by Nancy Kress
Lolimel said, “But why is there a tree growing out of your head, Mia?”
“Strong fertilizer,” she said. “Lolimel, did you have sex with Esefeb?”
He looked genuinely shocked. “No!”
“All right.” He might or might not be lying.
Jamal whispered, “A chance to study the hallucinations in someone who can fully articulate—”
“No,” Kenin said. “Time matters with this…” Mia saw that she couldn’t bring herself to say “cure.”
Realization dawned on Lolimel’s face. “Me? You’re going to… me? There’s nothing wrong with me!”
“Lolimel, dear heart…” Mia said.
“I don’t have it!”
“And the floor doesn’t have sandwigs. Lolimel—”
“No!”
The guards had been alerted. Lolimel didn’t make it out of the atrium. They held him, flailing and yelling, while Kenin deftly slapped on a tranq patch. In ten seconds he was out.
“Tie him down securely,” Kenin said, breathing hard. “Daniel, get the brain bore started as soon as he’s prepped. Everyone else, start packing up, and impose quarantine. We can’t risk this for anyone else here. I’m calling a Section Eleven.”
Section Eleven: If the MedCorps officer in charge deems the risk to Corps members to exceed the gain to colonists by a factor of three or more, the officer may pull the Corps off-planet.
It was the first time Mia had ever seen Kenin make a unilateral decision.
Twenty-four hours later, Mia sat beside Lolimel as dusk crept over the city. The shuttle had already carried up most personnel and equipment. Lolimel was in the last shift because, as Kenin did not need to say aloud, if he died, his body would be left behind. But Lolimel had not died. He had thrashed in unconscious seizures, had distorted his features in silent grimaces of pain until Mia would not have recognized him, had suffered malfunctions in alimentary, lymphatic, endocrine, and parasympathetic nervous systems, all recorded on the monitors. But he would live. The others didn’t know it, but Mia did.
“We’re ready for him, Mia,” the young tech said. “Are you on this shuttle, too?”
“No, the last one. Move him carefully. We don’t know how much pain he’s actually feeling through the meds.”
She watched the gurney slide out of the room, its monitors looming over Lolimel like cliffs over a raging river. When he’d gone, Mia slipped into the next building, and then the next. Such beautiful buildings: spacious atria, beautifully proportioned rooms, one structure flowing into another.
Eight buildings away, she picked up the pack she’d left there. It was heavy, even though it didn’t contain everything she had cached around the city. It was so easy to take things when a base was being hastily withdrawn. Everyone was preoccupied, everyone assumed anything not readily visible was already packed, inventories were neglected and the deebees not cross-checked. No time. Historically, war had always provided great opportunities for profiteers.
Was that what she was? Yes, but not a profit measured in money. Measure it, rather, in lives saved, or restored to dignity, or enhanced. ”Why did you first enter the Corps?” Because I’m a medician, Lolimel. Not an anthropologist.
They would notice, of course, that Mia herself wasn’t aboard the last shuttle. But Kenin, at least, would realize that searching from her would be a waste of valuable resources when Mia didn’t want to be found. And Mia was so old. Surely the old should be allowed to make their own decisions.
Although she would miss them, these Corps members who had been her family since the last assignment shuffle, eighteen months ago and decades ago, depending on whose time you counted by. Especially she would miss Lolimel. But this was the right way to end her life, in service to these colonists’ health. She was a medician.
It went better than Mia could have hoped. When the ship had gone — she’d seen it leave orbit, a fleeting stream of light — Mia went to Esefeb.
“Mia etej efef,” Esefeb said with her rosy smile. Mia come home. Mia walked toward her, hugged the girl, and slapped the tranq patch on her neck.
For the next week, Mia barely slept. After the makeshift surgery, she tended Esefeb through the seizures, vomiting, diarrhea, pain. On the morning the girl woke up, herself again, Esefeb was there to bathe the feeble body, feed it, nurse Esefeb. She recovered very fast; the cure was violent on the body but not as debilitating as everyone had feared. And afterwards Esefeb was quieter, meeker, and surprisingly intelligent as Mia taught her the rudiments of water purification, sanitation, safe food storage, health care. By the time Mia moved on to Esefeb’s mother’s house, Esefeb was free of most parasites, and Mia was working on the rest. Esefeb never mentioned her former hallucinations. It was possible she didn’t remember them.
“Esefeb ekebet,” Mia said as she hefted her pack to leave. Esefeb be well.
Esefeb nodded. She stood quietly as Mia trudged away, and when Mia turned to wave at her, Esefeb waved back.
Mia shifted the pack on her shoulders. It seemed heavier than before. Or maybe Mia was just older. Two weeks older, merely, but two weeks could make a big difference. An enormous difference.
Two weeks could start to save a civilization.
Night fell. Esefeb sat on the stairs to her bed, clutching the blue-green sheet of plastic in both hands. She sobbed and shivered, her clean face contorted. Around her, the unpopulated shadows grew thicker and darker. Eventually, she wailed aloud to the empty night.
“Ej-es! O, Ej-es! Ej-es, Esefeb eket! Ej-es… etej efef! O, etej efef!”
---
Nancy Kress, "EJ-ES", 2003
Нэнси Кресс, "ЭЙ-ЭС"
В сборнике "Lightspeed: Year One", Prime Books, 2011
Первая публикация в антологии "Stars: Original Stories Based on the Songs of Janis Ian", DAW Books, 2003 . [1]
Примечания
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Обложка антологии "Stars: Original Stories Based on the Songs of Janis Ian"
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