The City Who Fought by S. M. Stirling
“Here it is,” he said bitterly, holding up a small synthetic container.
Channa automatically glanced down at the box, a capsule dispenser, standard model, but looked more closely at him.
“Are you all right, Doctor?” she said anxiously. There were other medicos on the station, but only one Chaundra. Personal factors aside, he was also the only specialist with experience in original viral research.
“Tired is all,” he said. The non-Standard accent in his voice was stronger than usual, a trace of liquid singsong. He stood for a moment by her desk looking at the box he carried, then he placed it in front of her. “They’re ready,” he said, pointing to it.
Channa touched the dispenser slot and it dropped a gelatin capsule filled with clear liquid into her palm.
“The virus,” she said.
“Yes,” he murmured. “I, who am a healer, have created for you a weapon.”
“A nonlethal weapon for self-defense,” she said in gentle correction.
“Hopefully nonlethal. How can I be sure, with a genetically nonstandard target population? I cannot even be certain nobody on the station will die of it!”
“The probability—” Simeon began in a firm tone.
“—is vanishingly small, yes, indeed,” Chaundra said. Then he sighed. “There is no sense in complaining after the fact. We have made enough so every man and woman on the station gets five. I can’t imagine anyone being unlucky enough to need more than that. What you do, is bite down on it. Don’t swallow and breathe it all over the Kolnari nearest you. It is contagious even if swallowed, you understand, but more so with direct contact. If the pirate wishes to kiss you, by all means let them.”
“Ugh!” Channa said, making a face.
“I’ve alerted the group leaders to call in at the clinic to collect dispensers for distribution to their people,” Simeon said.
“Remind them, will you,” Chaundra said, “that anyone who uses a capsule should report as soon as possible to the clinic for the protective shot. They’ll get a light dose then, but their . . . um . . . victim will get very sick indeed.”
“Symptoms?” asked Channa.
“Headache, nausea, diarrhea, fever, possible delirium.” He shivered. “I must get back to my lab. So much more needs to be done, and there is so little time to do it all in.”
“You need to sleep,” Channa said firmly. “Go to bed for a minimum of six hours.”
“That’s an order, Chaundra,” Simeon told him, “as of now, you’re off duty until tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, of course.” Chaundra nodded abstractedly. “And the volunteers,” he continued, “have them in the hospital as soon as the pirates appear. We can accelerate the onset—”
“Go to bed!” Channa took him by the arms and gave him a little shake, finally getting his startled attention.
“Oh . . .” He smiled. “Good idea. Um . . .” He paused at the door and blinked. “Oh, yes. Joat—I have met young Joat. She is a bit . . . more mature than I thought she was.” He frowned, looking concerned. “Do you think it will be all right, their being together so much? Her and Seld, I mean.”
Channa blinked. At least nobody has been unkind enough to mention any grisly tales of Joat’s life story, she thought.
“Uh, I don’t think it will matter,” Simeon said, slightly amused. “They’ll be kept well-occupied, you know, and they are neither of them physically adult.”
“You are very off-handed for a proper father of a daughter,” Chaundra said owlishly.
“Well, I am her father—or will be when the papers are completed. Truly, Chaundra, I think we can depend on Joat to be responsible. I trust her. She may operate on her own code of ethics, but she is more consistent about it than many adults I have encountered. I’m not worried.”
Chaundra sighed. “I wish I had a credit for every time someone has told me that they are not worried. They’re at a volatile age and they can’t even trust themselves. Hell,” he said throwing his arms wide, “under all this pressure, the adults on this station can’t trust themselves. How can we expect these kids to?”
Channa felt her color rise. “We can only anticipate the problem and talk to them and hope for the best. If they’re so inclined,” to her surprise, she couldn’t force herself to be more specific, “they’ll find a time and place where we can’t interfere. So let’s not wear ourselves down worrying about it.”
