Nikolai Petrov bit into an apple as he walked the deck of the Diplomat. Around him, his crew scrubbed, polished, loaded, and stowed in preparation for the next cruise. He suppressed a sigh thinking about the arrival of yet another contingent of self-important senators and their prudish wives. Captaining pleasure cruises for statesmen was not what he had in mind when he signed on, but his own future was not the reason he was there.
He’d been employed by the Democracy for a year, but it felt like ten. The three additional years he’d promised them seemed like an eternity. He needed a better attitude. He needed a week off.
As he tossed the apple core into a collection bin, he overheard his bosun haranguing a young crewman for over-tightening a screw. When Nikolai caught his eye, his tone softened. He wasn’t a bad guy. None of them were. They were simply worn down by the unreasonable schedule imposed on them by the Democracy.
Nikolai strode to his office to meet with the Governor’s envoy, clenching his fists so hard his nails cut into his palms. It was an ugly, unpleasant habit, but one that proved difficult to break when he was under stress, and his weekly meetings with the envoy always came with a certain amount of stress.
From a pragmatic standpoint, as well as a friendly one, Nikolai had made numerous and varied attempts to build a rapport with the woman. He’d joked, complimented, and bestowed gifts. He’d appealed to their shared heritage—their fathers were both survivors from the same Russian submarine. He’d asked her advice on a birthday gift for his daughter. He’d offered to take her sailing. But none of his usual charming overtures had broken through her icy demeanor. He had no illusion anything he said this time would make a difference.
Outside his office, he ran a hand over his face to make sure there were no bits of apple in his beard, then he smoothed his unruly hair and summoned the patience to deal with the bureaucrat waiting inside. Drawing himself up to his full six feet, he pushed open the door and entered his office. A quick appraisal revealed no surprises. The angular woman stood beside his desk wearing her customary starched white blouse and gray skirt, the matching jacket tidily draped over a chair. Her unadorned hands clutched a briefcase, which he knew held the paperwork for the cruise along with the walking shoes she’d stowed when slipping on her ever-modest gray pumps.
Nikolai smiled broadly. “Good afternoon, Deputy Chief Svetskaya. How are you today?” He didn’t bother extending his hand, as she’d be as unlikely to shake his as to offer him use of her first name.
“I’m well. And you, Captain Petrov?” Her melodic voice hinted at something human beneath the rigid exterior.
“I’m dandy,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound as sarcastic as he felt.
He pulled out a chair for her and she sat, briefcase perched on her knees while she reached inside for the manifest. Nikolai sunk into his chair on the opposite side of the desk.
“Captain, I have the documents for your signature, as well as copies for your records.” She followed her script precisely as she held out two manila folders.
Nikolai was trying to decide whether to broach the subject of crew-rest, when something inside him shifted. Instead of taking the paperwork, he leaned back in the chair. “Deputy Chief, we have a problem.”
“Chevo?” Her brow furrowed over her cold gray eyes.
“I must postpone this week’s cruise due to safety concerns.” He wasn’t sure where the words came from, but they felt right as they rolled off his tongue. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Exhausted crewmen weren’t the safest sailors.
The Deputy Chief’s face showed genuine shock. “Nye govori. That is not acceptable. Three senators and their families are scheduled to board in less than twenty-four hours.”
“Would you have them sail in unsafe conditions?”
“I’m certain whatever it is can be fixed in time.”
“But I’m certain it cannot. I’ll go to the coast today to consult a specialist about the problem. I require the full crew for that. You can expect our return in one week, fit to sail.”
Nikolai wished he could read the woman’s thoughts because her face held no expression whatsoever. He’d made a statement, not a request. With no request to deny, she might simply fire him. She had that power.
The silence stretched. He grew queasy knowing Tatiana could be summarily dismissed from University based on what this woman said next. He had gambled his daughter’s future without first calculating the odds. Now he feared he was about to regret it.
Seven
Colorado Springs
“Is that really an apple?” Reid asked.
