a smooth horizontal rod. In moments, Simon had rigged the t-unit to slide down it, from the head to the toe of their subject. He used a sterile tray from a cupboard to lay out the remote samplers. Adetti pulled on mask and gloves, and set the tissue cubes next to the needles.
Simon stood with his hand poised over the body bag. The height of the table was too low. His back would ache by the time he was finished, but there was no help for that. “Ready,” he said. “Administrator, you’d better put on a mask. Paolo, all set?”
“Guess so.” Adetti’s eyes above his mask were grim.
Simon said. “Let’s begin, then. Start the recorder, will you, please, Dr. Adetti?”
“Recording.”
Simon touched the suction tab at the head of the body bag. The vacuum released with a hiss, and the bag unsealed itself to reveal the white, still form of the deceased Port Forceman.
*
THREE HOURS LATER, Simon straightened, stripping his gloves from his hands. He dropped them into the wavebox. The cubes were filled with specific tissue samples, and the cadaver was sealed in a fresh vacuum bag, ready for burial. The medicator’s disk held both the audio record and the imaging data. Adetti and Boyer looked as weary as Simon felt. He gestured to the wavebox, and they both dropped their protective gear into it. The needles and the single scalpel he had used were already inside. He pushed the button to start the cycle that would reduce everything to sterile ash.
“Administrator,” he said softly. “I think we need some coffee.”
“I certainly do,” Boyer said with fervor.
“I do, too,” Adetti said. He gave Simon a look of respect. “That was good work, Edwards. I couldn’t have done it.”
Simon, scrubbing his hands, nodded thanks. “Well. It’s always been part of my job,” he said. He gave way at the sink to Adetti, and wiped his hands on a towel. “And I’m always glad when it’s finished.”
They sat together at a long table in the cafeteria. The room was empty except for the cooks just beginning dinner preparations behind the steam tables.
“You can tell your people one thing. Administrator,” Simon said. He rested his elbows on the table, and traced the rim of his coffee cup with his fingers. “Even if I’d been here, or Dr. Adetti—we couldn’t have saved your man. It went too fast.”
“My people will be glad to know that,” Boyer said gloomily. “And they’ll be glad they can finally hold a funeral.”
“I know.” Simon sat back in his chair, wincing at the pinch of strained muscles. “You could ask Mother Burke to help with that.”
Adetti’s flat black eyes were on Simon. “He had the virus,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Virus?” Boyer asked.
“That’s right.” Simon twisted his shoulders, trying to stretch the small of his back. “I think I can put an antiviral together, and everyone at the power park should be immunized. Sooner the better.”
Boyer’s long face creased. “You’re saying he died of a virus?”
“More specifically, he died of the side effects of the virus,” Simon said. “I’ll write a full report in the morning, but you might as well know the gist now.” He paused, glancing at Adetti, finding himself reluctant to put it all into words.
Adetti didn’t hesitate. “I told you, Jacob, that there was something strange going on with that girl—the one who survived the skirmish.”
“Yes?” Boyer looked wary.
“You saw her,” Adetti said with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. “Two and a half years, and she hasn’t changed. You saw for yourself!”
Boyer turned to Simon. “Can you explain this. Dr. Edwards?”
“Not yet,” Simon said. “Not fully. But it�
�s true, she hasn’t changed. And she had the same virus as your hydro worker.”
“But it didn’t make her sick!”
“No. But it did cause her to develop a tiny tumor on her pituitary gland, a benign tumor. And your deceased worker has the same tumor.”
“Benign? But then why . . .”
Simon steepled his fingers and stared at them. “I have a theory, only. I need to compare Oa’s scans with the dead man’s to draw a final conclusion.”
Adetti made an impatient noise in his throat. “Come on, Edwards,” he said. “You’re hedging. You know what it is.”
Simon let his eyes slide to Adetti. “A theory,” he repeated.
A few people started to wander into the cafeteria. The cooks were settling big pots of things into the receptacles on the steam tables, and stocking the tables with condiments. Boyer said quietly, “Tell me your theory, at least. Dr. Edwards. How worried should I be about my people?”
Simon dropped his hands to the table. “Both Oa and the dead man have elevated levels of an enzyme called telomerase,” he said bluntly. “In Oa’s case, it retarded the aging process.”
“Delayed senescence!” Adetti exclaimed. “Exactly!”
Simon shot him another glance, and then looked back at Boyer. “In your worker’s case, the flood of telomerase was fatal.”
“But—where did the virus come from?”
“That’s what I need to find out,” Simon said slowly. “And no one should leave the power park until I do.”
*
ISABEL THOUGHT SHE had never seen such a utilitarian place as the Virimund Power Park. The barracks were only an oblong of foambrick, with low ceilings and unadorned walls, a common area with a table and a big reader. The administrator’s secretary showed them to a room that reminded Isabel of a nun’s cell she had once seen in an archeological project near Assisi.
Isabel set her valise down. Sheets and blankets had been laid ready, but the beds weren’t made up. The secretary went to show Gretchen Boreson to her room as Isabel began to shake out the sheets.
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