by Chris Walley
“Indeed,” Betafor said, stopping smoothly and suddenly. “I have always found it a . . . curiosity that one of the most obvious effects of a strained metabolism in humans is that they become . . . deprived of their power of speech. What do you think?”
“I t-think . . .” Merral waved a hand in frustration. “I—I agree.”
After a minute’s pause, Betafor pressed on and now more rocks began to appear between the trees, glistening in the light of the handlights. Increasingly soaked by sweat and rain, Merral trailed as close behind as he could, aware of the light beams bouncing around as the holders of the handlights tried to maintain their balance and avoid the razor-edged rocks.
As he followed the pale lights that marked Betafor’s flanks up an apparently endless path, the darkness, the exertion, and the soaking he received caused Merral to feel a growing detachment from reality. Can I be sure that this is not some sort of weird dream?
Twenty minutes later, Betafor stopped. As Merral caught up with her, his handlight beam revealed a small clearing in which new vegetation grew. The ferry craft landing site.
A glistening rock face lay ahead. “Here,” Betafor said. With considerable agility she clambered over some rocks and then swept aside a curtain of a dense textile to reveal the mouth of a jagged fissure.
She entered and Merral, after waiting for Lloyd to catch up, followed her.
With a faint series of plopping noises, lights came on to reveal a rough-walled chamber in which there were a number of tentlike compartments. Fluttering shadows moved above them.
Lloyd swung his gun up.
“Bats,” said Betafor quickly.
The gun was lowered.
Merral looked around, hearing the constant drip of water, and smelling a new odor—something far fouler than the rain forest’s permanent aroma of vegetable death and decay.
As Betafor led them along a creaking walkway past muddy boxes and crates, the lighting faded on the flanks of her jacket.
On the boxes and crates, Merral saw the red spidery script he had seen on the intruder ship and shuddered. Yet he sensed none of the malignancy that he had felt there. Decay, strangeness, and dirt perhaps, but not the occult presence that he had sensed on the ship. Neither could he hear that persistent hostile chattering on the very edge of audibility. Here, at least, he was not on his own. Nevertheless, he kept a firm grip on the handle of his bush knife.
Betafor stopped in front of the final compartment and in a surprisingly human gesture reared up to a hanging towel and wiped her muddy forelimbs on it. She then unsealed the entrance.
Lloyd, his weapon in hand, walked in with Merral. As they exchanged glances, Merral read wariness on his aide’s mud-stained face.
I don’t like it, Lloyd mouthed.
“Stay alert,” Merral whispered back, and his aide nodded.
As Betafor turned the wedge of her head toward them, Merral was struck by the strangely emotionless eyes with their dark round and intense pupils.
“Only the commander, the doctor, and the biologist, please. The rest of you, please stay here. You may sit down. But do not open anything.”
Do we trust her? Merral asked himself for the hundredth time. We have no choice. And besides, if this was a trap it would have been sprung by now.
He looked back, seeing the others taking off packs, sliding off rain capes, and trying to shake themselves dry.
Anya, her red hair plastered against her skull, came over to Merral with a handkerchief in her hand. “You look a mess, Commander. Allow me.” She tenderly wiped his face.
“Thanks,” he said, all sorts of emotions stirred by her action. “I take it you are finding this interesting?”
Anya turned to look at the creature standing in the entranceway to the compartment. “I’ll say. I’m in a state of information overload. But you’d better not keep Betafor waiting.” She grinned slightly. “You have enough women problems already.”
“You think it’s female?” he whispered.
Anya shrugged. “It’s what she wants.”
Merral shrugged as he headed into the compartment, followed by Anya and Arabella, who clutched a large medical pack. Although he was unhappy with treating Betafor as a female person, the idea of treating her as a genderless thing was no solution.
The compartment was a large, poorly lit room with a table in the middle and a few cabinets. Papers and food packets littered the muddy floor. The foul smell was particularly strong here.
