If Tomorrow Comes

CHAPTER 12

Kindred had plant-based drugs, including powerful opioids. The opioids had surprised Salah. Ree^ka refused all drugs, which did not surprise him.

She lay in Marianne’s room, now hers (Marianne must have squeezed a pallet in someplace else; Salah had no idea where). Although she had refused medical examination, Salah judged that Ree^ka would not survive another night. He hoped that after this critical meeting, she would take the opioid. He understood that she wanted her mind clear now, but he knew of no aspect of the Kindred worldview that would preclude palliative care after the Mother of Mothers had handed down her last decrees. Surely some version of hospice must be included in bu^ka^tel. The Kindred considered themselves stewards of each other as well as of their precious, limited continent.

Ree^ka turned her head on her pillow, and did not succeed in suppressing a faint groan.

Wherever there were narcotics, there was an illegal market for them. That, too, was an aspect of life here that Salah needed to assimilate. If he was going to be here for the rest of his life—and since making love to Isabelle, that didn’t seem such a terrible prospect—he needed more than the language. He needed the culture it served, because no one knew how many Kindred survivors might have natural immunity to R. sporii, as some Stone Age humans on Earth had. There was so much he didn’t know.

Claire said, “Where’s Branch? He left Big Lab to come here ten minutes ago.”

Marianne said, “Probably in the leelee lab, working with the recordings from the ship. I’ll get him. Don’t start without us.”

No one would. Marianne and Claire were in charge of what Salah now thought of as the failed vaccine program, although that wasn’t really fair. In medicine, a partial success was not a failure, not even when the partial was very partial indeed.

The one leelee that had been sickened but not killed by R. sporii had begun to eat. Slowly, slowly the animal was recovering. There was no way to examine it closely, as there would have been in a biosafety level 4 lab; to break the seal on the improvised negative-pressure cage would have been to release spores into the lab. Kindred and Terran scientists had been reduced to watching it through the glass, to crouching on the floor to squint up at its turds from below, to rapping on the side of the cage to determine response, and other totally inadequate measures. But it was indubitable that the leelee now dragged itself around, ate and drank, sent forth a few faint chitters around its dead and decaying cousins, which also could not be removed from the cage.

Marianne and Branch returned, Branch looking as if he hadn’t either slept or washed in too long. Everyone was working overtime, but Branch was also working at the hopeless task of decoding alien signals transmitted in alien code from an alien transmitter to a jerry-rigged device he did not fully understand. When she could be spared, Isabelle studied his notes to see if they corresponded to spoken Kindred. They did not.

Standing beside Ree^ka’s bed, Isabelle slipped her hand into Salah’s. Isabelle looked even more exhausted than Branch. Austin had not yet been found.

Noah Jenner came into the room, crowding it even more. With Llaa^moh¡ and Ka^graa, eight people jammed themselves around Ree^ka’s bed in a space the size of a large closet.

Claire said, “I think we have to go with the synth-vac we have. We can run one more leelee trial while simultaneously manufacturing as much vaccine as we can and starting to administer it. There’s just no time to test more. We don’t know how long it will take to become effective, and it offers only thirty-three percent protection…” She trailed off, clearly knowing how ridiculous that was.

Thirty-three percent on a sample size of three leelees. And the one leelee it had “protected” had sickened anyway. And that was in alien animals, not in humans. Who had, over 140,000 years, evolved immune-system differences from the Terrans the vaccine had originally been designed for. Not to mention that most vaccines needed at least a week, usually two, to protect anybody against anything.

To the low hum of Noah’s translation, Claire finished with an unexpected note of defiance. “It’s all we have.”

Branch, with the audacity of the young, said, “So who gets it?”

Ka^graa said, “We scientists of World will not take the vaccine. It will sicken us and we must help with the manufacture. It is better so.”

Salah’s gaze dropped. Twenty-first century Americans did not bow; this was the closest he had to a silent gesture of respect. The Kindred scientists were giving their lives in the hope of saving even a few others.

But then the Mother of Mothers spoke, her voice abruptly stronger. “No. You will preserve some vaccine and take as late as possible before the spore cloud comes. Whoever survives of our people will need you. There is no disagreement possible.”

Nor would there be any. Salah could see that.

Ree^ka continued. “The people in the camp are the worst of us. They have left their lahks. They have made weapons. They have tried to kill. Not all of them, that is understood. But they have defied bu^ka^tel to come here, and they must not be rewarded for this. The vaccines will be given to the children in the camps. If they survive, Terrans will care for them.”

