by S. L. Viehl
“How many pets do you plan to acquire while we’re here?” Reever asked me.
“Don’t look so peeved.” I patted his cheek. “Just be glad I’m not a rodent lover.”
“Why did you leave me last night?”
I went over to the table and started cleaning up the mess I’d made from treating Juliet. It was the only way to keep Reever from seeing the guilt on my face. “No reason. I couldn’t sleep.”
“What did he do to you?”
My hands stilled. “He talked to me. I told him about the Jorenians. That’s all.”
“Is it?”
I tried to think of a way to reassure him. Then I turned, and saw Reever was gone.
Juliet gradually healed, but she never completely lost her scraggly appearance. Jenner didn’t care. He fell, and fell hard. Wherever she went, he followed. And wherever they went, Kegide wasn’t far behind. I often found the three of them playing a game of chase-the-suture-silk in the tunnel outside Medical. Once Juliet was back to her old self, she and her two boyfriends began going out regularly and hunting rats in the tunnels.
How did I know that? From the pile of fresh kills laid at the door of our hogan every morning.
The Night Horse women were impressed by the contributions Juliet and Jenner brought for the cooking pot, and praised both animals frequently. They graciously ignored the fact that Kegide constantly stole from their stores to feed his small companions.
Reever and I never discussed what had happened that night after the wedding ceremony. I tried a few times to talk to him about it, but he always changed the subject. By unspoken agreement we never brought it up again. He became distant, and it started eating at me, like a wound that wouldn’t heal.
I kept hearing rumors of men searching the surface regions above the tunnels. Hok informed me they’d even inspected the Night Horse village, looking for us.
Joseph wasn’t giving up. I suspected he never would.
Kegide showed up one morning after I’d treated Spotted Dog (now called Handsome Runner) with his weekly allergen suppressant, and gestured for me to come with him and the cats. Puzzled, I grabbed the impromptu medical case I’d thrown together, and followed him into one of the outlet tunnels.
I stopped just short of the proximity beacon. I liked Kegide, but there was no way I was getting a bunch of spikes punched through me for him. “Kegide, we can’t go any farther here.”
Kegide did something on the wall, and the lights winked out. Then he showed me it was safe by walking through the trip sensor. With a sigh, I trailed after him.
The tunnel he took me into from there was part of the old sewer system Rico had originally brought us through. I recognized it from the smell.
I suppressed my excitement and trudged along, pretending to be miffed, and memorized our path. Was he taking me to the subway? Another access hatch to the surface? Why?
We didn’t go to the subway or the surface. Instead, we entered a cross-section that had once held some kind of equipment, long ago rusted away. Salvaged panels and other junk had been used to make a small, dilapidated shack. I smelled a fire, and heard someone coughing inside it.
“Hello?”
Kegide stuck his head inside the shack, then stepped back as an emaciated figure trudged out. The man was one of the Night Horse hybrids, judging by his coloring and dress, but he looked awful.
“What do you want, whiteskin?” he asked me.
“I’m a patcher. Are you ill? Do you need help?”
He just shook his head and went back in the shack. The salvaged panel that served as a door slammed shut.
“Okay.” I turned to Kegide. “Now what do I do?”
Kegide gave me a beseeching look and gestured for me to go inside.
“He didn’t exactly put out a welcome mat,” I said, then sighed as Kegide kept waving his big hands at the shack. “Yes, I’ll go in. But you’re coming with me.” I tightened my grip on my bag and went in.
CHAPTER NINE
Many Mistakes
It was hard to see at first, what with the smoke and the gloom. When my eyes adjusted, I saw the sick man and a dozen more hybrids lying on the floor of the shack, curled up on filthy sleeping mats. They were all asleep or unconscious, and from the condition of their bodies, they hadn’t been interested in or capable of keeping up with their personal hygiene. A shallow hole dug in one corner of the shack had been used as a cesspit. The stench from that alone made my eyes water.
