Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [8]
Jojael considered the information for a moment. “Then he has done well in discharging his duty.”
“I’ll tell him you said so,” Zippor promised.
“How are the others?” Jojael asked, still too worn out even to turn her head.
She had asked the same thing of Beverly, but the girl hadn’t been able to tell her what she wanted to know. Beverly wondered what the administrator would say.
Zippor glanced over his shoulder at the seventeen other beds distributed throughout the domed enclosure. Another eight of them had been set up in a second structure, formerly used for storing generator parts.
“Some perished in the crash,” Zippor said at last, “but the majority managed to survive. However, like you, they seem to be afflicted with a virus.”
“Yes,” Jojael confirmed solemnly. “The bloodfire.”
“The bloodfire,” the botanist repeated. “When did you first see symptoms of it?”
Jojael heaved a sigh. “Some of us were sick before we left Kevratas. The rest became sick on the ship.”
“Kevratas. That’s your homeworld?”
“It is,” Jojael confirmed.
“We’ve examined your ship’s navigational logs,” said Zippor. “It appears your point of origin is on the other side of the neutral zone we share with the Romulans.”
Beverly’s mind raced. Jojael and her people were… subjects of the Romulan Empire?
“In fact,” said Zippor, “it’s well within the part of space the Romulans claim as their own.”
“My homeworld,” said Jojael, “is actually on the fringe of Imperial territory. The logs reflect the origin of our vessel, which was built on a planet a bit closer to Romulus.”
“Did the Romulans give you permission to leave?” Zippor asked.
“No,” said Jojael. “We did so surreptitiously.” Her nostrils quivered. “We had no choice.”
“And why was that?”
“Because they would not give us a cure for the bloodfire.”
“Did they have one?” Zippor asked.
“Not at the time,” Jojael explained. “But the praetor had a cadre of brilliant minds at his disposal, scientists who had cured a great many other plagues. Had they wished to find a cure for ours, they could certainly have done so.”
Beverly wasn’t sure if that was true or not. She knew little about the Romulans, and even less about curing diseases.
Jojael made a sound of disgust. “The Empire takes from its subject worlds without a second thought. And it doesn’t feel the least bit obliged to give back.”
“That’s not right,” Beverly said-surprising herself. She hadn’t meant to speak out loud. It just happened.
Tan, a broad man with prominent cheekbones and kind eyes, put his arm around her. The other colonists looked sympathetic as well. But then, they couldn’t have approved of the Romulans either.
“It is not right at all,” said Jojael. “So we found a merchant captain who would accept our generosity and sell us a vessel in which we could leave the Empire, and looked forward to the help we would receive from the Federation.”
Zippor’s brow creased down the middle. “You believed we would produce a cure?”
“Of course,” said Jojael with heartbreaking earnestness. Her multicolored eyes turned bright with hope. “You’re not like the Romulans. You’re like us. You pride yourselves on what you can give to others.”
Beverly saw Zippor and the other adults exchange glances, and her heart sank a little. Clearly, they had less confidence in themselves than Jojael did.
“You have to understand,” Zippor told the Kevrata, “even though we want to help you, our medical expertise here is limited. We can treat your symptoms and ease your discomfort, but it’ll take a team of Federation specialists to come up with a vaccine.”
“And they will need time to get here,” Jojael inferred. “I did not expect otherwise.”
The botanist looked relieved. “As long as you understand.”
Beverly wasn’t sure Jojael did understand. As Zippor continued to talk with the Kevrata, the girl went to seek out her grandmother. She found her sitting beside another of the aliens, a male whose black-lidded eyes were closed in sedated sleep.
Felisa Howard glanced lovingly at her granddaughter.