TEN

In the mist, the sun sat hazy and low in the sky, like melting butter. Standing on the island of land the mission claimed as its own, Nick watched the sunset with mixed feelings. There was so much beauty here. But a few meters away, the rotting carcass of a quasi-monkey lay tangled in floating tree branches, another marker of the great storm that had wreaked such havoc on the Olagong.

This world had two faces. It was an almost happy land of palace-raised and slave-raised. And Nick was split in two as well: He thought he'd cracked the world's secret, with the discovery of the immune-boosting langva; on the other hand he was dying.

Of the same thing they were all going to die of. Oh, death was afoot, and now it had kicked him in the gut. The little rosy growths on his skin were just showing below the cuff of his shirt. He pulled the cuff down.

He didn't want to die. God, life was more precious than ever. He didn't want to die at twenty-four, before he'd made his life worth something. As a test subject for what langva could do. For humanity's pri. All he had were a few hints from Oleel. But in this land of hints and innuendo, this world of deep jungle and murky waters, he may have made a breakthrough.

The sun was going down fast, as it did in this part of the world. He welcomed it, knowing he looked bad in daylight, and needing just a little more time. Zhen still took the daily blood samples, popping them into the rack for analysis, but he had no worry on that score. He'd reconfigured the program to read Anton's blood sample twice, in place of one for Nick Venning. Anton had been pronounced clean. So had Nick.

It was poetic justice, that Anton should provide cover for Nick. Anton had made his own shipmate irrelevant, traded the mission's anthropologist for the native one, Maypong. Nick was an appendage, good for errands and construction projects, but not vital anymore. Because Anton couldn't stand to take advice, couldn't stand to be wrong.

Water formed at the corners of his eyes. The Olagong was so lovely, even though the glare of the sunset deepened his headache.

He noticed every small pain from his body wondering if it was the infection. He was exhausted, yet tense. He had a light case of diarrhea, despite Oleel's infusions. Or maybe because of her infusions. He accepted that there might be side effects. But so far, there was just a slight fever, and unlike Strahan and the others, he was still on his feet a week after the first symptoms.

He mused that he might feel healthier if his dose were stronger—especially since he'd given half his most recent dose to Zhen to analyze. He'd made up a story for her, that he'd persuaded an old Dassa man to give him some, that he'd even tried a taste and it had made him feel energetic.

“You tried a local medicine?” Zhen said, incredulous. But it was a plausible story, because Zhen thought he was stupid anyway. He pulled his cuff down again, over the spot on his wrist. He disguised a similar spot on his cheek with a stubby growth of beard. People noticed he didn't look well, but ascribed it to the Dassa potion.

Nick walked out onto the small dock he and Anton had built. At his hip was the mission's one side arm—loaded, in case anyone threatened Zhen. Anton judged that the king would allow them to protect Zhen with force. Nick hoped he wouldn't be asked to kill a Dassa for the sake of someone like Zhen. But he kept an eye out for trouble, all the while searching the Puldar upriver for both Bailey's and Anton's skiffs, which should be returning soon. Bailey was at Samwan's compound. Maypong and Anton were off trying for an interview with the judipon.

The judipon. It took a murdered pregnant hoda to do it, but at last Anton had heeded Nick's advice and reached out to the other powers. Easier to do, now that Vidori was off this past week leading a sortie along the border. Anton was fond of the easy route—when what they needed was the fast route. For the crew's sake. Sergeant Webb was scared; Nick could hear it in his voice. In two weeks, the new outbreak had killed eight crew members—a 90 percent fatality rate, leaving the crew numbers badly depleted at twenty-two. And some of those were sick. Odd. Usually virulent strains weren't fast. The microbes had no future if they killed off all the hosts. Well, maybe for the next go-round, the virus would learn to go easy. Of course, by then, there'd be no crew left.

Zhen's shadow moved against the wall of her work hut. She was always working, oblivious to the fact that one side arm was little protection from fanatics. Zhen's lab was the first thing they'd built, a sturdy hut protecting her equipment that Vidori had summarily dumped in the center of the islet. Next came construction of the elaborate composting toilet system and a bartered-for water pump and generator. Then, having assured herself that the river laws were being followed, Maypong finally approved the building of sleeping huts.