“How long have they been like this?” I asked Kegide, before I remembered he couldn’t answer me. I walked around and performed a brief visual exam of each of the shack’s occupants.
Some of the hybrids were coughing, others were in a sludgy, semicomatose state. Once I’d made sure they were all still alive, I knelt beside the man who had come out of the shack.
His hair had fallen out in patches and his skin looked almost gray in tone. Both eyelids and the lymph nodes under his jaw were swollen. Thick, gray patches of tissue surrounded his mouth. Two open chancre sores glistened, raw and red, on his lips. The other exposed areas of his body were covered with a crop of pale red rash spots.
Whatever he had, it was potentially contagious. “Kegide, go outside.”
I scanned my patient, and found an odd, spiral-shaped bacterium rampant in his bloodstream. I didn’t recognize it, but a weird sense of déjà vu came over me.
Where have I seen this bug before?
The scanner was unable to identify the spirochete as well, which was really bad.
I went to the door of the shack and stuck my head out. The Man Mountain was sitting a few feet away playing with some stones. “Kegide. Don’t go anywhere.”
He nodded.
I went back to my patient, who opened his eyes and said something nasty.
“I’m here to help,” I said, hoping I could. “Tell me what’s happened to you and the others here. How long have you been like this?”
“Weeks. Maybe months.”
“And the others?”
“The same. It is why we’re here.”
Not good. “How is the sickness affecting you?”
“I have aches in my head and my bones all the time. I’m tired, but I can’t sleep or eat much. Fever gets bad at night.”
I looked at the other hybrids, spotted more hair loss and open sores. “Do they have the same symptoms?”
“Yeah.” The man rolled over and covered his face with one arm. “Now go away.”
I took the opportunity to extract a blood sample instead, and left the shack to analyze it with my scanner. Being away from the smell cleared my head, and I took several slow, deep breaths as I watched the results of the analysis scroll onto the scanner’s display.
“Barbiturates?” That made absolutely no sense. The amount of barbiturate in his bloodstream was almost as potentially fatal as the infection he was suffering from. “How did he get hold of drugs like that?”
Kegide stopped rolling the pebbles he was playing with and looked at me, bewildered.
“Did Wendell see these people?” I asked him.
Kegide nodded.
“That stupid, negligent, homicidal maniac—I’m going to strangle him.” I marched back inside and crouched down beside my patient. “Who gave you the drugs? Was it Wendell Florine? Was it the whiteskin patcher?”
The man rolled back over, and looked at me for a moment. Then the swollen lids closed over the filmy black eyes. “Go away.”
I didn’t go away. I scanned and examined every occupant of the shack. The strange spirochete was present in all their bloodstreams. Most were in various stages of barbiturate poisoning as well.
A search of the shack turned up an ample supply of the drug they had been taking, hidden in a pouch tucked under one of the sleeping mats. I took the old-fashioned oral concentrates with me when I finished my rounds. A few of the hybrids noticed and protested, but no one was strong enough to stop me.
Outside, Kegide slowly rose to his feet and gave me a hopeful loo
k.
“I’m going to need to go back to Medical, then return here. Right now.”
The big man silently guided me back through the tunnel system to the alcove. I walked in to find Reever sitting on the exam table, one of my scanners in his hand.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I took the scanner away from him and checked the display. He’d keyed it for a kidney sweep. “Checking up on my work?”
“No.” He watched as I went over to the scope and put one of the blood samples I’d taken into the analyzer. “Where have you been?”
“Looking at some new patients.” I peered in the scope at the spirochete. If it had progressed to the bloodstream and lymphatic system, there was little hope of localized treatment. “Very sick patients. Kegide took me to them. They’re suffering from some kind of bacterial infection, complicated by barbiturate addiction.”
Again I had the feeling I’d viewed the nasty little spirochete before, but when? Where?
