Blood of the Cosmos (28 page)

“And how does this concern me?” Zoe asked.

Paolus sputtered. “You have the samples, the data, and the best facilities in the Spiral Arm. Have you investigated the Prince's illness? A rare and unique—”

Zoe remained cold. “We have teams studying the data. It is an interesting disease organism, but we have countless interesting specimens, and not enough time or researchers to study them all. We have catalogued and filed the information appropriately. My people have laid the foundation for a cure, but that is all the farther we've progressed. It is not a priority.” Her teams had actually done a fair amount of work, because Tom Rom suggested it, but Paolus didn't need to know.

He leaned closer to the screen, sweating more now. “Then, I'd like to volunteer to work here. No one knows the intricacies of Reynald's records as I do, and I'm already invested in this project. I have every confidence that I can crack the problem. If we can cure—or at least treat—Prince Reynald, you can't imagine how generous the King and Queen would be. I would”—his voice caught, but he pushed forward—“I'd be willing to split the reward money with you for the further work here at Pergamus.”

With a flash of anger plain on his face, Tom Rom stepped up behind the researcher, intimidating him.

Zoe furrowed her brow. “Dr. Paolus, surely you're not so ignorant about what we do here. All of my work, all of my research, all of my specimens, and all of my cures belong
to me
, and I don't share them. I have never shared them. People will get sick out there, people will die, and people will continue to treat one another like ruthless animals. Time and again, they prove that they are not worth any effort from me to save them.”

“But…” Paolus sputtered, “Prince Reynald is a very important young man! The Confederation's gratitude must be worth something. And the reward—”

“The reward means nothing to me,” Zoe said, “and you have already been paid. Pergamus has been self-sufficient for as long as this facility has existed. Until I think of something that I need or want from the Confederation, they have nothing to offer me.”

Dr. Paolus looked confused. “But … that isn't rational.”

Zoe lost patience. “Pergamus is my facility. I define the parameters, and I make the decisions. My answer is no. Please leave.”

Tom Rom hardened his voice and spoke to the nervous doctor. “I remind you of the confidentiality terms of our business arrangement, not to mention the extraordinary ethical violation you made by breaching your doctor-patient confidentiality when you sold us Reynald's medical records in the first place.”

Paolus was angry and distraught as he prepared to leave the holding dome. “What type of researcher refuses to help people?”

Zoe knew that Dr. Paolus was more intent on helping himself than the ailing Prince. Again, she wasted no time on pleasantries as she signed off. Tom Rom would take care of removing the man from Pergamus. As insurance, she contacted her mercenary squadron in orbit and instructed them to follow Paolus's ship all the way out of the system.

 

CHAPTER

43

LEE ISWANDER

As he flew back from Newstation after leaving Arden at the Roamer school, Iswander felt disappointed at how aloof and closed-minded the clans were toward him. He didn't deserve to be treated that way. But when he saw the industrial lights of the bloater-extraction complex, he knew he had achieved great success. He
knew it
, whether or not the other Roamers gave him credit for what he'd accomplished. Here, he was the uncontested boss, the king of this small but valuable domain.

Lee Iswander had changed, and the Roamers refused to change. He had grown so distant from the clans that he wasn't sure if there was any common ground anymore. Maybe it had been a mistake to leave his son at Academ. Even though he respected Jess Tamblyn and Cesca Peroni, he wondered if a Roamer education was relevant anymore.…

He wanted to earn respect and power for his son, not just himself. “We are
Iswanders
!” he had said to Arden again and again. They weren't just any other Roamer clan.

As he flew in, he noticed that the large ekti tank array was gone—Elisa must have departed already—and a new array was being filled, canister by canister. He was glad to see the well-organized industrial complex that produced and produced and produced. Exactly the way he liked it.

After he docked in the admin hub, Alec Pannebaker met him to provide a quick briefing. The deputy was casual, good-natured, and friendly with everyone. He had worked for Lee Iswander for many years and had remained loyal to him even after Sheol. And Iswander did not treat loyalty lightly.

