Dragonsblood (17 page)

know all the plans. When we’re alone, you can tell me anything. It’s not right

that you keep everything locked up inside you, and it’s not fair. In fact, as

Pern’s leading psychologist, I say that for your own good.” When Wind

Blossom said nothing, Emily continued softly, “And I say it as one who

knows how much you’ve suffered.”

For the first time ever, Wind Blossom broke down and collapsed into

Emily’s arms. For how long she cried, she did not know. Afterward, Emily

gave her one last hug and a bright smile, but they said nothing.

When the Fever had struck, Wind Blossom’s skills as a doctor were in high

demand. She drove herself harder than any other, often surviving for weeks

on end only on naps snatched here and there. And she spent as much time

as she could tending Emily Boll.

Wind Blossom and Emily were both too honest to deny that the old

governor of Tau Ceti would not survive this infectious siege. Wind Blossom

prescribed what palliatives she could and did everything in her power to

make the older woman’s passing as painless as possible.

Late in the night, when Wind Blossom and Emily had convinced poor Pierre

de Courci, Emily’s husband, to take some rest, Emily tossed fitfully on her

bed.

“If I’m going to die, I wish I’d hurry up,” she said bitterly after one more

wracking cough had torn through her body.

“Maybe you will recover,” Wind Blossom suggested. When Emily glared at

her, she persisted, “It’s possible. We don’t know enough about this

illness.”

She regretted her last sentence even as Emily gathered about her the

indomitable aura of “The Governor of Tau Ceti” and demanded, “How many

have died, Wind Blossom? Pierre wouldn’t tell me. Paul wouldn’t tell me.

Tell me.”

“I don’t know,” Wind Blossom replied honestly. “They’ve started mass

burials. The last count was over fifteen hundred.”

“Out of nine thousand?” Emily gasped. “That’s over one sixth of the

colony!”

Wind Blossom nodded.

Emily’s eyes narrowed. “It’s going to get worse, isn’t it?”

Wind Blossom said nothing.

“The dragonriders? Are they all right?” Emily demanded. When Wind

Blossom nodded, Emily sighed and lay back on her bed, eyes closed.

After a moment she peeked up at Wind Blossom, her lips curved ruefully,

and said, “Your doing, isn’t it? The dragonriders? Some of that Eridani

immune boost?”

“Only some,” Wind Blossom admitted. Apologetically, she added, “There

was not enough for you.”

“I wasn’t on the list,” Emily said. “Paul and I had talked about this years

back. Is Paul all right?”

“He fell ill last night,” Wind Blossom told her.

Emily closed her eyes again—in pain. When she opened them, she told

Wind Blossom, “Get Pierre. You will do an autopsy, find the cure.”

Wind Blossom was horror-struck and for once it showed. “I—I—Emily, I

don’t want to do that.”

Emily smiled sadly at her. “Yes, dear, I know,” she said softly. “But I must

ask it of you. I did not bring these people here to fall at the first—no,

second—hurdle.”

Wind Blossom reluctantly agreed. “It is my job,” she said. “But please tell

your husband, it would be too much for me.”

Emily nodded. “I understand, and I’ll do that,” she replied. “Now, what to do

for your future . . .”

“I shall go on,” Wind Blossom answered. “It is my job.”

Emily snorted. “Yes, your job, but what about your life? What about a

family? Come to think of it, how old was your mother when you were born?

How old are you now?” She paused, thoughtfully. “More Eridani genetic

tricks?”

“Yes,” Wind Blossom agreed, “more Eridani genetics. It is necessary.”

“And secret, no doubt, or I would have heard more sooner,” Emily

commented. “Where I am going, no one will ask me anything. Would you

be willing to satisfy my curiosity?”

Wind Blossom shook her head. “No, I do not want to do that.”

Emily’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well, I can’t force you,” she said.

Wind Blossom nodded. “It would be painful for me.”

“A pain-induced block?” Emily barely contained her revolt at the concept.

Wind Blossom shook her head. “No, nothing like that. To talk about it—I am

shamed.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed. “Not about your uglies? Not about the last batch of

dragons?”