Arabella grunted in disapproval, while Anya wrinkled her nose.
“There you are,” Betafor said with a tilt of the head toward a corner.
In a lightweight bed, half hidden under a dirty sheet, lay a man with pale, wasted arms exposed. Between the tangle of black hair and the unkempt beard Merral glimpsed a pale, waxy face. The low and hasty movements of his chest showed he was still alive.
Betafor moved to a corner and, with a neat folding of the forelimbs, squatted and remained immobile, and staring at them like a weird statue. This close and in this light she was obviously a manufactured being: indeed it struck Merral that if she had been covered in metal he would have simply termed her a robot. The reality was that her skin, with its little bumps and depressions, seemed to be some sort of flexible heavy polymer.
Arabella bent over the figure in the bed a moment, then turned to Merral with a frown. “I need to put this man on the table. You and Anya put a sterile sheet from the yellow pack on it first. And then give me a hand.” She turned to Betafor. “Can we have some more light?”
“As you wish,” replied the green figure and suddenly the lights brightened.
After Merral and Anya stretched the sterile sheet over the table, Arabella helped them lift the man off the bed. Evidently once tall and well built, he was now emaciated and weighed little. As they placed him on the table, Merral noted a strange and bloated undressed wound, with a lurid red color, at the top of his chest.
“So what happened?” Arabella asked as she donned gloves and began to examine the patient.
“The sarudar had an accident,” Betafor replied.
“When?”
“Nine weeks ago.” Her lips flexed when she spoke.
“That would be . . . what . . . when the ship was destroyed?”
“Just afterward. We were here when it was destroyed.”
Arabella gently opened the shirt further and peered at the injury while Anya leaned forward on the other side. “Hmm, just above the manubrium. . . . Infected. . . . What sort of accident?”
“I do not know. I was not there. I think he fell on a rock. Human flesh is too weak. The wound began healing, but it must have become infected. It is hard to keep things . . . sterile here.”
“Hmm. Odd wound,” Arabella commented without looking up. “Very odd. When he became ill, what were his symptoms?”
“He started with fever and began . . . sweating more than usual. There was also swelling around the injury. I used our antibacterials on him. They slowed the effect.”
Arabella grunted and put a diagnostic medical unit on the man’s forehead. “He has an elevated temperature and hypotension . . . assuming, of course, he has a similar metabolism to us.” She turned to Betafor. “Never had to ask this of a patient before, but is he human?”
“Yes. I think you will find . . . differences, but his core body temperature should be 37.0 Celsius.”
“Thank you. One tries not to take anything for granted.” Arabella’s smile as she glanced at Anya seemed ironic. “You realize you are assisting in quite the most unusual diagnosis made in over three thousand years of Farholme medicine?”
“There is quite a lot that is unusual here,” Anya said with a glance at Betafor.
Arabella turned to Azeras. “Hmm. Similar physiology, but I’d anticipate a differing immune system.” She frowned and peered again at the upper chest. “I don’t like the smell of this. I’ve never seen anything like it. Not in a human being anyway. It’s a bacterial infection. Let me check something.”
She stepped back, pulled off her gloves, tapped on her diary repeatedly, then seemed to find what she looked for. After a moment she shook her head, slipped on her gloves again, and returned to the table. “Should have remembered it from medical history. This man has an infection from an anaerobic bacteria. Probably clostridium. We only ever get minor versions, but this is full-scale gangrene. Gangrene,” she repeated, the word ringing with surprise and then nodded at Anya. “Another novelty.”
“Can you give me the . . . prognosis?” Betafor asked.
“If he stays here, very poor. I’ll give him some of our antibacterials now.” Arabella waved a gloved hand at her bag. “Anya, one of the red vials. Yes, that one. AB 258? Thanks.” She unscrewed the top, pressed the vial against the man’s emaciated arm, and squeezed until it was empty.
