Part 10 (1/2)
This pain was all-absorbing. I was amazed by the relentless, mind-controlling quality of it. During the hours of agony that I had already endured and was yet to endure, I attempted to concentrate on my surroundings, to think of other things, to interact with the people around me, even to do simple multiplication tables in my head, but the pain flowed into all the compartments of my consciousness like molten steel into the fissures on a cracked crucible.
These things I was dimly aware of at the time: that I had been on a world my comlog had identified as Vitus-Gray-Balia.n.u.s B and in the process of dipping water from a well when the pain had felled me; that a woman swathed in a blue robe, her toenails visibly blue in her open sandals as I lay writhing in the dust, had called others in blue robes and gowns and these people had carried me to the adobe house where I continued battling the pain in a soft bed; that there were several other people in the house-another woman in a blue gown and head scarf, a younger man who wore a blue robe and turban, at least two children, also dressed in blue; and that these generous people not only put up with my moaned apologies and less articulate moans as I curled and uncurled in pain, but constantly spoke to me, patted me, placed wet compresses on my forehead, removed my boots and socks and vest, and generally continued whispering rea.s.surances in their soft dialect as I tried to fight to keep my dignity against the onslaught of agony in my back and abdomen.
It was several hours after they brought me to their home-the blue sky had faded to rose evening outside the window-when the woman who had found me near the well said, ”Citizen, we have asked the local missionary priest for help and he has gone for the doctor at the Pax base at Bombasino. For some reason, the Pax skimmers and other aircraft are all busy now, so the priest and the doctor...if the doctor comes...must travel fifty pulls down the river, but with luck they should be here before sunrise.”
I did not know how long a pull was or how much time it would take to travel fifty, or even how long the night was on this world, but the thought that there might be an end point to my agony was enough to bring tears to my eyes. Nonetheless, I whispered, ”Please, ma'am, no Pax doctor.”
The woman set cool fingers against my brow. ”We must. There is no longer a medic here in Lock Lamonde. We are afraid you might die without medical help.”
I moaned and rolled away. The pain roiled through me like a hot wire being pulled through too-narrow capillaries. I realized that a Pax doctor would know immediately that I was from offworld, would report me to the Pax police or military-if the ”missionary priest” had not already done so-and that I was all but certain to be interrogated and detained. My mission for Aenea was ending early and in failure. When the old poet, Martin Silenus, had sent me on this Odyssey four and a half standard years earlier, he had drunk a champagne toast to me-”To heroes.” If only he had known how far from reality that toast had been. Perhaps he had.
The night pa.s.sed with glacial slowness. Several times the two women looked in on me and at other times the children, in blue gowns that may have been sleeping apparel, peered in from the darkened hallway. They wore no headdress then and I saw that the girl had blond hair worn much the way Aenea had when we first met, when she was almost twelve and I twenty-eight standard. The little boy-younger than the girl I a.s.sumed to be his sister-looked especially pale; his head was shaved quite bald. Each time he looked in, his fingers fluttered at me in a shy wave. Between rolls of pain, I would feebly wave back, but each time I opened my eyes to look again, the child would be gone.
Sunrise came and went without a doctor. Hopelessness surged in me like an outgoing tide. I could not resist this terrible pain another hour. I knew instinctively that if the kind people in this household had any painkiller, they would have long since given it to me. I had spent the night trying to think of anything I had brought with me in the kayak, but the only medicine in my stowed kit was disinfectant and some aspirin. I knew that the latter would do nothing against this tidal wave of pain.
I decided that I could hold out another ten minutes. They had removed my comlog bracelet and set it within sight on an adobe ledge near the bed, but I had not thought to measure the hours of the night with it. Now I struggled to reach it, the pain twisting in me like a hot wire, and slipped the bracelet back on my wrist. I whispered to the s.h.i.+p's AI in it: ”Is the biomonitor function still activated?”
”Yes,” said the bracelet.
”Am I dying?”
”Life signs are not critical,” said the s.h.i.+p in its usual flat tones. ”But you appear to be in shock. Blood pressure is...” It continued to rattle off technical information until I told it to shut up.
”Have you figured out what's doing this to me?” I gasped. Waves of nausea followed the pain. I had long since vomited anything in my stomach, but the retching doubled me over.
”It is not inconsistent with an appendicitis attack,” said the comlog.
”Appendicitis...” Those useless artifacts had long since been gene-tailored out of humanity. ”Do I have an appendix?” I whispered to the bracelet. With the sunrise had come the rustle of robes in the quiet house and several visits from the women.
”Negative,” said the comlog. ”It would be very unlikely, unless you are a genetic sport. The odds against that would be...”
”Silence,” I hissed. The two women in blue robes bustled in with another woman, taller, thinner, obviously offworld-born. She wore a dark jumpsuit with the cross-and-caduceus patch of the Pax Fleet Medical Corps on her left shoulder.
”I'm Dr. Molina,” said the woman, unpacking a small black valise. ”All the base skimmers are on war-game maneuvers and I had to come by fitzboat with the young man who fetched me.” She set one sticky diagnostic patch on my bare chest and another on my belly. ”And don't flatter yourself that I came all this way for you...one of the base skimmers crashed near Keroa Tambat, eighty klicks south of here, and I have to tend to the injured Pax crew while they wait for medevac. Nothing serious, just bruises and a broken leg. They didn't want to pull a skimmer out of the games just for that.” She removed a palm-sized device from the valise and checked to see that it was receiving from the patches. ”And if you're one of those Mercantilus s.p.a.cers who jumped s.h.i.+p at the port a few weeks ago,” she continued, ”don't get any ideas about robbing me for drugs or money. I'm traveling with two security guards and they're right outside.” She slipped earphones on. ”Now what's wrong with you, young man?”