Elisa Enturi was more intense, more cutthroat, and willing to do anything to further Iswander Industries. The oil-and-water combination of Pannebaker and Elisa made a good enough management team when he himself was gone.

Pannebaker grinned as he handed over the summaries. “Nothing much to look at, boss. Production at peak capacity, just as when you left. Elisa departed for Ulio three days ago with our largest load yet. We're going to need to broaden our distribution—it's a bottleneck. We might need to deal with more than just Kett Shipping.”

Iswander scanned the numbers. “I'm being cautious, and I prefer the single point of contact. Kett Shipping has other vessels they can use—it's their problem to handle our output. But if someone discovered what we do here, our whole business would fall apart.”

If Elisa detected anyone unauthorized in the vicinity—any spycraft, any surveillance ship, or even some lost traveler who stumbled upon the extraction operations—he was confident she would know how to handle it.

The two men walked directly to the control center, bypassing his own quarters. His wife would be waiting for him, full of questions about Arden, about his trip, what the boy had said, and whether he seemed happy to go back to school. Iswander would see Londa later, after he finished his important business here.

He took a moment to drink in all the activity at workstations in the admin hub as well as the movement of equipment out in the bloater cluster. Space travel throughout the Spiral Arm depended on what they did here. With more and more ekti-X available, colonization efforts could increase, shipping routes could be expanded. Twenty years after the Elemental War, the Confederation could become twice as powerful as it had been before—all because of Iswander Industries and what was produced here.

And yet the Roamers brushed him aside. Damn them! Their Guiding Star was a delusion, while his own was laser bright. He was willing to partner with anyone who was just as ambitious, just as willing to risk and work and use their imagination. Roamers were supposed to be visionary, not timid, and he had expected to find many such people among the clans. Not so!

After the recent reaction at Newstation, he realized that pandering to the clans might not be the best way to return to prominence. In fact, if the Roamers were afraid of new ideas, challenges, or risks, Iswander wasn't sure he should be associated with them at all.

Focusing on the activity around him in the control center, he asked Pannebaker, “When do we expect Elisa back from Ulio?”

“Five days or so.” Pannebaker looked out at the bloaters, the machinery draining the nodules dry and storing stardrive fuel. He hesitated. “There's one thing, boss. It's troubling, and I don't know what to make of it.”

Iswander was instantly on his guard. Such comments usually led to news he didn't want to hear.

“The green priest has gone missing.” Pannebaker's brow furrowed. “He escaped one night, probably during a shift change.”

Iswander fought back a groan, tired of defending the eccentric and damaged green priest. Yes, Iswander felt responsible for Aelin, but compassion only extended so far. “How did he escape? Where would he go?” He knew what the man had done before, and he had a good idea what he had done now.

Pannebaker shrugged. “Not a clue, boss. No one saw him, but … my environment suit is missing—the one I use for gap jumping. I think he might've taken it and just … stepped outside.”

Iswander let his eyes fall closed. Not long ago Aelin had been caught trying to steal an inspection pod so he could float out and “commune with the bloaters.” No doubt he had seen Pannebaker's risky free-fall activity and decided to go out among the nodules again. “Have you completed a thorough search? How long has he been gone?”

Pannebaker shook his head. “Best guess—three days. He could never have survived this long.”

Iswander's heart felt heavy. Aelin would have drifted out there unseen. Maybe he had reached one of the big green bloaters, and worked his way through the membrane, where he would have drowned in the fluid. Or maybe he had gone astray and just drifted until his life support ran out. Three days …

Iswander shook his head. “We can't save those who are intent on destroying themselves.” He knew Arden would be disappointed, since he had liked the green priest as a tutor.

Pannebaker remained awkwardly silent, as if the loss of Aelin were his fault. Few people would mourn the green priest, who had caused numerous problems.

Iswander sighed. “Nothing to be done about it. He's gone. In a way, we lost the green priest a long time ago. Continue business as usual.”

 

CHAPTER

44

AELIN

When he allowed himself to awaken from his deathlike trance, Aelin was bone-shatteringly
cold
. Stagnant air filled his lungs, and he exhaled, then drank in oxygen, draining some of the last wisps in his connected tanks. The array of ekti-X cylinders had arrived at Ulio Station, and now the big framework hung near the central backbone of abandoned wrecks.