“There’s other stuff, too.” Kayla pulled a baggie from the woman’s pack and sniffed the contents. “These are nuts, but they don’t smell rancid. Think they could be newly grown? And feel these.” She thrust a bag of something orange at him.
“Carrots? I think they’re carrots.” Reid couldn’t believe it. “They’re hard. These have to be grown.”
“Do you know what this means?” Kayla’s face blossomed into a smile. “Someone did it! Someone got seeds to grow.”
Reid opened the bag and smelled the unfamiliar earthy scent of what could only be freshly grown carrots, and still he could scarcely let himself believe it. Grown food meant no scurvy, no malnutrition, no more unnecessary deaths like Bethany’s.
Kayla shook the woman by the arm. “Hey, where did you get this food?”
“Let me try.” Reid rocked his knuckles against the woman’s sternum, harder this time. “Ma’am, open your eyes. I need you to wake up.”
She was unresponsive.
Reid took her wrist to check her pulse and it was cool to the touch. He thought her fever had broken, then realized he’d left the blankets off. He covered her and checked her temp in the crook of her arm—still burning up. “Damn.” It had been a long time since he’d made such a rookie mistake.
“What is it?”
“She’s shocky. Probably septic from the infection in her feet, and I’ve made things worse, if anything.”
“Pull it together, Reid. We have to find out where she got the food.”
Reid went to the foot of the bed and lifted the blanket. “I need more light.”
Kayla flung open the curtains.
“Is that safe?” he asked.
“At this point I’d welcome another stranger, as long as he was conscious. But I didn’t see evidence of anyone besides her and the dog.”
Reid squatted to inspect the woman’s feet. The swelling had burst the skin in several places, and the fissures were black with necrosis, oozing blood-tinged pus. The smell was so noxious he had to fight back vomit. “I’ve never seen anything this bad.”
“What do you need? Water? Bandages?” Kayla handed him his med kit.
He racked his brain for an option that wouldn’t be an automatic death sentence. Everything he was capable of doing himself would kill the woman as dead as leaving the infection untreated. No matter what he did, without antibiotics she would die. Soon.
“She needs antibiotics and surgery. Probably amputation. She needs Doc.”
“We can’t take her back to the Mountain. Even if we kept the food a secret, Vega’s people would still think she was a Raider. You know what they’d do.”
“I know. Besides, she wouldn’t survive the trip. We need Doc to come here.”
“I don’t trust him. What about your grandmother? I don’t know for sure, but I’d bet tours she has a stash of antibiotics.”
“You know where my grandparents are?”
“I’m sorry Brian and I couldn’t tell you.”
Reid pushed aside the shock and sting for now. “How far are they? Farther than going back to the Mountain?”
“Yeah, almost twice as far.”
Reid thought about it, weighing the odds. His grandmother had become almost as skilled a surgeon as Doc, but the chances she’d have antibiotics seemed slim—the whole city had been scoured and all the meds taken back to the infirmary. Any drugs his grandmother took with her when she left
the Mountain two years ago would likely be gone by now.
He shook his head. “We can’t risk it. We have to get Doc.”
“I can get antibiotics out of the Mountain, no problem. But I can’t get Doc out without Vega knowing.”
“My father can. Go straight to him and tell him everything. He’ll keep our secret and help you smuggle out Doc. We can trust him.”
“No way. Your father is the church. He condemns people who even talk about growing food. I know he’s your dad, but in this he’s the enemy.”
“You’re wrong, Kay. He knows about Brian trying to grow food.”
“What?”
“Enough people have died. Show my dad the apple. I know he’ll help us.”
Eight
Seattle, Washington, aboard the Diplomat
“Captain Petrov,” Deputy Chief Svetskaya said. “You have been with the Democracy for sixty-one weeks.”
Nikolai braced himself for the dismissal that was coming.
“And during that time,” she continued, “you’ve had no schedule disruptions for illness, injury, or mechanical problems.”
“That’s correct.” Where was she going with this?
