Nebula Awards Showcase 2015

by Greg Bear

  “And did you see how this was done?”

  “No, though I did hear a child’s cry at one point.”

  “A child’s cry?” I asked, remembering Amaru’s tale of strange noises and the smell of urine. “Are you certain?”

  “I am a mother,” she said pointedly, and I acknowledged her talent. As I have stated, the husband is not complete without the wife; he may be the greater of the pairing, but he cannot stand alone.

  I said, “It is all very strange. I cannot help but think that the Americans are being unfair in this debate. They would kill millions of Incan men, women, and children—for the sake of their rebellion against England, which is supposed to be about brotherhood. Yet they do not demonstrate this brotherhood even when the stakes are smaller. Why should I think they will behave differently on a larger scale?”

  My wife nodded, saying, “It is wrong to hold us hostage against such a deadly enemy.”

  My dear grandson, I must tell you something. A moment comes where an idea visits your mind, straight from the gods themselves. An idea is a guest, worthy of the best hospitality. It taps on the door, or simply walks in like it lives there, and you must handle it wisely or it may depart forever. The gods had given me an idea, and let it linger for some time before I noticed it. By this point the idea had so firmly lodged into my being that it seemed part of my family, which I must protect at all costs.

  “Yma,” I said to my wife, “if I were to ask you where the American camp was located, how close could you bring me to that place?”

  “Within arm’s reach,” she said, “for I paid close attention to our direction as we went, in case I became separated.”

  “Wise woman,” I said. I did not mean to tell her my plan, because if it went poorly for me, there was a chance she could beg for mercy and claim she had no knowledge. A slim chance, for a man’s family was held accountable for his misdeeds—but given her noble family, I thought her cousins might protect her from Imperial wrath.

  But my precautions proved needless, for my wife asked with narrow eyes, “Lanchi Ronpa, what is it that you mean to do?”

  I did not dare answer her, but stood and inspected my musket where it hung over the door. Let her think I wished to shoot the American, for that might be more honorable than what I intended. But I underestimated her—ah, how often I did that!—for she said, “My husband, in our land, medicine is available for any man who requires it.”

  “This is true,” I said.

  “If a thief can prove that an official should have provided him with an item, and did not do so, it is the official who is executed for failing to serve.”

  “It is so,” I admitted.

  She kissed me and said, “My darling, you are on an errand of mercy. Steal this vaccine, if you can, and provide it to our people! I would consider this moral and right, and the Sapa Inca himself could not convince me otherwise.”

  “I fear for you, if you know what I do,” I said.

  She laughed. “Perhaps I shall tell you precisely where that camp was, in case you happened to want to visit that place tonight.”

  You see, I loved my wife with all my heart, and in that moment I loved her a hundredfold. Someday, child, I pray that you will be equally fortunate.

  5. Ronpa’s Blessing

  I followed Yma’s directions and approached a grove outside Cusco—an area I had not visited often. I expected Loddington’s men would guard the camp that stored his precious vaccine. I did not know what I sought. I only knew it was small, and perhaps involved a sewing needle—or so Amaru had surmised, from the volunteers’ reports. I feared the vaccine might be something that Loddington kept on his person, in which case I had no idea how to obtain it. Would I kill a man for this vaccine, if I felt sure it were necessary? I debated in my mind and decided that yes, I would if I must—but then I could have no argument with the gods if Chaska were chosen for sacrifice. I steeled myself for the possibility, but prayed that it would be otherwise.

  And so you see, I was on a fool’s errand—seeking a vaccine of unknown shape, size, and location. I pictured something like thread through a needle’s eye, but knew no definitive answer. It was easy to move through the area alone; guards surrounded the camp, but they were protecting against an army encroachment, or a violent war party. The Americans likely thought that a single man like me could not possibly find and identify their vaccine. They failed to understand that a determined man—one responsible for his family’s fate—possesses a fox’s cunning and a raptor’s strength.