Never had Salah heard such depth of sorrow in a voice, nor seen it as in the dark eyes of the Mother of Mothers. Ree^ka was facing not just the death of most of her people but of her civilization as well.

Marianne said, “Isabelle, tell her that we don’t know how many Kindred might have natural immunity. Even the worst filoviruses on Earth have only a ninety percent kill rate, and R. sporii isn’t a filovirus.”

Isabelle said, “She knows.”

They all knew. This wasn’t Earth, and the Kindred were not nearly as genetically diverse as Terrans. There might indeed be some natural immunity, but on the first Kindred ship, everyone had died.

Ree^ka said, “Other lahks may come here now, those nearby. Llaa^moh¡ will know who to radio and in what order. Llaa^moh¡, you should bring your daughter and sister here now. They have my permission to leave their lahk.”

Salah saw Marianne’s face brighten.

The Mother of Mothers raised a feeble arm and pointed. Clearly, it took all her strength. “Marianne-mak, after the cloud, you must lead the Terran lahk to rebuild World. You must share this work with your soldiers. I so ¡mo¡mo^ you.”

Another important word. But as Isabelle translated it as “sacred trust,” her clutch on Salah’s hand said that it was more than that.

Ree^ka faltered, and Claire eased her back onto her pillow. The Mother of Mothers closed her eyes, strength spent, and whispered, “Isabelle. Come… to me… soon.”

The Kindred seemed to take this as dismissal and filed out. The Terrans followed, Branch half running back to the leelee lab and his machinery. Isabelle said to Salah in English, “There’s nothing more you can do for her?”

“Only the opioids she won’t take.”

“Tonight?”

“I think so, yes.”

“How will you set up the vaccination of the children?”

It would be difficult. As the Mother of Mothers had said, the people who had come to the camp, who had twice made assaults on the lab, were the roughest of Kindred society. Long ago on Terra, sociologists had made the observation that the worst enemies of any culture were its own young men between fourteen and twenty-four: not yet firmly anchored in life, testosterone raging, they were the ones that created both constructive revolutions and destructive gangs. Yet the camps held older men, women, children—had they followed their young rebels to keep lahks together, or because it was not possible, bu^ka^tel or no, to suppress the human bent to put self-preservation above survival of the group?

Isabelle answered her own question. “The Rangers will have to maintain order and bring the kids into the compound to be vaccinated inside.”

Salah had trouble picturing that: Owen Lamont as kindergarten hall monitor. Before he could say anything, Leo Brodie came through the door from the walkway to the clinic. Salah caught the flicker in the soldier’s eyes as he saw Isabelle’s hand in Salah’s. Another reason to distrust Brodie.

He said in passable Kindese, “I greet you, Isabelle.”

“I greet you, Leo.”

They each used the inflection for close friends? When had that happened?

Brodie would have continued on his pointless patrol, but Isabelle said, “Leo, I need to ask a favor.”

“What?”

“Austin is still missing. I want to go up the hill to the lahk and see if he’s there, plus bring Kayla here. Noah didn’t go by the house like I thought he would when he arrived this morning, he just came straight here. Steve and Josh radioed that they can’t leave their mining operation and aren’t coming here. Ree^ka-mak says I may leave the compound only if I am escorted by one of the unit. Are you on duty? Will you walk me up there?”

Salah couldn’t control his face. He felt it stiffen, felt his eyes narrow, and knew that Brodie saw it. Salah didn’t want Isabelle to go outside, didn’t want her to go with Brodie, didn’t like that she had asked him. Probably she would have gone alone if the Mother of Mothers hadn’t said otherwise. But Isabelle had asked Brodie.

Salah had a sudden picture of how they must look: a beautiful woman standing between a forty-five-year-old, slightly overweight doctor and a twenty-four-year-old, handsome soldier in superb physical condition. What a dreary cliché they were. Isabelle had slept with Salah, but was she regretting her choice? Did she believe in polyandry? He hardly knew her at all, only that she was the first woman in a long time that he’d wanted to know.

Brodie flashed a grin. “Sure, I’ll take you, Isabelle. I’m just coming off duty. Let’s go.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at him, and let go of Salah’s hand.

The smile had been distracted; she was genuinely worried about Austin and Kayla. But it had still been a smile. Salah watched her walk by Brodie’s side to the door.

