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A week and a half after Elspeth’s first encounter with the natives, Harry finally left the ship. He didn’t cross the plain to the perpetual gathering of their neighbors, still maintaining vigil, but he’d walked around the Adventurer, checking her condition and considering whether using their remaining fuel to shift her a few kilometers away, to avoid encroaching on the nearby settlement, was wise.
He’d been able to track the exploration parties organized by Wilhelmina Schott, their science and exploration officer, from the bridge, watching through their camera lenses as they crossed the field, dipped into the woods – out of sight of the Adventurer for the first time – then following the turgid river downstream, viewing the site the natives identified as most suitable for them to settle. The broad, level plain adjacent to the riparian forest might have been made for the Adventurer. South and west of them the hills rose in ever-higher layers; to the east, across the river, the land rolled as far as they could see in mixed meadow and forest. Although not particularly high, not like the mountains bisecting Eurocorp, sharp peaks pierced the sky to the west. Crossing that range would require skills he lacked, he thought as he showered and prepared for his watch.
The exploration team had taken the opportunity to roughhouse in the river before returning to the ship... and who could blame them? On Terra that could never happen – he made a mental note to add swimming lessons to Elspeth’s list. Back home, they guarded every bit of spare water like something sacred. Which he supposed it was, in terms of its value. Clean water was one of the shortages that had started the troubles.
He wondered if any place livable still existed on Terra. The destruction of the shields by rabid mobs had been the final straw that triggered their precipitous, unauthorized departure.
Ah well, irrelevant now. Around the mess hall they were calling the planet Newfoundland, after an old province in Northam. It fit; he’d be fine if the name stuck.
“Harry, you there?”
Ben, his 2IC, on the comm link. “In my quarters. Just about to head to the bridge. Meet you there?”
“In ten? I’ve got the report and some news.”
“On my way. Page Elspeth.”
“Will do.”
Harry didn’t worry about Willie’s report; he knew what the exploration teams had found. The only question was the advisability of expending their almost non-existent fuel supply to move the ship. The promise of news intrigued him, though. Had Gretchen Schmidt had her baby? Some unexpected maintenance issue? Teenagers into mischief again?
He and Elspeth arrived at the same time and together joined Ben in the small executive meeting room attached to the bridge.
“No surprises in Willie's report, which I’ve sent to you,” Ben said without preliminary. “So I vote we move. We’re here for keeps. No point delaying getting settled.”
“If we wait, there might be a better site a hundred kilometers from here,” Elspeth said mildly.
“Might. But how much improvement can we expect? We’ve got water, fertile soil, and amenable neighbors. We’ve done every environmental test known to humankind. It’s time to stop frittering away our summer and put down roots. Let the kids off the Adventurer. Hell, half of them don’t remember what solid ground feels like.”
“Moving on,” Harry said, interrupting a debate better held when the entire senior staff was present, “what other news?”
“Ah.” One thing about Ben, he didn’t ride his opinions to death. “Don’t know what to make of this. A bulletin from Constance. She and Richard Calhoun, a guy in Hans’s community, both report unexpected symptoms each time they leave the ship. Sharp, piercing headache, nausea. In Constance’s case, it happens almost immediately. For Richard it’s slower onset and mild enough he can tolerate it, but it’s driven Constance back on board. As soon as they’re inside, the symptoms diminish, and eventually go away. Here.” He queued the bulletin on their tablets.
“Is this common knowledge?” Elspeth asked.
“Not secret, too many people have seen it happen. But how far it’s spread, I can’t say.”
Harry scanned the brief bulletin. “Page Constance, please. She’s the medic around here. I want to talk to her directly.”
Ben shook his head. “She went out there yesterday. Said she hoped it’d get better if she stuck it out. She’s out of commission today.”
“Can we visit?”
Ben nodded. “I checked. She’s expecting us.”
Constance, when she opened the door to her quarters, looked like hell, her eyes sunken, tension in her body futilely trying to mask pain. “Mistake,” she said as she gestured them in. Then she collapsed on her bunk. “I can’t think straight, my head’s splitting, I can’t keep food down.”
“Has it improved from yesterday?” Ben asked. Knowing Ben, he’d be keeping a graph of Constance’s progress, or lack thereof.
She nodded weakly. “But not much. I’m at a loss what to try next. I’ve used painkillers and electrolytes and heat and cold and dark and sleep...” Her face, Harry noted, was deathly pale; he nudged a metal basin closer to her bunk with his foot.