I shook my head, gritting my teeth against the surge of pain that was ripping through my back at that second. When I could, I said, ”I don't know, Doctor...my back...and nausea...”
She ignored me while checking the palm device. Suddenly she leaned over and probed my abdomen on the left side. ”Does that hurt?”
I almost screamed. ”Yes,” I said when I could speak.
She nodded and turned to the woman in blue who had saved me. ”Tell the priest who fetched me to bring in the larger bag. This man is completely dehydrated. We need to set up an IV. I'll administer the ukramorph after I get that going.”
I realized then what I had known since I was a child watching my mother die of cancer-namely, that beyond ideology and ambition, beyond thought and emotion, there was only pain. And salvation from it. I would have done anything for that rough-edged, talkative Pax Fleet doctor right then.
”What is it?” I asked her as she was setting up a bottle and tubes. ”Where is this pain coming from?” She had an old-fas.h.i.+oned needle syringe in her hand and was filling it from a small vial of ultramorph. If she told me that I had contracted a fatal disease and would be dead before nightfall, it would be all right as long as she gave me that shot of painkiller first.
”Kidney stone,” said Dr. Molina.
I must have shown my incomprehension, because she went on, ”A little rock in your kidney...too large to pa.s.s...probably made of calcium. Have you had trouble urinating in recent days?”
I thought back to the beginning of the trip and before. I had not been drinking enough water and had attributed the occasional pain and difficulty to that fact. ”Yes, but...”
”Kidney stone,” she said, swabbing my left wrist. ”Little sting here.” She inserted the intravenous needle and dermplasted it in place. The sting of the needle was totally lost in the cacophony of pain from my back. There was a moment of fiddling with the intravenous tube and attaching the syringe to an offshoot of it. ”This will take about a minute to act,” she said. ”But it should eliminate the discomfort.”
Discomfort. I closed my eyes so that no one would see the tears of relief there. The woman who had found me by the well took my hand in hers.
A minute later the pain began to ebb. Nothing had ever been so welcome by its absence. It was as if a great and terrible noise had finally been turned down so that I could think. I became me again as the agony dropped to the levels I had known from knife wounds and broken bones. This I could handle and still retain my dignity and sense of self. The woman in blue was touching my wrist as the ultramorph took effect.
”Thank you,” I said through parched, cracked lips, squeezing the hand of the woman in blue. ”And thank you, Dr. Molina,” I said to the Pax medic.
Dr. Molina leaned over me, tapping my cheeks softly. ”You're going to sleep for a while, but I need some answers first. Don't sleep until you talk to me.”
I nodded groggily.
”What's your name?”
”Raul Endymion.” I realized that I could not lie to her. She must have put Truthtell or another drug in the IV drip.
”Where are you from, Raul Endymion?” She was holding the palm-sized diagnostic device like a recorder.
”Hyperion. The continent of Aquila. My clan was...”
”How did you get to Lock Childe Lamonde on Vitus-Gray-Balia.n.u.s B, Raul? Are you one of the s.p.a.cers who jumped s.h.i.+p from the Mercantilus freighter last month?”
”Kayak,” I heard myself say as everything began to feel distant. A great warmth filled me, almost indistinguishable from the sense of relief that surged within me. ”Paddled downriver in the kayak,” I babbled. ”Through the farcaster. No, I'm not one of the s.p.a.cers...”
”Farcaster?” I heard the doctor repeat, her voice puzzled. ”What do you mean you came through the farcaster, Raul Endymion? Do you mean you paddled under it the way we did? Just pa.s.sed by it on your trip downriver?”
”No,” I said. ”I came through through it. From offworld.” it. From offworld.”
The doctor glanced at the woman in blue and then turned back to me. ”You came through through the farcaster from offworld? You mean it...functioned? Farcast you here?” the farcaster from offworld? You mean it...functioned? Farcast you here?”
”Yeah.”
”From where?” said the doctor, checking my pulse with her left hand.
”Old Earth,” I said. ”I came from Earth.”
For a moment I floated, blissfully free from pain, while the doctor stepped out into the hall to talk to the ladies. I heard s.n.a.t.c.hes of conversation.
”...obviously mentally unbalanced,” the doctor's voice was saying. ”Could not have possibly come through the...delusions of Old Earth...possibly one of the s.p.a.cers oh drugs...”
”Happy to have him stay...”the woman in the blue robe was saying. ”Take care of him until...”
”The priest and one of the guards will stay here...”the doctor's voice said. ”When the medevac skimmer comes to Keroa Tambat we'll stop by here to fetch him on the way back to the base...tomorrow or the day after tomorrow...don't let him leave...military police will probably want to...”
Buoyed up on the rising crest of bliss at the absence of pain, I quit fighting the current and allowed myself to drift downstream to the waiting arms of morphia.
I DREAMED OF A CONVERSATION AENEA AND I HAD shared a few months earlier. It was a cool, high-desert summer night and we were sitting in the vestibule of her shelter, drinking mugs of tea and watching the stars come out. We had been discussing the Pax, but for everything negative I had said about it, Aenea had responded with something positive. Finally I got angry.