Gates of Hell

by Susan Sizemore

  Alice shook her head, making her dreadlocks swing gently. “We’re expanding the evac operation starting tomorrow.”

  “More ships? More koltiri?”

  “No. Neither ships nor healers are available. The Jeraldos have organized more medteams to go into the city to look for those too weak or sick or frightened to leave their homes.”

  “Taking it to the streets, eh? Good idea.” She was rested enough. She had things to do. She drained her cup and tossed it in the recycler, and threw Alice a vague salute on the way out.

  ———

  “Here, drink this.”

  Roxy didn’t bother opening her eyes; she just gulped down the hot liquid from the cup held to her lips. To her delight, she tasted really good coffee instead of the nutrient supplement she expected.

  Once it was all gone and she’d healed the slight burns in her mouth from drinking something too hot too fast, she opened her eyes to find Alice peering intently at her.

  “You have green eyes,” she said, fascinated by this small discovery. “I’d forgotten your telling me that it was rare in Ter-Africans. Martin’s eyes are brown.”

  She heard herself continue to ramble on as Alice took her by the arm and guided her out of the treatment room. Behind them, Roxy heard the child she’d just healed calling tearfully for his mommy. She would have liked to go back and cuddle him, but Alice’s grip was fierce as she led Roxy down the corridor.

  “Have I done ten yet?” Roxy asked plaintively, worried that she hadn’t gotten in her ten-patients-an-hour quota. She was only allowed to perform ten healings at a time, then it was time for protein injections and some rest between sessions. Not the schedule the koltiri would have preferred, but some administrator had made the decision that this was the optimum way of utilizing an empathic healer’s abilities. “Optimum for who?” she complained as she was brought into an office. She was pushed gently into a chair in the center of the room. Alice stepped back, to lean tiredly against the closed, dark-purple door.

  Roxy slumped just as tiredly in the chair, fighting fatigue and dizziness. After staring for a while, she eventually realized there was a desk directly across from her, set in front of a tall, narrow window. It was dark outside, the kind of gray-green darkness you get just before a thunderstorm. Silhouetted in the grim darkness of the window were two men, their environmental belts giving their forms an eerie glow. One man sat at the desk, the other man stood beside him. They were staring at her. After a while she recognized them as two members of the volunteer research team MedService had sent in.

  The standing man was very tall; it made her even dizzier to look up at him. “I’m never going to play basketball again if this keeps up,” she complained as she recalled that his name was Dr. Rutherford.

  The one in the desk chair was smallish and baldish. He had a doughy shape and pale eyes. His name was Callen. She could feel that he wanted her attention very much, so she tried hard to concentrate through the exhaustion. “Nu?”

  “Physician Merkrates,” Callen said. “We need your ‘elp ‘ere.”

  Roxy hit her palm against her ear, then she glanced at Alice. “My translator’s not connecting with my brain. What language is he speaking?”

  “Standard, with a British accent. He said ‘help here’.”

  Roxy smiled placidly. “Oh, good. I’m not crazy.” She knew she was slightly disconnected from reality, but unable to fight her way back through the residual effects of healing Sag Fever. The bounce back was getting longer every time.

  Perhaps she was less lucid than she thought, as Alice snarled, “Jesus Christ!” and reached for her belt pouch. “Sorry, hon, I forgot you need some protein.”

  An injection hissed into her arm, and some of the fog cleared within a few moments. She sat up straighter and made herself focus on the researchers. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

  The men relaxed, visibly and empathically. Roxy found the hope they suddenly radiated bruising against her weakened mental shielding. She knew what they wanted from Physician Merkrates, but didn’t think it was in her power to give. Rutherford waited, letting Callen do the talking. “‘Ave you ‘ad a chance to look at any of the recent test data?”

  “Uh—” Roxy searched her sieve of a memory. “—No.” Alice sighed loudly, practically in her ear. Roxy raised her gaze to the doctor’s pinch-lipped face. “I’m going to real soon now,” she promised. “How many days ago did you ask me?”

