The Alton Gift (41 page)

Illona explained to Jeram that in earlier times, what was a harmless childhood illness among the trailmen sometimes passed to humans, building in cycles to a devastating epidemic.

"My grandfather thinks you can help us," Domenic said.

Jeram glanced sharply at Lew. Lew said, "I said nothing. It is your story and your choice entirely."

"Trailmen's fever used to decimate our population until the Terran Medical Corps helped us develop a vaccine a generation ago," Domenic explained. "Now it has returned, and my mother and her friends have spent all day trying to find those records. Without any success, I might add."

Jeram's eyes glittered in the light of the fire. He seemed to hesitate. Domenic wondered if Danilo had not been right, that the Comyn had already made an enemy of this man. Then Jeram said something utterly unexpected: "Those records would be heavily encrypted, invisible unless you know the codes and where to look."

"Encrypted?" Domenic thought of the SECURITY CLEARANCE warning that prevented access to information on the Allison Expedition's findings.

"This trailmen's fever of yours is a perfect biological weapon. You'd have to seed only a few target areas, not necessarily densely populated.

In seven months, either your enemy would be dying, or all his resources would be committed to nursing the sick."

"
Biological weapon"
Domenic repeated, stunned. The Terran Federation had thought to use this dreadful infection as a tool of warfare? He was so horrified that for the moment, he could not speak.

Lew nodded darkly. "The Federation wanted to preserve the knowledge and keep it secret. The potential to make such things is itself a powerful threat."

"But to
deliberately
expose thousands of innocent people, with no way of defending themselves…" Donal muttered. "What kind of monsters are they?"

"It is no worse than what we ourselves did during the Ages of Chaos," Illona said. "Clingfire, lungrot, and bonewater dust killed or maimed uncounted ordinary folk. The only difference is that we created them with
laran
instead of science. In the end, we became so ruthless that we faced a choice between the Compact and utter destruction. I fear the
Terranan
have not yet reached that point."

"So they hid the medical records of trailmen's fever, including its prevention and treatment, in order to keep the knowledge for themselves," Domenic said, still deeply disgusted.

"They did," Jeram said. "
But I know how to find it
."

They all stared at him.

"Before I came here with the Special Forces unit, I was an expert in biological warfare, and that includes treatment and prevention as well. I know those encryption systems. If you're willing to trust me, I can dig out everything we know about trailmen's fever. By the time I'm done, we'll have this bug nailed down to its genetic sequence. If there's even a hint of how to cure it, we'll have that as well."

From the expression on Lew's battered features, he had known about Jeram's special expertise. For some reason, he had left it up to Jeram to step forward. The offer had been genuine, of that Domenic was certain.

"We would be most grateful for any help you can give us," Domenic said to Jeram.

"There is, however, a price for my assistance," Jeram said.

Domenic's belly clenched. Jeram had been Francisco's prisoner, had been drugged and then tortured. He had been the unwilling victim of

laran
assault and had every reason to extract compensation, even revenge. Yet when Domenic glanced at his grandfather, he sensed the bond between Lew and Jeram, love and trust and something more.

"Just this," Jeram said. "Only that whatever I find—a treatment, a vaccine, I hope—be made available without charge and to
everyone
, regardless of economic or social status, no special privileges for the Comyn or anyone else."

"We have limited resources," Donal protested, "and cannot send laran-trained healers to every person. For some, warm blankets and food will have to do. Certainly every life is worth saving, but how many might die needlessly from a rash action?"

Alanna flashed him a look, near defiance. "If it were our own people, if only Comyn got this wretched fever, we would find a way to save them all. Wouldn't we? And if we could not, if we are so feckless and— and
unresourceful
, then I think we are not fit to rule."

Lew reached out and patted her hand. "Well spoken, child."

Illona had been listening, hands lightly clasped in her lap. "Alanna is right. I must go out among them—"

No, you must not risk yourself
! She had not yet fully recovered from her fruitless attempt to save Manila's life.

