Chapter Eleven

The heavy shuttle glider hit the ground rolling. Shona sat in the copilot’s chair beside shuttle pilot Ivo, rapt, watching the scenery of a new world spiral before her, growing larger until it filled the viewscreens. Celtuce was gigantic and covered with swirling white clouds, as if it couldn’t make up its mind at the moment of creation whether it would be a gas giant or a solid planet. The thump under her spine was solid enough. Her menagerie, in the compartment immediately behind the pilot’s cabin, set up its protests as they hit. She could hear Harry’s yowl of complaint almost nonstop from the time he was locked into his protective landing capsule. The cat’s ululation was briefly interrupted by a sound like a hiccup as the shuttle’s wheels hit the ground, then modulated into affronted cries that he couldn’t get out. Shona ignored him.

Saffie was unusually quiet. The dog had been subdued since they had said their goodbyes to Lani. When Shona closed her up inside her impact cage, she settled down with her nose on her crossed forepaws, as if uninterested in anything that was about to happen. Shona felt sorry for both the girl and the dog, realizing how close they had become over the last months. She, too, missed Lani already. They had cried, clinging to one another, each reluctant to be the first to let go. Shona wondered how the girl would adjust to life on Mars, thrust once more among strangers. She promised to send messages to Lani as often as she could, and to visit whenever there was a chance for her to come back to Mars. It wasn’t enough for either of them, but it would have to do. Shona had a job, and having arrived on the scene, could put off parting no longer.

She stared out the windshield at the terrain. She had to admit that Celtuce wasn’t the Earthlike paradise that Corporation Colony Services featured prominently on its recruitment posters, but it was interesting. The shuttle’s huge, soft tires climbed extensive hills of torn stone, some of it melted into crevices and fissures. There was nothing alive out there that she could see.

The first thing that imparted itself to her senses was that the gravity on Celtuce was heavier than Mars or even Earth standard. She was glad she had insisted on daily, full-gee exercise programs, and regretted that they hadn’t been more intensive. The muscles in her thorax fought just a little bit more than usual to draw in air, and every movement of her limbs required more effort. It would be tiring to work here until she became acclimated.

The gauges told her that the heavy atmosphere was unbreathable methane, flavored with a quantity of sulphur and other trace elements, including iron. Ambient temperature, at 10°C, was cool but not unpleasant for human beings. It was certainly warmer than Mars, whatever the Terraforming Council there was promising as its end result. The clouds of gas swirled and parted coyly, like translucent veils, revealing parts of the landscape and hiding them again as swiftly as snapshots. Celtuce showed the scars of its unstable core’s activity in long, jagged tears that zigzagged across one another on the surface of the land and the surrounding mountains. She thought that some of them had the truncated tops of volcanoes, but the mist hid them again before she could be sure. The milky clouds made it impossible to see where they were going.

“I have a large mass on radar scan,” Ivo said, growling under his breath as their way became entirely obscured. “It seems smooth. Sure hope it’s the colony dome, and not another of those peaks. Give me good, clean space travel any time.”

A hint of red flashed in the fog ahead of them, and five degrees above the level of the shuttle’s windshield. As they moved towards it, the light became a steady beam of color. Whirling clouds shredded and parted to reveal the side of a residential dome. The beacon was on the inside, pointing directly towards them. The small craft began to climb the slight rise toward it. The ship’s communicator crackled into life.

“Shuttle, welcome to Celtuce! I’m Robert Derneld, First Leader of the colony. Is Dr. Taylor with you?”

Shona seized the pickup, beating Ivo’s grasp. “That’s me,” she said. “What’s the situation in there?”

Ivo lifted an eyebrow, pretending distaste for her impatience.

“We’ll brief you as soon as you’re attached, Doctor. Now, if you’ll just follow the beacon around the side of the dome, it’ll lead you to an airlock where you can hook up your living module. We’ll be waiting for you. Derneld out.”