A whole new set of problems, she thought. Correcting the damage done to Joat’s psychosexual development was probably going to take many years. Right now the girl needed Seld to be her friend, not her bed partner. He was definitely her friend but . . . Channa remembered what boys were like at that age, too. There’s more of a danger that she’d break his arm. But she needs a friend. Something else to lie sleepless and worry over. Or had anyone told Joat about Seld’s medical problems? Privacy, she thought. Seld had the right to deal with that in his own time.
“Hey!” Simeon said. “Yoohoo! Channa! Chaundra. You’re both tired. Everything looks manageable when you’ve had some sleep. So go sleep. We’ll take care of the capsules and we’ll organize the volunteers. Don’t worry about a thing.”
Chaundra sighed again and assumed a wry expression. “Amateurs,” he mumbled. “What you’re experiencing, Simeon, is denial. You can’t avoid such problems by pretending they don’t exist.” His shoulders fell “I’ll have Seld bring her home with him after they’re through working today.” He waved goodbye and left.
“Denial,” Simeon said musingly. Strange, knowing what he did of her past, he knew that sex was the last thing Joat would think of as a recreational activity. That was the commonest symptom of the particular form of abuse she had suffered—and still the idea made him uneasy. Fatherhood.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Channa told him, and marched briskly back to her desk. She sat down and spun the box of capsules around with one finger. “I was thinking,” she said, “wouldn’t it be great if we could up the ante on these?” She looked at Simeon’s column.
“Yeah, it would. But we’re already putting our people at risk. I’m not willing to do the enemy’s work for them. Y’know?”
“Mmm. True. What if we could make them believe it’s worse than it really is?”
“Hard to say without knowing their physiology, tissue samples . . . Oh. You’re talking about a con game, aren’t you, Happy?”
“It all depends on their psychology, of course. And I’m not happy.”
“Well,” Simeon said dubiously, “the Navy psych reports aren’t too detailed. These splinter groups are usually aberrant. Generally speaking, the reports say the Kolnari are extremely aggressive towards those they perceive as weak, treacherous but willing to bargain with their equals in power, and have a flight/submission reflex towards superiors—until the superiors let down their guard, which is a sign of weakness.”
“Oh, what a love-feast their culture must be!” Channa said. “Hmmm. They’d be vulnerable to status and power anxieties, then. And lots of internal rivalries.”
“You betcha. According to the reports, they’re also as superstitious as horses. They know some science, but they’re not scientific, if you know what I mean.”
“I think I get the picture. So?”
“We could modify some of the holo-projectors beside the security cameras and flash ‘hallucinations’ for the benefit of those who’ve had the virus. Auditory hallucinations are no problem. I could project them and no one would be the wiser.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah,” he seemed to be whispering directly into her ear, “and without using your implant.”
“Wow,” she said, touching her ear, “that’s spooky. How did you do that?”
“Just threw my voice—heterodyning waves from multiple sources. It takes practice, but as you saw, the effect is worth it.”
She shook her head, wide-eyed. “If you can come up with something visual to go with that, they’ll be running for their ships the first day.”
“Can’t overdo it. It’ll be easiest if they’re alone when they see these things, otherwise it could be considered suspicious. I’ll sound Joat out. That girl’s a fountain of ideas.”
Channa winced and forbore to ask what kind. Chaundra’s comments almost visibly flooded back into her conscious mind.
“Don’t let it worry you, she’s a good kid,” Simeon said emphatically.
“I don’t want to think about it.”
“You really are concerned about Rachel’s sanity, aren’t you?”
Amos and Channa were settled comfortably on the settee. Simeon had tactfully withdrawn his image from the pillar screen, leaving a strikingly realistic crackling fire in its place. Somehow he had even manage to replicate the scent of burning cedarwood. Amos had had to tactilely reassure himself that the fire was an image.
“Yes, she is definitely unstable,” he said, his shoulders sagging hopelessly. “Among all the other problems, I must worry about this! It is so . . . so petty.”