Aelin didn't move his body as he became aware; he simply blinked his eyes and stared through the helmet faceplate. His body chemistry allowed him to survive on the tiniest gasps of oxygen at freezing temperatures, and he had spent days immersed in a trance with a nearly nonexistent heartbeat. Now, he warmed himself strictly by increasing his metabolism.

Around him, he could no longer sense the thrumming musical song of the bloaters, though he did feel an echo from the tanks themselves, as if the ekti-X still held some kind of energy from the exotic things. His trance-addled brain seemed more sensitive than before, touching the faint cries of the bloaters that had been wrung dry to harvest this fuel.

The tank array was now anchored to one of the stationary hulls that comprised Ulio Station. Transfer ships began to remove the fuel canisters. Aelin felt his thoughts sharpen, and knew he would have to get out of here. Soon.

Aelin glanced at the levels of his oxygen and life-support batteries. Everything read empty … almost. His arms, hands, and feet were numb, and he began to shiver violently, which would burn some of his remaining oxygen—and he couldn't afford that. He had no choice but to increase the heat in his suit, draining some of the last blips of power in the life-support batteries … which he also couldn't afford. Only one of the packs contained any charge at all, and he discarded the rest of them as extraneous.

He disengaged the clip that anchored him in place. Fortunately, his maneuvering-gas tanks were mostly full. He had seen Pannebaker do pirouettes during his gap jumps, spinning around while floating among the industrial operations. Aelin just needed enough propellant to jet out of the array.

A nudge from the propellant jet pushed him through the framework, toward the outside. Other suited workers flitted about; several noticed him, but showed no alarm. His Iswander suit might look different from theirs, but there was no standardized uniform among the station workers. Apparently, at Ulio everyone brought their own equipment.

Keeping his comm switched off, Aelin accelerated down toward the main ships bound together to form Ulio Station: ancient Ildiran wrecks and decommissioned EDF Juggernauts. He knew nothing about this station, had never used his treeling to research the ever-expanding flea market and repair yard. Maybe he would find a green priest on one of the ships clustered here; maybe he would touch a treeling again, reconnect with the verdani mind, although that contact was only a glimmer of what he had touched when he linked with the bloaters. At least he was away, and hope was like adrenaline to him now.

He was revived now, his pulse quickened to a normal rate, but he forced himself to breathe shallowly. His last air tank read empty, as did the remaining battery pack. He had to get inside.

He dove toward the nearest main ship, a repurposed Ildiran warliner with satellite vessels connected like parasites to every possible docking port. Each one of those barnacle ships also had access hatches—and he made his way to the closest one via the shortest possible path. He tried to stop himself from gasping, from fighting the lack of air; the deep cold settled into him again. Even in free fall, he could barely move his legs.

After he struck the outer hull of the satellite ship, he dragged himself ten meters along the surface until he reached an external airlock. With thick, unresponsive fingers he used the manual-activation switches. He sucked great gulps inside his empty helmet and struggled to crawl into the airlock chamber, which opened too slowly. He felt dizzy. Each breath sounded like hollow thunder inside the helmet, and the thrumming voices of the bloaters had gone far, far away. He drew in another deep breath, but there was nothing to breathe.

The airlock door closed behind him, and atmosphere began pumping in.

Aelin slid down the chamber wall. He wanted to shout, to connect with the bloaters one more time, but they were so far away, and the darkness inside his skull was so close.

Finally, the chamber's inner door slid open, and Aelin sprawled out onto the deck. He forced himself to roll over, and, with clumsy fingers and uncooperative joints, he managed to remove his glove for greater access. There was plenty of air right there on the other side of the faceplate, but his helmet remained sealed. He finally cracked the seal at his neck, twisted and pulled off his helmet, letting it roll to one side. He just lay there heaving huge breaths, tasting the spaceship's processed air. It was recycled and filtered with added oxygen. But it was air, it was life.