Scuzzworms (35 page)

Fortunately no other patients were about.  The sky rose clear and blue and the sun was warm.  She hadn’t been exposed to natural sunlight in a very long while, and it felt good.  Lack of familiarity kept her pace slow as she followed the path.

She limped slightly from muscle weakness and sore joints.  She entered the exercise area reluctantly.  It appeared to be a social gathering place and she didn’t feel social.  She wanted to be alone because that’s how she would always be now.  She wanted no more friendships to break.

She glanced at a list of assignments.  Cubicle seven.  She lay down on the machine inside and gritted her teeth as it clamped around her arms and legs and little shocks stimulated her muscles.

When the treatment was over, she stood up unsteadily.  The door opened to release her and she nearly fell down.

“Post!  What are you doing here?”

He too stumbled in surprise.  “Imelda!  I thought... you’re out now?  They didn’t tell me.”

Her hand propped against the wall. “You mean you didn’t arrange this?”  With an effort, she kept her voice neutral.  The rest of her didn’t feel neutral, though.

“No, no, of course not.  I told them to let me know when you were out, though.  I have Igor.  I wanted to give him back to you.”

She hesitated.  Igor.  Normalcy again.  “Oh, has he been a bad boy?”

“Oh, no.  But he misses you.  He won’t play anymore.”

She nodded.  “Oh.  Sure, I missed the guy, too.  He kept my pillow warm.  You live near here?” wondering exactly where ‘here’ was.

He stood uncomfortably for a moment.  She was suddenly struck by how pale he was.  And gaunt.

A Mack truck hit her in the gut.  “Goddamn it,” she said quietly.

He didn’t answer.

Turning to look at the assignment list, she saw that he was next in line for a treatment.  “You goddamn jerk!  I told you to stay away from me!  You goddamn...” she was crying uncontrollably.

He reached for her and she ducked his touch. Pushing past him, she half ran, half hobbled back to her apartment.  Once inside, she slammed the door locked and threw herself onto the bed.

After a while, when sanity was coming back a little, she sat at the table staring blindly at the bag of mail.  Ever since she was sixteen and had discovered what her one night of carelessness had done, she had been constructing walls. 

Walls between herself and her friends, by throwing herself into her work.  Walls between herself and her coworkers, by deliberately provoking anyone who acted friendly, by seeming the climbing, clawing overachiever, treading on the reputations of others.  Walls between herself and her bosses, by challenging them whenever she disagreed, sabotaging her own career climb.  Even walls between herself and the rest of society, by taking assignments out at the fringes of civilization.

The greatest, thickest wall of all had been the one between herself and her emotions.  She had felt herself being drawn to Post, sensing in him a source of something more than just a casual relationship.  She had pushed him away more than any of the others.

For what?  He had been sucked into the maelstrom just as she had been.

A blinking message on the wall screen caught her eye.  Post wanted to talk with her.  What was the point?  But what was the point in refusing?  She didn’t know what to do.  She called his apartment.

“Hello?  Oh, hi, Imelda.  I hoped you’d call.  I thought you knew.  Nobody has been telling me much of anything.  Apparently they haven’t been telling you much of anything either.”

Imelda’s throat wasn’t working well.  “No,” she said tersely.

“Mind if I come over?  Igor would like to see you.”

She looked at her hands.  They were clinched into fists.  Relaxing them with difficulty, she said, “Yeah, maybe that would be okay.”

“Have you had dinner?”

She hadn’t eaten all day, she realized.  “No.”

“I’ll put in an order, then.  It should get there about the same time that I do.”

“Okay,” she said without enthusiasm.  She didn’t feel hungry.  She wished the virus had killed her after all.

When Post walked in a few minutes later, a furball rocket launched itself from his arms into her chest, almost knocking her down. “Jeez, Igor, settle down!  I didn’t know you could move that fast.”

