“But what are we to do?” one of the women—Domenic thought it was Lorrill Vallonde’s daughter—cried.
“Stay here, where we are working on a cure. Carry that back to your lands and families!” Domenic had no idea if he could keep such a brazen promise.
Whether you believe me or not, you will not spread panic and chaos, which would only make the situation worse! The people in Alanna’s dire vision could have died by one another’s hands as well as from the plague.
Domenic poured all the authority he possessed into his next orders. “No one is to leave the city. Order will prevail. The Comyn will not descend into savagery. We will search for a cure, and we will care for those who become ill.”
“Cure?” Robert Aldaran said, his face torn between terror and blatant skepticism. “There is no cure!”
“The Terrans—” someone said.
“The Terrans found a vaccine, not a cure!” Robert retorted. “Now they’re gone, and we don’t even have that! You fools! We’re all going to die, don’t you know that? I for one would rather end my days in my own mountains, with my own people!”
Cisco Ridenow, who had been standing with his Guardsmen just inside the double doors, looked pointedly at Domenic, awaiting the signal to close in and enforce order. If that became necessary, Domenic thought, he would already have lost control. He needed these people as cooperative, committed allies, not prisoners. He had to give them reason to hope, to believe that working together offered their only chance of survival.
“Listen to me!” Domenic said. “The Federation is gone, that is true, but not their knowledge. Their Base still stands, and in the Medical Center is a library of everything they learned about the fever. Even as we speak, a team of experts is searching those records. At the same time, the Keepers Council will be using their laran to develop an effective treatment. Even if you mistrust the technology of the Terranan, do you also doubt the Keepers of not one but five Towers? Do you think a mere disease can stand against our matrix science?”
For a long moment, no one answered. Domenic sensed fear give way to tentative hope, or at least acceptance. He had them…almost.
Shaking his head, Rufus DiAsturien stood forward. “Vai dom, you mean well. None of us doubts that. But if a cure were possible, would not the vai leroni of those past times have found it?”
“These are not past times.” Domenic shook his head. “Before, each Tower worked in isolation. Now we can share our strength and knowledge.”
Across the room, under the white tower banner, Laurinda MacBard raised her head. Her homely features brightened as if lit by an inner fire. She was the only member of the Keepers Council present. All the rest were either tending Mikhail and Marilla or in conference with Marguerida.
“Young Lord Domenic speaks the truth,” she said. “We of the Towers have kept to ourselves for far too long, each answering only to the conscience of our own Keeper. We have spoken to one another over the relays, but we have always guarded our secrets, hoarding our discoveries. Now, for the first time in memory, we have the opportunity—and the duty—to work together.”
Pausing, she fixed Robert with a fierce glare. He gulped and sat down. “Here in Thendara, we have representatives—Keepers and under-Keepers—from five different Towers. Who is to say what we can accomplish when we put our united minds to it?”
Domenic let a long moment pass for Laurinda’s words to sink it. “Not only that, we can combine the wisdom and strength of the Towers with the medical science of the Terrans. This too has never happened before, and I believe we will prevail! Who is with me?”
Rufus, who was still on his feet, bowed slowly and formally to Domenic. It took Domenic a long moment to realize that the old man acted for them all. That they had agreed to his command. That he had won this round.
For the moment, he had the cooperation of the Council. For how long? he wondered as the meeting adjourned. If the search of the Terran records and the efforts of the Keepers could not contain the fever, it would no longer matter who ruled over a dying city.
33
Domenic craned his neck to look up at the tall, rectangular buildings that formed the Terran Federation Base, thinking how different the place looked from when he had visited it as a child. Once it was a beehive of activity, with men and women in outlandish, immodest clothing hurrying about their business, spaceport police in black leather, Renunciate travel guides and translators, workmen and suppliers. The Base had been a city unto itself, steel towers and stark white walls, austere and yet beautiful with its own exotic customs.