  I crept closer, using shady trees and leafy ferns for cover. One American started, as if he saw me; he aimed his musket briefly. A squirrel darted out, and the man relaxed, presumably thinking the animal had startled him. I thanked the squirrel, vowing to honor them later if I survived. I prayed quickly to Mama-Quilla the moon goddess to shadow my way, and then darted through a glade to my next target.

  In this manner I found a path to the closest tents, and then wondered where to look first. I would not have long before someone spotted me. I knew the outside tents would hold only supplies, nothing critical—and thus I sauntered towards the central tents, hoping for some divine sign of approval to hint me in the right direction.

  And there! A small cough. Despite lacking a woman’s intuition, I knew that sound was a young child. I hoped not to startle the child, but a youth might be persuaded to tell me of the vaccine, if indeed they knew. And a child’s declaration of an invader, if it came to that, might be tossed off as fancy and nothing more.

  It was risky, but so was this whole attempt. I folded the cloth away from a tent and peeked inside.

  The tent was dark, but moonlight crept in as my silent assistant. As my eyes adjusted, I saw two sleeping boys, perhaps five or six years old. Their heads pointed toward me and their feet away. Even through the forest air, they smelled of human waste. The wind rustled the leafy trees behind me, granting a moment of brighter moonlight. To my shock, I saw that these children were darker even than Marco—how was that possible?—and had the same llama-hair as he. Cousins perhaps? Iron chains with solid-looking locks wrapped their bodies. I did not know what it meant. The tent darkened again as the trees settled back. A child coughed, and I hastily withdrew.

  I turned around and faced the muzzle of a musket, pointed directly at me. Behind that gun stood Marco, his eyes masked and unreadable.

  I held perfectly still. The boy and I looked at each other. I had no doubt that he knew well how to use the gun, and I had no urge to test his reflexes. What I didn’t know was why he had not shot me already, nor what he intended for me.

  We stood that way for what seemed like a whole night, though I am sure it was only moments. After a while, I murmured, “It would be better for both of us if you made a decision.”

  Marco’s lip quivered, but the gun stayed firm. “I’m supposed to protect the camp,” he said.

  “Where is Loddington?”

  “He stayed in Cusco at the palace. He’s refusing to leave until the Sapa Inca agrees to speak with him again, through our original translator.”

  We held still a bit longer, looking at each other. Finally I said, “I’m sorry you will have to think of a new name for your ship.”

  “Step inside that tent,” ordered Marco, keeping the gun on me.

  We entered the tent where the boys lay. I said, “What happens now, Marco?”

  “I—I don’t know,” he admitted, sounding more like a child than ever before. “John Fernando said someone would probably sneak in and try to steal the vaccine, but I never expected it would be you, Lanchi. How—how could you be a thief?”

  “In this land . . .” I said, preparing to tell him what my wife had told me, but the boy lowered his gun and looked at the ground. Of course I could have jumped him and overpowered him there, without alerting anyone, but I had no intention of doing so.

  I studied him, slumped against the tent wall, and simply said, “There are so many lives at stake. I cannot see how I could stand by and watch my
people die, for the sake of a foreign war with no sensible grounds.”

  “No grounds!” he exclaimed. “John Fernando fights for the freedom of Americans, to live their lives as they choose.”

  “So he says,” I said as gently as possible, “but his actions show the lie.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Does he fight for your freedom?”

  “It’s different for me,” he admitted, “and these other slaves.”

  I knew what slaves were, of course; even my grandfather’s Bible mentioned them. I had always felt sorry for them in the stories. And many things made sense to me now, about Marco and the way Loddington treated him. “Who are these boys?” I asked.

  “They are the carriers of the vaccine,” he told me. “I help John Fernando with his medical work. We brought with us five dozen slave boys from the auction. We have kept the vaccine alive by transmitting it through them, two boys at a time. This is why John Fernando so urgently insists on seeing the Sapa Inca; it has taken far longer for him to negotiate the deal than he thought possible. If the last boy heals before the vaccine is transferred, then all is lost to us.”

