The Dark Reaches (28 page)

Linnea floated, anchored by only her feet, in the storeroom of Pilang’s clinic, working to fold newly washed linens into neat packages and shelve them where they belonged. Mindless work to pass the time; she was still waiting for word of when she could hope to return to Triton, to Iain.

Someone behind her said, “Linnea.” A voice she didn’t know, Linnea thought, turning—but no, it was Hana. Hana with a tense expression.

“What is it?”

“Meeting,” Hana said woodenly. “Pilang’s office.”

“Just let me finish—”

“Now, Lin.” And hearing the quiet force in Hana’s words, Linnea stuffed the unfolded linens under a net and followed her out.

Her heart pounding, Linnea pulled herself through the door into Pilang’s inner office at the clinic. Hana followed, still with the same tense expression—and closed the hatch. Not just the privacy curtain, but the hatch itself.

And Pilang was not there. Instead, it was Esayeh waiting, his feet hooked on beside Pilang’s commscreen—his face dark with an emotion Linnea could not read at all.

Linnea had to swallow hard before she could speak. “What’s the—what’s the news?”

Beside her, Hana looked down, avoiding Linnea’s eyes, and Linnea’s heart lurched.
So it’s bad.

Esayeh spoke, his voice deep, strained. “We’ve had word from Triton. Linnea, there was a Cold Minds attack on a Tritoner research station at Nereid. They took back a pilot Kimura Hiso had stolen from one of their ships. And—there was a fight.”

Now Hana raised her eyes and looked at Linnea. “I’m sorry, Lin. Your Pilot Iain was badly hurt.”

Linnea held still, made herself absorb this. Made herself think. She lifted her chin. “Tell me.”

Hana swallowed hard. “Our medical contacts say there’s no hope for him. Not the injury, but—” She faltered.

It was Esayeh who said it. “He was exposed to the Cold Minds. Infested. I’m sorry, Linnea.”

The room seemed to go dark as the blood drained from Linnea’s mind. She felt Hana’s wiry arms around her, holding tight, and she tried to breathe, tried to breathe. “When did this happen?” She could feel that she was crying as she spoke, but it did not seem to matter.

“A few hours ago,” Esayeh said. “They say—they say it was a massive load of bots, his blood is full of them. They left him behind, you see. A vector. You know what they do.”

“Take me there,” Linnea said, her voice tight with terror.

“Linnea, we can’t—”

She clutched her head. “Take me to him, Esayeh.
Please.
”

“Lin, it’s already too late,” Esayeh said, his voice more than gentle. “They’re keeping him drugged until—”

Linnea caught her breath on a sob.

Esayeh’s steadiness did not change. “You understand. It’s the kindest thing.”

“Don’t you tell me that,” Linnea said fiercely. “Don’t you tell me there’s no hope. There must be something we can do. Hana—” She turned to the young woman. “Hana, deepsider medicine is better, I’ve seen that—don’t you know how to save him?”

“We’ve never found a way to treat infestation,” Hana said. “I’m sorry, Lin. I’m sorry it’s such bad news.” Her voice was shaking.

“You’ve never even tried? It must have happened many times—”

“No.” Her expression was strange—compassion and fear. Fear of what?

Linnea could feel her hands trembling. “Pilang—she might be able to think of something. Where is Pilang?”

“We don’t know,” Hana said. “She jumped out this morning with Mick and one of the other pilots. An emergency, the dock said. She’s out of reach.”

Time. Time.
Linnea’s swirling thoughts touched on an idea, settled.
Ice.
“Could we put Iain in cold sleep? Would that slow the infestation process?”

“There’s no point, Lin,” Hana said. “Not when there’s no cure.”

“But it would give us time,” Linnea said.

“For what?” Hana asked bluntly.

“For a better idea,” Linnea said.

“It’s cruel,” Hana said. “Stretching out his death. Lin, he’s in good hands, he won’t suffer—”

Instantly, Linnea turned to Esayeh. “Take me to Triton. Please, Esayeh. I said I would help you. And I will. But right now I need your help.”