  “Two.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  “‘S all right,” Callen told her. “Might be irrelevant anyway. Not ‘avin’ any luck pinnin’ down the bugger. Every time we think we’ve got a possible treatment…” He snapped his fingers. “No joy with gettin’ a sample of the street cure, either. We’re not even sure it’s bein’ used ‘ere yet—if it exists at all. We’re tryin’ to get a sample in from Abidon. Rumor says there’s a large supply there—but no ship will go in.”

  “And there’s an unofficial coalition of planetary defense ships patrolling infected systems’ borders,” Alice added. “They’re hunting and shooting down unauthorized traffic.”

  “Nasty,” Roxy said. She didn’t mention the Tigris’s encounter with the Triallens. Or Dee’s less-than-legal forays into the city during her off-hours. In fact, she didn’t remember the last time she’d seen her Terran friend, but also knew it could have been days or hours or even minutes. She was living more and more inside the healings, and losing the capacity to deal with anything else for very long. I have to get out of this, she thought, and knew she couldn’t. Koltiri commitment came first, last, and always. Damn it. “So, what do you want me to do?” she prodded the researchers, wanting and hating to get back to work.

  “We don’t really know how you perform a healing,” Callen stated.

  “And I do?” she asked before he could go on.

  “You don’t?” Alice questioned.

  “Honey,” Roxy lied to her friend, “when I say I’m committing miracles, it’s no joke.” Alice stepped back, looking at her thoughtfully. Roxy addressed the researchers again, making a koltiri-like effort to figure out what they wanted without bothering with verbal conversation. It wasn’t easy for her, because she was in the habit of being ethical with the mind-silent beings she lived among, but she was too tired to get through the imprecise layering of verbal conversation right now. “You want me to try to analyze this thing while I’m healing it? Take the few seconds I’m infected and get to know and love the Sagouran virus like a bondmate?”

  “If that’s possible,” Callen urged. “You’re the only one of the koltiri with a medical background. If you could combine your train-in’ with your talent…” His voice trailed off and he just sat there looking tired and hopeful. His colleague added his silent pleading, and all the emotion aimed at her was enough to make Roxy squirm in her seat. She focused her attention on Callen. The earnest little man was so tired, so close to despair. She wanted to hug him and make it all better.

  Hugging him wouldn’t do any good, so she said, “Sure, I’ll give it a shot.” She looked at Alice. “Can I have my treat now?”

  Alice Phere replied with a weak smile. “Let’s go get you some real meat. I’m buying.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Shut up, Kith,” Pilsane said automatically as he passed the table where the off-duty crew gathered, grumbling over the lack of prey. Pyr watched as the navigator turned briefly back to the seated crew before joining him and Linch at the gaming table. Kith didn’t look up, but the others gave him their attention; some respectfully, some grudgingly, none happily. Pyr judged their reactions carefully as Pilsane said, “How many of you want to be locked in the chattel hold?” No answers. One by one their gazes dropped. “Thought so.” Pilsane pivoted and continued on his way. He settled down next to Linch and said quietly, “We better find something for them soon.” He didn’t complain about letting Denvry’s ship go. He was very understanding when it came to diplomacy, most of the time.

  No othe
r vessel had been detected in the over twenty hours since sending Hanni over to her brother’s ship. Everybody was impatient for many reasons: they were a long way from their own territory, they worried about running out of Rust, and there was the usual greed, of course. Most important for Pyr and his officers, they now had the knowledge they’d been hunting down for weeks. They needed to get on with the job of wiping out the man who was a danger to them. Pyr wanted Axylel back alive, if possible.

  The Raptor was set on a course deeper still into the Bucon Empire, deeper into trouble. All shields were up, all sensors hunting, with Mik taking the watch while everyone else slept or waited restlessly in the common.

  Pyr drummed the fingers of his right hand on the tabletop, ignoring the vidgame projected between himself and Linch. He also ignored Linch’s taking advantage of his distraction to make a second move. Pyr knew he’d win the game anyway.