Shona almost bounced in her seat with impatience while the shuttle rumbled around the perimeter of the dome in the glow of the red light. At last, the beacon stopped, and blinked slowly twice. Ivo acknowledged the signal with a grunt. He turned the controls and reversed the shuttle until the laboratory module was touching the dome. The rear hatch opened, and there was the sound of suction and ventilation fans as the unit’s seals extended and adhered to the city wall. The moment the screen on the control panel read “All Clear,” Shona was out of the co-pilot’s chair and through the rear door into her living unit. Her animals and Chirwl clamored for attention.

“It’s all right!” she shouted, over Saffie’s excited barking and Chirwl’s eager questions. “Calm down. I’ll let you out in a minute.”

She took a quick moment to seal up her environment suit, centering the clear face panel and settling the helmet’s rim on her shoulders. All the suits had been irradiated and cleaned to prevent carrying any strange organisms into the colony.

Gershom, clad in an isolation suit, followed her slowly, his rangy step covering the distance from the pilot’s compartment without the appearance of haste, and stood amused, patting Saffie’s head through the mesh of the cage, while he watched Shona compose herself to open the door.

This is it, Shona thought to herself, as she pressed the control. She wasn’t afraid of work, or challenges, but she had no idea what to expect. She was thankful that she was able to reply to this call for help in much better time than she had before. It was up to her to keep the situation from worsening, put an end to whatever was wrong here, and prevent another Karela.

The door swished open, and she was face to face with a crowd of people. Now that the methane fumes weren’t blocking her view, she glimpsed over the heads of the people the soaring height of the main dome, and glittering, brightly colored facades that were the decorated fronts of individual dwellings. She was struck by how clean and new everything looked. Another thing hit her with the mix of atmosphere strained through the filters: the shocking smell of methane mixed with sulphur. The air within the dome reeked of it.

As soon as she was in view, the crowd began to cheer. She glanced back at them, looking from face to face, expectantly. There were young people and old people, children and babies in arms, and they all looked very healthy.

“So,” Shona asked, her voice a little breathless in her own ears, only partly from the sulphur. “Where are my patients?”

The tall man in the middle of the group looked just a little sheepish. He cleared his throat. “Actually, ma’am, no one’s sick anymore.”

Shona’s round brown eyes echoed the shape of her open mouth.

“I’m sorry to spring it on you like that, but we’re mighty glad to see you all the same,” the tall man said, stepping forward and extending a hand to her. “I’m Robert Derneld, by the way. Call me Bob. On behalf of the whole colony, I welcome you.” He touched a small gray box attached to his tunic shoulder.

Shona knew the shock had to be showing all over her face. The crowd dispersed before she could entirely recover her composure. Only Derneld along with a shorter, older man, and a couple of other colonists remained outside her door. She gathered herself up and presented a hand to the colony leader.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Shona. Forgive me if I’m a little taken aback,” she said slowly. “After all, it was only a few weeks ago that I received your message.”

“Closer to three months since we asked the Corporation for a specialist,” the leader said. “Maybe a little less.”

“That’s plenty of time for an illness to run its course,” the older man said. Derneld introduced him as Dr. Franklin, and presented the other man and two women as other administrators of the Celtuce colony. “We are very glad to see you, Dr. Taylor. No one’s shown any symptoms of the fever for the last couple of weeks, but I’d be glad to describe to you what they had, and get your impressions.”

“I’d be happy to hear about it,” Shona said, still feeling lost. Her sense of great purpose and excitement had been abruptly deflated. “It’s not that I’m upset that I don’t have to work. Believe me, I’m delighted the epidemic’s over.”

Gershom appeared behind her, and smiled at the colony leaders, interrupting when he sensed Shona’s discomfiture. “How do you do? I’m Gershom Taylor, captain of the Sibyl. We’re a trading ship, but we do occasionally deliver doctors.” The three men shook hands.

“Any relation?” Derneld asked, looking from Shona to Gershom.

“Only by marriage,” Shona replied. She squeezed her husband’s arm for thanks.

“Interesting place you’ve got here,” Gershom said, sweeping the city with a calculating eye. Shona could tell by the way he squinted that he thought there was money here. “What’s your business?”

“Radioactives,” Derneld said. “We’ve been mining this world for some forty-five years. It’s been a lucrative field, in spite of some natural drawbacks.”

“The, uh, smell?” Shona said, searching for polite synonyms, and failing to come up with one that didn’t sound forced.

