The Dark Reaches (29 page)

Down a long, cold corridor, and through a lock to slightly lower pressure. And cold—the isolation ward was a cold place. All the windows leading to patient rooms were dark—all but one. It hovered and swam in her vision, a rectangle of harsh white light. She moved toward it, as if drifting, as if drawn, knowing that Iain’s sealed container was just on the other side of the thick glass.

But when she reached the window, she could see only the long silvery box. She could make out nothing through the thick protective plastic film that sealed him in. The inside was filmed with silvery condensation from his breath, his sweat; his body was only a shadow. She looked up at the doctor. “Let us in there, please.”

“Impossible,” the doctor said.

Hana’s calm voice took over. “Is that container adequately sealed?

“Level Five,” the doctor said. “But as a matter of procedure, we still maintain complete isolation. Do you have any idea what it would mean if those nanobots got loose in the city?”

“Yes,” Linnea said evenly. “I do.”

“We have an idea for a possible treatment,” Hana said. “It begins with cooling, physical and metabolic. It’s our thought that this might slow the process enough to gain us the time we need to”—her voice faltered a little—“proceed with treatment.”

“There is no treatment,” the doctor snapped. “Miss, are you even a physician?”

“In training,” Hana said steadily. “Please. We can hardly do your patient any more damage than he’s already suffered.”

Tereu spoke. “It is my personal request that you allow this, Doctor.”

He gave her a challenging glare this time, then a curt nod. “The container is sealed, but protocol calls for full hazard suits.” He waved a hand at the hovering nurse, who turned away, opened a storage closet, and pulled out two of the suits. Linnea’s hands were shaking so hard that Hana had to help her with the gloves and seals.

After an odd, blurred interval, she realized she was standing in the room with Iain. With Iain’s container. Hana had gone straight to the commscreen and called up Iain’s chart. But Linnea moved forward slowly and looked down at him through the thick plastic film. “Ohhhh,” she said, a slow, sad exhalation. Now she could see his face and body, blurred but unquestionably his. Iain’s eyes were closed, and an oxygen tube trailed across his upper lip. He was naked; his left side, toward Linnea, had been smeared with some kind of yellow surgical antiseptic, and partly bound in bandages. It had been clumsily done—by people in isolation suits, of course. People who had not really wanted to touch him.

She set her gloved hand on the film above him. It was stretched taut in its metal frame, and the surface was concave—the pressure inside where he lay would be lower, of course, so any leaks would be inward, not outward. She wished, with a yearning that was pain with every breath, that she could touch him. Against her will she spoke to him. “I’m sorry—” Her voice broke. “I’m so sorry, love. . . .”

And Iain’s eyes flicked open.

She gasped, and he looked up toward her, blindly—no, he could see her shadow above him. But he was still afraid. He couldn’t see her. He didn’t know her.

Linnea tore off the visored hood of the suit, ignoring a shout of protest from DeVries. She saw Iain’s eyes widen—then saw the black despair in his face, the depth of his grief and terror. She leaned close over him. His mouth worked, voiceless. With an effort she made herself see his words, understand them.

He was crying, and one of his hands came up, pressed against the plastic under hers. Just barely through the thick film, through her plastic glove, she felt the pressure of his palm against hers. She ripped off the glove, and then she could feel—she was almost sure she could feel the warmth of his fingers. Maybe for the last time.

He tried again to speak.
Kill me. Please. You promised.

And she had; they had promised each other this, long ago. But only if there was no hope; and there was still a shred.

She shook her head. “You’ll be all right,” she said in an odd light voice.

The doctor touched her shoulder. “It would really be better if—”

And the little stunrod she had been concealing was in her hands. “I need you to release this man to our care.”

The doctor flicked a glance at the small black rod, puzzled, then back to her eyes. “You cannot possibly expect me to allow this man out of isolation. You cannot possibly care for him, even with this—medtech to help. He’ll be dead within hours.”

“No,” she said. “We’ll save him.” The odd strength spread from her voice to her body, spread and filled her. “You must allow this. It will please Perrin Tereu. If you want, I’ll use this.” She shifted the rod a little in her hand. “It knocks you out. It hurts, and it gives you a terrible headache, but then you’d have an excuse for why you couldn’t stop us.” She saw Tereu through the window, watching intently; when Linnea looked at her, she nodded once.

