Efficiently, and with minimal violence, the soldiers cleared a path clear across the room. Renee was awed. Mob scenes on TV usually showed a platoon of troops doing that. Here, all that was necessary was a royal command, a bit of yelling by ugly-faced Beyeth, and a bit of firm line-holding by the guards.
Even so, it took Zia’s group quite a while to reach the far end of the huge chamber. She led them through another door, into another gigantic room, and a meeting with yet another batch of favor seekers. These plaintiffs, at least, were quieter, politer, and fewer in number than the pushy bunch right outside the royal suite’s halls. Renee noticed that these particular petitioners weren’t so richly dressed as the first gaggle, either. Presumably, they were of lower rank. They backed up meekly when Beyeth put her leather lungs to work. Bowing, the hopeful citizens stood on the sidelines as Zia paraded past. The bolder onlookers shouted compliments, and many cried, “Remember me at the audience later, Eminence!”
Beyeth sized up the courteous crowd, softening. “Child, maybe we could stop here and you could speak with them a moment.”
“We are in a hurry. There is no time,” Zia said. “Besides, would you inflict their whining and wheedling on our guests?”
“Your mother would.”
“Far too often,” the princess retorted. “That is why she is so weary so often. They demand too much of her.” Making a sudden decision, the young woman said, “Beyeth, inform security that I want no further such outrageous scenes as that one leading to the presence corridors. Disgraceful! Those people presume on their ranks. And I especially do not want my mother disturbed by them. Not now, while so many of Niand’s premiers are visiting us.”
“Yes, Eminence,” the servant murmured, her face stonily disapproving as well as ugly at that moment.
Beyond the second big room there was a third, and then a fourth, and a fifth. Chinese boxes; each one was a bit smaller. And in each there were fewer applicants for Zia’s attention. Eventually, the rooms ended in another corridor, this one a ramp, sloping down. The princess, heading up the pack, led the Arbiters and soldiers and Beyeth to the bottom and executed a sharp right turn, halting facing a wall decorated with sparkling tiles. The others stopped — with varying degrees of neatness — all around her, bumping into one another. The troops took positions in a box formation, bracketing Zia and the other civilians. The princess prodded at one of the tiles. Nothing happened. Renee wondered if the door was stuck, or if Zia had forgotten its combination.
Then, abruptly, all of them were somewhere else.
Chapter 8
RENEE’S stomach did a lurching flip-flop. She groaned, clutching her midriff, and gawked. The soldiers were fanning out, forming a protective cordon along a balcony railing in front of Princess Zia.
The group now stood on a mezzanine level in the midst of a giant’s barn of a concourse. The ceiling arched cloud-high above their heads. Immense transparent walls bracketed both ends of the structure. Zia stepped out of a kind of three-sided box lined in tiles — very similar to the alcove they’d entered wherever they had been.
Correction: wherever they had come from. Obviously, they were no longer in Niand’s palace. No subterranean passageways in this place. No sign of baby-blue egg vehicles. Or corridors. The ambience was that of an aboveground artificial cave, and sunlight shone through those glass walls. A ramp escalator angled down from the mezzanine. Below, on the main floor, literally thousands of Niandians were hurrying about on their business. It was Union Station cubed. Commuter central for an alien world, complete with vendor’s booths, what seemed to be ticket sellers, and an ongoing blare of a PA. Was that last announcing train or flight departures and arrivals?
She muffled a hiccup, rubbing her stomach some more. “Damn. I wasn’t prepared for that,” Martil was saying through gritted teeth. Renee quit studying the indoor scenery and looked at him. He was red as a beet. Blushing up a storm! “Stupid of me, and after Chayo’s constant warnings, too.” Tae patted the smaller man’s shoulder consolingly.
“Oh. That was one of their matter-relay units?” she guessed. “Well, it worked out okay. The Gevari didn’t evaporate us. They couldn’t: Zia’s with us.”
Martil sighed. “Still, it was stupid of me.”
“Cheer up.” Renee grinned, giving back one of dozens of sly leers he’d handed her ever since she’d met him. “You can’t be brilliant all the time, even if that is what you get paid for.” He rolled his eyes, his expression very sour, and she had to turn away to keep from bursting into rude laughter.