He looked at her, considering, his old eyes mild. “If it might be of any use, I’d—”

“Thank you,” she said quickly. Then turned back to Hana. “Hana, will you help me, too? Keep him alive until Pilang can come back, until we can find out if Pilang has any ideas?” The naked pleading in her voice shamed her, but this was no time to worry about pride.
He can’t die. I won’t let him die.

There was a silence. Then Hana sighed. “Lin, I’ll try. I doubt they’ll release him to me—I don’t know if they’d do that even for Pilang. But I might be able to get him cold using their equipment.”

“I’ll help if I can,” Esayah said. “I know Perrin Tereu. If I can speak to her—”

“Let’s go then,” Linnea said. “Now, please now. . . .”

“Now” of course meant frantic work, because Hana had to gather the equipment needed to contain Iain’s body safely, and to begin the cooling process. But finally the last bag was packed away in Esayeh’s ship, Linnea and Hana were safely encased in their acceleration sacks, and Esayeh’s ship dropped away from its docking cradle with a hissing
chuff
of attitude jets. Linnea tried to let the snug fabric enclosing her body calm her trembling. But tears still leaked from her eyes, tears the casing would not let her wipe away. She could see that Hana’s face was turned away—the deepsider custom of granting whatever limited privacy was possible.

She would see him again.

She would save him.

During the attack and afterward, Tereu took refuge by staying out in public with two guards flanking her. She moved from place to place, offering calming words before as many witnesses as possible. It allowed her freedom of movement, but what was more important, it made it hard for anyone to carry out whatever orders Hiso might have given for private action against her.

And, without arousing curiosity, it let her make her way in time to her real destination: the city’s hospital.

Now she stood with both of her bodyguards in the nano bot-isolation ward at the city’s main clinic. One of the expert physicians on staff hovered attentively at her side—DeVries was his name, she read it on the plastic badge clipped to his coat. But her attention was elsewhere: Through the thick doubled glass window she studied the sealed container where Iain sen Paolo lay.

Now that she saw him there, now that she knew it was all true, sadness left a hollow in her chest.
So much that man could have become, in time. So much hope he could have offered my people.

She turned to DeVries. “Have you completed treatment?”

“We’ve done what we could do safely, Madame,” the doctor said. “We don’t risk surgery on the infested, especially in a case this advanced.”

“Advanced? He was attacked only a few hours ago,” she said.

“Yes.” DeVries, a small man with neat white hands and a cap of silver hair, looked regretful. “Madame, his titer—the concentration of bots in his blood—is already very high. This was a deliberate and intense infestation. An injection of bots.” He shrugged. “The Cold Minds have tried this in the past with injured personnel, hoping that we will bring the bots into the city before we are aware of the infestation. But of course we know their ways. We took Level Five precautions on the station and in retrieving the patient.”

“Yet you did bring him into my city,” Tereu said, allowing an edge into her voice.

“Yes, Madame.” DeVries did not meet her eyes. “Those were First Pilot Kimura’s direct orders. He said that it was essential to city security that this man be kept safe. Of course, that is part of his responsibilities, and I could only accede.”

“But what is the point of protecting Pilot sen Paolo?” She took a breath. “He’ll die very soon, will he not?”

“Yes.” The doctor looked grave. “If the puncture wound in his back damaged a kidney, as I suspect, he will die within a day or two. In any case, with that titer of bots, he will meet all the criteria for euthanasia within days.”

Tereu turned and looked at the container, feeling her face go pale.
So ends hope.

The doctor shook his head. “I had looked forward to finding an opportunity to talk to him—to both of the travelers—about the state of medicine in the Hidden Worlds. Even laymen might have knowledge that could hint at possible avenues of research, help us advance.” He sighed. “This is so regrettable.”

“Regrettable, yes,” Tereu said evenly. “Tell me. Is Pilot sen Paolo’s presence in this hospital a secret?”

“No special precautions have been ordered,” the doctor said.

So this is a trap. A trap for Linnea.
Hiso’s determination to have the Hidden Worlds ship under his control demanded Linnea’s presence. He had not been able to bend Iain sen Paolo to his will. But Hiso—Hiso would be certain that no woman could resist his wishes; especially not a woman broken by grief.

Tereu’s hands tightened on the handrail below the window. Linnea
would
come for Iain; Tereu knew that as surely as Hiso did. His imminent death would draw her to his side—and into Hiso’s control. As Hiso intended.

