Those Of My Blood Part 32

She breathed on it one last time, then put it in his hands, cupping hers about them. "This is so you'll have the strength to find a way to feed t.i.tus-and Abbot too. I just wish I could do more to help."

t.i.tus thought H'lim didn't even hear her last words. His attention was riveted on the gla.s.s and he was shaking. When at last he drank the energized orl blood, the beatific expression on his face made t.i.tus's hunger surge like a trapped tiger. She is free 0 give as she chooses. Besides, d.a.m.n it, she's right!

Two weeks later, t.i.tus was in the centrifuge with Abbot and H'lim. Colby had noted the drawn, haggard appearance both of them presented and had ordered them off duty to sleep, eat, and exercise. "I don't care what the medical records show about you two, you're both about to fall on your faces. You've each been doing the work of three men for months now. n.o.body can sustain that kind of pace."

She had gone on to warn them that a parts s.h.i.+pment for the probe vehicle would arrive soon, and then the pace would increase tenfold. "So I'm doubling your rations for a week, and taking you off the duty roster-except for escorting H'lim. If I catch either of you at work, I'll commit you to the psych ward!"

Looking in the mirror, t.i.tus couldn't argue with her appraisal, only with her therapy regimen.

But he did need the time in the centrifuge, as did H'lim, who was willing to wear a special suit Abbot had made for him to attenuate the noise the centrifuge motors made. As uneasy as the centrifuge made t.i.tus, especially the first time he'd gone in there after nearly being killed, it was worse for H'lim.

For the alien, they dimmed the lights, increased the gravity and adjusted the air mixture. Biomed invented half a dozen new telemetry sensors, and the physical therapists who ran the gym devised a new exercise machine to accommodate H'lim's physique. When H'lim used the centrifuge, only t.i.tus and Abbot stayed with him-and that was only after Abbot had reprogrammed the computers to show proper human stress patterns under the new conditions.

Actually, t.i.tus enjoyed the changes. His body had to work harder, but afterwards he always felt better, especially when he spent some time sweating and straining on H'lim's bicycle while H'lim jogged around the track.

The one great advantage about time spent in the centrifuge was that it was utterly private, so they could talk as they wished. The noise was great enough so that H'lim, working out on the opposite side of the drum, couldn't hear Abbot and t.i.tus, who were riding side by side on the ordinary bicycles, unless they shouted.

"Abbot, I'm sure of it," t.i.tus insisted in low, urgent tones. "He's not telling all he knows. When you ask him anything truly important, he pours out data on other intriguing but irrelevant topics. He's a master of the snow job."

"Would have to be," grunted Abbot, peddling hard, "to be a successful merchant in intragalactic trade."

"Maybe," conceded t.i.tus. "Have you ever dealt with an Arab? They don't cheat-not by their code-so they always come across as honest because they are satisfied that their honor is spotless. But there are certain things they don't feel obligated to disclose, even if you ask. It's your fault if you're so naive as to believe what you want to believe."

"H'lim is just protecting himself," countered Abbot. "He explained that when he gets home, they'll have ways of checking to see if he's broken any laws. He's not allowed to tell us everything. That's for others, later."

"Maybe, but I'm sure he's withholding something crucial. If we knew it, we might not be so eager to send his message."

"Oh, so that's it. You're still trying to convert me. Well, I might be willing to listen if you can show me another way for our people to survive. I don't know why you keep losing sight of that single fact. We're battling for our lives, and it's now or never. Doesn't the secession tell you anything about human att.i.tudes?"

"What that message brings down on us may be worse than all the panicked humans on Earth. And I think H'lim knows it will be worse. Abbot, I like him, but I don't trust him."

Suddenly, his father turned to him with a most peculiar expression. After a bit, he observed, "That's exactly how I felt about you a week after I revived you."

Their eyes met. A momentary rapport flowed along t.i.tus's nerves like honey. He suddenly realized that part of his chronic hunger, the part Inea could never fulfill, was the deep need for his father's approval. H'lim had said something about that, once. I've read that humans have no instincts. If this is true, it's a point on which human and luren differ, for luren do have some important vestigial instincts. The parental power is one such. The gratification can sometimes be worth dying a final death."

In that moment, t.i.tus could believe it. When Abbot murmured, "I still like you, t.i.tus," he could see in his mind the contrast between this lined, haggard, and worn Abbot and the young, zestful, and immortal Abbot. It took all he had to dismount his bicycle and begin his job. He was able to regain his perspective only when he recalled, in gory detail, just how that young Abbot had taught him to feed. But the perspective decided to slip whenever his concentration did.