Judging from the location of the chancres, the bacterium had likely entered the body through the mucous membranes, or through the skin. That meant close body contact or body fluid exchanges.
Yet without a diagnostic array, there was literally no way for me to identify the anonymous spirochete. And until I knew what was causing the disease, I couldn’t prescribe treatment.
“All I need is a medical database. One lousy diagnostic unit. This is so frustrating.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
I turned around to see Wendell lounging beside Reever on the exam table. “Kegide took me out into the sewer pipes to see some very sick people. Have you seen them?”
“In the sewer?” Wendell pursed his lips and looked thoughtful, then shook his head. “Can’t say that I have.”
He was lying. I could feel it. “Well, you can come with me when I go back. There are about a dozen of them, and they’ve been infected by a bacterial pathogen. I’ll need help nailing down what they’ve got.”
“The great Dr. Grey Veil needs my help? Never thought I’d see the day.” Wendell gave me an insulting grin. “Well, Doctor, if they’re infected, that means they’re contagious. I’m not going near that shack.”
I put aside the second slide I was preparing and walked over to him. “I didn’t say anything about a shack.”
Wendell blinked, then recovered quickly. “I’m sure that’s all they could scrape together out there—”
Reever put a hand on Wendell’s arm. “A small piece of advice. Don’t lie to her. She dislikes it intensely.”
I folded my arms. “Well?”
Wendell shoved his hands in his tunic pockets and shuffled his feet. “Okay, so I’ve seen them. I don’t know what it is. There’s nothing you can do for them but leave them alone.”
“Ah, but I have to, Wendell,” I said, very softly. “I took an oath.”
“I didn’t.” He pushed off the table and tried to walk out.
A cold knot formed in my stomach as I blocked his path. “You’ve done more than see them, haven’t you? You tried to treat them.”
He flung out his arms. “So what if I did? I’m the only person down here who can do anything. You know what they do when someone gets sick? They sing. That’s their idea of treatment.”
“While yours was, what? Giving them a little something for the pain?” I didn’t wait for him to answer me. I already knew. “What were you thinking, you moron?”
“I did what I could.”
“You gave them these.” I threw the pouch of barbiturates at him. Pills pelted his face, chest, and scattered all over the stone floor. “Sedatives. For a bacterial infection!”
“I didn’t know what it was!” he shouted back. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“Yeah? Guess what? You not only didn’t help them, you turned them into drug addicts!”
“Cherijo. Dr. Florine.”
I whirled on Reever. “Don’t you dare call this quack a doctor!” Then I started back in on Wendell. “I can’t believe you didn’t run a blood analysis. A simple blood analysis, Wendell. Go look in the scope—there are so many spirochetes on that slide they’re practically crawling up the magnifier!”
“I thought it was cholera.”
I had a handful of his tunic in my fist before he could blink. “And you’d treat cholera with barbiturates? They shouldn’t have kicked you out of medtech, they should have thrown you in prison!”
“Calm down, Cherijo.” Playing the peacemaker, Reever stepped between us and made me let go of Wendell. “This is not going to solve the problem. Both of you must set aside your differences if you’re going to save these people.”
“Here’s an idea—keep him away from anything that breathes,” I suggested. “That should up the survival rate considerably.”
“Okay, so I didn’t know what to do. You think you’re so perfect.” Wendell sneered at me. “If you’re such a magnificent cutter, then why is everyone topside hunting for you? How many patients have you killed?”
“Cherijo.” My husband started looking a little worried. “Don’t.”
“Reever, get out of my face.” When he did, I got in Wendell’s. “You pathetic excuse for a floor sweeper. Don’t you try to shrug this one off the way you did back in school. Those people are barbiturate dependent now. You did that to them. On top of the goddamned pathogen!”
“I’m not going to take any more of this waste from you, you sanctimonious little bitch.”
Wendell walked out, and when I would have gone after him, Reever stopped me.
“Let me go.”
“Hitting him will solve nothing.”
