by David Coy
“Gad . . . ”
With two fingers, she dropped the foul-smelling pod and looked for something else.
One of the shorter fern-like plants had what looked like nuts clustered in the fork of each branch. She pried one out, and, tossing caution to the wind, bit into it, only to find a rock-hard shell under the soft green covering. She chewed at the leathery piece she’d bitten off. It was tough and persistent. She finally worked a taste out of it bitter as alum. She spat it out.
“Shit.”
She put the nut down on a rock near the stream and stomped on it with her boot. The nut broke easily, and she squatted down to examine her prize. She poked around the fibrous contents and found blackened rot and a single white grub about a centimeter long. She realized that the nuts weren’t nuts but some kind of plant gall created by the squirming larva in front of her. She brushed the mess into the water in frustration.
At the water's edge, thick grass, the tufts round and long, looked as if it had been grazed down, but not recently. The grazed ends were browned and dried. She looked around for tracks but couldn’t find any. She grabbed a bundle of the grass and pulled, thinking it would break off. Instead, the bundle pulled up easily out of the muck and revealed a cluster of mud-covered, pink bulbs like onions. She swirled the bulbs in the water to clean them off, then bit into one. The flavor was mildly sweet, the flesh firm and crisp. Ravenous, she gnawed one all the way up to the green stem. Then she walked around aimlessly, waiting, letting her digestive system decide if she’d been mortally poisoned—all the time eyeing the delicious onions lying wet on the bank.
If I die, I die . . .
She ate them all, then a couple more bunches besides. She ate until she felt full.
Washed and fed, she walked upstream a ways, found an opportune spot to cross and started up the other side of the ravine.
By the time she reached the top, the sun was high, turning the jungle into a sauna.
15
“You gotta get to the doctor, Mike,” Bruce said. “That don’t look so good.”
Mike was scared. He’d heard about Del Geary. Now he had the same disease. He could barely move his feet, and they hurt something awful.
“You heard Eddie,” Mike said, his voice strained with a child’s fear. “The doctor’s gone. She’s missing.”
“Should I call Joan, then?”
“Yeah,” Mike said cautiously. “Maybe she’ll know what to do.”
It took Joan less than a minute to make it to Mike’s shelter. When she saw his condition, her first impulse was to put her arms around him and hold him. A hug was no substitute for treatment. She sat on the bed and felt his forehead, letting her eyes drift around the neat, clean, cheap bedroom.
Bruce leaned against the doorjamb with one of his nubby fingers in his mouth and a look of utter cluelessness on his face. These were just kids; two kids living in a crappy pre-fabricated shelter on a hostile planet, trying to understand—trying to live. She could see herself in them twenty-five years ago. But she wasn’t as naive now; she could make some sense of it all.
It didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
She had signed her first sub when she was ten, the legal age. The job was off-world and her parents had spent the last few weeks getting her ready to go; preparing to cut the cord that bound them all with kisses and kind, sympathetic smiles only parents can muster. Joan had been having hideous nightmares for weeks. To soothe her, her parents had given her a party, complete with the best cake they could afford. Even her older brother Frank had come down from the plains of Alaska for the day to help celebrate. But it wasn’t really a celebration. Everyone cried, and the cheap cake was inedible. Her father broke down and sobbed.
Some things stick. Her brother told her something that stuck that day; something that stuck like gum to the sole of her shoe, an unwanted attachment that would forever impede her walk through life. He didn’t say it to hurt her; he said it just so she could understand the hard truth of it.
“You’re not a little girl anymore,” he’d said. “You’re a slave like everybody else.”
The night of the party, Joan dreamed she died and saw her own body in a casket made of cheap, pink cake. When they dropped the casket in the ground, it fell to pieces with the sound of soft wood breaking.
“Am I going to die?” Mike asked her.
“Not if I can help it,” she said. “Bruce, go find Rachel Sanders, she’s in the lab next to the clinic. She’s probably still asleep. Wake her up if you have to. Go now.”
Bruce was glad to be told what to do next. He ran down the hall and out the door.
“How do you feel?” she asked him.
“All right as long as I don’t try to walk.”
She smiled.
“Hurts, huh?”
“Yeah.”
She put her hand back on his forehead.
“How did you get this, I wonder?”
Mike swallowed, and Joan saw the look in his face. It was an odd little look; one with something to say underneath it.
“Is there something about all this I should know?”
Mike took a deep breath and did what his father would have done: he told the truth. Fighting back tears, he told her about the barrels and the cave and the locator. He told her about the drugs—and he told her about Eddie.
When Mike was finished, she patted the back of his hand. It was moist with sweat.
So that was it.
She hadn’t entirely trusted Eddie Silk. It was a feeling about him she’d had from the start. Eddie was just a little too quick with a slippery smile. Well, he’d just been busted down to nothing for his little escapade. Joan knew just what do to with little bastards like him.
She ran cool water over a cloth, and wiped Mike’s face.