Wind Blossom waved those examples away with a gesture of derision. She

looked Emily squarely in the eye. “Do you know how badly we have

failed?”

“Failed?” Emily shook her head. “All your work has been brilliant.”

Wind Blossom was silent for a long while. When she spoke again, her

voice was quiet, near a whisper. “In the Eridani Way we are taught that

harmony is everything. A good change is invisible, like the wind. It

belongs—it seems like an obvious part of the ecosystem.

“You remember the ancient tailor’s saying: Measure twice, cut once?” she

continued.

Emily nodded.

“The Eridani would say measure a million times, then a million times more

and see if you can’t possibly find a way to avoid the cut. ‘A world is not

easily mended,’ they say.

“It is drilled into us.” Her hands fluttered upward, as though to talk on their

own, only to be forced back into her lap with a sour look when she noticed

them. “It was drilled into my mother. Into my sister—”

“You had a sister?” Emily interrupted. “What became of her?”

“She is back on Tau Ceti, Governor Boll,” Wind Blossom replied flatly.

“I
was
governor of Tau Ceti,” Emily said. “Here, I am just Emily, Holder of

Boll.

“So, you left a sister on Tau Ceti,” she mused. She narrowed her eyes

cannily. “To watch the Multichords?”

Wind Blossom shook her head. “To watch the world.”

“So every time an Eridani Adept adds a new species to an ecosystem, a

child must stay behind to watch?” Emily’s voice betrayed displeasure.

“No,” Wind Blossom corrected. “Every time an ecosystem is altered there

must be those that watch it and bring it back into harmony.”

“More than one?” Emily asked.

“Of course.”

“But here, on Pern—Tubberman?” Emily was surprised. Then she grew

thoughtful. “I’d always wondered why it was so easy for him to gain access

to such valuable equipment. I realized that the Charter permitted it, but it

had seemed odd at the time that no one had been guarding the equipment

more zealously.”

Wind Blossom agreed, secretly relieved that the conversation had turned in

this direction. She discovered, in talking with Governor Boll, that she was

not ready to reveal all her secrets.

Pierre came back with a tray a few minutes later and the conversation

lapsed, failing completely when Emily choked on a bit of food and slipped

into a coughing fit as her tortured lungs protested the extra effort.

Pierre looked at Wind Blossom. “Is there anything you can do?” he

implored.

“I have some medicine that can help the pain but—”

“She told me about the casualties, Pierre,” Emily interrupted her.

Pierre bit his lip and gave Wind Blossom a bitter look.

“I asked—it is my duty, you know.”

Pierre looked into Emily’s eyes, then nodded sadly. “At this time, I would

have preferred to keep the pain from you, love.”

“I know,” Emily said. “And so did Wind Blossom. But I had to know. It

helped me to make a decision. Two, in fact.”

Both Pierre and Wind Blossom looked at her.

“I have already asked Wind Blossom to perform an autopsy on my body,”

Emily said.

“I do not want to do this,” Wind Blossom told Pierre. His eyes wide, he

looked long at her face, saw that her own eyes were rimmed with tears, and

nodded.

“Anything that can help the rest of you,” Emily said. “It is my job, my last

duty.”

“I see,
ma petite,
” Pierre responded. “It shall be as you ask. And the other

decision?”

“You can help, here,” Emily said. She looked at Wind Blossom. “Is it true

that we don’t have a complete knowledge of the Pern herbal remedies?”

“We have none!” Pierre exclaimed, only glancing at Wind Blossom for

confirmation. “You are not suggesting—”

“It is a bad idea,” Wind Blossom interjected. Emily and Pierre both gave

her startled looks. “I appreciate the thought, but how would we know if a

herbal was exacerbating the illness or helping it? Also, in your state, it

would take too long to determine if the herbal was having any positive

effects. It would be bad science, Governor.”

“Even to try palliatives?” Emily asked in a small voice. “You see, I just don’t

think it’s fair to give me the painkillers when you could give them to others

who might survive.”

“You’ve earned the right to them!” Pierre protested.