  “I begin to want this raid more than you do,” he told Pilsane. His left hand and arm kept going from numb to excruciatingly painful. Either way, they had become almost useless. He tried to keep still and hoped no one noticed. He also knew he couldn’t disguise anything much longer. He could hear the strain to keep the pain out of his voice. And Kristi had just gone away after telling him even Rust junkies needed to eat sometime. Even stubborn, red-headed slobs like him. He had ignored her, but Linch looked concerned despite his mocking smile.

  “You’ve been quiet lately, Captain,” he observed while Pilsane leaned forward to study the game lights.

  Pyr ignored Linch’s meaning. Telepathy was too disorienting. “Can’t be heard over your racket,” he complained. “And I’m thinking.”

  “Can’t talk with your head full?”

  “Something like that.” Pyr firmly kept his shields up against Linch’s questioning probe, even though it took an effort. “I’m tired,” he admitted. And cursed silently as something inside his mind ripped and exploded outward—

  … a pair of neutronium towers looming up before him blinking curious inner eyes… flowing around them beyond them spilling into… a freezing cavern paranoia and contempt churning thoughts into a whirlpool… alien cowards kill them before they kill me think I can be replaced playing their pretending games ignoring bargains hate them slit the red one’s throat and drink his blood…crashing down caught by a net of numbers danced with design schematics…flamed with grief… damned plague damned Rust damn everything she was all I cared about stayed because she liked it here trapped with the hunters and the Rust… running from the loss—damn wizard! Get out of my head!… hunger and longing and disappointment chased themselves round and round never looks at me loves music and screws the Orlinian fortune teller saw them together kill the bitch then he’ll… rocking like in a cradle gentle place haven’t made Pilsie makabread for a while what is wrong with that man hasn’t changed clothes in two days either Rust or the Ax getting to him poor lamb—

  “Pilsie?”

  “What?”

  The deep rush of color to Pilsane’s face fascinated Pyr. He watched in awe as the man’s fair skin darkened, then paled again, in subtle gradations. He wondered how long the reaction took.

  “Captain?”

  He heard the voice. A spoken word. No emotion or thought intruded with the word. Pyr sighed deeply and blinked. He forced his gaze away from Pilsane’s face and looked toward the table across the common room. He recognized faces, automatically matching people to their thoughts; Kith hating, Taylre thinking in engineer, Sumer missing the wife taken by the plague, Rhod reacting with instinctive shielding, Cope still wanting Linch after one night two years before. And he’d fallen into the affectionate mind of Kristi in her nearby galley as well.

  That he was able to identify the thoughts as separate from his own was comfort and help. He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. He could still feel all but Kith, whose artificial shield was back in place. He knew they were watching, aware something had happened, though none had any memory of his awareness tumbling helplessly through them. If he had the energy, he knew he could reach out to everyone on board, and who knew how far beyond that? He didn’t. Never tested the limits. The only thing he couldn’t do was find the Ax. Pyr knew Axylel lived, would answer if his thoughts touched him, but Axylel’s mind remained hidden.

  Get it under control, he ordered himself, or give up the game right now. There is a trio of strong, curious telepaths you trained yourself nibbling away at what little shields you’ve got. Keep them out. Use every trick you didn’t teach them and keep your mind to yourself. He would be glad when this was over. Would he?

  No.

  Pyr concentrated, using all the strength he could muster to force discipline into the effort to keep his thoughts in and everyone else’s out. Subjectively, it seemed to take years, but he knew it was only a few seconds before he opened his eyes on the curious Linch and Pilsane. He might have shouted at them to leave him be if they’d been alone. Not being alone he said, “I’m going to my quarters.”

  Not being alone, neither of them challenged his leaving.

  Chapter Ten

  “Dear Eamon,

  “I have to get some sleep, but I can’t right now.” Roxy paced back and forth like a caged creature in the pale-lavender bedroom as she recorded the message. It was dark outside the window, and dark inside her soul. Dark but for the deep fury and fiery killing urge she kept so tightly under control. “I miss you, and hell—feel so awful. Not for me. Well, yes, but that’s part of the job. I need to talk about this, tell someone. Don’t know where Dee is. Maybe in the research lab. Out in the city, probably, and that’s terrifying, too.”

