If Tomorrow Comes

CHAPTER 6

Austin and Graa^lok stopped at the mouth of the cave. Austin swiped the sweat off his face with the hem of his shirt. His mother sewed him Terran clothes, and although he usually wore a wrap, sometimes the Terran clothes felt better. And they kept his mother happy, or at least less miserable.

Graa^lok said, “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“Of course it’s the right place,” Austin said, hoping this was true. The mountains of World, old and worn down, were all full of caves. Some were stocked with supplies for hikers: some were gorgeous with gem-studded vugs that tourists visited; some had lakes or hot springs. However, those were mostly farther north than here, closer to the cities. This range was smaller and more isolated, amid farms and orchards. But it, too, held caves, some completely unexplored. A few small ones had crazy people living in them, those who didn’t like the rules that Worlders lived by and so went off to live in small bands by themselves.

Well, come to think—that’s what Tony Schrupp was doing. Only not really.

What Tony-kal was doing was saving civilization.

Austin tugged at the thick brush covering the mouth of the cave, mostly muktal^, which had unfortunate thorns. One pricked him and he sucked the blood off his wrist. “You could help, you know!”

Graa^lok didn’t move. “These mountains are where they found the plans, you know. In a big cave. The plans for the starship, on titanium, and the sealed parts.”

“Yes? How do you know?”

“Great-Grandmother told me. She was on the engineering team.”

Austin, who’d never known Graa^lok’s great-grandmother as anything more than a very old lady lying in bed, couldn’t think of her as an engineer. She was even too old for the Council of Mothers, and engineers were young and energetic and inventive. Like Tony-kal and Dr. Beyon.

“Come on, we can squeeze through now. Don’t break any sticks, we have to put all this brush back.”

The two boys, Austin in the lead, crawled through the gap in the brush, which snapped closed behind them. They crawled along a tunnel barely large enough for their bodies; very quickly the tunnel grew dark. Twenty yards in, the tunnel turned sharply back on itself and the walls grew smoother; this part was human-made. A faint light appeared at the end. Then they were at the metal grill and Austin rang the bell.

A few minutes later, Tony’s face appeared on the other side of the grill. “Austin?”

“And Graa^lok.” It felt strange to talk to someone without first saying “I greet you.” Sometimes Austin even addressed Tony and Dr. Beyon without the polite “kal” that identified them as members of his lahk. Austin relished these small acts of rebellion.

Tony said, “Did anybody follow you?”

“No.”

“Did you bring it?”

“Yes.”

Tony unlocked the grill and swung it open. A short drop led to another tunnel, taller and wider. The boys wiggled out headfirst and Tony lifted each to stand on the smooth stone floor. He locked the grill behind them.

Another door, solid metal, at the end of the tunnel. Tony unlocked that and they were in.

The cave was a large room giving out onto a deep lake fed by underground streams. They must have been warm, because the water was. Smaller tunnels led off in every direction. The uneven floor was littered with sleeping mats, bulging cloth sacks, tools, and a fantastic assortment of machinery. Some of it Austin recognized—a sort of heating coil, a small refrigerator—some he did not. He knew there was an air filtration system connected to the two chimneys that brought air to the cave, generators that used heat from the hot springs and World’s magnetic field, equipment for a doctor. Everything had been brought in through the narrow tunnel, the larger machines in pieces. Austin didn’t know how any of it worked; his mind couldn’t seem to hang onto the concepts.

Graa^lok could. That’s why he was here. He was unofficial apprentice to Nathan Beyon, who had been an important physicist back on Terra and who insisted that the next generation be well represented in this project. On World, Beyon-kal and Tony had made and sold transistors. Austin wasn’t sure what those were, either, but he knew that everyone wanted them for radios and other devices. Beyon-kal had created the factory and oversaw manufacture of the transistors, somewhere near the central mountains where the mining and manufacturies all were, and Tony had sold them. They’d gotten really rich. Then they used the money to buy this mountain and create Haven.