She then turned to Betafor, her expression stern. “Now let’s talk. Even if they work, these antibacterials are not going to be enough. This man needs to be taken to a hospital—to a sterile environment.” As she looked around in a tight-lipped way, Merral wondered if she was going to comment on the mess. “A sterile environment,” she repeated. “The dead, damaged, and infected tissue needs removing. We may want to put him in a high-oxygen setting. And there may be other damage. I’d want to check kidney functions.”
“That is not possible.”
Arabella frowned. “I am unaccustomed to arguing with a machine, but—”
“A nonbiological organism, if you please.”
“A nonbiological organism, then. But whoever—or whatever—you are, if he dies, you are responsible.”
Betafor seemed to stare at her for a moment. “It is not that simple. The Dominion ship is coming. If they find out that either of us exists, we both will face . . . death or destruction.”
“We can arrange for minimum publicity.”
“That will not work.”
Suddenly Anya, who had been gazing at the wound, gave a grunt. “Merral, Arabella,” she said in an urgent voice, “we need to talk. Now. Privately.”
Merral found something in her tone that didn’t encourage hesitation. “Very well. Excuse us, Betafor, for a moment.”
“As you wish. I will wait here.”
Closing the flap of the compartment door behind them, they joined Vero and Perena, who were seated on boxes near the outer end of the cave. Lloyd stood alert with his gun gripped tightly.
“This Sarudar Azeras has what’s called gangrene,” Merral said, keeping his voice low. “I’ll explain later. Anya has a comment. Go on.”
Anya looked at the doctor. “That wound. Do you think it was an accident?”
“Why not? It’s odd, but what else could it be?”
“I think it was a surgical incision. I say that because I have made just such incisions on cockroach-beasts and ape-creatures.”
“But why?” The doctor’s face showed bafflement.
“Those creatures all had implanted devices there. They were circuits apparently designed to secrete toxin on some sort of command.”
“I saw them,” Merral added. “And the time fits. This Betafor says the accident took place at the same time just after the ship was destroyed. That was when the circuits started oozing poison.”
“Hmm. So the wound would be the result of a surgical operation,” Arabella said as if to herself. “A botched one. . . . Even more fascinating.”
“Oh, dear,” Vero said, his voice almost a grunt.
“Why ‘oh, dear’?” Merral asked.
“Because this says that B-Betafor is not telling the truth. I knew it would be complicated dealing with a being like this. But to f-find that she lies makes it even more complex.”
“True enough.” Merral looked around. “Any ideas?”
Lloyd gestured toward the crew cabin. “Sir, I reckon we challenge this Betafor thing. Bring it in here. We need the truth.”
“Seems a fair point,” Merral said. “Arabella, do I take it that the patient’s life isn’t going to be significantly put at risk by us spending a few minutes getting to the bottom of this?”
“Not significantly, as long as we get him out of here in the next few hours.”
“I agree with Lloyd,” Vero said.
Perena nodded.
“Very well,” Merral said. “Let’s interview Miss Betafor.”
15
When Merral called Betafor, she walked out on all fours, then stopped and tilted her body back to balance on her hind legs and her tail, her back and neck vertical. The result was that her head was elevated almost to the height of Merral’s neck. She stared at them with large eyes and then froze in a state of utter immobility that no living creature could ever attain.
“Betafor,” Merral said, “we think that this wound Sarudar Azeras has isn’t from an accident. It comes from an attempt to remove an implanted device from his chest—a device we found on other intruder creatures.”
In the ensuing silence, Merral realized that he had not the slightest idea how she would react.
After several seconds, Betafor said, “Do you wish to know the truth, even though you will find it unwelcome?”
“Yes,” Merral said and was echoed by the others.
“Sarudar Azeras was life-bonded to Captain Damertooth of the Rahllman’s Star.” Betafor’s voice echoed in the cave. “It is a tradition in the Freeborn and the Dominion worlds to life-bond crew to ships or captains. If a ship or the captain perishes, the signal to the device fails and the crew member dies.”
Merral and his companions expressed shock and revulsion.