Nick made his way to the crew hut, sitting on the steps, and turned on his tronic notepad. Every time he saw the uldia, he added to his schematic of Oleel's pavilion. He thought there might be something to learn, maybe even something hidden by the ancient race itself. Oleel said the uldia's compound was built as a replica of the original stone home of the Quadi. Which, in turn, was a replica of the Olagong. There were the river courses set into the floor of the courtyard. Different rooms were islets—or islets as they once were, before the shifting erosion of the river. There were river steps, where all of the floor streams spilled out again into the Amalang River, just as the Sodesh poured into the great world ocean.

Who, in God's name, were the Quadi? How advanced might they be? And why had they abandoned this world without a trace of themselves? Perhaps, as Anton said, they didn't wish to be known, or it was of no cultural value to them, so they turned their backs on Neshar as if it were some minor feat. And yet they called to four distant stars, saying, Come to Neshar, come see what we have wrought… What the messages actually said, the science team didn't know.

The alien radio messages troubled him. How could the langva plant contain compounds suitable for other races, life-forms that might be based on entirely different chemical and DNA architecture? However, the newly found messages didn't invalidate his theory. Whatever benefits Neshar offered alien civilizations, this planet was clearly about human needs, and Earthly life. Where else in the universe would there be Dassa? And pineapples?

A boat that he'd had his eye on for a little while was now clearly making for the dock. He slapped the notepad shut.

Walking down to the river, hand on his side arm, but not drawing it, he watched the craft approach. Not a skiff; it was too fine to be a commoner's boat. For a moment he worried that Oleel was going to openly visit him here. She was hard to control, but seemed to want secrecy as much as he did.

He'd meant to tell Anton about Oleel. And he would, when he was sure of his breakthrough.

Watching the canoe approach, he squinted as the black waters threw shadows up into the faces of the passengers. But even in the growing dusk, he knew it wasn't Anton or Bailey.

It was the Princess Joon.

The canoe made straight for the islet. Hoda paddlers brought the canoe next to the dock, and one jumped out to help Joon debark.

She did so, standing in the dusk, her gown looking like congealed moonlight. She stood as still as a chess piece.

“Lady Joon, thank you,” Nick said in greeting.

She didn't answer him, but looked past him to the huts. The hoda climbed back into the canoe and sat with the three others, all of them unmoving, like pawns.

Now she approached him. “I think you are the one called Nick.” She couldn't say his name, of course, mangling it into Nid.

“Yes, rahi.”

Stopping a few paces away from him, Joon seemed content to be quiet, not announcing her purpose or explaining anything. “Oh, you have three huts,” she said, scanning their handiwork. ‘And they have not fallen down, either.”

“Maypong was a good teacher,” he said, hoping to cut her, though it was only a hunch.

“Yes, Maypong is good with her hands.”

As she turned her profile to him, he frankly stared at her. The blue of her pendant ear ornaments brought out the dark hues of her skin, making her look like a fabulous queen. Her beauty stirred him. The idea that Anton had been intimate with her filled him with depression.

She turned back, looking closely at him for the first time. “You are here alone?” She saw a shadow on the hut walls. “Except for Sen?”

“Yes.” There was a sudden rush of hope that she had come now because Anton was gone. Come to deal with a more receptive human. Perhaps Oleel had said that Nick was such a man.

She said, “Do you worry that the captain is abroad so late? My royal father would not want him to be in jeopardy ”

“He is well, I'm sure, Lady.”

“And you, Nick. Are you well?”

It was then that he saw her nostrils flare. She could smell him. His illness. It mortified him, that he might smell foul.

“I hope to be well” was all he could manage.

She smiled. “Do you bar my way?”

She was asking him if he meant to prevent her from leaving the dock. He moved to the side, and she went past.

His illness meant nothing to her. She was looking for Anton. Her hair, so perfect; her gown, barely rustling with her smooth movements. He had an urge to muss her, to shatter the placidity.

“And Bailey,” Joon said, “the old woman is still paddling so late?” When he didn't answer, she said, “We are all fond of Bailey, so she will be watched over, thankfully.”

“Anton, though, can be difficult,” Nick said, thinking she might open to him. Anton had told him that Joon was concerned for the plight of the hoda, that she didn't share all her father's views. He felt some attraction to her, a woman who dared to have contrary opinions.