  “What is the vaccine?” I asked. “Each boy carries it separately?”

  At this Marco smiled, and said, “It is very clever indeed. It is a disease called cowpox, which comes from Britain and infects some farmers and milkmaids who work with the animals. A person with cowpox sickens, but heals again—and once the body has witnessed cowpox, it guards well against smallpox! The terrible germ cannot touch the man, for the body now understands the threat and will not let it take hold.”

  So simple! So marvelous! You see, the principle of vaccination had been known to the Incan people since the beginning of time. It was written in our pairings of greater and lesser, of sun and moon, of husband and wife. There was the greater disease and the lesser, and neither was complete without the other.

  I said to Marco, “So how does one pass the disease? Will I contract it, having been here?”

  “No,” said Marco, “I must vaccinate a person, or John Fernando does, by extracting pus from a cowpox blister and injecting it into a new person.”

  “Then if this is not done before those blisters heal . . .” I said, understanding finally.

  Marco blurted out, “Lanchi, why did you come here? I wish you hadn’t. I don’t want to kill you, but I cannot let you leave. What can I do?”

  “You can vaccinate me,” I said, “and let me leave. Speak no word to Loddington, or just say you never saw me.”

  “I can’t,” protested Marco. “He will know. He always knows. I cannot be free of him.”

  “Then you can come with me,” I said, “for I admire your courage and honesty. I see the fine man you are becoming—and nearly are.”

  His eyes brightened, and I knew he was intrigued. Still, I saw he was unconvinced. He said, “John Fernando has been kind to me . . .”

  “I expect he treats you like gold. He is most careful with his possessions,” I remarked. “Though a lump of gold cannot withstand a falling boulder.”

  Anger flashed through Marco’s eyes, and I thought he might shoot me after all. Then he said, “I have nowhere to go and I don’t know this land. I would do no better in your service.”

  “Then come with me as a son,” I told him. “I would welcome you into my family. Here you are considered a man at fifteen, when you take a new name. I will teach you the Quechua language. And I will trade goods until I can give you an adventure such as you desire. You will be your own master.”

  Marco cried silently, and his body shook. I knelt to embrace him, and said, “We don’t have much time. Quickly—give me the vaccine. I will carry it in my own body.”

  “I can’t leave the boys,” he said. “There’s nearly sixty of them, lying in their own filth and chained to beds. They cry at night, and I can’t soothe them. Some are as young as three. They call for their mothers but none are here.”

  My heart ached for these poor children, who could not understand their role here. “Where did they all come from?”

  “They are field boys, chosen for sturdiness. I believe John Fernando plans to sell them back to the auction when he returns home—whichever ones survive. Three children died on our voyage here.”

  “I don’t see how we can free them all,” I said slowly.

  “I cannot leave them here,” insisted Marco. “I could not walk away knowing their future. If I stay, I might at least persuade John Fernando to sell them to known houses, who might care for these boys.”

  “We must find a way,” I said. “There are many childless families who would be grateful to adopt a son—even one not from the Four Quarters. In the older days of the empire we commonly adopted children from conquered regions. These boys cannot go back with him.” But I was thinking—how could we possibly get them all out? Marco could have crept away with me unnoticed, but not five dozen children.

  I considered for some time, and then asked Marco, “Have you ever de-fanged a snake?”

  We implemented our plan quickly. Marco infected me with cowpox and gave me ten needles to transfer the disease. I promised him that we would meet again soon, and he must remain quiet until that time. He distracted a guard so I could slip away unnoticed.

  I returned to my wife and told her the whole story. Concerned, she sent me to bed, and insisted I rest so as not to worsen my fever. Within days I developed a rash on my hands and arms, and yellow blisters that ached to touch. My wife said it was indeed the same illness that she had seen on her visit to the camp, and at my direction, she carefully extracted the pus and injected both our children.