"I
will go
out among them," Illona repeated, her voice now carrying the icy authority of a Keeper, "even as I tended the man Garin in Nevarsin. Equal treatment for all is an honorable price, one that we all should be eager to pay."

"Thank you,
vai leronis"
Jeram said. "I promised myself that if there were some way to help those people, I would. I had no idea it might come in such a form."

Marguerida leaned forward, her elbows braced on the conference room table, and rested her face in her hands. She had never felt comfortable in the Terran Headquarters complex, and now the air scoured her lungs and left her eyes red and itching. The ventilation system might remove the worst of the chemical stench, but it could not restore the natural sweetness of Darkovan air. Her head had gone beyond aching, her eyes refused to focus properly, and yet she searched on. What else could she do, with the pressure of foreboding pounding through her temples?

One more time
… she thought wearily.

"
Domna
Marguerida?" came a man's voice from the direction of the door.

Startled, she swiveled her chair around. It was that man, Jeram or Jeremiah Reed, whatever his name was, the one Francisco had paraded before the Council to support his charges. Silently, she swore to find whoever let Jeram in and flay him alive.

"What are you doing here?" she said.

Jeram stepped into the room, carrying an insulated bottle. "I brought you some coffee."

Coffee
! She could almost taste it, bitter and invigorating. The last of

her own stores had been used up a year ago, and there would be no more. Darkover's climate would not support the cultivation of coffee beans, only the ubiquitous
jaco
.

"Where did you get it?" Her hand reached for the bottle with a will of its own. She snatched it back.

He set the bottle down on the work surface. "Never mind where I got it. I'm here to help."

Help
? What could he possibly do except get in the way? If Francisco were still alive, she would suspect this offer was some nefarious scheme of his. No, not even Francisco at his most devious would think to bribe her with coffee!

Jeram drew up a second chair beside Marguerida's. For the first time, she realized what an interesting face he had. It was not a simple face, but it was a strangely attractive one, with guarded eyes, strong bones, and a small triangular scar over one cheek. Under other circumstances, she would have wanted him as a friend.

"I am here with the knowledge and permission of the Acting Regent of the Comyn and your own father," he said, looking at her with a disconcerting directness. "People are dying out there—in the city, in the encampment. People I care about, and I assume you do, too. This thing is bigger than either of us. Separately, I do not believe we have a chance to stop it."

Marguerida thought of Marilla, pale and utterly still when they laid her out. The two women had not been close, but she had known Marilla since her first year on Darkover. When Marguerida had fallen ill from threshold sickness on the trail, Marilla had offered her hospitality. There, in Manila's house, Marguerida had first set eyes upon Mikhail. With Manila's passing, she lost not only a fellow Comynara but yet another tie to the man she loved.

"I do not see what you can do," she said. "Katherine and I are both knowledgeable about computers. We've combed the files and found nothing of any use."

"You could look from now until doomsday, and still you won't find it," Jeram said. "You are looking in the wrong place."

"Good heavens!" Marguerida's chin jerked upward. "Is there another, independent database? How can that be? You're supposed to be able to access everything from Medical."

"I don't think you'll find information on trailmen's fever, the vaccine, or even the expedition that brought back the immune serum, not in any unsecured system." Jeram's voice took on a new, steely edge.

He got to his feet and held out one hand to her. "Come with me, and I'll show you where we will find it."

Refusing his help, she got up. "And where is that?"

"Military HQ. To be specific, the Bioweapons Archives."

"There," Jeram said, pointing to screen. "That's the virus the Allison team isolated."

Marguerida peered at the fuzzy electron-microscopic images and shivered. She was still in awe at the skill with which Jeram had maneuvered through the security systems of the military computers. It had not occurred to her that this system might be entirely independent of the civilian databases; she had had no idea it even existed.

"So that's what it looks like," she murmured. "A twist of fluffy yarn. What now?"

