Blood of the Cosmos (46 page)

Estarra was concerned, and when she turned to him, she had tears in her eyes. “Don't give up hope, Reynald.”

“I won't. I promise.”

He had no reason to believe that Pergamus had developed any cure or treatment for him. Yes, Dr. Paolus had sold them his original test results, but that data was now widely available across the Spiral Arm. Why would one hidden facility with no financial incentive, and no particular
interest
in Reyn's disease, do better than a hundred other research installations? He was trying to be realistic even if everyone else chased after false hopes.

He feared what would happen now that the location of Pergamus had been revealed. Surely they would expect the Confederation to take notice. What if Zoe Alakis retaliated by unleashing one of her fatal diseases on a helpless colony? Reyn didn't want to be responsible for that.

Rlinda embraced Reyn in a last apologetic hug so enthusiastic it nearly smothered him. Then she took
Declan's Glory
and headed back for Earth.

*   *   *

When Osira'h arrived unexpectedly, she brought much better news. Reyn was delighted that she had come back, especially so soon. That in itself made him feel rejuvenated. Osira'h's pearlescent eyes sparkled with delight as she greeted him without formality, giving him a quick enthusiastic embrace, and he responded with just as much enthusiasm. “What are you doing here?”

“I wouldn't let anyone else bring the news, and I wouldn't let my mother just send a message through telink. I wanted to tell you in person.”

“What? What is it?”

“My sister found something in her research on Kuivahr! A possible treatment for you. We have to try it!”

It was the last thing Reyn had expected to hear, and he didn't know what to say. “Tamo'l? I thought she was tending the misbreeds. Why was she studying my disease?”

“Because I
asked
her!” Osira'h sounded exasperated. “She has been testing rare kelp and plankton extracts, and she believes she has a strain that will mitigate your symptoms, if not destroy the microfungus.”

Stepping forward, King Peter caught his breath. “Did you bring a sample?” Reyn had been so preoccupied with Osira'h he'd forgotten that his parents were there to receive the Ildiran delegation. “We'll try anything.”

Reyn didn't like everyone making decisions for him, even though they did it only out of love and concern. He looked at his mother and father, then Osira'h. “If you tell me I should try it, I think I should listen.”

Osira'h turned to the King and Queen. “There are many variations of kelp and plankton strains on Kuivahr, many possible ways to administer the treatment, and the method and dosage may need adjustment. I was hoping…” She looked at Reyn and then at his parents. “It makes the most sense for Reynald to accompany me to the sanctuary domes. My sister can test the medicine, alter the formulations if need be, and try again. If you allow him to come with me, I will stay with him to make sure he has all the support and protection he needs.”

Estarra looked concerned about sending him away, but Reyn turned to his parents. “You said you'd try anything—and this is something we can try. Rlinda had no luck at Pergamus, and none of the other research teams has a better solution. I'm willing to give Tamo'l a chance.”

Estarra gave him a wistful smile. “Then of course you can go.”

*   *   *

The Ildiran ship delivered Reyn and Osira'h to Gorhum, the nearest world with a Klikiss transportal, which was the most straightforward way for the two of them to reach Kuivahr. So that the Prince would not be entirely cut off, they were also accompanied by the green priest Beltrias, who had recovered from his injuries sustained in the great wyvern hunt. He had volunteered to serve as a communications conduit, since Kuivahr's small colony had no green priests.

Because Klikiss transportals were a useful alternative to direct travel on ships, Gorhum had a receiving center by the trapezoidal stone wall, surrounded by a small support settlement; a crew of staff engineers monitored the flow of travelers. Other transportals were more active as travel hubs, but this one had little traffic. Reyn was fine with that, because he did not desire a great deal of attention.

Without any fanfare, Reyn submitted his request and used Confederation credits to pay for their passage. Accompanied by a green priest and a halfbreed girl with pearlescent eyes, Reyn was the least interesting of the group. As the three of them stood gazing at the coordinate tiles on the alien trapezoid, he drew a deep breath and strengthened his resolve. He had promised Arita and his parents and Osira'h that he would not give up hope.