I scowled. “It would make me feel better.”
“If you’re feeling that aggressive, why don’t you take it out on me?”
“You haven’t committed malpractice.” I glared at him. “Oh, come on, Duncan. You can’t possibly be on his side.”
“You might have found out more information about the infected hybrids if you hadn’t attacked his competency.”
“He has zero competency.” I went back to the analyzer. “And the day I need help from that jerk, I’m calling it quits.”
Hok showed up a short time later, and I vented my spleen on him. Or tried to. He stood silent and impassive as I ranted about the contagion and Wendell’s gross negligence. Then he refused to get me my diagnostic equipment.
“What?” I stopped packing my case and turned on him. “Are you out of your mind? Those people are suffering. They need treatment, now.”
“It is not a decision I can make. You must get permission from the chief first.”
“Stuff the chief. I want that equipment.”
“I will take you to him and see if he will grant your request. That is all I can do.”
I made Reever, who was not my favorite person at the moment, stay in the alcove while I went to deal with Rico. Along the way, my temper subsided, and I noticed once more how badly Hok hobbled.
“What caused your physical problems? Are they congenital birth defects?”
He gave me a twisted smile. “I don’t know.”
I speculated. It could have been Treacher-Collins or Pierre Robin syndrome; he had some of the clinical signs. In addition to the clumsy repair of the cleft palate, he had the abnormal jaw and facial distortions.
“It looks like someone tried to do soft-tissue and osteomic transfers to build up your nose.” Whoever had done it had given him separate but uneven nostrils, and they didn’t work. “You have to breathe through your mouth, right?”
“Yes.”
“Choanal atresia, then. You don’t have eyelashes or eyebrows, and your ears have some of the macrostomia associated with the defect.” I was starting to get angry again. “Whoever worked on you should be shot, Hok.”
“Hawk.”
“Excuse me?”
“My name is Hawk, not Hok.” He clearly enunciated the difference for me.
“Oh. Sorry.” I studied his face again. “Who did the work?”
&nb
sp; “A doctor on the reservation did the first operation, when I was a baby. Wendell gave me my nose.”
Dr. Disaster strikes again. He was lucky it wasn’t on the side of his head. “Do yourself a favor, Hawk. Stay away from Wendell.”
“I have no complaints about what he did. Children no longer run away screaming when they see my face now.” He gave me a twisted smile. “Most of the time.”
“I could help, if you’ll let me.”
He shook his head. “Thank you, but I’m content with how I look.”
“That’s fine for your face, but what about your back? The scoliosis distorting your spine is only going to get worse. You could suffer partial paralysis as a result.”
“I will manage.”
We entered the central cavern. Rico was nowhere in sight, but Hawk sent one of the women to summon him. We sat down by the speaking rock, and I absently made us both a server of tea.
“Ahe’ee zer ch’il gohwéhé,” he said.
“Which means?”
“Thank you for the tea.”
“You’re welcome. Tell me something. How did Rico convince all these people to live underground? I thought Indians liked the wide, open spaces.”
“We do.” His stark, beautiful voice was amused. “But those who came here were not permitted to enjoy them. The clans living among the Four Mountains rejected or exiled all of us. Rico came to our hogans and spoke to us about forming a new tribe.”
“And that’s it? You guys just went with him?”
“You do not know the chief well. The Navajo call him Nohoilpi—He Who Wins Men, the Divine Gambler. He offered protection to the hybrids who were facing deportation, and their human families. He challenged us to build a place for ourselves, hidden in the earth, as told in the old legends of the Leyaneyani, brother of Whirlwind and Knife Boy. We came here, made this place, became the Night Horse.”
The Divine Gambler? Knife Boy? Was he kidding?
“So basically you all moved into a cave because of some old story Rico told you?” He nodded. “Didn’t any of the hybrids ever consider immigrating to their alien parents’ homeworlds instead? And why are you here? You’re not one of them.”
