Farenough: Strangers Book 2

by Melissa McCann

  "She's still out there?" Annia asked.

  Ms. Stamos looked around and frowned. "I thought she was here. They pulled her out from under a mob in the market. She had both legs broken and her face torn up."

  Annia ran out of gel after the fifth patient. Mr. Hollin couldn't get his hands on more, but he came back from a scavenging run with Liam behind him dragging a cart on which rested a wooden barrel as big as Liam himself.

  "Best I can do, Ms. Annia, he said. "It's Ms. Cullen's best cot cider. Clean wounds on the outside, pain-killer on the inside, and Mr. Tanar and I are going back for the second barrel while we can still get through the streets."

  Well, she had nothing better. A sniff told her the alcohol content would be sufficient, and she had to trust the sugar in the stuff would be enough to discourage infection as well. At least it did a fine job of numbing pain, staving off shock and drugging the worst cases into insensibility.

  When she dared to take a moment away from her own patients, Annia hunted down Cho'en and Elizabeth-Belle and crouched beside the little girl whose broken back they were trying to repair. Annia had patched the spinal nerves and used a subdermal probe to move the chips of shattered vertebra back into position, but without boneseal, she had no way to fuse the bones. Any movement could drive fragments into the nerve and sever it again. If Cho'en could fuse them enough, and the little girl remained very still for several weeks, the spine might heal itself. She hoped they would have proper surgical supplies long before then.

  Annia touched the child's back and Cho'en's hand, and once again, information downloaded into her. In the metaphysical universe, Elizabeth-Belle felt more like Johanna-Eunice than she did Maycee. Both had the hard core of ambition that manifested in Elizabeth-Belle as a desire for power disguised as family loyalty. In Jo-en, ambition had calcified into resentment of her two cousins. Both had evaded the choice she'd had forced on her.

  Eizabeth-Belle could generate only a whisper of the q-wave Maycee could produce. She might have some fleeting moments of extra-cognition, hardly more reliable than random luck, but nothing as powerful as what Maycee could produce when she found just the right balance between power and control. While Ka suppressed the seizures in Jo-en's and Elizabeth-Belle's brains, Jo-en entrained Elizabeth-Belle's q-wave to her own, amplifying it and using it to manipulate the crystalline structure of the broken vertebra, re-growing it, fusing broken planes and edges.

  Then Jo-en's control slipped. The amplified q-wave jumped, and a cluster of neurons fired, jolting Elizabeth-Belle's brain with random static. Jo-en recoiled just in time to save the vertebra from melting into a useless lump of bone. Ka clamped down on Elizabeth-Belle's mind, stifling the seizure as Johanna-Eunice backed off the q-wave, tuning the frequency down. Elizabeth-Belle's brain was becoming over-sensitized. The longer the enhanced q-wave lasted, the more sensitive she became to it, and the seizures came faster and stronger. In a short time, Elizabeth-Belle wouldn't be any use to them at all.

  Someone plucked at Annia's sleeve, and she dropped out of synthesis with the Charmmes cousins.

  Mr. Bracxs stood over her like a mountain. He said, "It's Ms. Miraz, Doctor. We found her, and she needs help."

  CHAPTER SIX

  They had brought Tora in from the street and laid her stretcher by the gate. She had a bump over her left eye and bruises on her cheeks. Her nose was broken. Her lips were split. Both eyes were swollen shut. The scanner showed both legs broken, one wrist sprained, the bones of one hand shattered, ribs cracked and bruised, a stab wound in her back and internal bruises and bleeding. She didn't just need help; she needed reconstruction. "What happened?"

  Tora's friend Mr. Ventnor looked half as bad as she did. He had burns on his arms and hands, cuts on his shoulders and a superficial knife wound in his side that wasn't too serious—a clone would never notice it—but looked ugly anyway. He said, "Colonel went down under a mob in the market before I could get to her. We'd have got her back sooner, but we ran into more rioting in the streets."

  Annia scrubbed her hand over her forehead. "I don't have the equipment. I'm out of boneseal, my surgical adhesive is running low, I don't even have antibiotic gel. Cho'en can't help without Maycee, and Elizabeth-Belle is almost worse than useless. I don't have time, I don't have staff..." She stopped. There were people hurt worse than Tora, and without surgical equipment, Annia couldn't begin to help them.