The doctor’s hands went up in supplication. “No need for that. I am more than delighted to allow Madame Tereu to bear full responsibility for this.
Full
responsibility to First Pilot Kimura.” He and Tereu exchanged hard glances.

Linnea looked down at Iain through the plastic, but his eyes had lost the sharpness of attention; he seemed to be staring into a horror he could not escape. “Hang on, love,” she said bleakly. “The ride will be wild for a while. But soon you’ll sleep. And soon—” She broke off. She had nothing else to promise him.

Hana had already stripped off her own hazard suit and gone to work, injecting a drug into the IV line snaking into the container. “He’ll sleep now,” she said. “He’ll start to slow down. We’ll start cooling him at the ship, as soon as I can get the central line in. Let’s go.” She set the oxygen tank and the IV reservoir on top of the container, checked that all the lines were clear, then nodded at Linnea.

“Please consider what you’re risking,” the doctor said in a hard voice. “You can’t save this man. You can only endanger yourselves.”

“We have considered it,” Hana said flatly, and slid the inner door of the lock shut in his face.

Another cart ride, this time with Iain’s container filling the cargo bin, and Tereu in front with the guard. Long, slow, dreamlike progress, eerily smooth in the noiseless cart; but at last they reached the tunnel to the skyport.

And Tereu touched Linnea’s arm. “Your ship,” she said. “I’ve ordered it unlocked from its launch cradle. Pod 34 in the patrol sector. I don’t know how soon Hiso will notice and seal it up again.” Her face was pale but resolute. “This may be your last chance to steal it back from Hiso.”

Linnea could not think about that now. She nodded at Hana, and they lifted Iain’s container out of the cart. “Let’s get Iain to Esayeh’s ship,” she said. “Then we’ll see.”

“Esayeh!” Tereu’s expression was perplexed. “Esayeh is your pilot?” They were already moving, but Tereu kept up, trailed now by only two of her guards. The skyport tunnels were still empty of other people, evidently by an order Tereu had called ahead. They traced the maze, following the glowing signs to the branch corridor that led to Esayeh’s ship.

Dread filled Linnea as they came around the last long curve of the corridor. But the docking tube display still showed Esayeh’s ship in place. The tube’s hatch opened as they neared it, and Esayeh stepped out, his eyes on Tereu. “It’s been a long time,” he said, in his mild old voice.

“Esayeh,” Tereu muttered. She had gone rigid. Linnea and Hana pushed past her with Iain’s container and carried it into the docking tube.

In the ship, they strapped it down, then, her decision firm in her mind, Linnea turned to Hana. “Thank you,” she said, her voice shaking. “Now, Hana, please—get Iain safely home to
Hestia
, to Pilang. She ought to be back by now. She’ll know what to do.”

Hana looked shaken. “You aren’t coming?”

“I’ll follow in my own ship.”

“You’ll follow,” Hana said intently. “That’s a promise, right, Lin?”

“A promise,” Linnea said. “To you and to Iain.” She leaned forward and kissed Hana’s cheek. “Good fortune.” Then she turned and climbed back through the docking tube. Tereu and Esayeh stood close together, absorbed in a conversation Linnea could not linger to hear. She only nodded as she rushed past them.

By the time she reached the patrol sector of the port, she was running, leaning far forward to keep her traction and to keep close to the ground. No one had interfered with her progress or even questioned her—so Tereu had been able to prepare the way even here.

Almost to the corridor leading to her ship, almost safe home. In the dimly lit corridor she did not see the man who stepped out in front of her until it was too late.

They both went down, tumbling slowly end over end, but his hold on her did not loosen. They settled to the floor at last. “Let me go,” she hissed, twisting around to face him.

“No,” he said, smiling down at her.

It was Hiso.

Linnea convulsed beneath him in raw panic. Being held down, being restrained—the shivering echo of her terror, years before in Rafael’s control, overwhelmed her.

“Stop that,” Hiso said sharply.