“That’s not the point, love,” Emily said, dropping her voice and reducing the

tension in the argument. “Again, if I can’t be saved, why should we waste

valuable painkillers on me and not on others?”

“What you say is true,” Wind Blossom agreed, earning a withering look

from Pierre. “But, as I am the doctor on scene, triage is
my
responsibility.”

“But you have admitted that I am not going to survive,” Emily protested.

“How do you think we will feel if we have to watch you die in great pain?”

Wind Blossom asked softly. “It is not only your decision.”

Emily threw open her hand in a gesture of defeat. “But,” she tried one last

time, in a small voice, “there are
children
—”

Wind Blossom leaned over the bed and grabbed Emily’s open hand in

hers. “I know,” she said, the iron control over her voice threatening to break.

“I have held their hands as they . . .”

Pierre leaned across and laid an arm on her shoulder. “I am sorry, Wind

Blossom, I did not think—”

Wind Blossom straightened up, her face once again masklike. “I cannot

save them if I surrender to grief.”

“My point exactly,” Emily persisted, a look of triumph flashing in her eyes.

Wind Blossom nodded. “There are some infusions we make now, like the

juice of the fellis plant—”

“I have some here,” Pierre said.

“If you would agree, we could substitute those known herbals for our

standard medicines.”

“I like that,” Emily said. “We could test dosage levels while we’re at it,

couldn’t we?”

And so they arrived at the treatment. Wind Blossom wrote the original

prescription and Pierre filled it. Once Emily had taken her first dose, Wind

Blossom begged other duties and left them.

She returned three more times during the night. The first time she returned,

they agreed to up the dosage and added something to ease the cough.

The second time, Emily seemed asleep.

“She is in a coma,” Wind Blossom told Pierre after she took Emily’s vitals.

“I was afraid of that,” Pierre said. “She has been so hot.”

“We don’t know if the fever kills or is just an immune response,” Wind

Blossom said. “Pol Nietro and Bay Harkenon’s notes show that they tried

cold water immersion with no success.”

“Her temperature’s not that high,” Pierre said.

Wind Blossom nodded. “Her pulse is low and dropping. It’s almost as if her

heart were—” she broke off abruptly, and collapsed to the floor.

“Are you all right?” Pierre rushed to her side, lifting her up and putting her

into a chair. Her skin was pale; Pierre put her head between her knees.

“When did you last eat?”

Wind Blossom tried to sit up, to push him out of her way. “No time, I must

do my rounds—”

He pushed her firmly back into the chair. “You will sit with your head

between your knees. You will drink and you will eat. Then maybe I will let

you up.”

“Pierre! I have to go, people are dying,” she protested, but her movements

were feeble.

“They will not get better if you keel over, too,” Pierre said. “Emily spoke to

me after you left. How many are sick? How many doctors are there?”

Wind Blossom shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“What, do you not confer with each other?”

“Of course,” Wind Blossom said, trying again to sit up. This time Pierre let

her. “But I must have been late for the last meeting and I guess no one

could wait around—”

“When was the last meeting?”

“Yesterday evening,” Wind Blossom said. “I think.”

“Drink this,” Pierre said, handing her a glass of
klah.
“How many were at the

last meeting, the one before?”

“Maybe ten,” Wind Blossom replied. “But I think some were too busy

tending the sick to come.”

“Emily said that they’ve buried fifteen hundred already. How many sick are

there?”

Wind Blossom shook her head. “I can only guess. Maybe twice that

number.”

“Eat this,” he said, handing her a breadroll. “Are you saying that we have

one doctor for every three hundred sick people?”

She nodded. “Now you see why I must get going.”

“You must rest!” Pierre said, raising his hands in a restraining motion. “Eat,

drink, and we’ll see. What does Paul—oh! He is sick, too. So who is in

charge now?”

“I think maybe I am,” Wind Blossom said in a small voice. “Pol Nietro died

two days ago, I think, and Bay Harkenon I last saw sick in bed herself. The

dragonriders are all safe.”

“That’s a mercy,” Pierre said with feeling. “Finish that roll, please.”