Derneld nodded. “Well, that too. It is pretty bad. Nauseating, in fact, but it isn’t harmful. It would be worse if we didn’t have the filters, but they cost the colony a bundle, and they have to be replaced every four weeks.”

Gershom’s ears perked up almost visibly. “Perhaps we can help each other. I’ll see if I can’t find you a supplier that can undercut the price you’ve been paying,” he offered.

“I hope you can,” the colony leader said. “We’re running down to the scrapings on high-yield pitchblende, where we get our supplies of uranium and other radioactives. There won’t be any more accessible ore until the next geologic age of this planet. Pretty soon, the colony will have to go it alone. The Corporation will only have to keep us afloat until we create a viable economic infrastructure, but then it’s up to us. As soon as the last shipment of ore goes, and that could be as early as next month, we get our exit bonuses from the Corp.”

“That’s right,” one of the female administrators said, with avid anticipation. Derneld introduced her as Dana Murye. Like all the others, she was wearing a small gray box on her shoulder. “Me, I’m about due to retire. I’ve done everything from supervising blast sites to accounting for thirty-eight years. My pension, on top of my bonuses, should be generous enough to keep me in filters for the rest of my life, and set me up with a fine dome out there on the range.”

Shona stifled an urge to break into song. “That sounds very nice,” she said, trying not to giggle. She chided herself for her suddenly frivolous mood. It had to be a form of shock having the emergency vanish abruptly when she had spent weeks preparing for it.

“Our latest Corporation contract has about two years to run. Good thing, too. We’re ready to retire and start living our own lives,” Dr. Franklin said. “On the other hand, nothing will change for me. A doctor sees the same patients forever.”

His fellow colonists laughed at Franklin’s expression of suffering from over-work and imposition. It was obviously a complaint of long standing, and just as obviously, they were fond of the old curmudgeon.

“Let’s talk about filters, Captain Taylor,” Derneld said, leading him away toward a street that led between rows of residential domes. The other leaders trailed behind them.

“You know, your location would be good for warehousing on the trading routes,” Gershom began, looking around. “You’re not that far off the main route between Alpha and all that new construction out by Sector’s End. You might consider establishing yourselves …”

“I don’t suppose you can join me for dinner?” Dr. Franklin asked Shona, politely, seeing that the two of them were left out of the new topic under discussion. “We’re proud of our culinary skills here.”

“I wish I could,” Shona said with regret. “Until I check things over—I am supposed to be your epidemiologist even if there’s no epidemic—I can’t even go about in the domes without this suit. I’m supposed to eat and drink only the provisions from my module. Rules of the game. I would be happy to sit and talk with you while you dine, though.”

“I’d be delighted, under whatever circumstances,” Franklin said gallantly, escorting her toward his quarters.

Frenzied barking from inside her module distracted Shona’s attention.

“Wait please!” she called to Franklin over her shoulder, as she hurried back inside. “I’ve got to go let the animals out!”

* * *

“Is this all the people there are on Celtuce?” Shona asked, scrolling through the employee file. The entire population roster, including dependents, covered only four screens. She ran through it again, wondering if she’d missed a reference to a larger file. Franklin leaned away from his saffron-tinged risotto and glanced over her shoulder. A hint of the aroma from his meal reached Shona’s nostrils. She wished the circumstances of her visit were different. She had nothing better to look forward to in her module than chicken-fried nutri. It was a temptation to break training with such delicious inducements as real food at hand. But she was too well trained to give in to mere temptation, and she knew it. The sacrifices I make for science, she thought regretfully. Just my luck I’ve fallen in with excellent cooks.

“No, ma’am, that’s all of us. It only takes one worker to operate the big lifts,” the doctor explained. “All computerized. Very easy. That’s how we have been able to keep up such a tough production schedule with such a small work force. We’ve exceeded quota by a minimum of five percent every month for the last four hundred and thirty.”

“That’s extraordinary! The Corporation must be proud of you,” Shona exclaimed.