"See those codes?" he pointed to the side bar, where triplets of letters filled the space. "That's the genetic sequencing. And here," he tapped in a few instructions, and a different code appeared, "is the analysis of the protein coat. That determines, among other things, how the virus is transmitted, whether it can survive outside a host cell, and the severity of the illness it causes."

He shook his head. "This is one nasty bug. Normally, it's mild, like the common cold, but tinker with the receptors here and here—" he pointed to the diagram, "and, wham! it goes virulent."

Marguerida stared at Jeram. In a surprisingly short time, he had located the records of the expedition and the manufacture of the vaccine, as well as the exhaustive analyses of the virus.

"What next?" she asked.

He raked his hair back from his forehead in a gesture that reminded her of Domenic when he was thinking hard. "The beauty of this organism is that we don't need to vaccinate the entire population. The immune serum developed by the Allison team caused the fever virus to revert to its benign form. That will be our goal, too. The hard part will be making enough of it before we enter the terminal phase of its cycle."

At least, we've made a start
, Marguerida thought.
We have something to work with
.

"What equipment will you need?" Marguerida asked.

"I can sequence the proteins from here, but to synthesize the serum in quantity, we'll need a lab and some pretty sophisticated equipment. This place isn't set up for anything that complex. I hope the facilities in Biochemistry are. I have to tell you, though, that my lab skills are seriously out of date. Is there anybody here with protein sequencing experience?"

"You mean, anybody still on Darkover? I don't think there ever was. I know a few dozen people who can read Terran Standard and operate a computer. I doubt any of them has so much as held a test tube."

He picked up the opened bottle of coffee, looked into its empty interior, and sniffed. "Then I'll have to come up with more of the good stuff."

Marguerida's curiosity finally got the better of her. "Where
did
you find it?"

Jeram's grin turned rakish, making him look years younger. "You've never been in Special Forces, have you? The first thing we do in a new port is to find a local source of coffee. Sometimes it's less than legal, but my conscience is clear in this case. This coffee came from a fellow with the Pan-Darkovan League. He made a small fortune selling it to us. Once the Federation left, so did his customers. He'll be thrilled to get the rest of his stock off his hands."

"Not as thrilled as
I
'
ll
be to help drink it!"

Lew Alton rode out from Comyn Castle and through the gates of Thendara shortly after dawn the next day. Illona, looking pale but strong in the manner of Keepers, went with him. At Domenic's insistence, a pair Guardsmen accompanied them. They carried packs of food, skins of clean water, and rolls of blankets as well as swords. The night had been mild, with only a light drizzle. Raindrops dotted every blade of grass along the road. The air was moist and rich, the sun warm as it burned off the damp.

Already, men and beasts and carts filled with summer's bounty—

crates of fresh greens and root vegetables, bushels of summer-pears and early apples, sacks of nuts and flour—had begun entering the city.

Beyond the gates, Lew nudged his horse off the main road and between the clusters of tents, past picketed chervines and cooking fires. The shanty encampment was larger and more orderly than he remembered. Crudely constructed sheds clustered around a rough dirt road leading to a pavilion cobbled together from smaller tents and blankets.

"It's Lord Alton and the
vai leronis
!" A cry went up.

A handful of men came out to meet them. Lew recognized the black-haired youth who had challenged them on their return to Thendara.

"We are here," Lew said, "to do what we can for those who are already ill. Kindly lead us to them."

The youth's face hardened. He stepped forward in an aggressive stance. "Liar and tyrant! Do you come to view our misery for your amusement? Or are you here to collect taxes for the air we breathe?"

One of the other men grabbed the young man's shoulder. "Don't be a fool, Rannirl! Talk like that will get your right hand chopped off! Besides, your father's beyond any medicine we have. His only hope is
laran
healing, and for that we need the good will of the
leronis
."