When the spore cloud hit, some people would go in here, survive, and not come out until there was a vaccine or a cure.

Austin was incredibly lucky to be one of those people. He couldn’t do science like Graa^lok, he wasn’t a doctor or hydroponics farmer like some of the other Worlders that Tony hoped to persuade to come here, but he had his own jobs. Haven could save forty people. He, and his mother, would be two of them.

Of course, his mother was already immune to spores. So was Austin. But even though Terrans were immune, civilization was going to collapse—Tony said so—and it wouldn’t be safe for even the Terrans to be above ground when there were desperate survivors. And to restart civilization, they would need girls who could have babies. That’s where Graa^lok’s sisters and cousins came in.

Austin didn’t think about that part of it, except at night, alone on his sleeping mat.

Tony said, “Let me have it.”

Austin pulled the bulky package from his pocket. He didn’t exactly know what it was, but he’d memorized the Terran letters. His mother had taught him to read a little English, before she got too depressed about there being no English books to read. He handed Tony the package. Most of it was medicines, including one he recognized, a dry brown powder that his mother used to give him for earaches. Austin was hoping that no one at the clinic would take inventory of the stuff in the storage closets. With the spore loud coming so soon, why would they bother? That was his hope, anyway.

“Good man,” Tony said, and Austin glowed inside.

He could steal anything. This lot hadn’t even been that hard. The medicines came from the clinic right near their house. The other thing, the package with the Terran symbol on it and the English words, had been a little more complicated:

To get that, Austin had gone with Noah to visit his wife’s lahk and play with their little girl. Lil^da, whom Isabelle called Lily, was only nine and too young for Austin, but he used to play with her when he was a kid, and everybody seemed pleased that he wanted to see Lil^da again. Noah’s wife, Llaa^moh¡, had gone to Terra on the World expedition there, which used to impress Austin. Llaa^moh¡ was a biologist. “Not the real thing,” Beyon-kal always said, because there were no real scientists on World compared to Terra, but as Tony said, you had to make do with what you had. Austin had stolen Llaa^moh¡’s keys, gone to her lab, and stolen the “viral material.” It had come from Terra. The cabinet had been triple locked, but Austin had been practicing on locks since he was eight.

Of course, stealing was wrong. Good people didn’t steal, and nearly everybody on World was good, or at least they acted good and kept bu^ka^tel. That, Isabelle-kal said, was why the society could work “despite its many restrictions.” But Noah’s ethics class at school had also talked—briefly—about the rare times when it was necessary to break the law, such as if someone’s life was in danger. Well, everybody’s life was in danger from the spore cloud, and Llaa^moh¡’s lab hadn’t found a vaccine even though they’d been looking for ten years, and Tony Schrupp was the only one saving people. Forty people, anyway. So it was okay for Noah to steal this viral material for Tony, and it would be okay for Austin and Tony, when the time came, to steal Llaa^moh¡, too, so she could keep looking for the vaccine. They would need a biologist and a doctor, Tony said, and he hoped that Llaa^moh¡ and a doctor could be persuaded to join them when the spore cloud got closer. If not, they would steal them. After all, it would save their lives! Llaa^moh¡ should be grateful.

“But…” Austin had said, man to man, “she won’t help unless we bring Noah and Lily, too. And Noah won’t be—”

“Leave it to me,” Tony had said.

Beyon-kal walked out from the side tunnel leading to the lab. He was the oldest Terran on World, and on Terra he had been a really important scientist at someplace called MIT. Austin’s mother didn’t like Beyon-kal—not that she’d seen him very often. “He’s creepy,” she said, an English word that Austin didn’t quite understand except that it had to do with not looking people in the eye and sometimes not answering when spoken to and being really smart at hard equations.

Beyon-kal—and why couldn’t Austin even think of him without the respectful title? But he just couldn’t—said, “Did he get it? Is that it?”

“Yes.” Tony handed him the package.

“In that box? Christ, these people don’t understand anything about safe handling.”

Tony said, “Then stow it safer.”