Imelda clutched the meowing animal.  “I thought only dogs waxed enthusiastic when they met an old pal,” she said, stroking his head, soothing him.  It was a while before he ceased rowring enough for her to speak to Post.

At first she wasn’t sure what to say to him.  He chatted about the meal he had ordered, “The food’s okay, better than at Iago IV.  You can get exotic style if you don’t mind spending a few credits.  This is an Estalian Flower dish, one of their better choices.”

Imelda watched him as he prepared the table.  He was still muscular, strongly built.  He didn’t have the classic, almost too pretty looks of Golden, but he was handsome enough in his own way.  Trustworthy.  Had she not known him before, she would not be able to detect the weight loss.

“What happened, Postman?”

“What, you mean to me?”

“Yes.  Was it when we were fighting over the pills?”

He smiled.  “I don’t know.  It could have been when Trefarbe tried to waste you.  I thought I felt something splatter into my eye when your arm hit the desk.  You had an arterial bleeder, you know.  When I was cleaning up I could see where it had squirted in my direction.”

“Did you tell them? 
Caldwell, I mean?”

“Nah.  What was the point?  I had either been infected or not infected.  Anyway, all hell was breaking loose.  I thought the CHA committee was going to hang Trefarbe on the spot.  To be honest, I forgot all about it until I started running a fever.”

“A fever?  You let it get that far?”

He shrugged.  “Not intentionally.  I had to fly in to Syned to testify at the trial.  I felt pretty bad but I had a lot of reasons to.  I didn’t think about it being the virus.”

“The trial?  You mean Trefarbe’s assault on me?”

He glanced at her cautiously.  “Well, we had videotapes of that.  The regular room monitors recorded it. 
Caldwell had put a videotail on her.  Perfectly legal.”

“So why did they need you?”

“When CHA prosecuted her for hijacking the project.”

“What!”

“They found evidence that she was getting money from Chemwares, Inc.  She was their spy.  Chemwares declared bankruptcy over it.”

“Bankruptcy?  That is a huge company with assets on sixteen planets.”

“Was.  They had to reimburse Biotech and its insurer for all of their losses, plus pay CHA a penalty.  Then there were the secondary lawsuits on behalf of Pleister and the babies.  Those are still in the courts.  Remember when we discovered that you had been coded wrong for requisitions?  Trefarbe was the only one who could have done it.  Camille and I had to verify that it was we who discovered it, not you.”

“Why?”

“At first she claimed that it hadn’t happened.  Then she claimed you were an incompetent, that you had miscued the computer.”

“How could I have done that?”

He shrugged.  “That’s what the judge asked.  She never did come up with an answer.  There were a lot of other data entry errors.  We’re lucky the whole station didn’t crash.  There was a program that misrouted fuel for the reactor.  If you hadn’t told CenCom to re-route everything through CHA security files when you did, we might have slipped out of orbit.  She planned to blame it on engineering.”

Imelda absorbed this in shock.  The food smelled delicious.  Igor sat expectantly, awaiting his plate.  Post served him his portion first and his ears flattened as he delicately licked the spicy substance.

Toying with her food, trying to digest Post’s words, Imelda asked hesitantly, “Why did you wait so long to get treatment, Postman?  You needn’t have undergone this.  If you had gone by for a medic check, all you would have had to do is take a viral suppressant.  Didn’t you stop to think even once?”

Post continued to eat with relish.  “Yeah, I guess I did.  I was too depressed to do much about it.”

“Depressed about what?”

He smiled. “About you.  Stupid, wasn’t it?  You did everything you could to kick me in the teeth.  My psychiatrist told me that I was only feeling guilty for not reporting your behavior changes sooner, and that I could compensate by being more vigorous in telling authorities about troubled coworkers in the future.”

“Oh.  So they want you to be a better spy?”

He laughed.  “Yes, a superior tattle
-tale.”

“You shouldn’t care about me Post.  I’m poison.  I eat men for breakfast.  Most people would have been glad to get rid of me.”

