Raising Caine - eARC (52 page)

Chapter Fifty-One

The Third Silver Tower; BD +02 4076 Two (“Disparity”)

Ben Hwang leaned away from where Caine Riordan lay among, and in some cases fused with, a bewildering array of biots, all presided over by two small but efficient medical monitors . He stepped away from the living bed in which his friend was held, shook his head as the transparent osmotic membrane-dome lowered back down and sealed seamlessly into the rim of the cushion.

Etienne Gaspard hovered near the entry of the room. “Well, Dr. Hwang?”

Hwang shook his head. “I can’t tell much. I’m not a medical doctor, and I’ve only had a day to absorb the details on half of what they’re using to keep him alive. And they won’t explain the other half. ‘Culturally destabilizing technology,’ they call it.”

“Yes, yes, but will he recover?” Gaspard stepped closer, glancing up into the soaring, asymmetrical ceiling that was typical of the chambers within the Third Silver Tower. Seeing it the first time, Hwang had wondered if the Gaudí had been coached by the Slaasriithi when he was building
La Sagrada Família
. At any rate, Hwang didn’t want to answer Gaspard’s question.

“Doctor, will Riordan recover; yes or no?”

Hwang turned to look the ambassador in the eyes. “Etienne, he’s dying. There’s too much compromised tissue, too little respiratory capacity. I wish I had the skill, the knowledge, to help him—but I don’t.”

Gaspard nodded curtly. “Then I shall talk to those who do. Forcibly.” He turned on his heel, stalked toward the exit.

Hwang stared after him.

* * *

The Silver Towers, while the cognitive hive of Slaasriithi life, were also renowned for their serenity, their simplicity. The Towers were objects, yes. They depended upon, and functioned as, machines, yes. But that was why such pains had been taken to create them as artifacts that invoked ancient feelings of safety and repose. They soared up beyond where predators might threaten, presenting adamantine walls to the world while, within, their chambers strove gracefully upward toward the sky.

But serenity was in short supply in the Third Silver Tower, Mriif’vaal reflected sadly as he entered the neoaerie. From the moment that Yiithrii’ah’aash’s shift-carrier had been attacked in orbit, and the human survivors had landed in the reaches overseen by the Tower, its many halls and chambers had been in comparative turmoil. Calls for urgent decisions on urgent matters—a rarity in themselves—had flooded in at an increasing rate. And then in the last forty-eight hours—

Another orbital attack. An atmospheric intrusion. Requests for help and consequent protocol challenges. Consultations with the First Silver Tower. Responses and debates. Transfers of equipment and authority. Bloody battle. And now a collection of bedraggled and bruised humans, their eyes furtive and cautious, dwelling within the Third Silver Tower like so many truant predators, uncertain of what they should trust, if anything. It was most unsettling, Mriif’vaal admitted wearily.

But when the neoaerie’s spore-transfer ducts wafted the approach of W’th’vaathi and Thnessfiirm, he signaled his receptivity. They, of all Slaasriithi, were the most knowledgeable about the humans and had the most right to make inquiries or reports, given the harrowing days they had just lived through.

To Mriif’vaal’s right, Hsaefyrr gestured subtly with one tendril tip when the pair appeared in the entrance. “Note the cerdor, Thnessfiirm. She appears distressed.”

Mriif’vaal allowed that “distressed” was a charitable description. Thnessfiirm evinced more than the typical quick motions and eager activity of her taxon; she seemed ready to tremble. Her sensor cluster did not merely move swiftly, but abruptly; gone was the smooth steadiness of a neurologically healthy cerdor. Her neck skin was haggard and her pelt beginning to tuft, in patches. Mriif’vaal grieved her obvious distress, greeted the two with a greater measure of affinity and empathy spores as they arrived at the Ratiocinator’s Ring and sat.

“I am most gratified to see you, W’th’vaathi and Thnessfiirm. I trust you are recovering from your ordeal.”

W’th’vaathi’s sensor cluster angled briefly toward Thnessfiirm. “I do not believe I may call
my
experience of the last days an ordeal, Senior Ratiocinator. Not in comparison to my companion.”

If Thnessfiirm had any reaction to, or had even registered, the conversation thus far, she gave no indication of it. She seemed intent on gazing up into the soaring heights of the neoaerie.

W’th’vaathi settled into the framed stool that Slaasriithi preferred as chairs. “Mriif’vaal, I have a—a difficulty to report.”