Graa^lok said in his rough English, “What be not right?”

For the first time, Austin realized that both men’s jaws looked as hard as karthwood. If Austin hadn’t been so pleased with himself, he would have realized it before. Tony said, “You didn’t hear. Of course you didn’t. You were hiking all day to get here.”

“Hear what?” There was a radio in the cave, with a long antenna that went up one of the air chimneys. It would get an airtight seal around it once the spore cloud was closer.

Tony said, “The three big cities were destroyed from space. Some sort of laser beam—”

“Not laser,” Beyon-kal said impatiently. “I told you.”

“—and the World ship along with it. I’m sorry, kid. Did you have relatives or friends in—”

“The ship, too?” Austin’s dream was to fly in the one World starship, to go out in space. “The ship? Who did it?”

“Terrans. Russians—that’s another continent on Terra, not mine and Nate’s. They also destroyed an American ship that was coming here, and so eight more Terrans are marooned on World. That’s what Nate thinks, anyway.”

Beyon-kal understood some World, but not very well. Tony had none. They needed Austin and Graa^lok to translate.

Graa^lok said doubtfully, “Will they be of your lahk?”

Tony said, “Speak English, Graylock.”

“The new Terrans. In your lahk, Austin?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t care. That lovely ship… the Council of Mothers would never let it fly after the first time that brought him here. Not necessary, they’d said, which was pretty much their answer to anything different or fun. Tony said that was what happened when women got to run things, but even Austin knew that was stupid. Of course women ran the government; they had the babies and so could look out for people the best. Men ran plenty of things, including the expedition to Terra that had brought Austin to World.

And now there would never be another. Nobody knew how to build another ship. Also, neither of the two they’d built had accomplished what they were supposed to, and both had taken too much money and effort. Worse, their building had damaged the ecology of Mother World, which was only now getting back in balance. That’s what Austin’s teacher said at school.

Austin didn’t know anybody in Kam^tel^ha or the other destroyed cities. It was sad that they were all dead, but not as sad as the loss of the starship, both starships, that—

He said abruptly, “Where is the Russian ship? Is it still here?”

Beyon-kal said, “Allegedly not. Come on, boys, I need some lifting done in the third lab.”

That was another thing Austin did here. Translating, stealing, lifting. He was glad to be of use. The starship was destroyed, but civilization would not be, because of what Tony and Beyon-kal were creating here, now, with Austin’s help. He was important. He was necessary.

Isabelle Rhinehart didn’t go with them to the medical facility, which disappointed Leo. By now he had the relationships sorted out. Noah Jenner and the two other men who lived in the house, although they weren’t there now, were married to native women, who all lived in other places (weird—why?) Kayla was Isabelle’s sister; she had a kid that came with her on the first Terran mission to Kindred. The kid was supposed to be at school but school had been canceled because of the Russian attack and now the kid, Austin, was missing and Kayla was hysterical all over again and Isabelle had to go look for Austin.

“How old is Austin?” Dr. Patel said.

“Fifteen,” Isabelle said. “Thirteen in Terran years.”

Well, shit—the kid was just playing hooky. Leo had done that enough when he was thirteen (and done a lot worse, too). Austin would come home when he damn well felt like it. Leo suspected that Isabelle thought so, too, but she was humoring her wuss of a sister.

Owen called the unit together before they walked to the clinic. “This all looks legit so far, but nobody surrenders any weapons for any reason whatsoever. First priority is to assess situation, resources, terrain. If this medical procedure is judged necessary, we will undergo it in two shifts, first Berman and Brodie, and then Kandiss and me. Personnel not in clinic will take possession of the weapons of those who are. The immediate goal is to attain physical functionality to drink and eat on this planet, in order to carry out the larger goals of, first, defending civilian personnel and, second, discovering the means to return to Terra. Is this understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Leo said, along with the others. But—return to Terra? Was that possible? How?

Zoe said, “Permission to ask a question, sir.”

“Go ahead.”