“Honored Arbiters,” Zia was saying, “this is Niand’s Federation hub spaceport. Premier Wisi of Corlane will arrive here soon. In the meantime, I would like to show you the numerous sections of this complex — our multiworld trade agency and some of our latest model spacecraft.”
More soldiers were galloping to stand attendance on the princess. They lined up smartly along the sides of the escalator, along the balcony as far as the eye could see, around the matter-relay box Zia and her party had just stepped out of. One young officer saluted her Eminence so smartly Renee was half-afraid he’d fall over backward. Spiffy uniforms. Boots polished to a mirror sheen. And weapons. Each carried an object that looked a bit like the cattle prods Renee had seen in some of Evy’s films of early-day civil rights demonstrations. These prods, however, were fancy. Solid white, and accented with a tracery of fine gold wires twining about the barrels’ lengths. At the tip of each weapon was what appeared to be a stinger.
Zia was still pointing out objects of interest on the floor below. Proud of her species’ achievements and this evidence of a thriving interstellar travel-and-trade network. “Very impressive,” Renee said, not having to stretch the truth to be polite. “Are we still in the capital city?”
“Not at all. We are seven sun-markings distant,” Zia replied.
“Not line-of-sight, then,” Martil muttered. Very softly, he added, “They are quite advanced.”
Something was shimmering to Princess Zia’s left. General Vunj took shape there. No, not Vunj in the flesh, Renee decided, after a close look; this was a three-dimensional image of the general. A hologram, and less convincing than the Arbiters’ version of that science. That fact should help reassure Martil that the outsiders were still ahead of the Niandians in one field, at least.
“Eminence, Zia,” the general’s image said, “my intelligence and special defense forces strongly advise you to leave Traffic Central. At once!” His blustery tone hadn’t changed a bit during Renee’s absence from this world.
“We thank you for your concern,” Zia said, feigning a bored yawn. “But it is unnecessary. As you can see, the royal bodyguards are here to protect me and our guests.”
“It is not safe! You have not heard. Premier Wisi’s shuttle will be delayed. An errand of mercy takes precedence,” General Vunj went on, trying to emphasize his words with arm waving as well as volume. “The medical ship is even now making an emergency landing. There may be diseased or contaminated war victims aboard. You must evacuate that area, Eminence!”
He paused, and the image’s head turned, its lips moving, but the sounds it made inaudible. Apparently Vunj was talking to someone off camera. Meanwhile, a persistent ache was building in Renee’s ears. She became conscious of a distant, high-pitched mechanical yowl.
Vunj’s image faced Princess Zia again. He quit trying to bully her and resorted to a coaxing manner. “I beg of you, please do not remain in such a dangerous area. It will be not only dangerous but most unpleasant for you … and for those Arbiters …”
The mechanical yowl had developed undertones. It was becoming a crescendoing hum, drowning out the rest of the general’s appeal. Renee glanced around and saw that the enormous glass walls were transforming themselves into doors, folding back. The transparencies were polarized, making seeing through them a dark-glass challenge. Now, as they moved aside, miles of tarmac came in sharp view. They reached to the horizon. A runway for spaceships? It seemed to go on forever
.
She could make out, with difficulty, a row of towers on the distant skyline. And coming from those towers — an optical illusion, no doubt — was a frighteningly large vehicle. It resembled a dirigible designed by titans. A yowling, thundering juggernaut. Renee hoped the pilots had good brakes, because whoever was driving was aiming straight for the concourse’s doors, which suddenly didn’t seem nearly big enough.
“Please leave the area!” General Vunj screamed, barely audible.
Zia ignored the image. She took Renee’s hand and led the way to the ramp-escalator. The Earthwoman glanced over her shoulder nervously. Martil, Tae, and Beyeth were following her and the princess. So it must be all right. The five of them rode down to the main floor. Zia didn’t appear apprehensive at all about the approaching spaceship.