Mriif’vaal’s tendrils were a soothing current of invitation. “Please do so.”

“I speak without preamble, though much might be wanted. In short, the human ambassador Gaspard has learned that we have a cure for Caine Riordan’s condition.”

Mriif’vaal peripherally noticed Hsaefyrr’s sensor cluster rotate toward W’th’vaathi and remain focused there. “And how did the human ambassador learn of this?”

“I alluded to it in a conversation, Senior Ratiocinator. During the final leg of our journey here, he asked if we had cures for Caine Riordan’s affliction. I answered that we did. He specifically followed by asking if we were certain that our cures would be sufficient to deal with a condition as severe and advanced as Captain Riordan’s.”

Mriif’vaal resisted the impulse to retract his sensor cluster sharply. “And you answered in the affirmative?”

“Not precisely, but I assured him that there were several different therapies we could apply, and that our records indicated that the strongest of them was efficacious against the spores which afflicted Riordan. Even unto the last hours of a human’s life.”

Mriif’vaal closed his many eyes. W’th’vaathi was skilled and a fast-learner. However, the skill of dissembling—even in so small a degree as prudently keeping one’s silence, or electing not to share crucial information—was always difficult for Slaasriithi to acquire, no matter their taxon, no matter their role. “This places us in a difficult position,” he admitted to W’th’vaathi.

W’th’vaathi’s voice was surprisingly firm in reply. “With all due regard, Senior Ratiocinator, we are complicit. The humans requested, on multiple occasions, stronger and faster intervention on our part. And we did nothing.”

Mriif’vaal waved two tendrils in temporizing agreement. “There are always casualties, even amongst the most deserving, when contention erupts, W’th’vaathi. It is one of the great truths which has driven our evolution away from the conflicts you witnessed in these past days.”

“Yes, but I wonder if Yiithrii’ah’aash will feel similarly. They were our guests here, invited explicitly to this planet. Although their misfortunes may illuminate and underscore the benefits of our evolutionary path, that does not absolve us from having failed to intervene in a timely fashion.” She paused. “I presume you are also aware of how strongly, and uniquely, Caine Riordan is marked.”

Mriif’vaal was quiet. “And the human ambassador is also aware of Riordan’s atypical marking?”

“Yes, and it has emboldened him. He is adamant that we save the captain or, to quote Mr. Gaspard, ‘the relations between our two species may be strained to such a point where they cannot be productively pursued at this time.’ He also wondered how Yiithrii’ah’aash would react if he were to learn that we had not used every resource to save Riordan’s life.”

As well he might wonder. As must we all.

Mriif’vaal was startled out of his thoughts by Thnessfiirm’s sudden interjection; there was no spore-warning that she had even intended to speak. “Caine Riordan is a brave being. His ways may not be ours, but he sought to minimize harm to all of us. He did not fight to kill, not as a predator; he fought to protect, to preserve. I—I wish I had his instincts for that.”

And now the source of Thnessfiirm’s misery and distress was clear. It was the age-old risk that accompanied all contact between Slaasriithi and other species.
Our natural empathy is perturbed when we Affine ourselves to creatures whose ways are praiseworthy, yet not our own. It can tear us in two, if we are not careful.
“Thnessfiirm, I assure you: the conduct of Caine Riordan is known to us and shall weigh greatly upon our decision in this matter, as it would upon any boon these humans would ask of us.”

Hsaefyrr’s age-thready voice was aimed down at W’th’vaathi, but was canted for Mriif’vaal’s benefit as well. “However, the request for this cure is not so simple as it sounds. It involves matters of ancient and grave consequence.”

W’th’vaathi’s neck oscillated once. “I do not understand.”

“At this point, that is as it should be.” Hsaefyrr settled back, buzzing faintly. Then, more quietly to Mriif’vaal. “We must, I think, compare our thoughts on this matter.”

Mriif’vaal let his tendrils interlace slowly, carefully. “I think you are correct, old friend. For I fear we have a more difficult conversation before us.”

Hsaefyrr’s respiration slits widened in surprise for a moment. “I am ever your friend and mentor, Mriif’vaal, but if you refer to a conversation involving the First Silver Tower—”

“—I do—”

“Then that is one conversation I am not eager to undertake with you. Or in your stead.”

“Of course not.” Mriif’vaal sent a light dusting of affinity and amusement at his old friend. “You are too sane to wish such a thing upon yourself, Hsaefyrr.”