And she saw what he had in his hand: a neural fuser. She froze, breathing high and thin.
Iain’s. It must be.
She took a shaking breath. “If you use that on me,” she said, “you lose that ship. Iain’s d-dead—and there’s no one else to g-give it to you.”

He snorted contemptuously, then released her and rolled to his feet, still holding the fuser at the ready.

She stood up slowly and faced him.

“This is an interesting weapon,” he said with a bright smile. “From what I’ve been told, I can do you a great deal of damage without killing you, if I shoot you in the foot. Or the hand.”

She could not repress a shudder at the thought. But more persuasive still was the cold-eyed, dark-skinned man who appeared from the corridor behind Hiso, obviously as ordered, and took Linnea’s right elbow in a strong grip, one that promised pain if she struggled.

She kept her face expressionless.
It’s over anyway.
Esayeh must have gotten Iain and Hana safely away by now. Nothing mattered now—nothing but watching for a chance, if there still was one, to get into her ship alone.

And so, of course, they held her in a small room in the port security office for hours, while she thought with increasing fear of what might be happening to Iain. Without her there, how hard would they try to save him? Without her there, would Hana’s mercy move her to give him what she was sure he needed most—to give him death?

Tired into numbness at last, she fell asleep on the cold floor for an hour or two, woke to find herself being dragged to her feet by one of the guards. “First Pilot needs you,” he said.

And there was Hiso. “Pilot Kiaho,” he said genially. “That was expertly done, and I give you full credit for the effort. But you went to a great deal of trouble to rescue a dead man. I saw his test results.”

“I saw them, too,” she said, shivering with cold and exhaustion and sinking fear.

“Matters are moving very quickly,” Hiso said. “Raids and incursions everywhere. My ship is inadequate. I require yours.” He stretched out a hand in a gesture of invitation. “Shall we go and arrange it?”

Under the guard’s persuasion, Linnea started forward, Hiso close at her right side, the fuser firmly gripped in his right hand. Out of reach.

But still—they were moving toward her ship. Her heart raced, but it did not outrace her thoughts. “It can’t be done, you know,” she said. “You can’t have my ship. When its interface probes enter your brain, they’ll interfere with the wires you’ve got implanted there. That will damage the probes—damage my ship.” She bared her teeth. “And also your brain. Not that it concerns me.”

“That is a risk I will have to take,” Hiso said airily. “And a small one, I feel confident. This is something I have considered and researched for days now. That ship is the final weapon I need to proceed with my plan to save my people.” He glanced over at her. “Since your departure, by the way, sen Paolo reconfigured the ship for his own use. So don’t think of escaping in it; it won’t respond to you. And in any case, it is locked down, held tight. If you tried to launch, you would tear it apart.”

Linnea looked down in feigned despair, to hide a brightening flicker of hope. Hiso did not know, then, that once a ship had been equilibrated with a pilot, it would recognize her again on a moment’s notice, and adapt itself to her; the laborious fitting of ship to pilot, system to nerve, was necessary only at the beginning. She made herself sigh. “I thought he might do that.”

“He was never blind to opportunity,” Hiso said. “As my wife might tell you if she ever wishes to be honest.”

Linnea heard his words, pushed the thought away. They were passing through a long, cold passageway, gray plastic and gray metal, leading out to the satellite port where she knew her ship was docked. She was deeply conscious of the profound, killing cold just on the other side of the tunnel walls, and under the floor. Their breath made puffs of vapor. This world was no place for humans to live.

Again grief stabbed through her at the thought of Iain. She should never have brought them here; if she had not, Iain would be safe at home on Terranova, in the warm sun of Port Marie. Maybe they would be walking down by the waterfront, looking out over the smooth blue bay. . . .

They entered the bay where her ship was docked. With a parody of courtliness, Hiso waved her into the tube whose other end was sealed to her ship’s side. Then fell in close behind her.

She knew the neural fuser was still in his hand—and she wished, not for the first time, that she knew how to fight by any means beyond blind instinct. When she got to the ship, within reach, she would be one step closer to escape. To the chance of it. Then she would act.

They reached the ship, and as the lights in the little bay flicked up, she felt the fuser’s black mouth pressing against her left shoulder blade. “If you shoot me there, I’ll die,” she said coldly. “My heart will stop.”