“How long does this medical procedure last and what do we do? Like, take a pill or an IV or what?”

Nothing so easy.

“Fecal transplant,” Dr. Bourgiba said. “The quickest way to augment the gut biome.”

“What’s that?” Zoe said suspiciously.

The civilians, except for the two doctors, had already been taken into rooms someplace. The clinic turned out to be a short walk down the hill from Jenner’s house. Leo and Owen had done a recon of the nearby town. The houses came in clumps, usually a big one surrounded by smaller structures, all made of that same light bamboo-like stuff in those same curves and weaves, with decks and open sides. Beautiful but hard to defend. The houses were set in a lush landscape of gardens, orchards, and fields connected by paths of smooth stone. He saw nothing that looked like factories or warehouses or office buildings, but the town center had what looked like stores and restaurants but could have been schools or temples or something really alien, for all he knew. The only large building was next to the clinic. Jenner said it was a combination school and community center.

Not too many natives around; probably they were inside, mourning their cities. The ones he saw were mostly tall, all coppery skinned, all with huge dark eyes like the ones in those sappy paintings his foster mother, the bitch, had hung around her living room. The natives walked or rode bicycles, although he saw one more electric transport and one heavily laden cart pulled slowly by a big stupid-looking animal.

The clinic was another bamboo-y building but more closed up and level with the ground. Leo saw Owen appraising it. He and Kandiss went into the small lobby, scoped it out, and came back outside. A native woman in loose white pants and tunic, more covered up than the usual wrap, led Leo into a small room with two scrubbed-looking raised platforms covered with what looked like plastic but probably wasn’t. Leo had already observed that these people didn’t use plastic. Canteens were metal; carrying was done in baskets; Isabelle’s necklace was some sort of fake gold with wood carvings on it. Beside the platforms stood some metal buckets. An open door led to the head, which had—thank God for small favors—a toilet that looked pretty normal.

Dr. Bourgiba came in, translating for a native. “I’m sorry we have to put two in a room, but space is limited here. Accommodating all eight of us will be a stretch as it is. Dr. Patel and I have prepared everything. Lieutenant, which of your men goes first?”

“Negative,” Owen said. “I want to see it first on civilians, including recovery.”

Dr. Bourgiba blinked. “I don’t think you understand, Lieutenant. This is the best way to make it possible for you to drink and eat, which you must do soon. We are all losing hydration in this heat. Recovery takes about a week. We must begin now.”

Leo watched Owen, stony faced, come to a decision. It was true that they needed to hydrate; thirst made Leo’s throat feel clogged with sawdust. Owen had no choice.

“Brodie and Berman, you first. Kandiss and I will observe.”

Bourgiba didn’t argue. “This is not going to be pleasant, I’m afraid. Please undress, everything off, including your face mask. Almost immediately the Kindred microbes will invade your lungs. The nurse here will give you some water to drink. And I’m going to insert a small capsule of native microbes into your rectum. Some of these should take hold and further your acclimation. In addition, they might serve to build immunity to—”

“Wait,” Leo said. “Up my asshole? Some native’s shit?”

“Yes. This is a well-established procedure on Earth, although there we would have the equipment to do it via colonoscopy. Undress and lie on your side, facing the wall.”

Zoe said, “Wait a minute, I—”

Owen said, “An order, Berman. Go with Dr. Patel.”

Leo handed his weapons and gear to Kandiss. The doctor drew on plastic gloves—they must have come from Dr. Patel’s handy-dandy suitcase. Then Leo lay still for half an hour. Well, this wasn’t so bad. He felt fine.

Soon after that nausea started, then vomiting, diarrhea, violent headaches, and the misery that made him sure he was going to die, and almost want to.

A nurse stayed with him, or somebody did. They were all a blur. He puked and shat and drank water and ate whatever they made him eat. Two days later—two lost, everlasting, fucked-to-hell-and-back days—he suddenly felt himself again. Weak as a puppy, but himself. His stomach stayed still, which was, he now knew fervently, what you wanted of a stomach. He was clean (who had done that?), lying on the raised platform in a clean room. Kandiss lay on the other platform, asleep, a huge dark lump. Through a window blew fresh, warm, scented breezes. Leo closed his eyes and slept.