Most of the Trade City was gone now, absorbed into the living city of Thendara, but these towers remained, locked and deserted. Few Darkovans had ventured inside the perimeter fence once it became evident that there was no easy access for looting, and even fewer made their way through the vicinity today, for the growing epidemic kept many indoors.
“Strange, isn’t it?” Domenic said to Donal, who now went everywhere in the city with him. “This place belongs on another planet, and yet it’s been here since the time of our grandfathers.”
“As you say, Dom Domenic,” Donal replied, “but not even the Terranan could teach Durraman’s donkey to sing.”
“Or to make anything like this truly Darkovan?” Domenic permitted himself a chuckle. “I suppose you’re right, but I can’t imagine Thendara without it.”
Now our fate may ride on what lies within.
“There you are! Have you been waiting long?” Marguerida hurried up to the gate and kissed Domenic’s cheek. From the practical way she’d pinned up her hair and the utilitarian comfort of her clothing, a tunic of soft wool loosely belted over a simple underdress, she was eager to get to work.
She’d brought assistants: two grim-faced Renunciates, healers who had participated in the Bridge Society exchanges, and Katherine Aldaran, who had married Hermes Aldaran while he was the Darkovan Senator to the Federation. Katherine looked nervous and a bit strained. That was not surprising, for she had reason to be concerned about Terése and Sibelle, back at Castle Aldaran, and the outbreak of fever in Caer Donn.
Domenic was sorry not to see his Uncle Rafe Scott, who was climbing in the Hellers at this season, since Rafe’s knowledge of the Base would have been very useful.
Domenic nodded to his mother’s other companion, who returned the greeting with an easy smile. It had been some years since Domenic had seen Ethan MacDoevid. Ethan was about ten years his senior, with dark hair and open, generous features. He came from a crafter family of clothmakers and had known Marguerida since her first tenday on Darkover. As a boy, Ethan had been caught up in the spaceman craze, wild to learn everything about the Federation.
“My cousin Geremy’s searching for others who were employed on the Base,” Ethan said. “There may be dozens of other families in the city who once had Terranan ties—traders, scholars, the like. No one ever thought to keep track of them once the Base was closed.”
Marguerida slipped off the thin leather glove from her left hand to reveal the glimmering outlines of a faceted stone, imprinted into her flesh. As she touched the locked door, the shadow matrix flashed blue-white. Domenic winced at the raw laran power, harsh like salt over abraded skin. Then something mechanical shifted within, and the door swung open.
With Donal at his heels, Domenic entered a vast, cavernous chamber, lightless and deathly still. A moment later, a row of yellow-tinted lights appeared above his head.
Safety lights, he thought, running on backup batteries. The Federation intended to return some day, but it didn’t make sense to waste energy on heat and light for a place that no one used.
Domenic smiled at himself as his eyes adjusted to the partial light of the lobby, bemused that he even knew about such things as backup batteries. Marguerida had been adamant that all her children receive a minimum education by Terran Federation standards.
“You can never tell, one of you might want to study off-world. I won’t have you growing up as illiterate savages,”
she’d said on more than one occasion. Somewhat to her disappointment, none of them had developed the slightest interest in going to University. Who could have guessed that he would use that training right here in Thendara?
Ethan went to one of the consoles facing the entrance and tapped in a pattern on a screen. Domenic sensed rather than heard some vast machinery start up in the depths of the building, perhaps the underground power plant that had been installed when the Base was first built.
A few moments later, Domenic felt the whisper of air on his cheek. The safety lights gave way to brighter illumination. With the return of ventilation came an acrid smell. Domenic coughed, his eyes watering, and even the Renunciates could not disguise their repugnance.
“The air should freshen as the scrubbers kick in,” Ethan said with infuriating cheerfulness. “That delightful stench is out-gassing from the synthetics. When I worked here, I eventually got used to it.”
“Yes,” Marguerida said, “we humans can adapt to almost anything. Come on, the Medical Center is this way.”