The doctor smiled modestly. “We think so. But on a more tangible level, the bonuses we’ve been promised are better than any praise. As Dana mentioned to you before, radioactives pay very well. I don’t know what we’ll do to replace the income when the mining is gone, a couple of years from now. We’re discussing some kind of technical manufacturing. We have a highly educated, intelligent work force, and we don’t want it to migrate off-planet.”

Shona looked out at the unfriendly landscape beyond the domes. This was no placid plain, like the rusty expanses of Mars, but a brutally rent land, ripped apart by some insane force. “How do you feel about children growing up here? Constrained by the lack of space to play, the radiation risks?”

The doctor showed her his radiation counter. “We’re all right inside here, and we are very careful about contamination. The children have adapted well, so far as I can tell, but I’ll be happier when we can afford to finish the new recreation center. It’ll give them some place that is particularly their own. You young people need more active occupations than us old folks.”

Shona turned back to Franklin and mentally drew herself up. She thought she saw disappointment in the older doctor’s eyes, probably because of her youth. She was determined to impress him with her thoroughness and knowledge.

“Should we discuss the epidemic?” she asked briskly. “After all, that’s why I was sent here in the first place.”

Franklin cocked his head, remembering. “Well, the symptoms were a high fever, delirium, and disorientation in the people with the highest temperatures; flush, lack of appetite, and upper respiratory impairment that was due more to deeply swollen tissues than surface inflammation. It was very unpleasant. Everybody had it.”

“How much of the population actually had the fever?” Shona inquired, making a note.

“Everybody had it,” Franklin repeated with emphasis. He reached over and flipped on his computer screen. “Every single person in this colony.”

Shona’s brows drew down in a puzzled expression. She looked up from her stylus. “That’s statistically improbable. How many deaths?”

“Only two,” Franklin shrugged. “They were both older folks. One of them was my superior. She was eighty-two years old. She thought there was something funny about the extent of the infection, too.”

“Any clues as to the infector?” Shona asked, running over Franklin’s notes. “I’ve got a list of possibles that match the symptoms Bob described to me in his message. What was your conclusion?”

“None, really, as you’ll see in my file,” the doctor said.

Shona read his report over again. His documentation was clear and precise. The colony physicians had treated the symptoms empirically, limiting contact the patients had with healthy colonists, reducing fever and aches with analgesics, forcing liquids to deal with dehydration. The epidemic was over as swiftly as it had begun, leaving them none the wiser as to its origins.

“We’re usually a healthy bunch,” Franklin continued. “In fact, it’s been, oh, fifteen years since there’s been any kind of pandemic infection. We thought we’d cleared everything out. With an environment as unfriendly as the one out there”—he tipped his head toward the curved observation window that made up the outer wall of his office—“and we make it a point to limit contact strictly, and check everything over frequently. We started careful. That’s why everyone wears these radios.” He pointed to the box on his shoulder. “Don’t really need this tight communication anymore since no one is wandering out by themself in search of hot strikes, but old habits are hard to break. You’ll need one, too.”

The notes bore out Franklin’s assertion. “Everything seems fine,” she said. “It looks like you’ve handled it very well. Perhaps the fever was caused by a strain of E. coli that mutated and spread, something that you’re already carrying with you, perhaps through the water filtration system. You’ve all been together a long time, without a lot of outside input. That’d give you all the symptoms you mention, plus maybe intestinal troubles for good measure. Your resistance is down to new strains. The two people who died were elderly and frail. It happens. Everyone seems healthy now.”

Thoughtfully, Franklin pulled at his lower lip with a forefinger and thumb. “Yes, now. But it was strange, when it happened all at once.”

Shona sighed, agreeing. “It seems that way, sometimes. That kind of thing can spread by touch in a few days. The symptoms might appear a little while later, and pow! No one’s expecting it, so no one has guarded against it.” She felt curiously let down. “It seems I came here for nothing.”

“Oh, no, not for nothing,” Franklin said, smiling. He took her hand and squeezed it warmly through her glove. “To tell you the truth, Shona, having you come has done wonders for the morale of the colony. It’s better medicine than anything I could have prescribed. The specialists they sent with us to help set up the colony left after six months, but that was a long time ago. What remained was myself and another general practitioner, an OB-GYN who doubled in surgery, and what assistants we’ve been able to train among the young folk. We were afraid the Corporation had forgotten about us. We’ve been out here a long time, and never asked for anything fancy, not in forty-five long years. We weren’t sure they’d respond if we did call. I’m sorry you had a long journey and find yourself here with nothing to do, but you’ve made us all very happy.”