  She didn’t want to tell her husband that she didn’t know when she’d last seen Dee Nikophoris, because that would lead her to explaining how she was becoming less and less lucid with each healing session. She thought she was coherent now because of the adrenaline rush of fury that had fueled her since she’d been told the latest unpleasant news an hour ago. She’d returned to her quarters to get herself under control as much as to get the rest she’d been ordered to take.

  “What happened? Alice—you remember Alice Phere? Alice and Dr. Jeraldo and her husband—they’re dead. Not just them, but a group of medtechs as well. Not from the plague. Yes, from the plague; a side effect, I guess. We’ve seen things like this during the war, I shouldn’t be so surprised. But I thought civilization had returned to the Systems when we beat back the Trins. Am I a stupid idealist, or what? I can see you frowning at this message and thinking, ‘Get on with your report, Physician’.

  “What happened was that the hospital sent volunteer teams out into the city to find sick children. They were all wearing environmental belts, of course. They certainly had no reason to be armed—civilians! A crowd—no, a mob—surrounded them. They were attacked and killed for those environmental belts. They died trying to help. Such good people.”

  The door opened and Roxy turned to face Dee Nikophoris, the recording forgotten. “What are you smiling at?” she snarled at Dee, furious from worry and grief, and wanting to throw her arms around her friend in relief at the same time. She settled for sitting down on her bed as the grinning Dee strutted into the room.

  “Come along, Physician.” Dee motioned for her to get up. “We can’t stay here.”

  “We can’t?” Roxy rose to her feet to tower above the smaller woman.

  “You look like hell, Merkrates,” Dee observed.

  “And you look too damn good.”

  Dee laughed. She wore a black and silver jumpsuit, and her normally tightly coiled dark hair framed her face and shoulders like a black veil. Her ebullience grated against Roxy’s weakened shields. She tapped Roxy on the shoulder as they faced each other. “Now, tell me why I’m feeling so good, Physician mine.”

  Roxy finally understood. “You found the dealer. Stev Persey?”

  “He found me,” Dee replied, her smile widening. “The only way possible.”

  They looked at each other for a while. Gradually, Roxy felt
through Dee’s surface emotions and realized there was nothing natural about the other woman’s joyous mood. There was a certain fuzzy brain-buzz about the woman that was familiar, if not quite recognizable. She could take a good guess at what it was, though. “Dee Nikophoris,” she breathed, wide-eyed with horror. “What have you done?”

  “I got the drug. Already dropped a sample off at the lab. Now.” She jerked a thumb toward the door. “Let’s go. Put on some shoes first, Merkrates. There’s debris in the streets. There’s been rioting, you know.”

  “Of course I know about the rioting! Alice—Wait a minute. Go where?”

  “There’s a man who wants to see you.”

  “I’m sure there is.” She put her hands on Dee’s shoulders, and didn’t like the feel at all. “Let’s talk about the Bucon’s antidote.”

  “Glover,” was all Dee said in answer.

  It was all she needed to say. Roxy dropped her hands, and looked around automatically, though they were alone. “The Glover?”

  Dee nodded. With all the secret knowledge of their misspent youths between them, Dee didn’t need to say anymore. Roxy slipped on a pair of shoes.

  “Let’s go, Sting,” Dee said, urging her toward the door. “We have an appointment.”

  ———

  “This ought to be it—if Persey’s little friend gave me the right directions.” The aircar floated a moment longer before settling onto its pads. Roxy felt the gentle bump and opened her eyes. She estimated it had been a short nap, though she thought she’d slept on her feet through Dee’s dragging her out of the hospital. She had only the faintest memory of being stuffed into the aircar and nothing else until now. She yawned and rubbed her eyes, then looked around as Dee lifted the gull-wing doors. They were in a narrow, deserted street. On either side of the street were five- and six-story concrete-block buildings. There were streetlights on the corners, but it didn’t look as if their glow was going to be replacing the fading twilight. Either the power was out or the buildings were completely deserted. Maybe both. The windows facing the street were just dark holes in the pale surface of the walls.