  Mr. Ventnor had been squatted at Tora's side with the end of his club on the ground and his hands folded atop it. He stood, said, "Your word, Doctor," and strode away.

  Annia did what she could for Tora. One leg was merely fractured. Annia set it with a hardened foam splint. The opposite femur was snapped above the knee. It took a lot of force to break a clone's bones. They were built to take an enormous amount of punishment. She used the last of her boneseal to repair the break. She glued the stab wound in Tora's back, dabbed cider on the smaller cuts, and bandaged the broken hand. Tora breathed through the pain without a whimper of complaint.

  Mr. Ventnor returned with Mr. Hollin. The soldier squatted by Tora's head and jogged her arm. "Colonel."

  Annia said, "Don't disturb her."

  Tora's face twitched, and she turned her head on the pallet.

  Mr. Ventnor hunkered over her. "Colonel, you're at the infirmary. Doctor Annia's taking care of you, but there's lots of humans here who need doctoring. Mr. Hollin and I, we're canvassing the waterfront for medical supplies. Thing is, Colonel, we've had an offer from Mr. Solante. He says he's got supplies to spare, and he's sending them here. No charge."

  Tora's left eye slitted open a crack. "Enemy."

  Mr. Ventnor said, "No joke, Colonel, but he's got med supplies, and we need them."

  Tora started to nod her head and stopped. "Bring medicine. Trade money; no credit, no bonds."

  Mr. Ventnor said, "Your word, Colonel." He and Mr. Hollin went out.

  More injuries poured into the camp, and Annia had to find places for all the patients awaiting treatment. The camp's bio-toilets overflowed. People were relieving themselves down by the water near the mudrimple nests. Annia saw one man come up from the water trying to tab his trousers with one hand. His other arm hung in a sling. She sent Liam down to the boardwalk to keep people from using the lake as a toilet, and someone else tried to urinate on the catpil sporing ground. The man now had acid burns from catpil saliva.

  There weren't enough doctors or nurses or even untrained volunteers to provide minimal first aid. Annia was forced to settle for making patients as comfortable as she could with her limited drugs. Broken bones had to stay broken. Cuts and bruises had to be trusted to heal themselves. Bad wounds were hastily patched with surgical adhesive or staunched with makeshift pressure bandages.

  Sneakdillies began to swarm, attracted by the smell of blood and sweat. The militia were erecting tents to protect the patients, but the tents were too few, and the injured were crowded almost on top of one another. Annia didn't realize how exhausted she had become until she almost stumbled over a tent peg. She had been walking in her sleep. Someone steadied her. Annia looked down at Dess.

  Dess said, "Tora sent me to make you rest."

  Annia looked over her shoulder at the ragged awning where Tora's pallet lay by the gate as if the clone were guarding the camp even in her battered condition. "Who's been bothering her?"

  "She was flapping her good arm at me and trying to sit up. I figured if I didn't jump to her tune, she'd hurt herself." All the time she spoke, the little woman was edging Annia back toward what was apparently Tora's command tent despite her condition. "You sit down here, Doctor, until the Colonel tells you it's time to get up."

  Tora slitted her one working eye at Annia. "Priority," she said weakly.

  Annia sat down by Tora's head and looked out at her camp. The smell was awful. The noise was worse. She had never been forced to endure the groans of injured humans before. Clones, if pain-blockers weren't available, suffered in silence as Tora did now. They weren't going t
o be able to catch up. Set one broken bone, and three more came through the gate. No equipment, no time, no people.

  She propped her head on the side of Tora's cot, and she may have slept a little because she started when Tora tried to sit up.

  Annia pushed Tora down. Fortunately, Ms. Stamos thought to call out, "Reinforcements, Colonel," and to quote a line from an old melodrama, "The fleet has arrived."

  #

  Tora hurt everywhere. She could not fight, could not walk, could hardly even speak. Mr. Ventnor had come back, bringing a whole squad of the Solante's blue-sash soldiers. He squatted at Tora's pallet. "We've got the med-supplies, Colonel. Unfortunately, Solante's sent his new lieutenant to oversee delivery." He moved aside.

