Kim stared at his son a moment, then gave a single nod. He looked to Ikuro and his two brothers, who, understanding how things were, bowed and began to leave. When they were gone, Sampsa shut the door then looked to his father again.
"Are you okay?"
"Me?" Kim looked up, then shrugged. "I don't know. Ifs just ... well, Chuang's dream. I should have listened to Chuang's dream."
"What?" Sampsa stared back at him, puzzled. "No matter. Patch it through. I think I'm ready."
But he wasn't ready. Nothing could have made him ready for such news. He looked up at the screen at the image of his wife, his only love, Jelka, and saw at once how that face had changed, had aged, and felt something die in him.
"There's plague here," she said, with a calmness that was frightening; that made his blood freeze in his veins. "People are dying from it in their thousands. It's . . ."
She swallowed, maintaining her dignity, the Marshal's daughter to the very end. "Mileja has it. I... I have it, too. We. . . look, Kim, we don't know how to treat it. If we pull through, then. . ."
She looked down at that point, a single tear betraying her. Kim groaned, sickened by the sight and by the news of his beloved Mileja, his little spark of joy. Beside him, Sampsa was sobbing loudly.
"I don't know what will happen," she continued, looking to camera again, ignoring the tear. "But we're on the shuttle now.
My plan is to isolate us on the ship. They've prepared the cells for us. The crew can pass food through the hatch in the door. We ..." She shrugged, a strange movement in her face betraying just how close she was to breaking down. "We hope we'll see you again. And, Kim, Sampsa ... I love you. And little Chuang. Tell her ..."
But the signal was beginning to break up, the image break down into coloured blocks of pixels, then it was gone.
Tell her what? Kim wondered as a strange numbness overcame him.
"Dad?... Dad?" Sampsa reached out and caught him as his legs gave, then carried him across to the couch in the corner of the office.
"Chuang's dream," Kim murmured, as his eyes flickered and he slipped into unconsciousness. "Chuang's dream."
"Tom? .. . Tom?"
Lu Yi popped her head around the door and, seeing him sitting there in the darkness, frowned.
"Tom? What is it?"
He looked up at her then stood, moving past her into the kitchen. She followed, watching as he poured water from the jug into a beaker and gulped it down.
"Tom?"
He looked about him at the tiny cabin kitchen, then took the wipe-pad from the wall and wrote on it. Plague. Chung Kuo. Mileja and Jelka have it. Kim and Sampsa know. She took the pad from him and read his words, then looked back at him, her eyes wide. "Plague?"
He nodded, then looked down. This changed things. Just an hour ago he'd had things clear. Just a single hour ago he had known what he must do. But now?
He stood, then, pushing past her, went back to his room and, switching on the light, began to unpack his case.
After a while he looked up. She was standing there in the doorway, watching him silently, her face uncritical.
You don't mind? he mouthed.
"No," she answered, coming across and sitting beside him, putting her arm about his back. "They'll need us now. Now more than ever."
Back in their quarters, Ikuro sat heavily on the bench, setting his helmet down beside him, then looked up at his brothers.
"Something's up," he said. "You saw the son."
"Yes, Kano said. "He looked bad, neh?"
Shukaku scratched his chin. "You think this affects us, little brother?"
Ikuro shrugged. "Who knows? Shih Ward is a good man, an honourable man. He will keep his word."
"Maybe," Kano said, "but what if something bad has happened? Something so bad it makes him change his mind."
"Yes," Shukaku chipped in. "We really should find out."
"Find out?" But Ikuro found himself remembering how Ward's son had looked. "You think this is our business?"
"Shih Ward's business is our business now," Shukaku said. "If something is wrong, we should know."
"Okay," Ikuro said, feeling bad about it even so. "See what you can find out. But be discreet, brother. Shih Ward is our friend. I do not wish to offend him."
"Of course," Shukaku said, a gleam in his eye as he bowed, then turned and hurried away.
When he was gone, Kano looked to his little brother. "What should we do?"
"Do?" Ikuro sighed. "What can we do?"
"We could pray for him," Kano answered, his broad face filled with sympathy. "We could burn offerings."
Ikuro smiled sadly, loving his brother deeply at that moment. "Yes," he said, getting up, recalling the look that had passed between Ward and his son. "Yes, let us go and do that now."
The cell door was locked and sealed, special filters placed over the cabin's ventilation ducts. From here on, they were on their own.
Mileja lay on the left hand bunk, beneath a single sheet. She was unconscious, yet she tossed and turned restlessly, as if in the grip of some hideous nightmare, her face sometimes grimacing, sometimes at peace. For a whole day now Jelka had nursed her tirelessly, but now she too was succumbing to the virus. Besides, she was tired; more tired than she'd ever felt in her life. It was like she had been punctured and the air was slowly hissing from her.
The crew had been good. No, they had been marvellous, if the truth were told. In their position, would she have taken the risk? Maybe. But then, maybe not. Not if it meant she might contract the disease herself. Yet there hadn't been a moment's hesitation.
"Don't be silly," her old friend Torve Hamsun had said to her, when she'd contacted him. "I wouldn't think of not helping you. What would your father have thought of me?"
And so here she was, heading back out. Heading home. Back to Kim.
She dragged herself over and slumped down upon the right-hand bunk, the weight of her limbs oppressive now, the virus in her blood beginning to make her feverish. The delusions hadn't begun yet - that was the third stage of the disease, so they said - yet already her mind kept circling, about her own mortality: wondering what Kim would do if she didn't make it; how he would cope without her.
This twfi kill him, she thought, and almost laughed. But she didn't have the energy to laugh. She barely had the energy to turn her head and look across what now seemed a hundred mile gap to where her daughter lay.
Be weU, MUeja, she willed, closing her eyes and letting her head fall onto the surface of the bunk. Yet even as she slipped into unconsciousness, she could hear her father's voice sounding — clearly in her head: "It's how we are, my love" he was saying.
"Brittle. Easily angered. But strong, too, neh? Stronger than iron."
Kim pushed the medic's arm away and stood.
"I don't need a sedative! I need to be awake, alert, in case something can be done."
"But Kim," the young medic said, unoffended by Kim's anger; knowing it wasn't directed at him, "you really ought to rest. Your system's had a shock. You ignore that and you vM be in trouble. And probably just when you can be of help! Look ... get a couple of hours now. I'll give you something that'll put you out short-term. If s for the best. Really it is."
Kim glowered a moment longer, then relented. "Okay. But two hours maximum. And if something comes up while I'm out, I want you to bring me round immediately, understand?"
The medic raised his hands. "I understand." He searched in his bag and took out a slim plastic tube, squeezing two tablets from it. "Here, take these with water. Then go and lie down. They take effect pretty damn quick."