He couldn’t believe his luck. Isabelle had asked her favor just as Leo was coming off duty. Sleep-deprived weariness vanished in an instant. His mind raced, half on the safest way to protect her, half on the fact that he didn’t actually have Owen’s permission to leave the area. The CO hadn’t said the unit couldn’t leave while off duty, although the expectation was that all four of them would be immediately available for emergencies. Well, Isabelle’s house was only half a klick away, and Leo was really fast, even in full kit. Also, it was up on the hill and Leo could surveil from there, see the whole area. Also, he would leave word with Zoe where he was going.

Owen wouldn’t like it.

Owen didn’t like anything these days. Sour as a croc with toothache, Kandiss had said, which was the first time Leo learned that Kandiss came from Florida. Something was eating Owen, that was for sure—something more, that is, than the spore cloud and being marooned on Kindred and the constant tense state of jacked-up inaction. Something that Leo couldn’t put his finger on. But what was Owen going to do—court-martial Leo? But, still…

Then Isabelle smiled at him.

The smile, sad and anxious, went straight to Leo’s heart. She loved her whiny sister and that wild kid, Austin. Leo liked Austin, too, having been pretty wild himself at that age. So he said, “Sure.” He visualized the route alongside the compound: skirt the camp, avoid the orchard and anyplace else easy to plant insurgents. Leo’s action in Brazil had all been urban, but the principles were no different.

He radioed on the unit frequency, “Leaving the area for fifteen minutes, will report to you then.”

“What the fuck?” Zoe said.

“Out, Zo!”

Isabelle said, “Who was that? Zoe Berman?”

“Yeah. She’s all right.”

“I appreciate you doing this, Leo.”

“No problem.” They were passing the edge of the camp now. No activity visible except a woman and an older man at a cook fire, some people sewing, a circle of older kids crouched over small stones… “What are those kids playing?”

“A gambling game. Sort of like Go.”

He didn’t know what Go was. “I didn’t think Kindred gambled.”

“Yeah, you guys either think we’re all saints or else, like your lieutenant, all devils in disguise. Not true. We’re human, just made nicer by a really good political and economic system.”

We. Isabelle considered herself one of them. He said in Kindese, “I want know more by those things. Will you teach me?”

She stopped walking and turned to look at him. “Would you like to learn?”

“Yeah,” in English. “Keep moving, Isabelle. No, not that way, over there. Longer but clearer.”

She resumed walking. There was a little silence. Then she said, “Yes, I’d be glad to teach you. I’m amazed at how much Worldese you picked up already. Neither of us has much time, but we can fit in something. Now and… afterward. When we’re not both busy for a while burying the dead.”

Her honesty startled him. Leo had been trying not to think about after the spore cloud. That was how he’d gotten through Brazil: Think only about the day happening right now, the objective, the orders, the target. That had always worked for him before.

“Leo,” she said as they approached the crest of the hill, “how many people have you killed?”

He hated that question, especially from civilians, who never understood. But Isabelle was different. “Eleven, mostly in Brazil. And every single kill was in defense of the Marine unit I was attached to.”

“I get that,” she said. “I’m not judging you.”

“The others are,” Leo said, again surprising himself. “Your friend Salah, for instance.”

“He’s a doctor. His job is saving lives, not taking them. But your unit is saving lives, too, by preventing even more violence.”

“Yeah,” he said, and they reached the lahk, which was a good thing because Leo’s throat felt tight and he needed a moment before he spoke again. The bar girls and friends-of-friends he’d gone out with hadn’t been like Isabelle. Nobody was like Isabelle.

“Stay here,” he said, “while I check out the house. No, not there—stand behind that. I’ll call you when it’s clear.”

“Okay.”

The house was as beautiful as he remembered: swooping karthwood—he knew the name now—curves, mellow gold in the orange light, surrounded by the sweet-smelling dark foliage that would provide a fucking good cover for insurgents. And shouldn’t the terrace above him be open to the air at this time of day? The sliding panels were all closed. Not good.

Leo circled the house. The north side stood flush to the ground, with less cover. The door here was locked—if you could call that lightweight contraption a lock. By now, he knew enough about Kindred to guess that the lock wasn’t supposed to keep anyone out, just announce to visitors that nobody was here. If anybody did break in, the lahks would cooperate to figure out who and go from there. Or things stolen might just be given away in the next illathil. Crazy system!