“With your permission,” she said, “I’d like to talk to the woman they call a healer, the one with the green sash. Maybe it’s endemic.”
“Bring her on board, you mean?”
“I can’t go to her.”
While relations had progressed exceptionally smoothly, none of the villagers had been invited into the Adventurer. Nor had they been welcome to visit the locals’ village. Wary caution prevailed on both sides.
He, Ben, and Elspeth formed an awkward audience beside the bunk, passing glances back and forth. He knew his senior crew well; no words were needed.
“Let’s do it,” Elspeth said at last. “I’ll get in touch with her.”
Because Terran methods weren’t working. Harry nodded.
And so, a day later, the elderly woman named Gwen cautiously mounted the steps leading to the outer hatch and set foot in the Adventurer. She submitted to being scanned for anything that might infect their internal environment, then Harry led her to Constance’s quarters.
The women spent upwards of two hours together, at one point sending for tea and cookies but otherwise incommunicado. It was nearing suppertime when Constance paged Harry.
With Elspeth in tow, he found her sitting in bed, a little more color in her face. Gwen rose as he entered. “I can give you the simple explanation,” she said in her unusual accent. She spoke slowly; they had all learned to allow time to decode speech. “It’s caused by sensitivity to the Aura.”
“The...?”
“Aura,” Constance repeated. “It’s right up there with all the pseudo medical systems we outlawed years ago. Homeopathy and acupuncture and Reiki... everything we considered faith healing with no scientific basis.”
Gwen shook her head. “We rely on the techniques Constance described to me, as well as ordinary medicines such as can be made from plants.”
“And it works,” Constance said. “I feel almost human again. This Aura’s some kind of energy that confers special powers on a select few, called Weavers. Most Weavers are Healers, but there are others. Bards, who seem to be a weird medieval throwback, and another group called Scribes whose function is murky. At least Gwen couldn’t explain it to me.” Constance recited like a schoolgirl excited by her lesson.
“Oh great,” Harry groaned. “We’re dealing with a primitive nature religion.”
Elspeth shot him an annoyed glance
Gwen’s stance tightened. “I suggest you live on our planet awhile before you cast judgment.”
Abashed, Harry said, “I beg your pardon. Of course you’re right.”
“Elaborate, please,” Elspeth said.
Constance took a breath. “Gwen demonstrated how she uses the Aura to re-align energies. I could feel it, Elspeth. Moving in my body. Most of the healing is plant based, provided by local healers, because there aren’t enough of these traveling Healers to go around. But this wasn’t just herbalism, in fact she didn’t give me anything herbal. She used her hands. I can’t explain it medically, but it’s real.”
Harry remained unconvinced. “And why just you and Richard? Why not everyone else?”
A pause. Finally, Constance whispered, “We’re like them. Or I am anyway. Gwen says I can access this energy once I know how. But I didn’t grow up with it, so its strength knocked me flat. At least that’s the theory.”
Because Constance was clearly impressed, and because they had two years of trusting her abilities and instincts, Harry and Elspeth didn’t laugh. Instead, Elspeth said, “What happens next? We need you functioning.”
“I will send word that we need another Weaver here, a Scribe,” Gwen said, “This isn’t a matter of Healing, exactly.” She nodded at Constance. “You need training. but it’s obvious you can’t journey to the Motherhouse, and I haven’t the skill to shield you. Beyond that... stay on your ship, I guess. I’m sorry. I wish I could do more.”
~~
LATER, HARRY SAT WITH Constance in the mess hall, watching as she downed a bowl of chicken broth and a handful of crackers. “You believe this rigmarole?” he asked.
She nodded. “Look at me. I’m up and eating. And... it was never part of our training, but Gwen taught me something about listening to the wisdom of the body. Right now mine says crackers are fine, but that cheesecake you’re devouring isn’t. Think of it as a form of technology, with specifications for different needs. They train for years.”
“And what? Wave their hands around and chant incantations?”
Constance kicked him under the table. “We can’t discount this, Harry. And it’s imperative I find a way to get to this Motherhouse place, so I can learn how to do it. Because our medicines are almost exhausted, and herbs won’t be enough.”
“If you say so.” Harry leaned back and mentally turned more reins over to Elspeth. Transition to life on their new planet, Newfoundland, wasn’t going to be as straightforward as he’d hoped. But at least they had their medic back.