History of races?
Saba touched the control that corresponded to Zhot's seal-people, and watched in fascination. This time she listened to the Yilayil, not trying to translate any single words, but letting the whole flow through her.
Zhot's people, the Valeafeh, seemed to have had technology for a very long time. A matriarchy of loosely intersecting tribal families, they fostered young of other races and in turn sent out their young males to learn before coming back to settle down to service; the females stayed in order to learn government.
Opposite from the Virigu? Saba thought, making a mental note to look them up in their turn.
She found lots more information—including data on daily life. But nowhere did she see a glimpse of any of the Valeafeh behaving as she'd just witnessed Zhot behaving. Nor did any of them look green.
Strange! Had she inadvertently stumbled onto a custom that was taboo, or at least forbidden witnesses? Saba decided that must be it, knowing that any travelogue vid made about Earth would not include acts considered private and intimate.
Well, at least Zhot had not woken from his meditation, or nap, or whatever he'd been doing, and Saba decided she would not bring it up. No harm done.
She glanced at the chrono. At last, time for her daily signal to Gordon.
She clicked the communicator on, and her thumb hovered over the little plastic key she had used for so long to send the pulse codes.
For a moment she looked down uncomprehendingly at the walkie-talkie's little display screen. Her vision, though blurry, was clear enough to warn her that the usual pattern of green lights had altered.
She frowned, and held the device up to the light to reread the displays.
Then she identified the single button that had been blank for so long—the frequency for speaking was now clear.
"Gordon?"
"Saba!"
* * *
WHEN EVELEEN AND Ross reached the Nurayil dorms, she gratefully wiped her forehead as they passed inside, and let her breath out in a whoosh.
"I don't know whether to be glad it stopped raining or not," she said to Ross as they started up the ramp.
Ross grinned at her. "I'd wanted to see the sun for the past week or three—but now I think I've had enough of it."
He squinted upward. "Okay, hear that? You can go back to rain now."
Eveleen laughed. "At least abate the humidity."
"With a jungle a stone's throw away?" Ross retorted. "Not a chance."
"Well, I wish there was a way to get a weather report— either that or to get air-conditioning in the—" Eveleen stopped when she saw Gordon standing outside their room.
She felt Ross tense up beside her. Something had happened.
Nobody spoke until they'd passed inside. Then Gordon said, "The frequency cleared. I don't know why, or what it means, but at least I can talk to Saba."
"And?" Ross prompted in a sharp voice.
Gordon gave his head a shake. "She's sick. Tried to downplay it, but I suspect she's much sicker than we are."
"Damn," Ross breathed. "What do we do? Pull her out?"
Gordon said, "Even if we could—which I doubt—she won't come. Insists she's close to some kind of breakthrough. When I tried to get her to explain, I'm afraid she scared me. Made little sense. Yet it's apparent she's gotten much further than we have in her investigations. She has access to the Yilayil computer system, and she has even been permitted to walk around the House of Knowledge at night."
"Ti [trill]kee?" Eveleen asked, amazed.
Gordon shook his head again. "No; the Yilayil ignored her. But she wasn't shooed back by her tutor. She got more lessons."
"How sick is she?" Ross asked.
"That's what I was trying to determine." Gordon looked from one of them to the other, clearly hesitating.
Eveleen felt her heart hammer a warning tattoo. "Oh, no…"
Gordon's dark brows furrowed. "You're in her confidence?"
Eveleen nodded soberly, then turned to Ross. "I guess, considering the circumstances, it would be fair to tell you: she was told many years ago that she carries a recessive gene for sickle-cell anemia. Definitely recessive, they said—she probably wouldn't get it, but might pass it on, especially if she ever married someone who carried the same gene."
Ross grimaced.
Eveleen said in a low voice, "It's why she decided she would never marry. Have kids. Didn't want to risk passing on a tragedy."