Post’s grin faded.  His eyes were odd as they looked at her, an old pain apparent.  “You quit breathing on the ride home.  They froze you until they could get you here.  At one point it looked as though Trefarbe would be charged with your murder.”

Imelda stared at him.  She hadn’t realized...  Post quickly looked away, hiding his emotions, whatever they were.

“She wasn’t responsible for my illness.”

“Not directly, maybe.  But close enough for a court of law.”

Imelda’s eyes went back to her food.  Her stomach was uncertain still.  “Forget about me, Post.  I gave you the goddamn plague.  We are technologically maintained vectors for one of the most deadly pestilences that humanity has ever known.  No immunity possible.  You should have gone back to your old girlfriend.”

Post’s face clouded. “Are you dead, Imelda?”

She frowned at him.  “Unfortunately, no.”

“Then the virus is not deadly.  We both survived.  It is treatable.  Maybe the chemicals of medicine weren’t made by our own bodies, but they are part of the human immune system now.  This virus is no worse than any other.  All of them are contagious.  All of the ones that are around now are capable of long latent periods, of hiding from our natural immunity.  All I get out of this is a name to list on my health certificate and a lump under my skin. So what?”

Imelda didn’t answer.

“If you’re worried about my sex life, I didn’t have much of one before anyway.  Most women I have known were too busy looking for their next conquest or career advance to pay much attention to me.  I was ‘nice,’ ‘reliable.’  Not ‘exciting.’  Most of them have been taught by the videos to judge men by their clothing labels and the size of their apartments.  I thought I was in love once.  She wasn’t.  But condoms are always available.  I can still have a one-night stand if I like.  So long as I inform the other party.”

Imelda stared at her plate, her face getting hot.

“Eat your food.  It’s getting cold.”

She looked up, a crooked smile on her face.  “You have certainly adjusted to your state far better than I have.”

He grunted.  “I spoke with Gerald Golden when he came to see you.”

“What? He’s not supposed to...”

“I know.  He wasn’t allowed near you.  He came to see me several times and we talked.  He was only seventeen, full of stupidity, hormones and alcohol.  Some friends of his slipped both of you a psychotropic in your drinks.  It couldn’t be proved, of course, but he found out later when one of them confessed.”

“He told you this?”

“Yeah.  Who knows if it’s true.  He’s had several girlfriends since who were more willing.  He wanted to know everything about you.”

“And you told him?”

“Some things.  He’s an odd sort.”

“He’s an asshole.”

Post smiled in spite of himself.  “That too.”

#

Gerald Golden shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  Fish cleared his throat.  “Um, well, it does seem to be working out.”

Golden nodded.  “Yes.”

“I will keep an eye on them for you, of course.  She has been badly scarred by her experiences.  It will be a long time before she trusts him.”

Golden flipped the monitor off.  “Their personality matrices do fit, though?  You said they did.”

Fish nodded.  “Quite.  She would have never been able to face him had she known of his infection beforehand.  Their meeting was rather obviously arranged, but I don’t think it will matter.”

Golden sat in his chair for a while, thinking. “How did he get infected, anyway?  She didn’t cut an artery in her arm, just a big vein.  I saw the video.  Nothing spurted in his direction.”

Fish sighed, rubbing his head. “Actually, that was why I suggested we put them in the same treatment facility.  When she was being flown here, Post went to see her just before she left, just after she had slipped into coma. Personally, I think he deliberately infected himself.”

“Yeah?”

“He loves her, you know.  He kissed her goodbye.  Even her saliva was contagious at that point and he knew it.”

Golden nodded.  He rose to leave but paused at the doorway.  “Wish them luck for me, will you?”

Fish nodded as Golden continued on his way down the narrow hallway.

#

Imelda laughed at Post as he leaned to tickle Igor’s whiskers.  “You have a knack for annoying dangerous animals,” she said as Igor growled.