“Anton speaks with my father's voice.”

Nick frowned. Was that good or bad, in her view? Bad, he decided. He replied, “Not everyone here feels the same about the hoda.”

“Oh yes, I have been learning about this equality of yours. Perhaps Anton turns away from hoda suffering, now that he has killed one. Even now, her bones lie like carrion in the grasses. Does this sadden you, Nick? You seem to be sad.”

He swallowed. It had been a long while since anyone had noticed how he felt. Joon was dangerous, yet appealing. And if Vidori were killed in battle, the mission would be dealing with a new ruler, one who thought of hoda, and sad, in the same breath.

“Does it sadden you, Lady?” He was surprised he had voiced this question.

She turned an appraising gaze at him. “If I am saddened, it would be for what is coming, what I cannot prevent.”

“What, Lady?” But she wouldn't talk to him, was in fact already turning away, leaving him where he stood, helpless and sick, wanting to reach out to her. She'd come here for Anton; she would have talked to Anton. What could such a strong woman see in so weak a man? An ally for the hoda, for whom she had some unusual sympathy?

He followed her to the dock, where her servants waited to help her into the boat.

Standing on the wooden platform in the dusk, Nick wondered about her comment, that something was coming which she couldn't prevent. “What is coming, rahi?”

She looked past his shoulder to the huts they had built, and it seemed to Nick that rather than contempt, her eyes held melancholy. “I can help you,” he said, not knowing if he could, but meaning to try if she'd let him.

A spark of ridicule came back to her voice. “But of course, the damage has been done.”

“Let me help,” he repeated.

She raised her chin, and her face became queenly again, strong and dark and impervious. Turning to step into the canoe, she said, “Perhaps all that can be done is to look at things with new eyes.” Her servant handed her down to her seat. “It is a fine saying. One that Anton taught me.”

The hoda paddlers sent the boat gliding into the Puldar, setting up a gentle wake that rocked their skiffs, tied up nearby. The musk of the river ran strong, with the Puldar's deep juices enriched by animal carcasses from the storm.

From behind him he saw that Zhen had joined him on the dock.

“You toady,” she said. “That was a sweet little conversation with the palace slut.”

He looked at her with loathing. “Is eavesdropping the best you can do for company these days, Zhen?”

She smirked. “Yes. Science is a lonely calling.”

They watched the canoe disappear into a soft mist feathering off the river.

“This immunity you're so interested in, Venning. I don't think the langva are the whole answer.”

She could switch moods faster than Anton could go through walls. The wake of Joon's boat was just visible, a slash on the river, from which the last of the sun welled up.

“A big factor is the profound diversity of their genomes. It's why the Dassa aren't really at risk for our viruses. The Dassa are descended from at least forty genetically significant human populations of Earth. They might have naive immune systems, from the standpoint of human disease, but they're equipped to handle them.”

“I'm not worried about the Dassa. They're strong as oxen.”

Zhen snorted. “Glad to hear you're not worried. That means a lot. Howwwwever,” she said, stretching out the word, winding up, “a big question is why their immune responses would be strong. When you look at historical plagues of high virulence—the American Indians with measles and smallpox, for instance—you can see that their small gene pool is what allowed sixty million of them to die in the western hemisphere. The microbes were able to adapt swiftly to the very narrow set of homogeneous barriers before them. The Dassa, though, present a maze of genomes for any virus to negotiate.” She shrugged. “So, though the langva have some immune-boosting properties, it's not what's going on here, in the main.”

Nick wasn't listening. “Just keep looking, that's all.”

Zhen muttered, “Pedaling as fast as I can, Lieutenant. It would help if there were a few more hands to pitch in. Next time we'll bring scientists on the ground mission instead of cultural types.” As she turned to go, she said, “You still drawing little pictures in your notepad?”

Unconsciously, his hand was resting on his side arm. He moved his hand, lest he be tempted to put her out of her misery

“Yes,” he said. “Still drawing little pictures.”

Gilar's hands were white and puffy from handling the chemistries. She had learned by smell which vials held the worst corrosives, but her hands were shredding. Little hunks of skin hung from her fingers, tormenting every movement.

Everything in Oleel's pavilion was hard-edged and bright. Gilar had never been in a stone house. Her feet ached from the unforgiving floor, and her eyes from the awful whiteness of the place. After two days as Oleel's slave, she thought she had fallen as far as one could. But remembering what hung from the trees along the river that day she reflected that perhaps she had not.