Just late yesterday afternoon, Eddie had come running into her office to tell her he thought one of the laborers, Del Geary, was dead. Joan had reluctantly gone with Eddie and the security guard only to find Geary just as Eddie had described. They’d taken the body to the clinic and put it in the morgue as Rachel had suggested. The Health and Safety rep would have to do the report—if she ever showed up. Joan had seen the deaths of many contract workers over the years. But this one with the grossly swollen feet, like odd waxed fruit at the end of those skinny legs had shaken her to the bone.
Now this. One of her best kids, her good and honest kid, was sick with the thing that killed Del Geary.
Rachel showed up in the door, her short hair sleep-smashed to the side of her head.
“Knock, knock,” she said with quiet cheer.
“Hi,” Mike said.
“Hi,” Rachel smiled back.
Joan got up and walked right at her, her concerned look and outstretched arms easily turning Rachel down the hall. When they got to the kitchen, Joan was the first to speak. They whispered.
“It’s the same damned shit.”
“I could see.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know yet. Take him to the clinic. I’ll meet you there. Applegate should have had something on the one who died. Maybe his file can tell us something. I don’t know. What’s the guy’s name again?”
“Gursten or Gearster or something.”
“I’ll find it. Do you need a hand with him?”
“No. I can manage.”
Joan stuck her head out the door and called Bruce over. She gave him a hard look as he bounced toward her. Mike hadn’t said anything about Bruce being involved in the theft, but you never knew. She wouldn’t trust any of her kids anytime soon. That’s just the way that went.
She told him to open the doors for her as she came through, then went to Mike’s room and hefted him up. When he put his arms around her shoulders, she could see that he was embarrassed about being carried. He was heavy, over forty kilos, but she managed easily. Careful not to bump him into the walls or doors, she moved sideways down the hall.
When she got to the clinic, her arms and back ached
, but she had plenty of reserve. She went easily up the stairs; and with Bruce holding the door, into the clinic.
“Put him down on that thing,” Rachel said, pointing to an examination table. “I’ve found something. Look at this.”
Joan followed her over to the little data center. Geary’s file was on the screen. In the lower corner played the recording Donna had made of the tissues around Geary’s ankles.
“Applegate thought it was the larvae of some parasite. I agree with her. She says it probably came from contaminated standing water. It’s a common M.O. for certain species and an excellent delivery system.” She pointed to the screen. “Look, you can see them right here.”
“Did she say how to cure it?”
“No. Just some ideas, only one of which we can try.”
“What?”
“She recommended irradiating the afflicted parts in the scanner—using the modulated microwave energy to kill the larvae.”
“Can we do that?”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know anything about using a scanner in that mode. It’s probably a risky, undocumented feature you have to finesse yourself through. I might be able to take some pictures with it, but I don’t know how to use it to deliver heat. I could cook him. I don’t think the scanner is really designed to act as a therapeutic device.”
Joan thought about it. “We have to try,” she said. “You can try it on me first. I’ll volunteer.”
Rachel thought about it. She drummed her fingers lightly on the table. Then she sighed. “We’ll need some pain killers. It’ll probably hurt some.”
“Okay,” Joan said. “I can do this.”
Rachel started to look around, opening cabinets and drawers. Joan watched her for a moment.
“You can stop looking,” she said. “I know just where to get some.”
“Great. I’ll see if I can figure out how to make the scanner do this.”
Joan turned to Bruce who was now leaning against the wall, still on standby, still gnawing on a finger.
“Go find Eddie,” she said bluntly. “Tell him to get over here.”
Joan went outside to wait. She didn’t want to confront the little shit in front of Rachel, and especially in front of Mike. She could see the dock from the clinic’s steps. She watched the tiny figure of Bruce find the lift Eddie was operating. She saw Eddie jump down, get in a truck and drive down the ramp.
As the truck headed toward the clinic over the rough ground, Joan’s anger grew with each bounce. He’d endangered the life of one of the best delivery kids she’d ever had working for her—a sweet and honest kid utterly devoid of guile.
She waited until the truck stopped and Eddie beamed his oily smile before she moved down off the steps. Eddie got out of the truck to greet her. He would have been safer in the truck.
Joan grabbed him by the hair and punched him once in the face before he could get his hands up to protect himself. The smarmy smile vanished.
“Hey!”
“Hey, what, you little prick!”
“What’s this about?” he asked with an angry pout. A bright trail of blood came out of his left nostril.
“I want the Xerc. All of it.”
“The what?”
“The Xercodan, Eddie—the drugs you and Geary scammed! I want it now, all of it, pronto. ASAP. Now!”
“I don’t know anything about any Xercodan.” It was one of the most sincere lies she’d ever heard, buttery and innocent, perfect, with a hint of childish petulance at the end. She laughed. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Mike told me all about it.”
“What? He’s crazy.”
“He’s dying! Because of you! You sent him into the green after Geary’s drugs—now he’s sick, too!”
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Joan.”
“You don’t?”