“I understand that you find this to be a disagreeable concept,” Betafor said. “I am aware it is unknown in the Assembly. That is why I created an . . . alternative version of events.”
“You lied,” Merral said.
Betafor blinked. “If you want to phrase it like that, yes. I lied.”
“We prefer honesty.”
“Thank you for the correction.”
“Betafor,” Anya said, “you do this with cockroach-beasts and ape-creatures too?”
Betafor’s pupils contracted slightly.
Given time and familiarity, we might be able to read something of the emotions of this creature.
“I deduce that you mean the two types of gene-constructed hybrids on the ship. Yes.”
“I don’t see the logic in this, this . . . brutal procedure,” said Anya. “Why cause more deaths?”
“It ensures loyalty.”
“In such evil ways is unity preserved.” Perena’s voice was so quiet as to make Merral wonder if it was meant to be heard. Of course. On worlds where treachery is common, such circuits might have a real value.
“When we heard the ship had been destroyed, Sarudar Azeras realized he had only hours to live. He decided to extract the circuits in his upper chest. They are designed to be hard to remove. We used a robotic arm to remove the main circuit, but there were . . . complications and the wound did not properly heal. Later, it became infected.”
“But you did get the implant out?” Merral asked.
“Let me clarify matters. There were two units—an upper and a lower one. The upper one is the dangerous one and must be removed quickly. The lower one, which is only a minor nuisance, is harder to remove. We took out the upper one and left the lower one.” She paused. “But I think you should remove the lower one, especially as the concept offends you.”
“If we can, we will,” Arabella replied and took a step forward. “Betafor, I have a responsibility to that man. He needs major treatment. Why can’t we just hospitalize him?”
“The ship I was on was stolen by the Freeborn. The Dominion seek to recover it and to have revenge. All who were involved will be destroyed.”
Vero’s voice broke in. “But you were made by the Dominion.”
“Yes. I was made by the Dominion. The first badge I bore was that of the Final Emblem, the sign of the Dominion.” The long smooth sides of her tunic glowed and on a black background a strange red symbol like an in
finity sign or a figure eight on its side appeared. It seemed to move, almost as if it was some sort of ever-flowing coil. There was something unidentifiable about it, though, that troubled Merral. “Then the ship was seized. I could have self-destructed, but instead I chose to serve the Freeborn.” The symbol on her sides changed to a circlet of heavy chains on a dark blue background bisected by a yellow lightning bolt at the top. “Doctor, when the Dominion come, they will destroy—or torture—both me and the sarudar. Our only hope is that they think that we were destroyed.” The tunic sides returned to their pale green hue.
“B-but why can’t we leave you here and take this man to a quiet medical facility somewhere?” Vero asked.
“You do not understand the Dominion. They have many ways of extracting secrets, and human beings are weak. The Dominion can persuade, it can bribe, it can torture. It even has beings who can read minds.”
“Read minds?” Vero looked alarmed.
“Yes. I have . . .” There was a pause. “I have taken a risk in even revealing our existence to you.”
“So why have you taken this risk?” Merral asked.
Betafor turned to Merral. “Sarudar Azeras is my officer. My duty is to serve him.”
There was silence for a moment before Vero spoke. “I have a suggestion. A deep water research station was being constructed on the Manalahi Shoals, two hundred kilometers or so south of Isterrane. Work was recently abandoned as part of the crisis measures. I have been looking at it for some time for—shall we say—other purposes, and I can confirm that most of the medical facilities were completed. I suggest that we treat the patient there.”
“You’d need nursing staff,” Arabella said, “and a small surgical team.”
Vero nodded. “They could be found within the FDF.”
“Indeed,” Merral said. “We’re building up medical expertise. And the nurses—even the doctor—don’t need to know who this man is. Betafor, does he speak our form of Communal?”
“Yes,” Betafor said, “among the humans he was the best speaker on the ship. That is why the captain sent him to this island—in case there was any Assembly presence.”