“That is something,” Shona admitted, feeling a rueful smile begin in spite of her disappointment. Firmly, she stomped down the little moan of selfishness that still insisted she hadn’t needed to come all this way and cut short her time with Lani and Gershom. “Nothing I can help with? Food poisoning? Bug bites?”

The doctor’s ears seemed to prick up. “Now that you mention it, there’s been a few complaints lately about chiggers.”

“Chiggers? Here?”

The doctor shrugged. “That’s what we called ’em where I grew up. Same exact symptoms. A small and painful welt that takes days to go away. I haven’t a real clue. We’ve done cultures, but I’m not picking up a damned thing. We think they’re coming in from outside.”

“Well, that’s strange. There haven’t been any chiggers for the last how many years?”

“Forty-five. Not since the beginning, when we had an outbreak because of a few supply shipments from an agricultural world. But we get shipments in every week from other sources. Maybe the little pests rode in with one of them.”

“Of course, where there’re chiggers, which are a larval form, there are insects. What do they look like?”

Franklin shook his head. “I’ve never caught one to have a look at. It falls off the site before I can tell it’s been there. Though I haven’t been bitten yet myself, I should say, I’ve been treating little red bumps the appearance of which my patients tell me are accompanied by a hot, burning sensation. One young lady had to be treated for something like anaphylactic shock. Funny, because there isn’t that much life on this planet that bothers with carbon-based forms. What little there is seems to be silicon/chloride-based, and primitive.”

“Since you don’t have much else for me to do while I’m here, I might work on that,” Shona said. “Sector Chief Mitchell didn’t say how long I was to be here after the epidemic passed, but in my last job specialists were usually assigned to a colony for six months.”

“If you wouldn’t mind, there’s a truly important job I’d like you to take on, although it can wait until you’re acclimated and out of that suit,” Franklin said tentatively, and studied Shona, waiting for her reaction. “I haven’t had a vacation in six years—six long years. Would you mind acting as my locum tenens for, say, two weeks or so?”

Shona threw back her head and laughed. “I would be delighted, Dr. Franklin. Take as long as you want. I’d be happy to do it.”

“Wonderful. But please,” the older doctor man said, patting her on her gloved hand, “call me Al. If you come by tonight I’ll start getting you acquainted with our patients. A few of ’em might have been auding us right here, so don’t be surprised if they already know what we’ve been saying!” He touched his shoulder radio.

Shona looked shocked but Franklin winked at her.

“This place is information-crazy, my dear. If you don’t want a thing known, don’t say it out loud!”

* * *

He invited some of Celtuce’s leading citizens to his home to become acquainted with the Taylors. Over wine and cheese which neither Shona nor Gershom could sample, they chatted with a few dozen men and women with almost absurdly ornate manners. All of them were careful to call both the Taylors by title and surname until invited to use given names. Shona found it amusing, and mentioned it offhandedly to Al when he came over to the punch table to refresh his drink.

“They’re sticklers for the old-fashioned ways. In fact, they don’t easily take to any kind of change. Once you get the social leaders on your side, you’ll have no trouble at all with anyone,” Al confided to Shona, with a cynical squint at a couple just coming in. “Charm these two, and they’ll wonder why they didn’t abandon the old bastard”—he thumped himself on the chest—“years ago.”

“Well, I want them to call me Shona,” she said, and leaned forward to bawl into Dr. Franklin’s radio unit. “Call me Shona!”

“That’s taking the buffalo by the horns,” Franklin said approvingly.

“This is one rich colony.” Gershom whispered to Shona when they were alone. He’d made appreciative “ching-ching” cash register noises behind the backs of a fashionable woman and her children who had come to meet the new doctor and her trader husband. “That youngster’s tunic must have cost eight hundred credits! You know,” he continued, “there’s a ready-made market here for a trader who has fancy goods to sell and a good line of patter. There’s almost too much money lying about here, and they’re desperate to spend it.”