The sound of their boots echoed in the long, bleak corridor. They kept together, reluctant to become separated in this strange, lifeless place. As they continued, lights sprang on.
Marguerida quickly located the records facility within the Medical Center and led them to a nearby conference room. Within minutes, she had organized everyone into teams. She and Katherine would search the computer for information on the Allison Expedition and the resultant vaccine. The two Renunciates were to make a more general study of the virology of the infectious agent. Ethan, who was more familiar with the physical layout of the place, went off in search of paper records.
“For a society that was supposed to run entirely on computers, we always had a stack of forms, logbooks, requisition slips, you name it.” Katherine’s mouth twitched into a wry half-smile as she settled at one of the computer stations. Tucking back a strand of glossy, ebony-dark hair, she switched on the screen.
“In triplicate!” Marguerida said, and they both laughed.
Domenic exchanged a puzzled glance with Donal, unable to understand what was so funny, and then left to continue his own work.
Domenic returned to the Terran Base late in the same afternoon, with Donal as his silent shadow. He had been able to reassure the members of the Council about the efforts of the research team, but the situation in the city was rapidly worsening. The number of new cases of fever increased hourly. Danilo and Darius-Mikhail had been setting up clinic shelters, drawing from the city’s matrix mechanics, herbal healers, anyone with nursing experience.
Domenic had already ordered the distribution of supplies of water, food, blankets, and medicines from the Castle. In addition, he realized they needed a central location for planning and coordination. Donal had suggested using the Grand Hall, and he set about making arrangements.
As he entered the conference room in the Terran Medical Center, Marguerida looked up from the table covered with diagrams, file folders, and piles of discolored flimsies. From the lines between her brows and the faint tremor of laran in the air, she had been battling one of her headaches.
She extended her hand to Domenic with a wan smile. “Bless you for interrupting us! We’ve worked far too long without a break.”
“I now know a hundred places not to look.” Dispiritedly, Ethan tossed another folder on the pile. “I’ve combed through personnel files and supplies requisitions. I can tell you how many pounds of flimsy substrate and detergent were needed every tenday or everything about agricultural beetles of the Valeron Plains. But nothing on human diseases or the Allison expedition.”
“What about the rest of you?” Domenic asked. “Did you have any better luck?”
The two Renunciates shook their heads. From her computer station, Katherine sighed. She had found references to the expedition, but very few details and none of them medical.
“How could the Terrans lose the records of such an important scientific expedition?” Domenic said.
“Look,” Katherine said. “I’ll show you.”
Domenic looked over her shoulder as she slowly tapped in, MEDICAL PERSONNEL.
Name? The computer inquired.
ALLISON, JAY, M.D.
The computer hesitated, as if mulling over her request. Then a man’s portrait appeared in the upper right of the screen, lean and composed, with a pleasant mouth and shadowed eyes.
Surgeon, Terran Federation Medical Service. Consultant, Department of Alien Anthropology; specialist in Darkovan parasitology…
Leaning over Katherine’s shoulder, Domenic skimmed the details of Allison’s schooling, his internship and residencies, his publications.
…participant in Allison Expedition, Project Telepath…
Katherine touched the key that froze the narrative and highlighted, ALLISON EXPEDITION.
Mountaineering expedition to trailmen territory, organized by Dr. Randall Forth and Lord Regis Hastur; personnel included…
“No, that won’t help. I’ve read that same summary a hundred times.” Marguerida reached over and tapped in, TRAILMEN. DISEASES OF.
Again there was a pause. A box, bordered in red and black, appeared in the center of the screen.
Security authorization? it read.
“What in Zandru’s Seven Frozen Hells does that mean?” Domenic stared in disbelief. Why require a security clearance on nonhuman diseases?
“Who organized this database, anyway?” Exasperation edged Katherine’s voice. “And why didn’t they include a decent search function?”
