Lost Era 06_ Catalyst of Sorrows - Margaret Wander Bonanno [91]
But why the suspicion? Tuvok wondered. The trio had permits from Citizen Jarquin, worn prominently displayed on their parkas. Had the effects of the plague in their village made the citizens distrust even that?
“You sense it, too?” Selar asked softly.
“Indeed,” Tuvok said. “And I believe we are about to learn something of its source.”
A group of citizens who had been milling about an outdoor information kiosk reading the day’s news had broken away and was heading toward them. The trio had perfected a response to just such an approach by now. Tuvok would speak first, Selar only if addressed directly, and Zetha only if the conversation ventured into an area, such as Romulan butterflies, whose nuances the other two might not be conversant in.
“You are Citizen Leval,” the group’s apparent spokesperson, a rawboned angry-eyed female almost as tall as Tuvok addressed him from behind a breather mask.
The entire crowd wore breather masks, not against the cold, but against the possibility of infection by outsiders. Illogical, was Tuvok’s first thought, since there is no concrete evidence that the disease is airborne. As the crowd moved toward them, a stout elderly man with what looked like a bulky antiquated medscanner in his hand was obviously reading them for signs of infection. One could only hope the scanner was too antiquated to distinguish Vulcans from Romulans.
“Correct,” Tuvok replied with a touch of arrogance, wearing his Romulan persona like a second skin by now.
He noted that even with the supposed security of the masks and the scanner, the woman still stood back at some distance. Quirinians, like Romulans, Tuvok had noted in their visit to Jarquin, only seemed to trust each other when they stood closer than arm’s length, a throwback, no doubt, to the age of swords when they had needed more room to safely draw arms. This woman and her constituents stood at a distance, the distance one might consider safe from casual contagion transmitted by a cough or sneeze.
“We were notified that your party would arrive today. You’ll have to wear these to go among us.” The woman thrust three face masks into his hand. Tuvok noted that she also wore surgical gloves, which she removed after her hand had made contact with his, and threw into a nearby disposal painted with a bright green sign signifying hazardous waste. “We can’t be too careful of strangers after what happened.”
“Citizen Jarquin has made us aware of your situation-” Tuvok began, but the woman interrupted him.
“My name is Subhar. I am magistrate here,” she said as if he hadn’t spoken. “Ordinarily I’d invite you into the warmth of my house to conduct your business. But even as we speak, some of our most esteemed citizens are dying without remedy behind that wall…”
She nodded toward the end of the street, where the landing party could see that part of an ancient wall that had no doubt once encircled the first settlement here had recently been haphazardly bricked up once again. What looked like electrified wire topped the hasty two-meters-tall construct, and armed guards patrolled the perimeter.
“… so we will conduct our business outdoors, where the fresh air at least gives us a fighting chance against contagion.”
Subhar seemed to be struggling to maintain her composure. The landing party said nothing as she blinked back tears before they froze in her eyes.
“I didn’t want you here,” she snapped. “It seemed… in-appropriate. But we need the replicator parts, and one of my advisors…” She indicated a gray-haired elder, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his parka, who merely nodded in acknowledgment. “… reminded me that our future will not always be about