“No . . . ”
“Well, let me refresh your memory,” she said. “You set up the theft, and Geary did the stealing. Does that filthy little scenario ring any bells? I’ve been around docks my whole life, Eddie. I’ve seen it all. It’s the oldest scam in the book.”
Eddie’s face got stony. He wiped the blood from his nose onto the back of his hand.
“You can’t prove anything,” he said.
“Can’t I? Get in the truck.”
She shoved passed him and got in the driver’s side. Eddie reluctantly walked around and got in.
“Where are we going?”
“Your shelter. We’re gonna find those drugs. I say they’re under the bed—maybe under the dirty clothes—which is it?”
“You can look all you want to. I don’t have any drugs.”
“We’ll see.”
She put the truck in gear and spun out, pelting the front of the clinic with debris. When she glanced over at Eddie, he looked like he’d just seen a ghost. She was surprised he was sticking to his story. She stopped at the side of the shelter and got out, then reached in through the window with her hand open.
“Key. I don’t want to kick in the door.”
“I don’t think you can do this, Joan.”
“You don’t? Just watch me. Key.”
“You won’t find anything,” he said, taking the card out of his pocket.
Joan snatched the key from his hand. She went inside and got her bearings. Eddie’s room would be the nicer one in the back. She headed straight for it. The bed was unmade. She got down on her knees and flapped back the covers hanging over the cheap metal frame.
Nothing.
She went down the hall and into Peter’s room. She looked under his neatly made bed.
There they were. A cluster of brown bottles in a thick plastic bag.
“Christ . . . ”
She stomped back to the truck and tossed the bag onto the seat. Eddie ignored it.
“Look what I found—and in Peter’s room. Nice trick.”
“So? They’re not mine.”
Joan shut her eyes and sighed. She had no idea Eddie could be so incorrigible, such a liar, denying the truth when it was right in front of him. She suddenly felt sorry for him. He was lost. It was hard enough to live and work in the Commonwealth without the stigma of Thief hanging over your head. He’d made his life all the more difficult, maybe impossible. She could see him now on Earth’s streets a year from now, just one of the nameless mass of homeless scavengers—all because of this.
“No. They’re not yours. They belong to the clinic.”
She fixed him with her gaze. Maybe she could give him another chance. “Eddie, do you know what you’ve done?”
“I haven’t done anything,” he said stiffly.
“Don’t you really know?”
“No. I said I haven’t done anything.”
Well, there was only so much she could do. She had her own welfare to consider, too. There were strict and fast rules to be followed in such cases. If she failed to make the report, she could be held partially responsible. She didn’t have a choice in the matter. She would have to file the report, annotate his records and have it notarized. She’d fire him of course, cancel his contract legally, and send him home. He’d be lucky ever to get another deal. That was the price of thievery in the Commonwealth. That was all the punishment there would ever be.
Speaking calmly, she explained all this to him. While she did, Eddie just stared ahead, tight mouthed, blood drying on his upper lip.
Eddie finally turned toward her. She thought for a second he was going to cry, his eyes just starting to fill with tears. Those tears brought her very close to taking it all back.
Without warning, he opened the door, dashed out of the truck and ran toward the jungle at full speed.
“Eddie!”
Joan dashed out after him. Her legs pumped as hard as they would go but were no match for the wiry springs of a fourteen-year-old boy.
“Eddie, come back!”
He ran until he reached the perimeter, then vanished into the green as if he’d n
ever existed. Fifty yards behind him, Joan stopped short at the jungle’s edge, knowing better than to try to follow him into that viney wilderness.
“Eddie! Come back, goddamnit! Eddie!”
She called and waited for a quarter hour, walking up and back, yelling for him at the top of her lungs until she was hoarse. Finally, she went back to the truck, swearing at herself for not grabbing him before he got away, for hitting him, for being so hard on him.
Christ, he’s just a kid. What was I doing?
* * *
When Joan got back to the clinic, Rachel was busy at the controls of the scanner. Mike was lying as still as death on the examination table, waiting and worrying. Joan rested a hand on his arm briefly as she passed by. He brightened.
She put her thoughts about Eddie to rest for the moment.
Mike needed her.
“Do you have it figured out?” Joan asked.
“Well, I think so. It doesn’t seem as dangerous as I thought, but there're still some risks. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes,” she said flatly.
Rachel took a deep breath.
“Well, get on the table, then. I’m just about ready.”
Joan reached in her pocket and took out a vial of Xercodan and popped the lid.
“What’s that?” Rachel asked.
“The pain killer, like you said.”
“Uh, you can’t use it after all.”
“How come?”
“Because you have to tell me when the heat gets too hot. If you use that stuff, you may not be able to tell, and I could hurt you.”
“Great . . . ”
“Sorry.”
Joan climbed onto the table and Rachel pushed it into the tube.
“All set?” Rachel asked loudly.
Her voice had a slight echo to it from inside the hard white tube. “Yes.”
“I have to actually do a scan to get it set up, so wait a second.”