She knew what she was doing, Renee saw with relief. The vehicle had finally decelerated noticeably. Now it was moving at a crawl, slowly nudging its huge nose in those large doors. A sea of waiting Niandians moved out of its way, eddying on either side as the craft whined to a complete halt.
“We had not intended that you should observe such terrible things, Arbiter Renamos,” Zia said. “But perhaps it is best that you do, before the conference of our leaders assembles. I am afraid this is going to be one more awful example of an all too common occurrence in our Federation. The passengers are victims of the Green Union’s attacks. For most, adequate care is not available on the frontier, and if we are to save these poor wounded people of ours, we must bring them here, to the mother world. Here they will have the best we can provide.”
Curved door-ramps were being lowered on both sides of the spaceship. Crew members ran down, shouting orders at the waiting crowd of medical personnel. Soldiers were herding the concourse’s regular commuters and off-world travelers back to the opposite side of the great building. Schedules were plainly being shuffled to accommodate the unexpected emergency. The immense new arrival was a spacegoing ambulance of gargantuan proportions.
Zia led Renee to where one of the ramps was now anchored to the concourse’s floor. Guards swarmed around the two women, creating a living fence. Renee peered up the ship’s ramp and saw that there were a number of bays with many different tiers inside. All of them bustled with activity. Niandians in gray-and-white striped uniforms were working feverishly in there. Renee knew without having to ask that the personnel were medical staffers. Their outfits contrasted strikingly with the soldiers’ severe brown uniforms.
A steady stream of shiny cocoons were floating down the ramps, guided by the gray-and-white stripers. Renee craned her neck as the first cocoon went past her. A Niandian man lay inside. A wounded soldier? Perhaps a wounded civilian? Impossible to tell. He was nearly naked, and a shimmering transparent bandage covered his gaping wounds. The futuristic gauze kept out dirt and germ-laden air, but it couldn’t hide the gore. Renee reflected that it didn’t actually matter if the man had been a combatant or merely a hapless civilian caught in the interspecies crossfire; right now he desperately needed help.
So did the other passengers. Gray-and-white stripers were steering the cocoons into a nearby concourse area. That section had been roped off hastily to serve as a Niandian version of a M.A.S.H. unit. Local medical personnel were arriving by the dozens, moving in alongside the staffers from the ship, laboring to save lives.
More cocoons. More and more and more. Renee supposed the odd containers were sort of enclosed stretchers. She hoped they included life-sustaining medications to tide the victims over until the doctors and nurses could apply more thoroughgoing repairs. It was obvious the rescuers were confronting a major crisis here.
The setting — and the people — were alien. The huge ship and this spaceport an impossible fiction by all the standards Renee had once known, on Earth. And yet, there was a poignant universality to what she was seeing. A traveling hospital, transporting the injured to a central, expertly staffed home location. And as they would have on Earth, the healers were responding to the call, working frantically.
The situation reached out and grabbed Renee by the heartstrings. These victims weren’t Afghanis, or African victims of brushfire war and starvation. In fact, they weren’t human at all. Not Asians, Africans, or whites, but Niandians. Their skins were butterscotch or ivory-colored, a burnt-caramel hue or mauve, their hands missing one finger, naturally, by genetic design. Not Renee’s race. But they were hurting. Hurting terribly.
There were some walking wounded, helped down the ramps by willing med staffers. A few victims didn’t look cut up, but they had obviously suffered unimaginable emotional injuries. Psychic traumas, driving them to the brink of madness and possibly death. Renee had never seen such haunted eyes.
Zia waded slowly into the mess. Beyeth dogged her mistress’s footsteps, Renee close behind, moving in a kind of appalled trance. Many of the victims in the cocoons recognized the princess and called out to her. Without hesitation, Zia took their hands, stroked fevered foreheads, got her delicate hands bloody comforting them.
“Mother-Sister … Eminence … oh, help us, help us …!”
“We will,” Zia assured them, her voice tender. “You are safe now, my people, my children. You are on Niand, the mother world, and we will make you whole again.” Beyeth beamed at the younger woman, nodding her approval. And then she, too, was doing what she could to solace the war refugees.