Five days later, Colby came to H'lim's lab for the broadcast to Earth of a demonstration of his progress against Alzheimer's Disease. The vaccine introduced decades ago on Earth had recently proven only partially effective, and now H'lim was close to being able to reverse the progress of the disease without wiping the patient's brain clean of memory.

"Life in the galaxy," lectured Dr. Sa'ar in a perfect Harvard accent, which he had not acquired from t.i.tus, "has followed certain broad patterns. Earth belongs to one of those patterns, and so solving its problems does not require so very much original work as one might expect. This is one reason the Earth has nothing to fear from the infectious diseases of the galaxy. Most are a.n.a.logous enough that your existing defenses are sufficient. The rest, you would encounter only if you travel widely, and in that case you will be properly immunized first."

He was about to key up a computer model of the relevant molecules when the monitor screen that was showing what Project Station was sending to Earth went blank, flickered, sizzled, and then cleared to a stock view of the lunar landscape. A news announcer was saying, "We regret that we have lost Project Station's signal. Please stand by."

"We're getting them, how come they're not getting us? asked a tech by the pile of broadcast equipment.

Colby answered, "That's what you're paid to know."

Blus.h.i.+ng, the tech fiddled with connections as Abbot knelt over a digital circuit probe. H'lim drifted toward them. He was wearing the contact lenses Biomed had made for the broadcast, so people could see his whole face. Circling Abbot, he announced, "The fault is not in your equipment."

"I wouldn't expect so," muttered Abbot. "Blockaders are jamming us, of course."

Unless there's a traitor on the staff here, thought t.i.tus. He knew that no new a.s.sa.s.sins had been brought onto the station, because n.o.body had been allowed onto the station-n.o.body at all. However, that didn't prevent factions from developing among the station personnel. It was mostly among the workers, but t.i.tus had seen it at the highest levels. Still, people on the station tended to see themselves as a third faction in the war, a faction dedicated to galactic exploration yet unwilling to sacrifice their lives just yet.

As he listened to the bursts of static produced by the technician, t.i.tus wondered how much longer they all could endure. He glanced at Abbot. When will desperation create heroes and martyrs?

Abbot raised his brows in silent query.

Then the screen flicked to stars, the Earth cutting across one corner of the shot. ". view from Central Pacific Stationary, the only satellite that can see the battle." The news announcer's voice wavered under bursts of static. "High Changjin, the satellite that was relaying Project Station's signal, has been destroyed with all aboard, some five hundred souls. Secessionist forces continue to fire on the unarmed supply s.h.i.+p. We have no confirmation yet that this s.h.i.+p was indeed heading for Project Station with parts for the probe vehicle, as the rebels claim. There are three men and two women aboard that unarmed s.h.i.+p."

As everywhere on the station and on Earth, the group in the lab remained glued to the screen for the next several hours. Only after the flash of destruction and the burst of particles arrived at the lunar detectors did the tension break to be replaced by despair.

Grimly determined to keep up morale, Colby had them record H'lim's presentation, and a few days later got it through to karth piecemeal despite the jamming. Computer reconstructed, it went over very well in W.S. territory and sh.o.r.ed up W.S. determination to launch the probe, which meant W. S. had to get a supply s.h.i.+p through the blockade.

t.i.tus, still unable to communicate directly with Connie, focused his efforts on keeping track of Abbot. He was still not certain Abbot's message had to be stopped, but he was even more skeptical of H'lim's honesty. He could only pray he'd know what to do when the time came, and that he'd be ready to do it.

To that end, he was at his desk at home, using Inea's bugs to watch Abbot puttering about H'lim's lab, when Inea arrived with Mirelle in tow. As the door closed behind them, Mirelle wavered, and then collapsed. Inea draped the limp form over her shoulders in a fireman's carry and deposited her on the bed. She turned, hands on hips, eyes blazing, and spat, "Well? Now, what are you going to do? This is all your fault, you know!"

Stunned, t.i.tus bent over Mirelle. He could sense the wispy character of her aura before he found the weak, thready pulse under the sheen of cold sweat. The crook of her elbow showed recent needle marks, and from the look of it he knew it was Abbot's doing. Over his shoulder he said, "There are extra blankets in the closet. I think there's a heating pad in there, too. Get it."