Gordon looked up sharply, and Eveleen knew that he hadn't heard about that. He'd probably read about the recessive gene in Saba's file, but he hadn't considered what effect it could have on her life decisions.
They're so much alike, Eveleen thought. Each reclusive, solitary, by choice. Only what is in Gordon's past? She would never ask, of course.
Ross said, "So maybe this has weakened her immune system in some way? Made her sicker than we are—if she has the same disease? She's been isolated from us, so it could be something totally different."
"Or it could be something we were all exposed to on arrival," Gordon said. "We're not going to know—at least, not unless Viktor finds out something down the timeline." He glanced at his watch.
"He signaled this morning, then?" Ross asked.
"Yes," Gordon said.
Eveleen bit her lip. Viktor had had his long walk to the transport, and he and Gordon had agreed that he'd spend a maximum of one day and one night there, taking care to arrive in the morning so that the long walk back to the meetpoint would not bring anyone out after dark.
Gordon lived with his walkie-talkie clipped to his belt. Misha's orders had been to signal as soon as Viktor emerged from the transport. If Viktor had to go back down the timeline for more conferences, at least they'd know.
So he was back. Gordon awaited only the second signal, meaning he should get to the meetpoint, wherever that was.
All, of course, before darkness fell. Which would be very soon.
Eveleen opened her mouth to ask how he'd managed to juggle his job so he could accommodate all this moving around, but was prevented by a quick knock at the door.
Ross opened it—and all four came in, Irina, Vera, Misha, and Viktor.
For a moment they all stood there, a silent tableau. Eveleen scanned them, noting the posture of each: Irina graceful and aloof; Misha standing near her, one fist propped on a hip, an ironic smile on his handsome face; Vera standing very close to Misha, unnoticed; Viktor leaning against the wall, looking exhausted, his dark hair lying in sweat-damp strands across his broad forehead.
So many people crowded into a tiny room made the walls close in, and Eveleen was aware of the sharp smell of stale sweat.
Almost at the same time, Misha grimaced and said, "It is very hot today, and in the jungle there are no amenities—"
"Come on," Ross said, gesturing toward the fresher alcove. "It's not palatial, but it's better than what you've been stuck with."
They disappeared inside. Eveleen heard Ross's voice explaining how everything worked as, in silence, Vera passed out the evening's ration of food.
Her eyes were lowered, her generous mouth, almost always smiling, was uncharacteristically somber. Eveleen guessed that Vera had discovered the open frequency and had broken the silence rule—and Misha had taken advantage of it to meet and make his report in person.
Gordon—wisely, Eveleen thought—said nothing. It was apparent from Irina's posture that she had already spoken her mind to her colleague.
The two Russian men emerged then, and everyone sat in a circle to eat.
"Viktor?" Gordon said, once Viktor had taken the edge off his appetite. "You did not report to them ill—"
"I did what you ordered: wrote out a letter stating our symptoms, copied it onto a disk. Sent it forward. Valentin came back to say come forward to report in person."
"They are sick as well," Misha said, saving Viktor from having to frame his report in English. "Same symptoms, came on about the same time."
Viktor then
spoke. "Zina. She wants to end the mission."
CHAPTER 21
ROSS REACHED FOR the makeshift calendar that he and Eveleen had begun.
Rapidly he totted up the days, then he looked up at Eveleen and nodded.
Everyone's count was the same: they were on Day 46, and had fifteen days until they reached the same number the First Team had stayed before Katarina disappeared.
Viktor said, "Zina makes order to us. Despite how we know that First Team did not all vanish that day, still, we must be gone by same day. Our time." He frowned, said something swiftly in Russian, then he rubbed his eyes tiredly.
Misha continued for Viktor: "Even if one of us disappears, as did Katarina, it is still too much. We either solve the problems we face in fourteen days—without courting extra risks— or we must just leave, return home, and give our bosses the problem."
