"Crisce sant’," Nico intoned.
Carlo nodded, and tried again, "Is the brandy th—" He stopped, mouth open, eyes closing, and this time there was a series of sneezes, with Nico blessing each small detonation. "Thank you, Nico, I think I’m sufficiently sanctified," Carlo said. "Is the brandy this color?" he finally managed to ask before sneezing again. "God," he cried, "I can’t be coming down with a cold!"
"It’s that damned flower," said Sean, lip curled at the cloying odor.
"Or the lander fumes," Danny suggested.
Carlo shook his head in amazement, and managed to continue his thought. "Is the brandy this color as well? The demand would be huge—"
"Just don’t let the Jebs in on the deal," Danny warned as Carlo abandoned himself to an artillery barrage of sneezing. "The only time we ever tried to run a winery, we lost money on it. On the other hand, it might be fun to give the Benedictines a little unhealthy competition—"
Carlo was now staggering backward, as though jet-propelled. "Possa sa’ l’ultima! he gasped with his hands over his mouth, which felt bizarrely numb. His eyes were starting to itch and water. "Drop the flower," he heard Sean say. "Get it away from your face!" Sandoz ordered. And Carlo did so, but the sneezing continued unabated, and his eyes were swelling shut…
"This is the last time I go on a package tour with you guys," John was griping. "Sean throws up, Carlo’s allergic to flowers—"
"Padrone, is something wrong?" Nico asked. When there was no answer, Nico turned to Emilio and asked again, "Is there something wrong?"
Everything began happening at once: Emilio yelling, "Get the anaphylaxis kit! Run, for crissakes! He’s going down!" Carlo hitting the ground, each breath a separate struggle to suck air past a rapidly constricting pharynx. Danny dashing back to the lander for the ana kit. Emilio barking at John, "Get him on his back! Start CPR!" Then Carlo turned blue and Nico’s fright turned to sobs. Sean tried to calm him, but Emilio turned away from the grief, arms across his chest, and paced for a few moments before glancing back to see Joseba take over the rhythmic effort to restart Carlo’s heart when John began to flag. "Danny—come on!" Emilio yelled as Iron Horse skidded to a halt and dropped to his knees next to Carlo’s lifeless body. "The red syringe," Emilio said, his voice low and tense as he watched Iron Horse dig through the kit. "Yes! That’s it. Right into the heart. We’re losing him—"
But even as he spoke, Carlo’s color pinked and the gasping breaths started to come again without Joseba’s aid. Suspended in time, they all watched silently as the hit of epinephrine took hold. "Jesus," John whispered. "He was dead."
"All right," Emilio said, coming to life himself, "get him into the lander and lock it down—he’s still exposed out here."
"Nico," Sean said evenly, "be a good boy and clear a space for Don Carlo on the deck, please."
Bleary-eyed and scared but always ready to obey a direct order, Nico ran ahead to open the cargo-bay door while John, Sean and Joseba carried Carlo to shelter. "If he stabilizes, that may be all he needs," Emilio was telling Danny as they dogtrotted behind the others. "But if he goes under again, try aminophylline, yes?"
By the time they had the lander systems reactivated and the filters began cleaning the interior air, Carlo was coming around. " — ole atmosphere must be drenched in pollens and danders and God knows what else," he could hear Joseba point out. But Sandoz said, "No, it must be yasapa. Anaphylaxis takes at least two exposures, and he recognized the scent—" Throat still constricted and eyes puffed shut, Carlo struggled to sit up; someone took him under the arms and pulled him to his feet, maneuvering him into a flight seat. Drained and disoriented, he whispered, "That was certainly exciting."
"Yes, indeed," he heard Sandoz agree. He could not see the man, but Carlo could picture the head shaking in wonder, silver hair falling over black eyes. "Of all the lives on two planets that I might have chosen to save," Sandoz told him, "yours, Don Carlo, would have been at the very bottom of my list. How do you feel?"
"Inglorious but better, thank you." Carlo tried to smile and was startled by how odd his swollen face felt. I must look like Frans, he thought as his vision cleared and breathing became easier. Then it struck him: "Your dream, Sandoz! You said I wasn’t in the city of the dead—"
"Yes, and I am afraid you won’t be going to the city of Gayjur either," said Sandoz dryly. "I’m sending you back to the Bruno. Danny is going along as medic, in case you crash again. John will pilot—"
"Sandoz, I didn’t come all this way—"
"To die of anaphylaxis," Emilio finished for him, "which is exactly what you did a short while ago. Yasapa blooms year-round. You can try the surface again later, if you like—maybe John can reconfigure a pressure suit for you. For now, I recommend that you return to the mother ship. The decision is yours, of course."
"Right," said Carlo, not one to argue with facts for very long. "Radio the change of plans to Signora Mendes and put Frans on remote as backup pilot. Do you suppose yasapa brandy would affect people as the blossom did me?" he asked. "We’ll have to put warning labels on anything we export— drink at your own risk. That will probably increase the appeal! An element of danger—"
"You’ll still get sued, ace," Danny told him. "I’m going to move you to the cockpit. We need to reopen the cargo bay, but you should be okay if you’re sealed off, up front. As soon as we get the gear unloaded, you’re going back to the Bruno."
NOT FAR TO THE NORTHWEST, IN THE SHADOW OF A LIMESTONE ESCARPMENT, a small mixed party of awestruck travelers listened for the second time to a shrieking roar that reached them from the darkening flatlands. This time the wedge-shaped mechanical object rose slowly into their sightline on gouts of flame, its blackened carapace absorbing the dying light of the second sun. They watched, mute, as the lander reached an altitude that allowed for straightforward propulsion and readjusted the attitude of its engine bells, shooting forward and upward, then banking and climbing. Soon there was no sound but the slap of the water against the hull of their boat as they stared at the rapidly dwindling sight.
"Sti’s feet dancing," Shetri Laaks swore in the gloom, as a blast of burnt fuel reached them. "What a stench! Those people must be dead in the nose."
"Why did they go back so soon?" Kajpin wondered. "I thought their plans were to wait here for the escort from Gayjur."
"Now what shall we do?" Tiyat asked. "Go back to—"
"Quiet!" Rukuei whispered, ears cocked toward the landing site. "Listen!" At first there was only the usual tumult of the prairie reasserting itself, now that the reek and noise of the foreign machine was gone: the stridulation and whining buzz of the grasslands once again undisturbed. "There! Hear it?" Rukuei asked. "They haven’t all gone!"
"They sing!" Tiyat whispered. "Isaac will be pleased."
"Sipaj, Kajpin, tie off," Shetri said urgently. "We’re upwind! Rukuei, can they taste scent at all?"
"Not so well as we, but they’re not oblivious. Perhaps we should circle around to get downwind of them." He couldn’t see a thing anymore. "Or wait until morning."
There was a splash and a rocking shudder as Kajpin began pulling the shallow-drafted boat onto the sloping east bank, not waiting for anyone else’s opinion. "The water’s warm down here!" Tiyat exclaimed when she hopped out to help Kajpin haul the boat close enough to a marhlar stump to make it fast.
"You two monitor the radio," Kajpin told Rukuei and Shetri. "We’ll go up and see what we can find out."
A few scrambling moments later, they heard Tiyat call quietly, "There are three of them!"
"Go sit in the boat!" Kajpin sneered good-humoredly, lying on her belly next to Tiyat. "There’re four! See? There’s a child sitting by that shelter."