Beltrias held a potted treeling in his arms and looked eagerly toward the blank stone wall that would open a doorway to another planet. “Shall we go?” he asked.

The tech who operated the transportal didn't seem interested in who they were. He activated the appropriate coordinate tile for Kuivahr. The stone window shimmered and opened onto a world with cloudy skies and shallow seas.

Beltrias stepped through first, showing no fear. Osira'h took Reyn's hand, and he squeezed it as they stepped forward together. Just before they passed through the dimensional membrane, they heard the tech's voice call out, “Wait, aren't you the King's—”

And suddenly the three of them were standing on a mounded reef outcropping that held the transportal wall above the ocean. Two meters below the lip of the stone doorway, waves sloshed around the rocks.

Disoriented and dizzy, Reyn caught his balance on a rock. He tried to convince himself his imbalance was because of the dimensional passage, not from his illness. He looked around at the gray-green waters of the broad flat sea. Shading his eyes, he could see a tall industrial structure on the horizon, platforms on stilts that rose above the sea. That must be the Kellum distillery.

Beltrias sat on one of the large rocks and placed the treeling at his feet. “This is like Shorehaven, in a way.” He connected through his treeling, informing the other green priests that they had arrived on Kuivahr.

Osira'h pointed in another direction, past a murky patch of drifting kelpweed. “Those are the sanctuary domes. I can feel Tamo'l close—she knows we're here.”

The rocky outcropping had very little space and nothing for them to do while they waited to be retrieved. Reyn didn't mind. He enjoyed spending the time with Osira'h. Even on a barren rock in the middle of an alien sea, he was glad to be with her.

A waveskimmer arrived for them in less than half an hour, piloted by a redheaded man and a thin female who looked vaguely like Osira'h, a splash of human features mixed with Ildiran ones. Osira'h waved.

When the skimmer pulled up to the reef outcropping, Osira'h took Reyn's hand and practically ran down to the waterline. “Tamo'l! This is Prince Reyn. Thank you for what you're doing for my friend.”

Reyn gave a small bow, and Tamo'l responded with a pleasant smile. “I assist those in need. It doesn't matter whether they're misbreeds or princes.”

The green priest followed them down to the water line. As they climbed aboard, the redheaded man said, “I hope you have a high tolerance for people with unusual appearances. Some of our misbreeds can be a little unsettling.”

Tamo'l interjected, “I assure you, their hearts are good.”

Reyn had been stared at and poked and prodded ever since his condition was known. He could sympathize. “Then that is the part I'll look at.”

 

CHAPTER

76

ZOE ALAKIS

Though she had remained silent, Zoe had watched every moment, listened to every word of the encounter when Rlinda Kett came to Pergamus. And she was very disturbed.

The Confederation representative assumed she could sweet-talk or buy access to Zoe's hoarded medical data. Other desperate people had done the same over the years, and her mercenary security always kept them away. But this time the Confederation had taken notice. Now they would never be left alone.

Pergamus had quietly existed for a decade, independent, part of no government. The Confederation had nothing to do with Zoe, and she had nothing to do with them. Isolated in her sterile dome, she was only peripherally aware of human politics at all. Her only interest in the rest of the Spiral Arm was as a source of intriguing new disease specimens that Tom Rom would go out to collect. But now they had been
noticed
!

Thanks to Tom Rom's encouragement, she had tasked a research team to study Prince Reynald's medical condition, and they had made some progress in categorizing and breaking down the exotic microfungus. But Zoe did not intend to participate in the contest for a cure; she had already been through that with Dr. Paolus. Why couldn't they understand?

As soon as Rlinda Kett came calling, though, Zoe knew that their quiet existence had fundamentally changed. That idiot Paolus had revealed their location, and Pergamus would never again be safe. The King and Queen would never leave her alone now, and that made Zoe angry. She had to do something.

She sat inside her sealed dome, protected from the myriad biological threats whose sole evolutionary purpose was to kill human beings. This was her fortress … but now that others knew about it, Zoe no longer felt secure.

