She moved to the cot, lay down on it, and pulled a blanket up over her. Ignoring the pain and the weakness in her fingers, she curled up and began removing the nutshells she’d inserted into herself. One. Two. A sharp pain in one finger. The third shell was broken. She lay still a moment, then worked her fingers deeper and brought out the fourth and last shell. When I hit the floor, she thought. That must have been when it happened.
She fetched out as much of the shell debris as she could locate, then uncurled and lay with her injured wrist across her eyes. The shells were filled with spores, borer worms and chigger nits. Making their way into her now. Into her flesh and blood and bones. No matter. There was time enough to break the other shells on the faces of the techs when they took her for their tests.
She slept a little, woke with her wrist throbbing. She wet a towel, wrapped it tightly about her arm and lay down again, dropping after a while into a restless sleep with dreams of worms eating into her, worms emerging from her skin, waving their slimy heads about.
A bong from the wall woke her from her nightmares. A monotonous chant told her to strip and follow the blinking red lights.
Her mind sodden with sleep and pain, she unwound the towel from her arm, pulled off the guardian robe and looked blearily around for the lights.
Red dots eye level on the wall blinked in swift series over and over as if the red light raced from the cot to a narrow door that stood open now, a door she hadn’t seen before. She stepped across the raised lip into a room like a closet with smooth white walls. The door slid shut and jets of hot water came at her from several directions, stinging at first then wonderful, washing away pain and fatigue.
The water stopped long before she wanted it to. “Put on the robe you’ll find in the meal slot,” the voice boomed at her. “Tie on the slippers.”
Her wrist was so swollen now she could barely use the hand. She managed to tie on the slippers, then leaned against the wall, her head roaring, her face and body slick with pain-sweat, nausea threatening to empty her stomach.
“Go to the door. Go to the door. Go to the door.” She ignored the voice. When she could move, she went to the bed, collected the three nutshells, took them to the sink and washed them off, then slipped them into her mouth.
“Go to the door. Go to the door. Put your hand on the yellow oval. Put your hand on the yellow oval.”
The guard was waiting outside. He was angry, she could tell because his inner eyelids had dropped and his eyes glistened. But he said nothing, nor did he touch her, just gestured with a long black stick, relaxing when she obeyed without fuss.
In the long examining room she saw the other woman she knew and a few male Guardians. Except for a few quick glances to map the place and set the script for what she planned, she kept her eyes down, shuffled docilely along until one of the techs noted her swollen wrist, swore with exasperation and pulled her away from the others. “Taner’s Claws, Guard Tibraz, I told you to watch your hands. This is the third one damaged.”
She kept her eyes on the floor, so he wouldn’t know she’d learned their ugly speech.
Hand on her shoulder, he took her to the workbench with its organized clutter of tools and instruments, placed her hand and wrist in a hollow much too big for it since it was shaped to Chav dimensions, dosed the top over it and started the scan working. “Hm.” He switched to Bйlucharis. “Two small bones cracked, woman. I’ll put you in a pressure bandage and give you some pills for the pain. Should be all right.”
He freed her wrist, turned away, reaching to a sensor on a cabinet door. She looked up. The other women were watching her. She nodded, spat a shell into the palm of her left hand.
The guard started toward her. Smiling fiercely, she spun away from his arm, slapped up and over it, smashing the shell against his face. Still spinning, she spat out the second shell, slapped it against the face of the tech, then threw the third shell onto the floor and grabbed a small smooth-handled blade from the clutter on the bench, set it against her throat, and cut deep.
4
MedTech First Muhaseb’s face bloomed on the screen. He showed worry in the Chav way, the inner eyelids dropping but not all the way down, a trickle of drool unnoticed at the corner of his mouth, his color faded to a pale gray green. Hunnar waved Ilaцrn to silence, scowled at the screen. “Well?”
“We’ve got a problem, O Ykkuval.”
“Explain.”
“The batch that the guards gathered from the Sleeping Grounds this time, most of them were women. They ah mmm used their mmm body cavity to bring in an extraordinary mix of spores and microscopic borer worms. Four techs and six guards got smeared with these and they’re close to panic now. They can feel themselves being eaten and rotted out. It’s mostly imagination, but, I’m afraid, not wholly. They’re demanding we drop them in stasis now and send them home with the next ship for more specialized treatment. They say it’s in the contract with their subclans and mmmm I’m afraid it is.”
“You didn’t search the women?”
“Hindsight is easy, O Ykkuval, but Taner’s Claws, they were women. Acting docile as pet keddin. And to use such mmm means! No, we didn’t think to body search them. We washed them down, did a visual search, put them in robes we provided. It should have been adequate if they were normal women. Ah mmm most of them managed to kill themselves, but we salvaged three and put them under probe. It wasn’t any accident that we got mostly women. And not Guardians either, they were planted at the Grounds waiting for us, called themselves freedom fighters and they’d volunteered though they expected to die one way or another, from the infection they spread or at our hands.” He hesitated. “And we had to close and sterilize the lab. Ah mmm, several instruments were damaged and despite the cleansing, the few med techs I have left are hesitant about going into that room. We will, of course, find some means of continuing the experiments if you order it, but my recommendation is to let them drop for the moment anyway. We really aren’t set up for this kind of work.”
“Very well. Write up your preliminary results. You know what I want. Complete honesty of course, but perhaps a stronger emphasis on the positive aspects?”
The image of the Tech First bowed, his eyes dulled as the inner lids slid home with his relief. “I hear and obey, O Yukkuval.”
When the screen had faded to a glassy gray-green, Hunnar brought his fist down hard on the desk and spent the next several moments cursing the techs, the load of losers and blockheads he’d been saddled with, the hunting party due in less than a month now, 1361uchad, the women and all the varieties of Bйluchar life. Finally he straightened, flicked a hand at Ilaцrn, claws still extended though his anger had cooled. “Play something soothing. I’ve got to think.”
Ilaцrn lifted his head, fighting to keep the smile inside, the glee that was bubbling in his blood. For the first time since the Ykkuval’s guards had captured him, he felt a real touch of hope. We’re going to do it. We’re going to win. His hands were shaking, but the touch of the harp wood calmed him; he set his fingers on the strings and began improvising a muted paean to his happiness.
It was quickly interrupted by a pattern of chimes. Hunnar swore again, touched a sensor and rose to his feet. When the image bloomed across the screen, he bowed until his head nearly touched the desk, straightened with his hands folded in the submission display. “Ykkuval Hunnar ni Jilet soyad Koroumak is humbled by the honor of your presence, O Bashogre Aila O Rozen ni Jilet soyad Jilet, O Jiletah Jilet.”
The figure was swaddled in robes heavily embroidered in square designs with jewels and gold and silver wire, couched on a ground of silken crewel work. His hide was bleached with age until it was a pale greenish white, and thinned so that the heavy bones of his skull made a caricature of his face. “Honor, hah! Hunnar, that kadja Hayzin comes to me bleating you’re sucking coin like a black hole. What’s going on out there? This wasn’t supposed to be a messy one, just get the ores out and back to us. And deal with the Yaraka, of course. They been making trouble? You want me lodging a complaint with Helvetia, trade interference?”