TAMO’L
As the lift descended beneath the ocean surface, Tamo’l reviewed the new kelp distillations Zhett and Toff had just delivered. Yes, they showed promise, and she always maintained hope.
In the submerged sanctuary domes, her team continued their research to help the misbreeds, as well as any other sufferer who might benefit. The Kellum distillery prepared concoctions with the mutable kelp strains the swimmers harvested out on the oceans, but the Roamer zymurgists did not know exactly what Tamo’l was looking for … though honestly, neither did she. She tried every chemical variation on the chance that one combination might work, and the misbreeds were desperate enough to allow the experimentation. They were trapped in the purgatory of being too malformed to be accepted into society, yet functional enough to remain alive. And so more than a hundred of them had found a home with her here on Kuivahr.
Tamo’l was quietly surprised that so many of the misbreeds were still alive more than a quarter century after the breeding program had been terminated. Most of them had severe physical difficulties, chronic ailments, organs that didn’t function as they were supposed to. Others, though hideously deformed, were healthy—in an objective sense.
The Ildiran race had kiths, or subspecies, that ranged from squat and muscular miners, to willowy singers, nimble-fingered medical kithmen, agile-minded engineers, elite and strikingly handsome nobles, rememberers with expressive facial lobes that accentuated the tales they told from the Saga of Seven Suns. The combinations of those kiths were a mixed bag, often with alarming results.
Tamo’l’s father had been a lens kithman, because the Dobro Designate had hoped the combination of the philosopher kith’s mental acuity and the female green priest’s telink would result in the telepathic savior the Ildirans so badly needed. Although her older sister Osira’h was the one who had succeeded in that desperate gambit, Tamo’l nevertheless inherited a deeply introspective and philosophical mindset, which she turned toward helping the discarded victims of the breeding program.
When the lift doors opened into the subsurface habitat, Shawn Fennis stepped out, proudly carrying the heavy box of kelp extracts. Several misbreeds came forward to greet them. Tamo’l announced brightly, “We have more medicinal specimens to study.”
Har’lc—always helpful, even cheerful—was the result of a truly unwise mating of a swimmer kith female and a scaly kith male, subspecies evolved for the water and the desert, respectively. Har’lc was unable to tolerate either environment, and his skin was a patchwork of rashes and peeling blotches, but even though he always looked miserable, he maintained a pleasant and optimistic disposition.
Gor’ka was another helpful one, with three eyes, the outlier in a socket low down on the cheekbone. He held one shriveled arm against his chest, while the other dangled loose like a tentacle. His skin was leathery, and his face looked made of melted wax. Even so, Gor’ka seemed perfectly comfortable using his floppy limb, which was made of cartilage rather than bone. He would often hover near Tamo’l in her lab, hoping to make himself useful. He insisted on considering his physical differences as not-yet-classified advantages instead of deformities—who knew what secret abilities his scrambled genetics might offer? His earnestness made Tamo’l’s heart go out to him.
More misbreeds joined her and Fennis as they made their way through the corridors toward the lab dome. She was anxious to get her facilities working on the chemical analysis, pharmaceutical formulations, and toleration trials. Two other domes served as infirmaries and hospices, as well as dwelling complexes. The misbreeds had so many physical problems that for them the hospital facilities were part of their way of life.
Some of the misbreeds had formed family units. There were friends, even lovers, companionable groups that played games, composed music; some told stories from the classic Ildiran Saga. One of the most malformed inhabitants, Mungl’eh, had such a beautiful singing voice that she had brought the Mage-Imperator to tears when she performed in the Prism Palace years ago. That, more than anything, had convinced Jora’h to allow the creation of the sanctuary domes.
When Tamo’l had first begged the Ildiran leader for permission to establish this facility on isolated Kuivahr, she wanted to give the discarded misbreeds a place of their own, a place of dignity. But as Tamo’l spent time treating them, counseling them, listening to them—she discovered a common trait among them. These “errors,” the discards from the grim Dobro breeding program, all wanted meaning in their lives, a reason for being what they were. They did not believe that Osira’h was the only useful result of the program. They felt they had something special like a gem hiding in their scrambled genetics.
Tamo’l’s older brother Rod’h—who possessed nearly the same powers as Osira’h—was quite determined to achieve his potential, even though he had not ultimately been needed during the Elemental War. And the misbreeds had potential, too, even if no one else could see it. Tamo’l wanted to assist them in any way possible.
When her group reached the medical laboratory, Tamo’l had more volunteers than she could possibly use for the new round of pharmaceutical tests. Fennis and Chiar’h were well trained in the work, and the misbreeds had also studied Ildiran medical sciences and techniques. Their lives depended on it, and Tamo’l could not ask for a more dedicated set of workers.
After Fennis delivered the new distillations to the chemistry lab, misbreed helpers removed the vials and catalogued them, separating them by plankton type, kelp strains, and concentration levels. They all held out cautious hope.
When Har’lc looked up at her, his lumpy lips were twisted in a smile as he made a suggestion. “We can also run tests to see if any of these substances might help Prince Reynald of Theroc. We shouldn’t think only of ourselves. We have all studied his medical records.”
Tamo’l was surprised. “Many teams are studying his illness already.”
“But they asked for our help,” said Har’lc. “Reyn might be dying as well, and if we have information, then we should share it.”
Tamo’l’s heart swelled with pride to hear this. “Of course we should. And Prince Reyn is my sister’s close friend. Osira’h would be very happy if we could help.”
“We will test all the samples,” said Gor’ka.
Shawn Fennis was smiling. “If the misbreeds are looking for something important to do, this could be it.”
Tamo’l had happily shared all of her information on Ildiran genetic deficiencies with a man named Tom Rom, whose employer also worked on high-end medical research. She had given him her entire database, believing that such knowledge was a resource to benefit all Ildirans—and humans.
Just like these misbreeds, Tamo’l knew she was trying to clarify her purpose in life, and now a smile crept across her narrow face. If she and her team could find a way to help Prince Reyn, it would be an accomplishment to be proud of indeed.
Tamo’l raised one of the murky vials of kelp extract, tilted it up to the harsh light of the laboratory blazers. “Let’s get to work.”