Forlorn, she called up images and files on twenty different screens, her medical triumphs and her most terrifying specimens, the cure for Heidegger's Syndrome, which she had found years too late to help her father. There was Tamborr's Dementia, and the fresh brain parasite that Tom Rom had retrieved from the fatal outbreak on Dhougal. She scrolled through scanning electron micrographs of bacteria, viruses, DNA mutations. Some of the most fascinating work was the study of the freakish Ildiran misbreeds, which the Kuivahr researcher had na
ï
vely given to Tom Rom.

All these diseases, samples, and potential treatments were just part of her collection, much the same as another wealthy patron might collect interesting insects. Her library on Pergamus was unparalleled in human history, and it was hers, whether or not she intended to do anything with it. It was
hers
! That was what mattered.

As she stared at the thousands of records, the numerous ambitious research projects, she thought of Rlinda Kett's plea in the name of Reynald, thought of the possibly dying Prince … and all the others over the years who had begged and demanded and bribed for cures. Zoe had never relinquished any items from her collection.

As she stared and pondered now, though, she feared that she might have to.

*   *   *

After her father's death, she and Tom Rom had traveled aimlessly from spaceport to spaceport. They met people of all different types; many were untrustworthy, several tried to cheat them, but Tom Rom took care of her—and then took care of the cheaters. Once, two men tried to attack her when she went off alone on Teredit, but Tom Rom wasn't far behind; he intercepted the men, killed them in front of her, and took Zoe away to safety.

But he could not protect her from the diseases of humanity. Vaconda, with its lichentree forests and its blizzard of pollens, produced numerous local diseases; Zoe had suffered through and recovered from all of them at a young age. But a life in isolation had left her unprepared for the normal sicknesses that one encountered in human settlements. She had no resistance, no immunity.

Tom Rom flew them away from Teredit—and a day into their voyage, Zoe fell ill with a high fever that left her writhing in her bunk. She was terrified. She had never been so sick. Although Tom Rom knew basic medicine, he also knew his limitations.

Zoe was nauseated, her muscles ached, her head pounded; auras appeared around her vision. “I think I'm dying.” She said it as a statement of fact, as if it might be something of scientific interest, not a wail of despair. “I hope I die quickly.” Memories of her father's lingering debilitation horrified her. Heidegger's Syndrome had stolen his mind, his humanity, and his life in tiny stages over the course of years. “Don't let that happen to me.”

Tom Rom had gripped her hand fiercely. “I will not let you die.”

Despite his sickening memories of the place, he took her to Rakkem as her fever grew worse, sure that the biodealers could provide any cure. He took samples of Zoe's blood, ran analyses, made a rough diagnosis. Medical records classified it as Conden's Fever, and a vaccine existed. That was all he needed to know.

Zoe feared she might be contagious, but Tom Rom didn't contract the fever; he had long ago gotten an immunity. She gave him a wan smile, then shuddered before falling back into a deep sleep.

After that, the sequence of events was murky in her memories. She knew they landed on Rakkem, and Tom Rom sealed her aboard the spaceship while he went out to find a solution. He returned to check on her, looking graver and graver each time. He tended her, providing stopgap measures that lowered the fever and gave her enough energy to wake up. Finally, he put a decontamination breather over her face, wrapped her in warm clothing, and carried her into the dim marshy city where buildings and biolaboratories sold anything and everything.

He took her to a cureseller. She was dizzy, barely had the strength to stand when he hauled her into the cluttered office, but he propped her up. “Look at her,” Tom Rom said to the biomerchant. “You have the vaccine in your archive. Help her.”

“Conden's Fever.” The pale-skinned bald man clucked his tongue. He looked at them as if they were possible specimens. “Such a disease is rarely encountered, and so the vaccine would be at a premium. I can see your desperation, and that puts you in a very poor bargaining position.”

“She needs it,” Tom Rom said.

The cureseller shrugged. “I need many things too.” A calculating look crossed his face as he glanced at Zoe, then focused his attention on Tom Rom. “You have insufficient funds to buy even one dose of the vaccine, but here on Rakkem we always have a need for other commodities. You look healthy, fit. I assume you have two kidneys, two lungs … even two eyes. I think you can spare one of each. In fact”—he raised a finger, ignoring Tom Rom's instant recoil—“this young woman also has a spare set.”