Well, Tereu was not powerless. Hiso hadn’t yet bothered to complete her arrest, no doubt thinking her too weak to act on her own behalf. Or anyone else’s.

That will cost him.
Tereu turned away and sent a coded summons to her chief of security.

 

 

 

The long arrival process on Triton barely registered with Linnea—only the time it cost to descend from orbit, the precious minutes wasted waiting for port security to clear them. But they were cleared, and promptly. Esayeh’s look of perplexity at that barely brushed the surface of Linnea’s perception.
Iain. Oh, God, hurry, hurry. . . .
Hana packed her medical bag with methodical care, flicking one glance at Linnea. “Should I give you something to keep you calm?”

Linnea realized she was crying again. She wiped her face and shook her head without speaking. No drugs. She needed all her focus, all her intelligence for this.

And all her courage. Because Iain might already be dead.

Still, she was unprepared for what awaited her and Hana when they left the dimness of the skyport tunnel and entered the city square outside. It was empty and silent, the shops shuttered. And Perrin Tereu stood there waiting for them, her expression severe, accompanied by at least a dozen of her green-clad guards.

Linnea approached Tereu slowly, dread choking her throat. When the moment for speech came, she had no words. Hana saw it; Hana spoke for her. “Madame,” she said, and ducked her head in an imitation of a bow. “We understand that Pilot sen Paolo is being treated for his injuries in your city. My friend Lin and I would like to see him. Can you arrange it?”

This violated several different kinds of protocol, Linnea knew, but to her surprise and gratitude, Tereu did not appear to notice. “I can arrange it,” she said to Hana with a gracious smile. Then she stepped forward and laid a hand on Linnea’s arm, with what seemed to be genuine sympathy. “I expected you to come,” she said. “I’ll escort you there—to avoid any possibility of delay. Come.” She indicated one of the silent utility carts that were sometimes used in the corridors.

As they climbed in behind the driver, Linnea saw Tereu glance at Hana, who was settling a bag of medical supplies in the long, deep cargo bin at the rear of the cart. “A doctor, isn’t she, Linnea? Do you know—is there some deepsider treatment for infestation?”

“I hope there will be,” Linnea said, and closed her eyes as the cart started off.

 

 

 

You have to let me see him,” Linnea repeated raggedly. “I’m his next of kin.” She stood, flanked by Hana and Tereu, in the outer area of the isolation ward. So far they had not been able to persuade this man to allow them any farther. A single hospital security man stood facing Tereu’s men, and a distressed-looking nurse, a tall, capable-looking woman, stood at the doctor’s side.

The walls of the waiting area had been painted a delicate, calming blue that made Linnea want to scream. “Please. I have a right to see him and decide on his treatment.”

“There won’t be any treatment, Miss,” the doctor said. “Surgery would endanger my staff, and for nothing. I’m sorry to be blunt, but there is no hope for that man.”

Tereu faced him, standing very straight. “Dr. DeVries,” she said firmly, “you cannot ethically make any decisions about this man’s care without the permission of Kiaho Linnea. After all, she is his wife.”

Linnea’s heart thumped in startlement, but she kept her gaze on the doctor, who only looked more angry. “I apologize, Madame,” he said, “but our procedures require proof of relationship.”

Tereu did not look at Linnea. “
I
am satisfied that it is true,” she said. “Do you care to challenge my word? Pilot sen Paolo told me himself that it was so.”

Linnea glanced at Tereu, then looked back at the doctor, whose shoulders sagged in defeat. “Of course I must accept that, Madame.” He seemed to gather himself, then turned to Linnea with an expression of remote but practiced compassion. “Miss, er—”

“Pilot Kiaho,” Tereu said.

The doctor’s eyes widened slightly. Then he seemed to shake himself, to reassume his role. “I must warn you that there is little hope. We have stabilized Pilot sen Paolo’s condition with respect to the injury. He’d lost a great deal of blood, which we have replaced. But the bots are multiplying by the moment, and soon the change in viscosity will begin to impair his circulation, perhaps causing a flurry of small strokes. Then emboli will—”

“I know what happens,” Linnea said. “I know how they die. I’ve seen it.” She swallowed hard. “Please. Take us to him.”