by Maira Dawn
"I sent someone for the mijsti vall when I saw what we faced here," Jorah said.
The medic passed the instrument over Ian, looking graver the longer he read it. He shook his head and said something in Atlantian to Jorah. The older man's lips thinned as his jaw tightened. Ian's complexion became even paler.
"What? What is it?" Sonora asked.
Jorah walked to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "There is a lot of damage from his time in the lab. It is surprising he has been so strong." When Sonora put a hand to her trembling mouth, he continued, "Do not worry. Ian can be healed."
Sonora scooted closer to Ian and laid her head on his arm but moved away when the medic indicated Ian should remove his shirt. Ian glanced at her as if he wanted her to leave. She shook her head. "I've already seen it."
Her teeth clamped her lips together as he revealed the damage. It was one thing to see it in a dark room, and another in the stark light of day. Ian's beautiful body seemed damaged beyond repair. Angry red rope-like scars crisscrossed his body. Devon clearly hadn't cared how he stitched the skin back together. Her love hung his head, almost in shame, and it broke Sonora's heart. The medic clasped his forearm, uttering harsh, but apparently encouraging words. Ian nodded and gave him a half-smile.
Jorah translated for Sonora. “Caspian of Orca is a man among men, the warrior among many.”
She agreed. “He is.”
Pulling Ian's arm away from his body, the other Atlantian started to run an almost black instrument over it. It had one light which blinked either rapidly or not at all.
Sonora looked from Ian's arm to his face. There seemed to be no discomfort. On the man's third pass over his arm, the scar seemed to melt back into firm, smooth skin. She reared back, unable to believe what she was witnessing. Ian was intent on the healing, and Sonora could only imagine the relief it must be to have such horrible reminders fading away.
She looked at Jorah. "This will heal the bullet wounds too?"
He nodded. "It will all be gone."
It took time for the medic to cover Ian's entire body, but when he was done, Ian was close to how he looked the first time she'd seen him. Skinnier by far, and where before he was hungry often, he now seemed ravenous all the time.
"You look good," Sonora said softly, somewhat shy in front of the other two men. Ian nodded, but she knew it would be a while before he felt that way about anything again. "Would you like something to eat?"
"Yes, thank you."
Sonora went to the kitchen, where her mother was making sandwiches for some of the others. She helped Azurine pile them onto plates with some fruit and chips. "Are you doing okay, Mom?"
Her mother gave her a watery smile. "I still don't believe any of it. And I'm afraid of how I'll feel when it kicks in."
Sonora looked over at Ian. "I think it's that way with most of us."
"How is he? I'm so ashamed our family had a hand in any of this." She pushed one of the plates away from her. "I can't even eat, I'm so sick to my stomach over it."
She reached for her mother, giving support, and taking comfort at the same time. "Me too. He has been eating everything he can get his hands on. I don't think Uncle Devon even gave him enough food or water." She wiped at her eyes.
Azurine ran a hand over Sonora's head as they separated. "We have to assure him that we are not all like that. I couldn't abide it if he thought—"
"Mom, he knows." Sonora laid a hand on her mother's arm and squeezed. "Don't worry. He knows."
There was a buzzing tap somewhere in her head, and Sonora turned. Ian was staring at her. "Ian wants me beside him. He’s told me, my presence helps him know this is real, and not some sort of dream. It's a concern of his—that he'll wake up and still be there."
Azurine quickly put another sandwich on the already full plate. "Go then, Sunny. Don't let him feel that for even one second."
Sonora walked back into the living room. Someone had turned on the TV, and the news had broken into the regular program with more information about the illness. They seemed to delight in video clips of the AgFlu victims who had become violent. She handed the plate to Ian and let him pull her down beside him as she listened. There really weren't that many full-blown cases yet, it was just so unusual and frightening it had caught the attention of the country, if not, the world. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
It seemed, however, Jorah felt differently. He shook his head. "I fear we are too late, son."
"For many, we are. But perhaps for others, there is still time for us to help them."
Ian grabbed hold of Sunny as she sat. It helped to have his arm around her waist, to smell the scent of sunshine she seemed always to wear. He scooted her closer to him as he picked up a sandwich with his other hand. His father's next words stopped the sandwich mid-air.
"You have done enough, gave enough, my son," he said, his eyes shiny with unshed tears. "The guards and I will go after the cure. You will rest here with your woman. She needs you." Jorah held up a hand when Ian leaned forward to protest. "You gave everything to your mission, and you have succeeded. Let us take care of this last detail. The trip to Atlantis will be a hard one for Sunny and her family. They are your mission now."
Ian eyed his father, aware of what he was doing. His father was worried about his physical and emotional state. Ian debated insisting he finish this last bit of his mission. But regardless of his many assurances to everyone, he was in pain. Pain from what Devon had done, and pain from the gunshot wounds. The accelerated healing of his people still took some time. He was exhausted, and he needed rest. And Jorah was right, Sunny could use his help.
"Father, I wished to be there when you held the cure in your hands, but there is wisdom in your words."