“It appears the State may have been shortsighted expecting the Diplomat to operate year-round. I will submit a requisition today for regular downtime once per year.”
“Once per quarter would be my preference, Deputy Chief,” Nikolai said, seizing the opportunity. “But I’m grateful for any downtime you can contract.”
“Your input is appreciated, Captain, for who knows the ship’s needs more intimately than you? I will appeal for a maintenance mandate of once per quarter.”
Nikolai felt as if the sun had broken through the clouds after a month of rain. “Thank you, Deputy Chief.”
She nodded. Her posture was stiff as ever, her demeanor still chilly, but her mouth had softened. It wasn’t a smile, but clearly she was not one hundred percent bureaucrat.
After Nikolai escorted her to the dock, he ordered the crew to muster on the aft deck, then left them to wonder why they’d been summoned while he fetched Cook. He swung open the galley door, breathing in the powerful aroma of chili tea steeping, octopus simmering, and rat frying.
Cook’s grand form was bent over a tub of fish. Nikolai swatted her behind and braced himself as she whipped around. He felt the whiff of air on his cheek as she stopped her meaty hand mid-slap.
“Captain Nikolai, you sly fox.” Cook batted ridiculously long lashes and smoothed her upswept hair.
“I can’t help myself, Finola,” he said, wrapping his arms around her girth and planting a kiss on her powdered cheek. “I have a weakness for Skokomish women.”
“Women? There are others? Show me these dushuyay.” She shook her fist.
“There’s no one but you. I daresay you are enough woman to equal any three others.”
“Only three? I must be getting thin.” She winked. “What can I do for you, Captain Nikolai? Besides stoking the lusty fire in your loins.”
“I want you and your staff to join the crew on deck. Bring a keg.”
“You scoundrel. It’s barely midday.” She pinched his cheek and bellowed, “You heard the man!”
Cook’s helper, Freia, stacked mugs on a tray while Denny—who Cook called “the dishes boy” even though he was in his forties—hefted a barrel onto his shoulder. Cook took off her limp apron, tugged at her turquoise dress, and patted at the tendrils that had escaped her hairpins.
“After you, Finola,” Nikolai said, enjoying the sound of the name forbidden to all others.
“Wicked captain.” Cook sauntered ahead, swaying her hips as wantonly as he’d seen.
He was sure she could tell there was something bigger afoot than cracking a keg in the afternoon. She always could read him.
“Cider all around.” Nikolai’s order was answered with a cheer, and the crew didn’t yet know the half of it. When everyone had mugs in hand, Nikolai continued. “After we drain these glasses, we hoist sails for Port Townsend and a week of rest and debauchery.” He raised his cider. “To Corinne’s!”
“To Corinne’s!” the crew clinked their mugs, sloshing cider.
In less time than it took to pour one glass, all twelve were emptied. The crew scattered, shouting taunts and reminders, while Denny and the women gathered up the vestiges. Cook sang loudly in her native tongue, a rare occurrence that warmed Nikolai more than the cider. He whistled as he headed for the helm, looking forward to the delights that were Corinne’s specialty.
❦❦❦
The bath was almost too hot, a luxury Nikolai did not deny himself when there was opportunity, which was not often enough. Bubbles blanketed the wide porcelain tub with a fragrant froth. He leaned back and closed his eyes, letting his mind go blank as Lisette did wonderful things beneath the water.
“Niko,” a strident voice called from the Carriage House door.
Nikolai heard Lisette’s sharp intake of breath and the clip, clip, clip of high heels on the tile. He sighed and opened his eyes. Poor Lisette had her arms wrapped across her breasts and was keeping to herself.
The fire-haired woman at the edge of the tub was vibrant in a green Chanel suit.
“Hello, Madame Corinne,” Lisette said in a shy voice.
“Nice of you to come see me when you landed, Niko,” Corinne said.
“Hello, Mother,” Nikolai said.
“You’re looking well,” Corinne said.