  The Cerise stood inside the gate with her hands on her hips and turned her head slowly from side to side as if she meant to take Tora's soldiers and humans while Tora was too damaged to fight.

  The Cerise made a fighting smile. "Mr. Solante sends his regards and some trifling items you might have some use for." That was Solante speaking with the Cerise's mouth, but it was just the Cerise who added, "If you don't need them, we can always go away."

  Tora wanted to tell the Cerise to go away. She wanted to tell Mr. Ventnor and the other lieutenants to fight her, but Annia was only one doctor, and she had no medicines. Cho'en could not fix humans unless Maycee helped. The Elizabeth-Belle enemy had tried to help, but she was no good. Tora had no other choice. She must make allies with Solante to protect the humans. She felt trapped—bundled in soft pillows with Solante's hands on her. She wanted to fight.

  Tora opened her left eye as far as she could and tried to make her face look angry. She only made it hurt more. The Cerise saw Tora was too damaged to fight, and her fighting smile became wider. Tora hoped the Cerise would come close to her. She still had one good hand. Unfortunately, it was on her broken arm, so it was good the Cerise had learned caution since she last tried to fight Tora. She stayed out of reach.

  Tora couldn't breath deeply with her ribs broken. She whispered, "No bonds."

  Mr. Ventnor said to the Cerise, "Tell Mr. Solante we appreciate his doing business with us. Mr. Hollin is arranging payment. "

  Cerise hooked her thumbs into her blue sash. "I just do what Solante tells me. Today, he wants me to make sure our med supplies are put to good use."

  Tora did not like that. She struggled for breath enough to speak. "Annia is Command for doctors."

  Mr. Ventnor said, "Colonel says that wasn't our deal with Solante. We're paying for the supplies, so we decide how they're distributed, and Doctor Annia is in charge."

  Cerise shrugged. "Solante says I stay, so I stay. I don't care what you do with your little hospital here."

  #

  With the medicines and equipment from Solante and a handful of decently-trained techs, Annia and Cho'en were able to treat the injuries as they came into the clinic. Elizabeth-Belle had a poor bedside manner but reasonable skill as a medic. For a miracle, no-one died who made it to the clinic with breath in them.

  Annia finished patching Tora together herself because the clone wouldn't tolerate Elizabeth-Belle anywhere near her. Annia did a rough job on the fractured tibia and the broken hand, and got some of the swelling down so she could open both eyes. Tora still looked like she'd been beaten half to death, and she should have been confined to bed, but she was on her feet almost before Annia had finished pasting analgesic patches over all her wounds

  The worst was over by morning. Cyrion's riot police patrolled the streets. They had temporarily quelled Murrayville's spirit of resistance. The flow of injuries into the infirmary was over for the time being.

  Cho'en had put Johanna-Eunice to sleep for a few hours before daybreak, and Ka kept watch over the quiet clinic. Annia snatched a few hours of sleep and rolled out of her sleeping cabinet when dawn was chill in the air and a thin mist crept up between the trees from the water. She intercepted one of Tora's militia, someone she didn't know by name. "Did anyone die during the night?"

  "No, Doctor Annia. They're all breathing."

  Annia patted the man's arm and went to the gate. She opened it a crack and glanced out. The street was deserted. She opened the gate another half-meter and looked both ways.

  Mr. Ventnor's voice behind her made her jump.

  "Looks all right now, but the police are out stunning anybody who shows his nose."

  Annia closed the gate. "Did the clinic survive the night?"

  "The worst plague victims are there, and the police weren't anxious to get close."

  "Isn't there some way for me to get there?"

  "Might be. Give me a minute to figure something out."

  He jogged away, clearly searching for someone or something specific. Annia hoped it wasn't Tora. She had left the clone sound asleep in their shelter. Another few hours would put Tora back in fighting condition. Thank the Big Bang for the recuperative powers of clones.

  Annia checked a few patients. The little girl with the shattered spine showed good reflexes when Annia ran a fingertip up the sole of her foot. Repairs to her shattered vertebra had been completed with boneseal when the new supplies arrived. No one needed urgent attention, and she trusted Cho'en to catch anything that might have been missed during the night.