Father and son hugged and wished each other success. Ian watched Jorah join the guards outside, feeling as he had when a young boy and felt to run after them in the slim hope they would take him along. The Atlantian men looked formidable. Their light-weight armor of dark blue usually hid them well within the water but served a purpose here too. Contrasted by a thin strip of color that ran up the side of their body, each color signified their rank. Add to that their laser weapons, and it would take a strong-hearted human to move against them, especially considering the guards were amongst the largest of the Atlantians.
Ian turned away before he changed his mind and flung open the door. When he went back to the living room, Sunny was gone. He felt the blood drain from his face.
Azurine quickly walked over. "She went to her room to pack."
Ian nodded and gulped. He wasn't nearly brave enough to be part of the guard. His father was right to leave him behind.
"Ian?" Azurine seemed worried as she looked up at him.
He scowled. "I am fine."
"You are." She nodded. "And soon, you'll be even better. It will all get better."
Ian cleared his throat. "Of course, it will."
She smiled. "I agree. Of course, it will. Now go on upstairs, Sunny may have some questions about what to take. Oh, and here." She pressed another sandwich into his hand.
Ian's expression lightened. Nothing was this woman's fault. "Thank you. These are very good."
Azurine looked at him with sad eyes. "I wish I had better, but it will do for now."
Ian's mouth curved at the corner. "Of course, it will." He turned and took the stairs two at a time.
Sunny's mother called up after him, "Second door on the left."
He called out for Sunny as he got close to her room.
"Come in, Ian," came the muffled reply.
Pushing the door open, he saw only an empty room until Sunny’s head popped out from her closet. She sighed and rolled her eyes.
The room was in chaos. Clothes littered a pink-swathed bed and corner chair. A suitcase laid on a small desk, pushing various small glass bottles to one side.
Sonora flapped her arms. "I just don't know what to take."
Ian picked at the tops, shorts, and dresses folded and ready for
the suitcase. "None of this is suitable."
Sonora huffed in irritation. "Why?"
"It's not what we wear."
She folded her arms. "It's what I wear."
Ian sighed. He was going about this all wrong. He moved to stand in front of Sonora and ran his hands lightly up and down her arms. "My heart, which clothes are not important, but take what you want. Take whatever is important to you. Just know, I have a wardrobe waiting for you."
Sonora sunk into his arms and tipped her head up to him. "You already have clothes for me? When did that happen?"
"I feel this question is a trap."
"You feel correctly. You know, it is a good thing I love you because otherwise, some of the stuff you do would be downright creepy."
"How is providing clothing for the woman you love creepy?"
"You didn't know I was coming back!"
"A man can dream."
With that declaration, Sunny melted against him. Ian enjoyed the moment until she stepped away.
"Ian, how are we going to get everything there? I can't drag my stuff through the water."
"Father brought a—a conveyance. Something like a small submarine. It will be dry."
Sunny laughed. "Good, that helps."
The wind rattled Sonora's window, and she looked at the dark horizon. "And the storm?"
Ian came up behind her and folded his arms around her. "We will be long gone before it reaches these shores, my little woman. Atlantis has weathered storms for centuries. Storms far worse than this will be."
Sunny pouted at Ian when she saw his amused expression. "Don't make fun of me. I hate it when I don't know what is going on. And everything about this is new."
Ian turned her in his arms. "Well, I supposed it would be best to remove the worry from your mind."
Sunny put a hand on her hip. "And how are you going to do that?"
Ian's eyes lit up at the challenge. "Do you really doubt me?"
Sonora giggled as she realized his intention. When his lips had almost reached their destination, she whispered, "No. I don't doubt you at all. You make everything better."
Her eyes flickered to his then returned to his mouth as she pushed up on her tiptoes to close the gap between them.
Forty-Five
Genetics
Chapter forty-six
Blake, Jorah and his men moved with quiet, sure steps through the basement of the History Museum. If what Vince had told Ian was correct, the wall ahead should hold a hidden door to the secret lab.
Stepping beside an enormous stuffed buffalo, Jorah examined the wall and found the small metal, half-hidden panel. He opened it. Lights blinked at him. Jorah frowned and waved Blake up to look at it.
"Do you know of this?" Jorah asked. "I am not familiar with this archaic technology."
Blake chuckled. "It's what gave me an advantage here."
As Blake worked at the panel, Jorah once again cautioned his men. “We avoid killing the humans no matter what we see here."
The guards gave a sharp nod and readied themselves. The door clicked, and Blake yanked it open. It was a small, empty room made entirely of gray block, but across from them was a set of solid double doors. They crept forward, weapons raised.
The guards carefully pushed open the doors, and Jorah scanned the large room beyond. It was bigger than he'd expected, and quieter, with several doors leading off of it.
Blake raised an eyebrow at Jorah. The councilman nodded. This was going to take a while.
The lab itself seemed empty, though shadowy movement could be seen behind some of the windows. Jorah instructed two guards to keep an eye on the rest of the room, and the rest of them began investigating the right of the entryway.
The first door was locked. Jorah looked through the tall, skinny window beside it. Inside were people, sick people. Some barely clung to life. They laid slumped against the walls, bloody foam falling from their mouths as they gasped for a final breath. Others lumbered from one side of the room to the other. They banged into each other on their endless quest to nowhere.