Viktor added. "They will withdraw to the ship on Day Sixty, and get ready for takeoff. We must be there by sunset, Day Sixty." He looked up and met Irina's eyes.
Ross, watching idly, felt a spurt of surprise when he saw the man's jaw tighten. He shifted his own gaze to Irina, in time to see a tiny nod, but then she turned her attention down to her laptop—on which her fingers had been steadily typing.
Gordon said, "As long as we have Saba, I agree. But I do not leave without her."
Irina said, "We will not plan to leave without Saba." She spoke in the same kind of calm, flat voice as Gordon used.
Vera said quickly, 'Why not right now? We can get her out, and leave now."
Misha struck his hand against the wall, a sharp sound that made everyone jump.
Ross hadn't realized until then how tense they all were. Tired, sick, yes, also tense.
"This mission is not failed," he stated, his accent strong. He gave Irina a cold-eyed stare. "We have time. I will find Svetlana."
Irina just stared back without speaking.
Ross slid a glance at his wife. Eveleen watched the two Russians, a sober expression in her eyes.
Misha said, "I have translated all her writings. I can retrace her steps, and if we go back to the day she disappeared—"
Viktor spoke in Russian, gesturing with his hands. Irina also spoke, and Misha produced a disk from his pocket. He handed it to Irina, who took it without comment.
Ross saw Gordon following this action. He said nothing.
When Irina had finished putting away the disk, Gordon said in a quiet voice, "Zina is right. We don't know what this disease is. The fact that we all have it, at both ends of the time line, makes a strong case for the First Team having been afflicted with the same thing. And though we haven't found bodies, we don't know if the First Team died before they vanished—there are too many anomalies. Until we solve at least one, we cannot go back and risk the same thing happening to us."
"Then we find out," Misha said. "You get Saba out, I solve this, my own way."
He turned to the door, hit the control. He went out without speaking another word, and Viktor, with an expressive shrug, followed.
The door closed, its sound loud in the sudden silence.
"Let's go over the facts," Eveleen said in a voice of compromise. "We know we're all sick—but our scientists don't know the cause, or the disease. We know that the First Team were not together, and that they did in fact disappear on different days, but no one earlier than Katarina, the archivist."
Vera said, "Misha won't rest until he finds some kind of evidence. He…" She paused, rolling her eyes.
"Mikhail Petrovich," Irina enunciated in her clear, emotionless voice, "is a romantic." Her tone equated romantic with fool.
Gordon said diplomatically, "He's determined to make the jump up to the First Team's time, and perhaps that is a way to find out what happened." His voice sharpened subtly. "But it might just endanger us without solving anything at all. Until we collect enough evidence to know for sure, let's not end up with the same mysterious fate. And so we're back to our original problem: we must determine, if we can, exactly what happened to them, and why."
Ross nodded, without speaking. Vera made a noise of agreement. Irina shrugged.
Gordon went on, "So let's split up, and do whatever we can to put together the few puzzle pieces we have. See if we can get some sort of picture, something to act on safely. In the meantime, nothing seems to have happened to us—" He gestured to the walkie-talkie clipped to Vera's belt. "So I rescind the silence rule. But let's use good judgment. We still have to assume that someone who can jam can listen in."
"We speak in English," Vera said. "Russian, someone might know, or have on record from a hundred years ago. English would still be new."
Gordon nodded.
Vera gave Irina a questioning look. Irina nodded politely at Gordon, Ross, and Eveleen, then went out, her footfalls noiseless.
Ross thought about that cold, angry glance as he and Eveleen got ready to sleep. Eveleen seemed troubled; Ross glanced over at her a couple times as he rolled out their futon. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, typing rapidly into her laptop.
When she finished, she closed the laptop and sat back with a sigh.
Ross said, "Any intuition about what's going on in Irina's head?"
Eveleen looked up, slightly startled. "You too, huh?"