  Mr. Ventnor tracked her down. He brought four of the young gang members the militia used as runners. "Ms. Annia, I think they can get you to the clinic all right. We've had runners out since the end of sneakdilly time, clocking and tracking the police patrols. Between them and the Chief, we've been moving people discretely around the city all morning."

  The four teenagers shrugged, but they couldn't entirely hide the satisfaction they took in their own cleverness. The lanky girl with pronounced cheekbones and long hair braided to her waist said, "It's no trouble, Dr. Annia."

  She never saw a patrol. The girl went ahead, watching for police and checking their route. A younger boy dropped behind to watch their backs. The last two stayed with Annia, watching the shacks and warehouses around them with an air of self-important confidence. The older boy had very dark, almost black, skin, and the rest deferred to him.

  The clinic housed more plague victims with every passing hour despite a steady attrition as children died without Maycee to help Cho'en. It had been left relatively untouched by the fires and destruction of the night before. Annia's adolescent escort excused themselves and reported to the militia lieutenant outside the clinic.

  Annia passed the big tent that partially blocked the street.The sound of weeping provided a constant background. Nearby, a child gagged on the blood in his collapsing lungs.

  She met Martia in the doorway, her face haggard and streaked with tears. She held a small body wrapped in a blanket, and her eyes accused Annia of murder. "Where have you been?"

  Annia lifted the cloth away from the face of the child and recognized Martia's younger son—his face white and slack. Dry blood flecked the grey skin around his nose and mouth. Martia would be taking the body to the slag pit to be burned

  Annia dropped the cloth and rested her hand on the little boy's head. She felt as helpless and as guilty as if she had created the plague herself. She could only manage to say, "Make sure you disinfect yourself the minute you get back."

  She did a cursory scan of the people in the waiting room. Whole families were coming in now with the rash, children and parents both. She looked into the examination room. They might as well have cleared the patients out, moved them out to the tents, but there hadn't seemed to be any point. An old man had lain on the nearest table. He still lay there, but he had died since anyone had thought to check on him. She glanced over the baby on the second table, breathing thickly and coughing.

  Annia started to turn away, then she realized she had seen that particular child before, when the first victims had started coming in. The eighteen-month-old baby girl was still alive. Annia drew her scanner from her belt and studied the child. Where was the mother? Helping with the other patients the way Martia had
done? She couldn't do a viral count with only the scanner. Annia fetched the tissue sampler from her lab and drew a pinch of skin and blood. The baby whimpered and coughed, but it was a dry hack, not the wet, bloody cough of the other plague victims.

  Honeybear had been napping on top of the processor in the lab. It raised its head and waved its proboscis. Annia absently scratched around its lung vents as she activated the monitor field and read the spiral of data.

  Her sequencer had finished the last run of scans she had fed into it, and the processor collated the data. Annia fed in the baby's tissue sample and set it to run first. She also had to compare samples from a double handful of unrelated patients who had contracted the plague outside of the procreationist community. She didn't expect to find any unusual alleles in common, but she couldn't afford to ignore such a basic test, not even knowing Cyrion would be doing the same thing with their much faster equipment.

  The sequencer had completed a comparison of Maycee, Elizabeth-Belle, Jordan-Kyle and Johanna-Eunice. The alien was a true chimera; half her cells were human, the other half gaean. Annia had programmed the sequencer to ignore the non-human DNA and run the genetic material from Johanna-Eunice alone. The four cousins were so much alike that the differences between Maycee and Cho'en vs. Elizabeth-Belle and Jordan-Kyle should be distinct enough to allow Annia to pinpoint the genes responsible for the q-wave and the seizures. She might not be able to do anything—why had DV treatment not worked in the past?—but again, it was one more piece of a puzzle that had to be collected even if she knew it wouldn't help her to rouse Maycee from her coma.

  She loaded the results and read the rotating cloud of data as it turned past her eyes. The sequencer had eliminated the fundamental alleles that distinguished humanity from every other species, leaving only the relative few that, taken together, distinguished the Charmmes cousins from everyone else. By comparing those, the sequencer had identified another cluster of genes that distinguished between Maycee and Johanna-Eunice and the two who did not manifest the Q-wave strongly enough to be debilitated by it.