He began loosening Mirelle's clothing, then he noticed Inea was not moving. "Move! She's lost a lot of blood."

Silently, Inea helped him to wrap Mirelle and, as she regained consciousness, to get some fluids into her. But Inea was still angry when they'd done all they could. "t.i.tus, I want to know what you intend to do! You can't let him get away with this!"

"Why didn't you take her to the infirmary?"

"And let them find out? They would, you know, and then the witch hunt would be on."

t.i.tus nodded. "Exactly. We've held off that witch hunt by adhering to a very strict set of rules. One of those rules is the respect for the Mark, and another is the filial duty. I can't do anything about what Abbot chooses to do to Mirelle."

"Not even if it threatens to expose you all?"

"I don't know why she's walking around in this condition. He's usually more careful."

"Walking around in this-" she repeated, aghast. "All you're worried about is that she's "walking around," not that she's in this condition to begin with? t.i.tus, he's killing her!"

Her outrage beat against him. He wanted to make excuses for Abbot, and he wanted to placate her all at the same time. And he ached horridly for Mirelle. She was so pale and thin, the glowing beauty of her faded to gray.

He turned away from them both and spoke to the computer console which still showed H'lim's lab, Abbot's back to the pickup. "Inea, there is something about luren law that you have to know, about luren politics on Earth."

"Politics? Politics! How can you-"

He lowered his voice and cut across her hysteria. "I know how you feel, Inea. It's the reason I left Abbot to begin with. I've had moments when I wanted to do more than leave him. I've actually wanted to kill him. I got over that only when I discovered he's not one of a kind, but a representative of a group, the Tourists. And Abbot's one of the least worst of them. He's kind, considerate, and sane by comparison."

She approached as if creeping up to a cesspool. "t.i.tus, the way he's treating Mirelle isn't kind, considerate, or sane. If anyone finds out-"

"Listen to me! The Tourists const.i.tute fully half of the luren on Earth. My presence here const.i.tutes an act of civil war, but it is war under more strictures and conventions than humans have ever heard of. If we had known who the Tourist would be here, I would never have been sent here. Never! They've tried to send someone who could deal with Abbot, but he couldn't get through. But even if he had, he couldn't do anything about Mirelle. Abbot is within his legal rights with her, and no Resident will challenge that. We don't kill humans, but they do, and the Law of Blood says Marked stringers can be killed. Abbot can kill Mirelle, and it's perfectly legal, under some circ.u.mstances."

She recoiled, white-lipped.

"Yes, it's disgusting, and yes I hate it, and yes I'd like to wring his neck. But I won't. I wouldn't if I could. Not for this." Don't remind her she's Marked!

"t.i.tus-" It was a tiny, strangled plea that stopped his heart.

He watched her lip quiver, somewhere between disgust and tears of bereavement, and he realized that he had to do something or lose her forever. He couldn't argue that Mirelle would probably survive the few days until H'lim's booster was ready. That must be what Abbot was thinking. Or maybe he wasn't thinking too clearly. Hunger could impair the ability to a.s.sess risks. And the vision of how much hunger it would take to do that to Abbot horrified t.i.tus.

d.a.m.n the blockade! d.a.m.n this G.o.dd.a.m.ned war!

"There is one thing I can do. I don't know if it will work. I can only try." He went to the cupboard and stuffed the few remaining packets of blood into a net bag lined with a lab coat. At the outer door, he said, "Maybe this will keep him from leaning too hard on her. Take care of her while I'm gone." Then he turned to meet her eyes. "I'll be back soon, Inea."

In H'lim's lab, he found H'lim and Abbot tinkering with the temperature controls of an empty incubator on a workbench screened from the rest of the lab and from the one bug he'd planted, by a noise part.i.tion. H'lim was shoving a notepad under Abbot's nose, the screen lit. "In the Teleod, both luren and human-stock people are legally enfranchised, and this is the genetic tag they look for to determine stock. You have it, so you should have no trouble with the courts."

He's lying. Why is he lying? Why do I think he's lying? t.i.tus had never been one to suspect others of prevarication, but he could not shake this conviction. Simultaneously, he filed away the datum that Teleod was a political alliance, not a chemical term, and in the Teleod legal enfranchis.e.m.e.nt was a matter of genetics, not loyalties. The lessons of n.a.z.i Germany sprang to mind, but he put aside his suddenly dark suspicions and strode forward.

Without looking up, Abbot said, "You're early, t.i.tus."