Face suddenly pale, Rannirl dropped to one knee. "I beg you, do not punish my father, who is old and sick, for the foolishness of his son. If there is anything—if only you can save him, then I will—I have nothing to give—"

Lew swung down from his mount during the boy's speech. He moved stiffly, for his joints did not bend easily this early in the morning. With a touch, he silenced the torrent of words and lifted Rannirl to his feet.

"Whatever talents I have were not granted to me for my own glorification but for the benefit of others. So let us hear no more of this, but bring us speedily to him."

The central pavilion had been set up as a hospital, with improvised pallets of straw and rough-spun sacking. Inside, three or four dozen beds were crammed together around narrow aisles, all of them occupied. Scattered coughs came from the men who lay there. Several Renunciates moved among them, pausing to speak with a patient here and there.

Illona followed Rannirl down the aisles. Lew ordered the Guards to bring in the blankets, waterskins, and hampers of food. One of the Renunciates supervised their distribution.

A short time later, Illona finished her examination and rejoined the two men. Her starstone hung unwrapped on its chain between her breasts. Blue fire sparkled within its crystalline depths as she tucked it under the neckline of her gray Tower robe. "Your father is indeed ill, but he is still strong. I have done what I can for him for the moment."

Lew refrained from mentioning that
laran
healing had not saved Marilla or that poor man at Nevarsin.

"Your father's name is Ulm," Illona said to Rannirl. "Was he the one who went in search of our friend, Jeram of Nevarsin?"

She had an exceptional memory for names, Lew thought. Whether this was due to her natural quick wit, early years performing memorized plays with the travelers, or her training as a Keeper, he did not know. The more he saw of her, the greater his appreciation for Domenic's attachment to her. The two lovers had behaved with perfect propriety since returning to Thendara, but they could not disguise the depth of their longing for one another. Lew's heart ached for them. He hoped matters would work out, that Alanna herself would come to see that her own best hope for happiness lay elsewhere.

Rannirl looked surprised at Illona's question. "The very same, to his cost if he contracted the fever in the city."

"It makes no more sense to blame city folk for carrying the disease than to blame those from the country," Lew said.

"It should ease your mind, as well as his, to know that by the order of the Acting Regent, Jeram is well and free among us," Illona said. "Even now, he is using his Terran science to help find a cure."

"Truly?" Rannirl breathed. "Magic from the stars?"

Illona bit her lip and simply nodded, for to common people,
laran
was magic as well.

When Lew returned to the city, Illona stayed behind to work with the patients. In the Castle, Alanna was waiting in her usual place beside Lew's fireplace. After settling him with a hot drink, she plied him with one question after another about conditions in the shanty camp.

"Why, then," she said when he had finished relating the events of the morning, "I must go down to those poor people, like Illona. I have no skill with a starstone, but surely, there is need for a willing nurse."

"Alanna, think carefully. There is no need for you to go, and the work will be difficult, the conditions stark." Lew wondered whether he was right to oppose her wish. The girl had spoken from an earnest desire to do good. She would benefit from both hard work and a sense of usefulness.

She faced him, a fierce light in her eyes. "How can I sit here, in ease and idleness, when I might be of use? Why should Illona have meaningful work and not me? Am I to pass my life like a plaything, some doll, fit only for displaying fine dresses?" She held up her hands, spreading her soft, perfectly manicured fingers. "Was I not given two good hands, like everyone else? Why should I not be allowed to use them?"

"Calm yourself, child." Lew could not resist smiling. "You have convinced me!"

"And," she said, with a last triumphant lift of her chin, "in the company of the Renunciate healers, no one can question whether it is proper for me to be there! Not even Auntie Marguerida could object!"

The plague had changed everything. Domenic felt the shift in the ambient texture of
laran
throughout Comyn Castle, in the very air he breathed. He had been too young when Regis Hastur died to appreciate how irrevocably his world had shifted. Now he was older, a participant as well as witness. Now he knew the difference.