“Humans can be a remarkably petty species,” Channa said philosophically. Particularly that hysterical bitch Rachel. “When you get down to cases, lots of ‘big issues’ have been decided on personal matters. From Harmodias and Aristogetion on down.” Amos looked blank. “Two ancient Greeks. Never mind. Briefly, a government was overthrown because of a love-triangle.”
Amos sighed again and reached for his snifter of brandy. “I care nothing about her and my best friend would give his life for her,” he said, shaking his head. “Channa—”
“Yes?”
“I know here—” he touched his head “—that this . . . delusion of hers has nothing to do with me. But here—” he touched his heart “—I cannot help but feel that I must somehow be to blame. I was a . . . caller-of-spirit: you would say a preacher. Oh, yes, I knew that half the women in those crowds were in love with me. What of it? I would never touch any of them, for that would be dishonorable and destroy my cause more surely than any other offense. The folk of Bethel are . . . inflexible about such matters. Yet if I knew and accepted love, if it flattered my vanity, am I not in some manner responsible? How desperate she must be, and how lonely. It is sad.”
Channa patted his arm and smiled soothingly. “From your description, it was never this bad before. If you’re to blame, then so is every charismatic politician and holo star since time began. Her . . . delusion . . . may have been aggravated by those drugs, although she’s not responding to medication. Simeon, has anyone talked to Chaundra about this?”
“Not yet,” he said, after a tactful pause to suggest he hadn’t been listening.
“I have decided to keep her under my eye,” Amos said, adding reluctantly, “Mental care, the cure of souls. It is part of our religion that only those consecrated can perform cures of the human soul.”
“Mmm.” Your religion sucks wind, she thought silently. No sense in offending Amos, of course. Humans shouldn’t be forced to take religion. That should be free choice. “Maybe we’d better let Chaundra know that Rachel isn’t responding to treatment. She may need stronger calmers. Let’s face it, when the pirates arrive, you’re going to have a surfeit of problems to keep under your eyes.”
“I can keep my eye on more than one thing at a time, Channa,” Simeon cut in abruptly. “Simeon-Amos?”
He nodded. “I agree with Channa. I will speak with the doctor of this. This is my burden, my obligation. I will do it.” He rose and disappeared into his room, shoulders bowed.
Channa shook her head, “You’d think he was sending her off to be executed.”
“Who knows how his people view psych treatment? Confession seems to be a major element in their religion. To him, treating this as a medical problem could be equivalent to blasphemy.”
“Hmph.” She turned to squint at his column. “By the way, don’t try to tell me that you didn’t enjoy that little interruption, Simeon. I know you too well by now.”
“Okay.” His voice was downright cheery.
She smiled ruefully. “Just don’t make a habit of it, okay?”
“There are no guarantees in life, Channa.”
“Oh, no? If I ever get the idea that you’re engineering any more little disruptions of my love life, I guarantee that you’ll regret it.”
“Hey, be reasonable, Channa! What could I possibly have to do with Rachel going bonkers? I didn’t even let her into the lounge. I could have, y’know.”
Channa shrugged and grunted.
“I thought about not telling you she was trying to beat the door down, I really did. But then I figured she’d go grab a laser and cut her way in. And, of course, if she had caught you two in flagrante delicto, she wouldn’t have stopped at cutting up doors.”
“Oh, thank you, Simeon, you are such a hero, saving me from a fate worse than death and death itself. Consider yourself hugged and slobbered over in an ecstasy of gratitude.”
“That’s short for ‘my attitude’s back,’ isn’t it?”
She got up and started for her room. “Yes, Simeon, my attitude’s back.”
“Well, why? What did I do?”
She spun on her heel and threw up her hands. “I’m horny, all right? I’m horny and I’m frustrated!” The door snapped shut behind her.
Simeon shut down his pickups in the lounge, escaping the charged atmosphere in the only way he could. Sheesh, he thought. Softshells were strange.