“Mother, we’ve discussed this. It’s awkward when you visit unannounced. Don’t let her intimidate you, Lisette. She’ll leave in a moment and we’ll lock the doors.”
His mother appeared to ignore how uncomfortable she made Lisette, but Nikolai had seen her wink at the girl. It had helped some, though not enough for Lisette to resume her earlier activity. All for the best, really. Despite having grown up in a busy whorehouse, Nikolai didn’t enjoy the prospect of onlookers. Particularly not when the onlooker was his mother.
“I’d like to speak with you,” Corinne said.
“I look forward to that, Mother. Say brunch tomorrow?”
“Dinner tonight. Don’t be late.” Corinne clipped out.
“Now where were we?” Nikolai asked Lisette.
Lisette looked worried. “I should go.”
Nikolai pulled her to him and nuzzled her neck with his whiskers. “I can be a little late.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh, I’m sure,” he said, nibbling her earlobe, though he wasn’t entirely sure. Something about his mother had been a little off, but he pushed the thought to the back of his mind and gave his full attention to Lisette. “I apologize for Corinne’s interruption. Tell me, how can I make you forget she was ever here? After that, I will make you forget she even exists.”
Nine
Colorado Springs
Reid had done everything he could think of to keep the woman alive. Cool compresses to reduce the fever. Dripping sugar-water into her mouth. Rinsing her feet with a hydrogen peroxide solution. Nothing had made a difference, but he hadn’t really expected it to.
Her body was shutting down from the sepsis. She wasn’t going to make it until Kayla got back with Doc. If she did, even with surgery and the proper meds, she probably wouldn’t last the night.
At least she wasn’t suffering.
He washed his hands, then pulled a chair alongside the bed to do what he always did when an adult was dying. Whether they were conscious or not, he told them what was coming. He believed that on some level they could hear him, that it helped them pass more peacefully.
“Ma’am?” He took her hand. It was dry and papery. Already lifeless. “I’m sorry I don’t know your name, and I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but you have an infection. A very serious infection. I’ve done everything I can to the best of my ability, but—hey!”
The dog had shoved its nose under his arm, forcing itself between him and the woman.
Reid had forgotten all about the dog. “Where have y
ou been?” He wasn’t sure if people talked to dogs, or if dogs had any way of understanding, but he supposed it wasn’t any odder than talking to a person who was unconscious.
The dog whimpered and nuzzled the woman’s arm, as if it was trying to wake her.
“I’m sorry, Dog. She’s not going to wake up.” On impulse, Reid touched the dog’s back. It was so soft. He’d expected it to feel like the pelt of a rat. He stroked it, and the dog’s tail swung back and forth in an arc.
The dog looked at him with liquid eyes that seemed to hold as much understanding and compassion as any human, then it nosed the woman’s arm again, bumping and nudging her while issuing a high-pitched whine.
“Can you understand me?” Reid asked it. “Do you know what’s happening?”
“I’m dying.”
Reid’s gaze shot to the woman’s face. “You’re awake.”
“If you can call it that,” she rasped. “Come, Zeke. Up.” She patted the bed.
The dog—Zeke—leapt onto the bed and lay with his body pressed alongside hers. She curled her arm around his neck, and he rested his head on her shoulder.
Reid realized he shouldn’t be surprised. People near death sometimes had moments of lucidity, often to say goodbye to a loved one. Clearly, the woman loved the dog.
“My name’s Reid. I’m a medic. I’m going to check your pulse.” He slipped his fingers between her thin wrist and the dog’s back. Her heart was beating even faster, spreading the infection throughout her body, letting it take hold in each of her vital systems.
“I’m dying,” she said again. It wasn’t a question.
Reid met her gaze and nodded. “Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable? Are you cold? Are you in pain?”
“The pain’s gone now.” Her voice was a dry, throaty whisper. “Angels took it away.”
Reid had heard this before. It meant she didn’t have long. “Ma’am, where did you come from? Where did you get the apple?”
“Zeke brought you to me. The angels want you to hear my confession. There’s not much time.”
Seeds Page 4