“Some pea-brained bureaucrat, anxious to keep his librarian nephew in permanent employment, no doubt,” Marguerida answered, sighing. “It probably never occurred to them that someone not already familiar with the system would have to find something, particularly as obscure as a native trek to uncharted territory relating to a disease thought to be extinct.”
“I suppose it was too much to hope for results in a single day,” Domenic said, masking his disappointment.
“Research can be like that.” Marguerida stretched, arching her back. “We’ll come back tomorrow with reinforcements.”
“Good idea,” Katherine said. “I’ve got tight muscles all over.”
“We should leave the power on standby,” Ethan said as they retraced their steps. “The plant should be good for a couple of centuries, but I wouldn’t want to count on it.”
“There’s no point in wasting energy,” Marguerida said. “A hundred years from now, or two, or three, our descendants may need this very same library. That is, assuming the Federation hasn’t returned to reclaim the Base before that.”
They came out into the street. Dusk was falling, a swift velvet shadow through the light drizzle. Orange and yellow lights dotted the old city. In the distance, the sound muffled by walls and wooden gates, a dog barked.
“Do you think they will ever return?” Katherine asked, tilting her head back to peer through the darkening clouds.
Marguerida grimaced. “That depends, I suppose, upon how thoroughly they blow one another up. I can’t imagine them abandoning Darkover forever. Even if we have nothing else they want, our position in the galactic arm makes us invaluable as a transit point. No, I very much fear that whoever comes out on top will come back and take what they need, regardless of whether it is to our benefit or even our liking.”
She paused and turned back to the lock, resetting it with the matrix imprinted on her left hand in much the same manner as she had released it.
They made their way back to Comyn Castle. Far fewer people than usual were abroad at this hour. The nearly deserted cobblestoned streets of the old Trade City seemed darker and narrower than ever. Even the air bore a close, dank edge. Many of the taverns were shut up, but a few braziers burned outside closed shops, and men in tattered clothing hunched beside them, drinking. They looked up with glazed, smoke-reddened eyes. When they saw Donal’s sword, they shambled away.
From time to time, Marguerida rubbed her temples.
>
“Mother, are you all right?” Domenic asked. “Shall I send Donal for a sedan chair for you?”
“I am well enough, and I don’t mind a little rain,” Marguerida answered, although her strained voice belied her words. “This is no ordinary headache, to pass with rest and quiet. It is a sort of warning, and it will plague me until whatever it portends has come to pass.”
“Can you see what will happen?”
She shook her head. “No, only an infuriatingly vague sense of foreboding. I would like to tell that part of my mind that I already know bad things are about to happen, and could it please leave me alone to deal with them, but I doubt it would do any good.”
As they neared the Castle, the streets broadened, and the air grew fresher. Night-blooming flowers grew in planters along the way. Marguerida sighed and slipped her hand through Domenic’s elbow. “Still, it is reassuring to know I do not face it alone.”
34
Once at the Castle, Katherine returned to her own quarters, but Domenic, Donal, and Marguerida went on to the Grand Hall, where only a few days ago they had feasted and danced. Gone was the elaborate holiday buffet. The festive decorations had been removed, including the mirrors, so the hall seemed smaller and darker. The Castle servants had transformed it into a working headquarters. Tables had been set up, some as work spaces, others holding simple, nourishing food. A cluster of Guardsmen, cloaked for patrol, were helping themselves from a steaming soup tureen. Others stood, talking and sipping mugs of jaco.
Domenic took a bowl of thick bean stew, nut bread smeared with cheese, and a goblet of watered wine. He and Donal sat down at a table where Danilo and Darius-Mikhail were poring over charts and lists. A moment later, fortified with jaco and a plate of honey-nut pastries, Marguerida joined them.
“The craft guilds are reluctant to open their halls to outsiders. They say it’s enough to care for their own,” Darius-Mikhail said, finishing up a point he had made to Danilo. “The clinic shelters will soon be overtaxed.”