  Oh, how hard it was to infect them, even knowing the benefits! As they sickened, I started healing; the hardest part was disguising our efforts from our neighbors, for I feared that if they discovered our illness, soldiers would quarantine the house and alert Loddington to my plan. Our daughter we persuaded to be as silent as possible, but our son did not understand, and he wailed with pain. I thought of the boys in Loddington’s camp, not much older than he. I did not know what would happen to Marco—and just as bad, I feared that someone would notice us. An official quarantine would lose us precious time. We could not afford to let the last blister heal before we had transferred the precious disease to other people.

  Though I was not entirely well, I decided it was critical to accelerate my plan. I asked my wife to beg favor at the palace, using any rank or pleas she could think of, to get a message to the wise Amaru—on whom all my hopes rested. With all the political chaos, I was unsure that she would succeed. But my good wife persisted, and after spending a day and a sleepless night pleading for audience, she found a servant willing to bear her message.

  And so on that next night, as my body healed and my children lay ill—Amaru came alone, and at night. He was plainly dressed and wore no mask, which might call attention to himself.

  When I told him my tale, his face darkened with anger. For a moment I wondered if it might be directed at myself, for thievery, but that was mere anxiety. Amaru finally said, “So this vaccine is now in the possession of the Incan people. We have no more need for this greedy bargainer.”

  “I do not wish to see him killed,” I said hesitantly, wondering if that was his thought.

  “Nor I,” he said, “for the Americans might not take kindly to that. Yet I also do not wish to see him profit on the suffering of others, even if they are mere children.”

  “We can refuse his deal now, provided we keep the vaccine alive in our people.”

  “Refuse his deal, certainly. He has negotiated in bad faith. There are worse punishments for a man such as he,” said Amaru.

  And with that, we discussed a plan.

  The next day, Amaru and I visited Loddington, where he had encamped in the palace’s waiting chambers. He was speaking in broken Spanish to anyone who understood and would listen, begging for audience with the Sapa Inca. I kept my hands clasped behind my back. When he saw me, his face brightened with a g
enerous smile.

  “Lanchi Ronpa!” he exclaimed. “I asked for you, but no one would bring you.”

  Amaru said, “The Sapa Inca is unavailable, but he has authorized me to finalize our bargain. Here is a measure of faith.” He opened his purse and poured out golden beads, more than I had ever owned myself, which tumbled into Loddington’s hands and scattered across the floor. He crawled around after them, scooping up handfuls like a monkey gathering food.

  Amaru said, “I have gathered more, and my warriors will bring it to your camp. Let us go there, and we will bring you—as promised—at least a tenth of what you requested, with the remainder to follow tomorrow. We would bring the entire amount today, but it is simply too much gold; the warriors must return tomorrow with it.”

  At my translation, Loddington’s eyes narrowed. “This is a sudden change of direction for the Sapa Inca.”

  “He is busy,” said Amaru smoothly. “He deals with matters of state and cannot attend directly to this business. He does desire the vaccine, now that it’s been proven.”

  Loddington looked directly at me and said, “Lanchi, tell me the truth. Is the Sapa Inca really ready for the vaccine?”

  “I assure you,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “that the Sapa Inca will be delighted to know the secret of this vaccine.”

  Loddington smiled and got to his feet. “Then we shall do business together,” he said. “Come, let us go to my camp.”

  And so we went, a processional of warriors led by the American, who did not know he was already defeated. Loddington led the parade on an imperial riding-llama, his head held high, as if he ruled all the land. I kept to the middle, not wanting him to see my hands, to know his ruin was already upon him.

  When we arrived at the camp, Amaru murmured to me, “Here we go. Good luck.” He assumed a haughty expression and said, “An emissary of the Sapa Inca requires all people in the visited realm to present themselves and stand forth for viewing.”

  I translated these words for Loddington and added, “All men may of course retain their weapons; we know you are not a fool.”