TAMO’L
Death was no stranger to the peaceful sanctuary domes on Kuivahr. The misbreeds had countless chronic medical problems, failing organs, biochemical imbalances, neurological collapses. There were deaths caused by a cascade of bodily failures and deaths for no discernible reason at all. The misbreeds lived with an acute awareness of their mortality—but at least they lived.
And Tamo’l lived with them, striving to ensure that their existence was as pain-free and fulfilling as possible. But she didn’t always succeed.
Inside the hospice surgical chamber, Tamo’l stood beside the outstretched and hideous form of Vu’ln, whose genes were a mixture of soldier kith, lens kith, and swimmer kith, and the mixture had not turned out well.
On his deathbed now, Vu’ln reached out and clasped Tamo’l’s delicate hand. His fingers were stubby, his knuckles swollen, his arm twisted and folded at an unsettling angle because he had an extra set of joints. A vestigial eye that had never opened drooped halfway down his left cheek, twitching as he grimaced. His other two eyes were open and bright with pain … or possibly an epiphany. “Thank you for being here, Tamo’l.” His voice burbled from too much phlegm caught in a malformed larynx.
“I am here for all of you. You are my brother.” She never forgot that she was a mixed breed herself, but many experiments from Dobro had produced offspring that were … not viable.
Vu’ln stared up at the polished ceiling of the hospice room that glowed from embedded blazers. “At least I lived for some years.”
“Twenty-five years.” Tamo’l stroked the patchy skin on the dying man’s arm, where tufts of wiry hair sprouted like weeds in random places. “Your spirit is as healthy and vibrant as any. On the plane of the Lightsource, you will shine like anyone else, and there you can be happy among all Ildiran souls.” She smiled down at him. “And since I’m part lens kith, I might even be able to see you when you get there.”
Shawn Fennis entered the chamber, frowning. Tamo’l knew how to read human emotions, and she saw his heavy sadness now. When his wife Chiar’h came to stand next to him, Fennis slipped an arm around her waist, as if the sight of Vu’ln reminded him of his love for her. Medical kithmen conducted tests, monitored instruments, and watched the failing life signs on the med screens.
Tamo’l leaned closer and whispered, “I wish I knew how to fix you. I have studied and studied, conducted research, gathered data, but I haven’t been able to help. I am so very sorry.”
Vu’ln squeezed her hand so tightly she thought it was a spasm, but he was simply trying to reassure her. “You helped a great deal. You helped all of us. You will find the ways in which we are all special.”
Tamo’l nodded, trying to convince herself. She knew that Vu’ln was feeling calmer, experiencing a hint of euphoria due to the experimental palliative from the kelp distillates that Zhett Kellum and her son had delivered. Although the palliative showed great promise, it would only make the misbreeds’ existence tolerable, not heal them.
Tamo’l and her team were the only Ildirans devoting research to the genetic mistakes, and she could not do everything alone. Even though Mage-Imperator Jora’h had granted her the sanctuary domes, now that the Dobro breeding program had been shut down, Ildirans considered the misbreeds a temporary problem that would go away as soon as they all died. In hopes of getting outside help, Tamo’l wondered if she could find a treatment for Prince Reyn’s ailment, which would not only make Osira’h happy, but would also bring her misbreeds to the attention of the Confederation.…
Nothing could help Vu’ln right now, though. The dying misbreed heaved a breath and his back arched, but he fell back on the sickbed to stare again at the bright lights around him. Behind the transparent dome walls, the seas of Kuivahr swirled. Dangling strands of kelp rippled by like a parade of mourners.
Hearing a shuffle of feet, Tamo’l looked up to the entrance of the hospice chamber and saw other misbreeds crowded in the corridor. They could all feel tremors in the thism as Vu’ln held on to the fraying threads of his life. One of the visitors, Har’lc, carried a bottle of kirae, which had been delivered as a gift from the Kellum distillery. Another misbreed, Gor’ka, carried a tray of small crystalline hemispheres used as drinking goblets.
“We are here for Vu’ln,” said Har’lc, “to celebrate.”
Serving an appreciative drink of the potent and delicious kirae was a tradition someone had copied from the humans. Shawn Fennis had proposed the idea himself, and Tamo’l thought the practice fitting. Har’lc and his companions poured goblets of the greenish liquid and shared them around.
The misbreeds entered the hospice and crowded around their dying comrade. Tamo’l maintained her grip on Vu’ln’s hand, and he seemed to understand the celebratory toast around him. Tamo’l sipped, felt the liqueur activate sensitive nerve endings on her tongue.
It might have been her imagination, but the kirae seemed to enhance her connection to the thism and to the Lightsource. For a moment, she felt intensely close to Vu’ln, as if the bonds pulled her tight to him and also spun out strands to the gathered misbreeds. Vu’ln seemed to feel that, and it gave him the energy and the release that he needed. The thism strands in her mind brightened and sparkled, then unraveled as the dying man stopped trying to hold his biological systems together.
Tamo’l felt Vu’ln slip away, slip free. She saw a fringe of shadows in her mind; then Vu’ln headed toward a bright flash of intense light that vanished—as did her connection with him. She let out a long sigh, in unison with the other misbreeds. Even the medical kithmen paused, looking up from their monitoring devices.
Now there was one less misbreed to care for, and the submerged sanctuary domes felt much, much emptier.