He easily smashed the lock with the butt of his rifle and cleared the rooms, which was easy because there was nobody in them. On one of the low tables, handmade like nearly everything here, was a folded piece of paper addressed to Isabelle. Leo picked it up and jogged back.

“Nobody there, just this note.”

She read it and handed it back to Leo.

Leo said, “Who are Steve and Josh?”

“The other first-expedition Terrans in our lahk. They have a copper mine in the central mountains and they’re there a lot, but of course they would have come back for illathil. Only—”

“Only what? Is something suspicious about that note?”

“No. Not really. Just that Kayla doesn’t get along well with Steve and Josh. Nor does Austin. Still, if she’s afraid, and she would be afraid here, with all the refugees and your unit… I wish she’d stayed here.”

Leo didn’t. If the mine was safer, then it was a better place for the kid to be. And he could do without Kayla, not that he’d seen that much of her. But she’d be around Isabelle all the time, after the spore cloud.

Don’t think about that until the time comes.

“We have to go back, Isabelle.”

“Yes, of course. The Mother of Mothers wants to see me. Alone.”

“She does? What about?”

“I don’t know. She’s dying, Leo. Salah says probably tonight.”

She let out a little gasp then, looking like she hadn’t expected to. Tears filled her eyes. Leo, after a quick glance around for insurgents, shifted his rifle to one hand and put his arms around her. For one glorious moment, before she broke free and became herself again, he held her in his arms.

“Come on,” she said, tears gone, “let’s go.”

All the short way to the camp, she talked to him about Kindred, a kind of crash course in how the place worked. Lahks, money, responsibility, Council of Mothers, mining, manufacturing restrictions, kids. Some of it Leo already knew and some of it he didn’t but he listened hard to all of it, even as he kept a sharp lookout. He was a quick study when he wanted to be, and this time he wanted to be. The setup of her doomed society mattered to Isabelle.

At the camp, a teenage boy darted forward and threw a rock.

Instantly Leo had Isabelle behind him and his rifle pointed. The rock had bounced off his helmet; it had been aimed at him, not her. The boy, all thin coppery arms, brown knee-length dress too tight to conceal other weapons, arms out at his side, stared at Leo. The kid wanted Leo to shoot him. He wanted to be a martyr, a victim that insurgents could rally around. He was romanticizing his own death.

“Get lost,” Leo said in Kindese. Then, in English, “Isabelle, move to the compound staying between me and the camp.”

She did. Leo backed away, weapon at the ready, knowing without looking that Zoe was covering him from the roof. The boy shouted something and Isabelle started to shout back but Leo said, “No. Be quiet,” and she was.

Inside the compound, he said, “What did the kid say?”

“He called me a filthy Terran turd.”

Leo nodded, headed to the ready room, and waited to see if Zoe had reported Leo’s unauthorized expedition to Owen, if Owen wanted to see him, what might happen next.

Isabelle crept quietly into Ree^ka-mak’s room, prepared to leave if the Mother of Mothers was asleep. She was not.

“Come here, child.”

Isabelle knelt by the bed and took Ree^ka’s hand in hers. The bones and veins rose under the skin like karthwood twigs. Ree^ka’s fingers felt icy.

“Tell… you two great things.”

“Yes, Mother of Mothers.”

“Afterward… heal the Kindred wound with the soldiers. Marry one.”

It was the traditional way of forestalling conflict between lahks—and, once, monarchies on Earth. Married women remained with their own birth lahks; their brothers and male cousins were there to help raise children; marriage contracts were renewable or not every five years. In such a culture, closeness and fidelity between partners were mostly a matter of choice and good manners. Blood was what mattered, not pair-bonding. Marriage was easy, and easily changed. Children were not. Children bound lahks together for good.

“Mother of Mothers… I cannot do that.”

“You can. One… contract.”

“I’m sorry. Terrans do not—”

“You are no longer Terran.”

It was the greatest compliment Isabelle could have been paid. She bowed her head. But she did not promise to marry anyone. Ree^ka had not spent much time around Terrans. Intelligent as she was, she apparently did not realize that marrying a Ranger would not create an alliance. Not even if Owen Lamont married sixteen Kindred women in rapid succession and fathered thirty-two children. The US Army did not work that way.

Ree^ka did not press her. Instead, she told her the second great thing. Isabelle’s eyes widened. She half rose, dropping Ree^ka’s hand. “What?”

But the Mother of Mothers had exhausted her strength. Her eyes closed.