Mim worked at her side, signing, Pay attention. You may drop the vial, and have punishment. < From the scars on her face, she was one who'd had punishments. They were alone in the scullery, but Mim didn't speak in song, only in hand sign. Oleel favored quiet.

At Aramee's compound, the uldia had come for Gilar without warning. One moment she was working on a burst water pipe, and the next everyone was staring at the pier, where Aramee was standing, welcoming a barge of uldia.

Then someone was walking toward them. It was Nuan.

Stand up, Gilar,<Nuah had signed.

When Gilar did so, she saw that Aramee, across the yard, was gazing at her. She was in the company of several uldia.

Nuan looked stricken, and Gilar guessed that she had broken yet another rule. Although why Nuan should care what happened to the compound's chief troublemaker, Gilar had no idea.

Now you will have reason to believe in Aramee's goodness < was all she signed.

Bahn came running up, alarm in her face.

It was over within moments. Aramee had coins in her hand, and the uldia commanded Gilar to enter their barge.

Aramee had sold her to the uldia. Now, however, the mistress looked doubtful, even worried. But didn't they know no one could hurt her anymore? Didn't they know that—despite Bailey's rejection—somehow she was going to Erth?

She passed a hoda who signed, Oh Gilar, our sister. <

And then Bahn: The river bears you, my friend. Remember the river bears you.<

And, indeed, the river had borne her to a place of implacable stone. In the pavilion of the big woman, Gilar had lost every outward trace of herself. She was bald and ugly now, and like every other hoda, she no longer had to shave her head. One morning she had awakened and the stubble from her recent growth of hair lay in the hammock like a secret code of lines. But inside herself, nothing had changed.

Sometimes Oleel looked at her sideways, intently, as though she knew Gilar's secret hopes, and meant to ruin them.

Now, Gilar found herself alone in the scullery, with Mim on some errand. She let the cool water spill over her hands, cleansing what was left of them. In a faint voice, she hummed a tiny length of melody, the Bailey song. To her amazement, the sound was larger here in the rock palace. She piped out a high note, and another. Truly, stone made for very good sounds.

That was when she discovered that she had not yet fallen very far.

A thumping noise came from nearby Someone was running up the stone steps. Several uldia appeared in the doorway.

The women hurried her downstairs, not gently, and marched her forward to the very middle of the courtyard, where the large woman sat among her senior uldia.

She looked like a lumpish statue carved right from granite. Her robes covered massive thighs, but her sandals peeked out at the hem, sandals as large as any man ever wore. Gilar was staring at the woman's feet, reluctant to engage her eyes.

The voice came loud, though the large woman didn't shout. Her voice was naturally robust, and could always be distinguished from other uldias', even at a distance.

“Did you bring a vulgar sound to my home?” Oleel asked.

No, but I sang,< Gilar saw herself sign to the woman with life-and-death power over her. It came out naturally. She'd never learned the things Bahn hoped she would, like how to cower in front of proper Dassa.

Gilar braced herself for the blow. But it was a long time coming, if it was going to. Oleel nodded at one of her attendants, who left, then returned with a small plate.

The uldia with the plate commanded Gilar to open her mouth.

Oh, not my mouth, Gilar thought. I don't open my mouth.

But she did open it, because the uldia could force her to. The uldia took a small round ball from the plate. As she brought it close to Gilar, Gilar could smell something foul. With shock, she realized it was excrement.

“Open,” the uldia commanded again.

Mother of rivers, Gilar thought, falling deep inside herself. No, no.

And then the uldia placed the ball of excrement just behind her teeth, in that part of her mouth where her tongue … where her tongue …

“Now close your mouth,” the uldia said.

Saliva came flooding into Gilar's mouth, in an attempt to fend off the invasion, but in fact it made the ball taste worse. Gilar's stomach rolled and jumped.

“If she spits it away, take out her eyes,” Oleel said. Then she turned from the girl, the plate, the horror, and continued her conversation with the other women.

Gilar watched her turn. With the revolting morsel in her mouth, Gilar watched the large woman, and she saw how it would be. She and this woman were like fire and water, like flood and drought.

One of them would have to die.