H'lim thrust his pad at t.i.tus. "Look!"

H'lim's pad screen was divided into five areas. In the center, four colorful molecular models were superimposed over each other in three dimensions. Around it, each of the four curled helices was displayed alone.

H'lim pointed as he explained with real enthusiasm, "This is you; here's Abbot; here's a textbook example of human, and here's me. I have orls, too, but this pad is too small. I haven't translated any galactic races into your coordinates yet, but just by inspection I can tell you that you and your humans have some peculiar anomalies. Other than being oddly suggestible, your humans might be the find of a lifetime for me." He pointed at various parts of the screen. "I've never seen or read about anything like this-or this-or even this! Once I discover what traits are linked here, and there-and this one, too-I may actually have found the single most marketable commodity on Earth. And t.i.tus, I a.s.sure you, I am the one who can best market it."

Abbot turned, gesturing with the probe he'd been wielding. "Now do you see that I've been right all along?"

Triumph, and Mirelle's blood, had glossed over Abbot's hunger, but t.i.tus saw an ashen tinge of exhaustion in him even before he noticed the way the probe vibrated with his hand's uncontrollable shaking. He's on the edge, and it's partly my doing. His efforts to stop Abbot had only amounted to hara.s.sment and inconvenience, with his mistakes adding a modic.u.m of busywork, but all together it had taken a toll on his father and t.i.tus felt a luren's guilt for that.

Absorbed in his models, H'lim mused aloud, "This may account for the suggestibility of humans, though why it should vary so much, I don't know. Can you get me a specimen from Inea? And one from Mirelle? Comparing the strongest with the weakest, perhaps-"

"It's Mirelle's weakness I've come to discuss," t.i.tus interrupted. "Her exceptional weakness today."

"She'll recover," declared Abbot.

"What?" asked H'lim, yanked out of his reasoning.

"I intend it should be so," said t.i.tus.

H'lim backed off a way, suddenly sensing the cold tension, advanced to set the net bag on the counter beside Abbot's tools. It sagged open, partially revealing the contents, which he recognized. "Inea half carried Mirelle to my room. She fainted on the floor. What if someone else had found her and taken her to the infirmary? In the name of the Law of Blood, take what your son offers. Use it. Let her recover."

Abbot's fingers rested thoughtfully on the packets. "My son. Truly my son again, at last?"

He met Abbot's eyes and yearned with all his soul to say yes. The moment stretched unendurably as his lips almost formed the word. He felt the first tentative stirring of Abbot's power, offering the enfolding warmth of a parental welcome, stirring the depths of his being. The tentative joy dancing in his father's eyes, the scream of hope poised at the edge of his Influence, and the ache in Abbot's soul at the loss of his son-an ache t.i.tus, only recently a parent himself, could now understand-all combined to show t.i.tus that Abbot had two distinct objectives in coming to the Project: to save Earth's luren by getting their message out, and to win t.i.tus back from the darkness, to do his parental duty by his son whom he loved as any luren would.

Yes! The word pushed up from his heart, threatening to explode from his throat. But there was the vision of Mirelle sagging helplessly in Inea's grip.

With a wordless cry of anguish, t.i.tus broke away from Abbot's seductive gaze and fled, running into the corridor and not stopping until he got to the lift where he fetched up against the closed doors and pounded his fists against them. It was only sheer dumb luck that n.o.body saw, and that he recovered before the security camera swept across him.

Facing his own apartment door, he straightened his clothes and smoothed his expression, suddenly realizing that for all the pain still surging through him, he felt uncommonly good about himself for the first time in a very long time. He had done his filial duty. I feel good about starving so Abbot can feed? G.o.d, I must be insane. But there it was, a tremendous release of tension he hadn't felt until it was gone. I can't fight him. I can't win against this because it's inside me.

But he also knew that he couldn't win as long as his own son opposed him-and had won Abbot over with lies. Yet if he had been in H'lim's place, he would have done the same. He couldn't blame the luren.

Squaring his shoulders, he went in to confront Inea. She was spooning soup into Mirelle, who was propped up in bed, eyes drooping half shut. She was wearing one of t.i.tus's pullovers now, cuffs rolled into ma.s.sive donuts around her wrists. Inea looked up. "I went and got my ration. And I've given her two of the pills. I'll take her home in a while-if you think I should."

The implication was, If it's safe. t.i.tus answered her unvoiced question. "I don't know, Inea. But there's no choice. She doesn't belong here."