Jorah turned away. This had to be the AgFlu. It sickened him to see people in need of help and getting none. Had these sick people been brought here? Or had they been enticed here and then made ill?
At the next window, fewer people milled around, and they were still coherent. The men and women conversed as they sat or laid on the beds and chairs provided. One man raised his eyes and seemed to look right at Jorah but didn't acknowledge him. Jorah put his hand to the glass. Those confined couldn’t tell anyone was out here.
The next area held the worst of the diseased. Jorah counted twelve of them lumbering around the room, dragging stiffening limbs. Their jaws worked from side to side as if in anticipation of a meal. Blood stained their mouths.
One stopped and sniffed at the air, then roared. He ran like a wounded, rabid dog across the room to a corner Jorah couldn't see. There was the shrill scream of a woman.
Jorah's heart shook. He grabbed the doorknob and twisted. Its metal protested, but he continued to turn it, not allowing the smooth surface to slip through his hand.
The screams continued, stirring up the other sick. With slow steps, they moved toward the sound.
A guard put his hand over Jorah's, stopping him from opening the door. "It is too late for her, sire, as it is for many others." He tipped his head toward the bodies littering the floor.
She had not been the first victim.
"Humans have turned themselves into animals," Jorah gasped as he turned away.
His men uttered disgusted growls. Even he had to remind himself that not all of them were like the ones who ran this lab.
Jorah swallowed the disgust that had climbed into the back of his throat. He couldn't look in any more of these rooms. They would take the chance they were all filled with scientific subjects. Instead, they moved to the refrigerators.
He told his men what to look for, a small clear multi-sided vial. It would be distinct from the long cylinders the humans used.
The men searched cooler after cooler then cupboard after cupboard with no success. With only a few places left to look, there was a stir.
Someone had entered the larger room.
Jorah and his men raised their weapons and froze. An older man, reading from a file, stumbled into a desk. Short and round, like a blowfish, he paid no attention to his surroundings or the intruders.
Two of the guards slid behind the man and pushed their weapons to his back. The man startled, his papers fluttering to the floor in front of him.
"Oh, my!" he said as his eyes snapped up, and took in the massive Atlantians. "Oh, my!"
"Where is everyone?" Jorah barked at him.
"Well. Well." The grey-haired human in the white coat blinked his eyes a few times as if coming out of a dark cave. "I don't rightly know. Some got sick and were put in quarantine. Others left fearing they would get sick." He looked from one of the guards to the other. "We were so careful, but it got out after all. I warned them."
"Who are you?"
"Me? I'm Dr. Smith-Harnett."
Jorah gave Dr. Smith-Harnett a fearsome scowl. "We are looking for the Atlantian cure that was stolen from us. Where is it?"
The doctor put a hand to his chin. "The Atlantian cure? Well, that takes me back. Um, did it come from a decorative wooden box?" At Jorah's nod, Dr. Smith-Harnett turned and waved for him to follow.
The guards went on alert, but Jorah ordered them aside. The man hardly seemed a threat. They followed the doctor to a smaller laboratory.
As they walked, the doctor said, "This whole lab was built because of that little vial, you know. The experiments we have done, the things we have learned. Since before my time even. In the fifties, it started."
Reaching into a cooler standing to the left side of the lab, the doctor pulled out a vial Jorah recognized. He grabbed it from the doctor and shook it.
"Yes," the doctor said as he grimaced. "I'm afraid to say there isn't much left."
"Wonderful things. Yes, wonderful things. Did you know the cure to cancer was in there? As well as heart disease? We created ways to make people stronger, healthier. It's marvelous."
Blake stepped forward. "But we still have cancer and heart disease."
Dr. Smith-Harnett frowned. "Yes. It would have been the pinnacle of my career, but the medical industry had a fit. There is a lot of money to be had with those two diseases, you know. So, they just dole out a little bit here and there." The doctor narrowed his eyes at Jorah. "What do you want it for?"
Jorah looked at him with disbelief. "It is the cure for the disease sweeping your town."
"It is?" Dr. Smith-Harnett pulled out a little notebook. "I'll have to look into that."
"This is all you have?" Blake questioned him. "There is no more hidden away somewhere?"
"No." Smith-Harnett sadly shook his head. "No more of the original sample."
"It will have to do," Jorah said. "I hope it will." He looked at the doctor, his voice dropping. "We should throw you in with the sick ones."
Dr. Smith-Harnett took a step backward, his eyes wide at the threat. "That is not my doing. I had nothing to do with that!"
"There was a woman in there, the sick ones just—they attacked!"
The doctor ran a hand over his face. "I thought I got everyone out. You have to understand, normally there are men with guns—a lot of them. We don't have choices here. We are told what to do. I've been kept here, haven't even seen the light of day for months now. As soon as they left, I snuck the keys and moved the ones they stuck in there with the violent ones into their own room. I’ve stayed here so I can help them out as soon as we know they’re not contagious.”
Jorah studied the man's pasty color. He could believe him. Why not? Humans did so many other outrageous things. Holding scientists hostage didn't seem all that strange. "Do you know who we are?"