* * *

Outside the room that seemed part ICU and part laboratory, Bannor Rulaine sat with folded hands, staring at the living membrane which covered Caine’s body. With the setting of the sun, the membrane had phased from transparent to dimly translucent. He hadn’t heard Pandora Veriden approach, started when she sat next to him.

After a full minute, she muttered. “You can’t stay here forever, you know.”

“Just watch me.”

Her sigh was an audial monument to exasperation. “Jeez, what is it with you military guys? You don’t have to stand watch over him, and being here isn’t going to determine whether Riordan lives or— Look; you weren’t even supposed to make it down to the planet. That was an insane stunt. Saved all our asses, yes, but insane nonetheless. You did everything you could. Now give it, and yourself, a rest.”

Rulaine was not angry when he turned toward her, hoped that lack of animus was clear in his voice and his eyes, because he wasn’t sure how she’d hear his words. “Ms. Veriden, you just don’t get it. Despite all your training, you were never military—or raised around that ethos—so you’ll allow my conjecture that you just don’t understand what makes us tick.”

“Sure I do; duty and honor. Responsibility. In another minute, you’re going to be telling me that it doesn’t matter that the corvette was stuck in orbit; that Riordan’s safety was your assignment and that you failed. End of story.”

“And it pretty much does come to that, Ms. Veriden. But it doesn’t stop there. In fact, that doesn’t even begin to touch the surface. That’s the recruiting slogan, the ad jingle; that’s not our life. And that’s the part a civilian, even a civilian combat veteran, is not likely to understand because the only way you get to know it is to live it.

“Look: I like Caine. A lot. But that’s not why I’m here. I’d be here even if I hated his guts. I’ve sat this kind of, well, vigil, I guess you’d call it, more than a few times before. There’s always one of the team there. So your brother or sister doesn’t wake up alone. Or face the dark alone. They might not know you’re there, but
you
know. That’s what matters. And when everyone in a unit is committed that way, then, when the shit starts hitting the fan and you look around the hole or the hooch or the bunker and you see the fear of death in everyone else’s eyes, you can still hold on to something: each other. It’s the knowledge that we will not break. That our bond is stronger than the death facing us. It has to be, otherwise all hope is lost.”

Rulaine leaned back against the smooth, metallic wall of the Third Silver Tower. “You see, Ms. Veriden, it’s not just about honor and fellowship and brotherhood. It’s about survival, too. You tend the bonds that keep you strong, and not just for yourself or your fallen friend, but for the morale, the sense of unity, that binds the whole unit.” He folded his hands, leaned forward, stared at the oval fusion of machine and plant that held Riordan. “And you tend them most, well, punctiliously, at times like this.”

Veriden physically started when Rulaine used the word “punctilious.” “You’re not just a grunt, are you, Major?”

Bannor shook his head. “Ms. Veriden, that question is wrong in so many ways, including the mere asking of it, that I don’t know where to begin.”

She frowned. “Yeah. I guess that was pretty shitty. Sorry. Didn’t mean it that way.”

Rulaine resisted the urge to ask,
“Then just how
did
you mean it?”
and instead speculated that Dora Veriden probably had a long history of putting her foot in her mouth. She did not have a winning way with people and seemed uninterested in improving the related skill sets. Of course, she was a solo operator, so maybe that lack of reliance upon, or even toleration of, other people was a professional advantage. She wouldn’t have been the first field agent whose specialization had been driven by inborn predispositions and personality traits. He turned toward her. “So did you come to keep me company?”
As if.

She actually seemed a bit abashed. “No. I’ve got some news.”

“Oh?”

“Thanks to our forensics fan Peter Wu, Ben Hwang found some weird critter in a hermetic cell sealed inside Macmillan’s right boot. Turned to goo the moment he breached the little chamber.”

Bannor nodded. “Like the one you found on Danysh’s body, after the shuttle crashed?”

“Just like that one. Hwang tried to get it into a sealed container, evacuate the air. Didn’t do it in time; after an hour, it was paste. Just like the other one.”

“What else?”

“We found one live clone. We’re delaying the debrief until you give input.”

“No more wounded? Just one alive and the rest dead? That’s pretty peculiar.”

Veriden shook her head. “Not so peculiar when they kill their own. Seven or eight were maimed or incapacitated by the rockets; a few by gunfire. All stabbed in the heart. Real professional, too.”