He didn't feel awkward discussing Mirelle like this because there seemed to be a dull film over her awareness, the c.u.mulative effect of heavy Influence. How Abbot had avoided detection so long, t.i.tus didn't know. But both he and Abbot knew it was too dangerous a game to play now. Or if Abbot didn't know it, H'lim would convince him of it.

In a heavy silence, he helped Inea prepare Mirelle and then take her to her own room, which was a tumbled mess, tangible evidence of depression and enervation. There wasn't even a threshold barrier, so diffuse was her presence. But t.i.tus could sense the dregs of Abbot's presence-bitter, savage dregs summoning images of what had occurred here. That almost turned his self-satisfaction to self-hatred. While Mirelle fell into a heavy sleep, they straightened up the place as best they could, then left her alone.

Back in t.i.tus's apartment, Inea stripped the bed and remade it while t.i.tus went to the refectory to get his own rations. They worked together with only casual comments on what they were doing, as if the deeper subject was a glowing coal, too hot to touch. But while Inea was nibbling on the last crusts of the inadequate meal, she asked point blank, "How long until you'll have to take my blood?"

Startled, t.i.tus recoiled, "What?"

"You heard me." Her expression s.h.i.+fted. "You weren't thinking-of taking from someone else without telling me? t.i.tus, I won't permit it."

He laughed out loud. He couldn't help it. After all the grave, grim tension of the last few hours, the image of a human woman sitting over his kitchen table, eating his rations, wearing his Mark, and dictating terms to him in a "be reasonable" tone was just too much.

Catching the edge of hysteria in his laughter, she frowned. "What's the matter with you?"

"I wouldn't think of disobeying you," he said through a veil of chuckles, and suddenly, she understood the irony and together they laughed uproariously.

In the end, she said, "Well, Delilah could wrap Samson around her little finger, why shouldn't I boss a vampire around?"

That almost set them off again, but t.i.tus sobered. "Inea, I had no intention of taking your blood-or anyone else's. I've been well-fed, compared to Abbot. I'll be all right until my supplies arrive."

"There's no way to know how long that'll be. You'll have to take some blood. What had you planned to do?"

He thrust himself out of the chair and caught himself against the edge of the sink, wanting to run, wanting to accept, and wanting to appear in perfect command. The truth was like bile in his mouth. "I didn't think about how I'd survive."

He turned to watch the bewildered shock flicker across her features. "Inea, you're going to have to grasp something else that may be even harder than the idea that Abbot has the right, under luren Law, to kill Mirelle. I will not take the living blood of a human. I don't want it."

"That's not true. I've seen the look in your eyes, over a bleeding wound."

"So? I'm mortal. I'm subject to temptation. I thought Id explained this before. Haven't you grasped yet what it is that deters me when I am tempted?"

"How could I? I'm not even sure what's so tempting. Cloned blood is genetically identical to real blood. If it's infused with ectoplasm, it ought to be really identical. All this fuss makes me wonder if maybe there isn't something-unique-in giving blood directly to a vampire. Maybe I'd enjoy it!"

He surged across the floor and plucked her out of the chair by the shoulders, shaking her. "Don't you dare-!"

The hurt shock that flashed through her knifed across his anger and he froze, horrified at himself. He enfolded her in his arms, burying his face in her hair and rocking her back and forth as he moaned, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

How could he explain to her the ghastly trap he had dug himself out of when he'd left Abbot? He pushed her away, caught her eyes, and repeated what he'd told her so many times. "Inea, it's addictive. I don't know if I'd have the strength to break away again. I could do worse to you than Abbot has done to Mirelle and feel just as little remorse over it. I've done that, under Abbot's direction. I lived that way, Inea, and I won't go back to it. I won't. Can you understand that?"

"You're scared," she said. "That I can understand. Maybe I'll come to-"

The door signal interrupted her, and only then did t.i.tus feel H'lim's familiar presence. But not Abbot's. Not the four guards. "Oh, my G.o.d!" He dashed to the door, flung it open, grabbed H'lim by the elbow and yanked him inside, shutting the door and leaning against it. It was the middle of the night for the station. Hall traffic was light, but not wholly absent.

"H'lim, you fool!" hissed t.i.tus.

"I won't stay long," he answered with equanimity. From under his capacious lab coat he produced a fat Thermos. "I was trying to explain before you left, that I think I've got orl blood you can manage to take. Abbot can't use it, but I talked him into accepting your gift."