* * *

Within a week, Gershom had to leave and resume the trade route toward Mars, where he would drop off Lani in Manfred Mitchell’s care. He was still awaiting word from higher up concerning permanent arrangements for the child. Shona missed them already. There was more than a twinge of regret that she couldn’t take up his offer to stay on board the Sibyl, but a contract was a contract. He’d given her a parting gift, which he made her take an oath not to open until he was gone.

“It’ll cheer you up,” he promised.

She waited a decent interval until the shuttle had rolled away for the last time, and tore open the box. On top was a note. “Sweets to the sweet, or an occasional break from the never-ending nutri.” Beneath it was a transparent package of beautiful dried fruit, a selection of exotic spices, and at the very bottom, a box of Crunchynut bars. Shona held the package of goodies in her arms and laughed until she cried.

Tachyon mail brought the first message from Gershom and Lani only two days after they had left. When Shona downloaded it to play, the screen showed Lani sitting, hands folded, in the co-pilot’s chair on the bridge. She was wearing the green dress, and had painstakingly braided her long black hair into a bundle of small plaits pinned back over her ears.

“Hi, Dr. Shona,” she said. “Hi, Saffie. How are you? I miss you.”

The dog barked, hearing her name, and came over to whine at the screen while Shona waited for Lani to say something else. The child had apparently exhausted her store of conversation, and sat fidgeting uncomfortably until the screen faded to black. The video came up again on Gershom, who was shaking with stifled merriment.

“That’s the best we could do for a first effort on her new board,” he said, his warm eyes twinkling at Shona. “It took her hours to work up to that much. She speaks for all of us. We miss you. Here’s our schedule for our stops en route to Mars.” The screen changed to a flat two-dee printout. Shona marked that part of the transmission for transference to a quick-ref file. “No trouble leaving the system or jumping warp,” Gershom continued. “I’ll stay in touch. You take care of yourself. All of my love to you, every day.” The screen cleared to show his face smiling at her just before the transmission ended and the screen went blank.

That’s it then, Shona thought to herself, squaring her shoulders. This time I’m really on my own, without Gershom to fall back on. Let’s see what kind of job I can do. The isolation will be good for me.

* * *

Mitchell went to see his superior as soon as Shona’s notification reached him.

“The child is on her way, sir,” he announced.

“Child?” Verdadero asked. “Ah, yes, the tot from Karela. Good. Very good. We’ll have to arrange an appropriate welcome. Have you the final figures on the Karelan economy?”

“Yes, sir,” Mitchell said. He had the account report ready, and offered it. “I thought you might like to see it yourself.”

“No need.” Verdadero waved away the datacube with a regal hand. Data-crunching was for underlings. “How much does this tragedy return to the Corporation? Less the child’s inheritance and survivor’s pension, that is.”

“None at all. The settlers of Karela made an unusual arrangement sir. They arranged a tontine. I’m certain that the contract is an unbreakable one.”

“Tell me about it, Manfred.” Verdadero planted both hands on his desk and straightened up to meet Mitchell’s eye.

“It’s an ancient contract sir. Legal seemed to be very amused by the whole thing. In the event that some calamity would befall the colony, the sum of their profits, resources, bonuses, insurance policies, what have you, goes to the last survivors or survivor,” Mitchell explained. “In the case of Karela, it amounted to millions of credits, and there is no one else to share it with. This child, Leilani, is rich beyond reason.” He let the corner of his mouth turn up. “She’ll need a home when she reaches us. The Taylors have offered to adopt her legally. Perhaps I should adopt her myself. I hear they’re about to raise taxes again. It wouldn’t hurt to have an heiress for a daughter.”

His chief laughed, emitting a short sound like a bark. “Practical! Well, we’ll see what will look best for the Corporation’s image when she arrives. It might seem a little self-serving in the public eye to sequester her for ourselves.”

“What should I do about the arrangements for publicity?”

“Hold everything for now, Manfred. No sense in crossing a bridge until we come to it. Too much attention is likely to frighten the child.” Verdadero tapped his cheek with a thoughtful finger. “How curiously old-fashioned of them. A tontine. Hmm.”