Hordes of whimpering wounded surrounded Renee. Now and then, she spotted Martil and Tae, yards away, on the other side of the line of royal bodyguards — who were still trying to maintain their protective cordon around Princess Zia. Neither Martil nor Tae seemed particularly agitated; they weren’t struggling to break through the soldiers’ ranks to get close to Renee. Apparently they didn’t feel there was any risk involved here to the Arbiters.
But plenty of risk to the wounded being borne down out of the hospital ship. They had to be kept alive until the doctors could save them. It would be unbearable for these poor people to have been transported so far, to be brought into the bosom of their mother world, only to die.
Renee quit trying to keep track of where Martil and Tae were and pitched in to do what she could. She had no illusions that her CPR training and a basic Red Cross emergency first-aid course would perform miracles here. For one thing, she didn’t dare attempt too much; what might help a member of Homo sapiens wouldn’t necessarily be a good idea for a Niandian. There were enough options, though, that she was sure she could at least do a small amount of good.
Nearby, Zia was ordering some spaceport official, “The pilot will not be reprimanded for her precipitous actions. What was she supposed to do? Leave my people on some ill-equipped colony world to die? No!” The princess jabbed a blood-smeared hand at the captain of her bodyguards. “Make note. Prepare a commendation for the ship’s pilot and crew. I do not wish them chided for excessive fuel consumption or other such nonsense.”
“Right on,” Renee said, wanting to applaud. But she was too busy at that moment, helping a gray-and-white striper steer one of the cocoons into the staging area. When they had it settled into an empty spot, the striper hurried back to the ship to fetch another patient. Renee knelt beside the cocoon-stretcher. A Niandian woman lay inside, a toddler and an infant nestled against her. All of them had been horribly burned. The woman blinked up at Renee. “Lady? You — you have come to help us?”
“If I can,” Renee promised. Another gray-and-white striper bent over the mother and her babies, offering the mother a cup. “Here, I can do that,” Renee said. “Go help someone else.” The striper muttered his thanks and rushed off. Renee raised the woman’s head and helped her drink, and together they persuaded the toddler to take a sip. When she touched the baby, though, Renee was distressed that there was no movement at all in response. A brief examination confirmed her fears. Fighting anguish, she told the woman, “I — I’m sorry. I think the baby’s … dead.”
The Niandian mother fussed over the infant for a bit, sobbing, then cuddled her toddler c
loser. Renee tried to express her sympathy and insisted that the woman drink some more water.
“M-my gratitude, Esteemed Lady,” the victim whispered. “It is … I loved him so … even though he was but a boy.” Ignoring her painful, bandaged burns, the mother hugged the child still remaining to her and added, “But I have her yet, my precious darling.”
Renee’s emotions were torn. Empathy for the woman’s tragedy, and a jarring sensation. Of course. Among Niandians, it was girl children who were valued. Did their ancient history include barbaric incidents of exposing or drowning or otherwise dispensing with comparatively “insignificant” male babies? In times of famine or war, had the little boys been the first to go? What a startling reversal from the patterns on Earth! And how very understandable, given the Niandians’ biology.
Then she smothered her amazement. What was she thinking of? This was no time or place for analyzing the details of Niandian culture. People needed her help.
The liquid in the cup had obviously contained a painkiller or tranquilizer. Soon, both the mother and her daughter were drifting off to sleep, and Renee moved to an adjacent cocoon to see what she could do to aid the victim in that one.
She lost track of the minutes. In this situation, those who were healthy became parts of a gigantic whole, all of them working together selflessly. She took orders from the gray-and-white stripers and pitched in cautiously. Always, in the back of Renee’s mind, was the reality that she was dealing with alien physiologies and had to be sure she did nothing that would make their conditions worse.
Burn victims. Niandians suffering with awful wounds produced by shrapnel or bombs. People mangled in collapsing buildings. Some had breathed deadly gases. Others had witnessed things that had pushed them close to insanity. Occasionally, one of those last would suddenly go berserk. Renee helped the stripers restrain them until an aerosol shot of sorts could be administered to calm the trauma case down.
The Sisterhood Page 14