When he opened them again, he was still clean, and Isabelle Rhinehart stood at the foot of his bed.

“Congratulations,” she said. “You had it much easier than the others.”

“They—”

“Will all live, all eight of you. Tough sons of bitches.”

Her smile was glorious. Leo slept again.

Salah lay motionless, hoping that would still both the vomiting and the vertigo. Like most doctors, he was seldom ill; more delicate types didn’t survive med school. Feeling this bad was new to him. But, he thought with the introspection natural to him, doing nothing was not.

Everyone he’d ever known would dispute that. Salah Bourgiba, polymath, Renaissance man. Respected physician, historian, speaker of five languages—six, now. But Salah knew, even if no one else did, that he had made only two independent decisions in his life: Aisha and applying for this expedition.

Otherwise, he had just drifted along the path marked out for him by others. The right schools and the right career choice, neither ever imperiled by the sorts of political activism—for the environment, the homeless, the economy, a dozen different idealistic causes—that had seized some of his classmates. The right hospitals for internship and residency, obtained partly by his own easy successes and partly by parental string-pulling that he had not asked about too closely. The right publications and board memberships and political stances, flowing from being born with the right connections. He had dotted every I, touched every base, filled out every required line on every form. Drifting, without decision, through all of it.

Ironically, it was this very lack of independent action that had gotten him selected for this mission. The government liked that he was a known and reliable entity. But others had urged him to apply. Then, having been chosen, the rest had also been well-marked and easy paths. Learn the language, study what little was known on Terra about Kindred culture, follow the leadership of Ambassador Gonzalez. It seemed to Salah that the last independent decision he had made, the last self-chosen action, had been Aisha, twenty-five years ago.

And look how that had turned out.

Bile rose in his gorge, and he turned to vomit into the metal bucket by his platform bed.

Austin woke in the middle of the night and bolted upright on his sleeping mat. He had the best idea of his life!

All around him, his lahk slept, each person in his own tiny private room: Isabelle-kal, Austin’s mother, Steven-kal and Joshua-kal, who both were leaving tomorrow for their manufacturies. Noah was not here; he’d gone to Llaa^moh¡’s lahk but would be back tomorrow.

The velvety darkness smelled of spicy pika¡ in the garden below. A white moth—that’s what his mother called them—beat its wings against the screen in Austin’s window. The moth almost got through; the threads of the screen needed tightening again. Austin was supposed to do that tomorrow, as well as harvest culab. And turn the compost heap and bring a lot of stuff to Isabelle’s studio for her sculptures. Well, he had more important things to do than lahk chores!

Tony needed a biologist. He had planned on Llaa^moh¡ because she knew the most about the spores. But now there were new Terran doctors on World! Tony didn’t know that because the radio hadn’t described what the Terrans did, but Austin knew. And all three doctors lay sick and helpless in the clinic. One would not be hard to kidnap.

Although there were soldiers here, too, with guns. Austin tasted both unfamiliar words on his tongue: Soldiers. Guns. Of course, Kindred had police, but they weren’t really soldiers, and they didn’t carry guns, only tanglefoam and water cannons and tasers. Still, the soldiers were sick and helpless, too, getting their insides changed so they could live on World.

Which doctor? Not Marianne Jenner. Too old, and she would probably be lahk mother when she got well again. (Would Isabelle mind not being mother anymore? Austin didn’t know, but it was clear that the new Terrans belonged to this lahk and that Marianne-kal was the oldest woman.) So: Salah Bourgiba or the pretty little woman with the dark skin, Claire Patel. She might be easiest to kidnap, but Tony would decide that.

But it was Austin who’d had the idea! He lay back down on his mat, enormously pleased with himself.

Above him, the white moth squeezed through the sagging window screen and flapped around the room, trying to get out again.