Ross shrugged. "I have to admit I'm having trouble figuring these Russkis. I don't know if it's me, or them, or I'm just not a sensitive kind of a guy—"
Eveleen laughed. "Meaning you scent personal gossip behind all the angry looks and so forth. Well, so do I. We do know that Misha has romanced most of the women in the Russian service. We also know he pulled strings to be sent on this mission. I suspect that his relationship with Svetlana wasn't just lighthearted flirtation. How Irina fits into this is anybody's guess."
Ross grimaced. You didn't get this kind of talk on a mission with all men—and, he reflected, you probably didn't get it on missions with all women. Put 'em together, and what do you get?
"Chemistry," he said out loud.
"Hmm?" Eveleen asked, blinking. "Oh! Misha and Irina?
Well, either that or politics. I can't pretend to understand them all. Irina especially. All I know is—or rather, all I sense is that Irina and Misha are going to be competing in some way, he to solve the mission, and she to get us back to Earth before we end up like the rest."
"So you don't think she wants to solve the mystery."
Eveleen paused in the act of brushing out her hair, and shook her head. "I think Irina has decided it's impossible, and she wants to wrap it up and move on."
Ross sighed as he dropped down beside her on the futon. His thoughts ranged from Misha and Irina to Saba, hidden in the House, and from there to his own situation—the Jecc game. He hadn't mentioned it to Gordon; it seemed so unimportant beside all the other crises.
But as he lay there, his mind drifting, his thoughts came back to that word chemistry.
After a little while, the light sensors, detecting no movement, turned the lights off. Eveleen's breathing had already become deep and even; she was asleep. Ross closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind.
Dawn the next morning was again clear, they discovered when they left the Nurayil dorm. Clear, hot, and humid.
"Ugh," Eveleen said, then she cleared her throat and somewhat breathlessly made a comment about the weather.
Ross obligingly forced his mind to switch from the quicksilver ease of his native English to the heavy freight train of Yilayil. Weird, how his brain refused to get used to this language, a problem he'd not had on previous assignments.
He asked—in Yilayil—"Have you trouble with speech in the Yilayil?" He chose the word for thought/mind/speech, realizing as he whistled and hummed the words that this was his problem, the words weren't one-for-one exchanges.
"I concur," Eveleen trilled. "To think/speak…" She hesitated, then said quickly in English, "Every word is a paragraph." She looked guiltily at Ross, then went back to Yilayil. "Practice perhaps would take a year."
<
br /> Ross didn't answer. He knew they were both thinking that they didn't have a year.
They reached their workplace then, and the cool, shadowy building was a distinct relief after the early morning heat.
As Ross took up his station, he considered their performance so far. Back on Earth—what had seemed a thousand years ago—everyone had blithely assumed that he and Eveleen would be able to attain driver status without any problem, thus being able to sneak rail-skimmers out and move the teammates around as needed. At least so long as their destinations matched with the hidden rail system. They'd assumed that Misha and Viktor would of course find the bodies of the First Team, all located in the same place, having been buried on the same day. They'd assumed—
His attention splintered when he felt a dry, scaly hand at his side.
The Jecc!
The game was on.
He'd almost forgotten them. Quick as light he imprisoned the small fingers working at the communicator attached to his belt. The Jecc went very still, its pupils contracting as it stared up at him.
Ross spoke without thinking, repeating the same phrase used by the Jecc that caught him stealing, all those days ago: "My progeny will be swift."
The Jecc's gaze seemed to intensify, then fast as lightning it scuttled away.
Ross turned to his work, picking up where he'd left off in a complicated assembly the day before. The Jecc encounter was momentarily forgotten.
It didn't stay forgotten long. Within a very short time he became aware of a change in the behaviors of the Jecc. He'd become the center of their focus—not just the stealing, but they seemed to move about him in busy circles, humming a kind of shorthand Yilayil.
The only time they faded away was at midday break, when Ross went to find Eveleen. As soon as he addressed her, his Jecc followers vanished like a tide receding.