Chapter Fifteen
“Nothing, Great Lord. Nothing but rebroadcasts of the same warning message.”
“Tsssk. You have had no success in monitoring internal communications?”
“No, Great Lord.”
This time Baila’s voice held a slight touch of resentment. This was no backwater, no half-barbarian slum that used electro-magnetic signals for internal communication. This was a sophisticated Central Worlds installation they were planning to attack. It had internal optical circuitry. What did the Great Lord expect her to do? Fly over to the station and burn her way through to tap a line?
We are all impatient, Belazir thought. The Clan impulse was to leap upon the prey and take it. Loot it bare, move on. They had been very successful following that course of action for a long time.
“Any other ships?”
“None since that freighter who acknowledged their warning beacon and sheered off,” she said.
“Serig.”
“Command me, lord.” The verbal formula was more than routine in Serig’s mouth; he fairly quivered with anticipation.
“We will move in exactly one-point-five hours from next day-cycle termination.” This was about three hours Terran Standard time, since Kolnar rotated more slowly than Manhome. “All vessels to launch their seekers simultaneously and then begin subspace jamming pulses. Strangler and Age of Darkness will remain on combat over-watch, ready to provide fire support as necessary. Dreadful Bride and Shark will move in to the upper and lower polar axis respectively and force-dock, then occupy the station. Here are the areas to be secured.”
His hands keyed a sequence, and the schematic of the SSS-900-C was overlaid with color-coded plans for movement.
“Move swiftly! Crush any sign of resistance with utmost force. If resistance slows the infantry down, secure those decks and blow them open to space. I will be with the second wave at the north polar axis.”
“Lord.”
“Captain Lord Pol is not to disembark before the target is fully secured. Those are my orders. Repeat them to her in the message.”
“I hear and obey, Great Lord,” Serig said. He made a few notes to himself. “Tightbeam?”
“Of course.”
“I may lead the assault party?”
Belazir and his henchman shared an identical wolf grin. “Of course.”
Joseph ben Said nodded gravely. “I am glad that you have shown me these things, Joat.”
Joat looked downshaft between her legs—it was the only way to see the Bethelite’s face since they were both climbing up—and smiled cockily. They had paused a
“You learn pretty quick,” she said. “Hey, and you don’t get fardled up in a tight spot, neither.”
Joseph’s square face split in a raptor’s smile. “Joat-my-friend, where I grew up one learned quickly, or one died. Also I spent much time in narrow places. Sewers and tunnels, rather than ductwork, but the principle is the same.”
“Yeah, I guess we got a lot in common,” she said. You poor bastard, she added to herself. Not aloud. Evidently these oscos were sensitive about language.
“But I am surprised that you can move with such freedom when any section can be closed off and air-evacuated,” Joseph went on. He cracked his thick-fingered hands reflexively, and took out a long curved knife to trim a callus. “And then there are the maintenance servos, also centrally controlled.”
“Yeah, well, you gotta look at that sort of thing from the bottom up,” Joat said. “Follow me.”
They muscled upward, back and legs against opposite side of the passageway, then crawled out into a slightly wider connecting way.
“See? There’s the seal,” she said, running one finger along the edge of the octagonal opening where the two ducts crossed.
“Ah.” Joseph peered more closely. “I see—a thin sheet?”
“Naw, interlocking pointed wedges,‘s stronger or some fardling thing. Don’t get in the way if it’s gonna close. They don’t have no safety pressure stops here where people aren’t supposta be, so they’ll cut you right in half.”
Joseph nodded, continuing his examination. “And this?” He touched a slight bulge.
“Access panel. Here.”
Joat brought up a square piece of electronics from her harness and touched it. The bulge withdrew into the wall. Inside were readouts, a keypad, and a datajack. She squirmed until her backpack was on the floor between her knees, then pulled out a jackline from her Spuglish and clipped it into the socket.
The machine lit. Hello, Joat, scrolled across it. Simeon’s gone bye-bye wurf!