Celestial Matters (34 page)

“I wish Aeson were awake,” I said, thinking of my friend’s romantic love for the stars. “Without him, I can only half command.”

“Excuse me,” Phan said. “But is someone asleep?”

“Aeson is in a…” I stopped and turned to Ramonojon. “What’s the ’Unan word for coma?”

He scratched his head. “I don’t know.”

I turned back to Phan. “Aeson is in a sleep from which he does not wake.”

“Ah, yes, the man Miiama failed to kill,” Phan said. He stroked the side of his beard and raised an eyebrow. “Why does he not wake?”

“He was injured.”

“Are his wounds healed?”

“Yes.”

Phan’s fingernails did a dance on his cheek. “Does he breathe regularly? Is his pulse calm?”

“Yes.”

“So wake him up.”

“We don’t know how!” I said.

The Middler threw up his hands in disbelief. “That is ridiculous. Bring me to this man. I will wake him.”

“Are you a doctor?” I said, recalling Dr. Zi’s peculiar claim of a connection between the whole of Middler science and their medicine.

Phan’s face wrinkled in contempt. “Certainly not.”

“Then how will you cure him?”

He switched to ’Ellenic. “I know medicine.”

“But you said you weren’t a doctor,” I said in ’Unan.

Phan’s black eyes lit with sudden understanding. “A doctor knows only medicine. A scientist must go beyond that simple beginning. Medicine is the foundation stone of alchemy, and alchemy is the foundation stone of science.”

I turned to Ramonojon. “Does that make sense to you with what you know of the Tao?”

“I told you, Aias,” he said, “my teachers are philosophers, not scientists.”

“Teachers?” Phan said.

“In Xan Buddhism,” Ramonojon said, no longer caring who knew.

Phan snorted contemptuously. “Those empty-headed, ragged mountain men know nothing of the Tao.”

Ramonojon eyed him calmly. “They say the same of you narrow-minded, laboratory-bound city alchemists.”

They seemed about to launch into a pointless argument so I interrupted. “Phan Xu-Tzu, do you claim to be able to heal Aeson?”

“I would have to examine him first,” the Middler said, “but I believe so.”

“Then do so,” I said.

We stopped in Mihradarius’s lab to retrieve a heavy blue silk bag of equipment Phan said he needed, then went to Aeson’s private ward in the hospital.

My co-commander lay as we had left him, eyes closed to the destruction around him. At Phan’s direction Yellow Hare removed Aeson’s restraints.

“If you injure him, Middler,” she said after loosing the last strap, “I will do to you what neither the shipwreck nor your Nipponian has done.”

“I understand, Captain,” he said, and his voice was calm, but not with the flat calm of a man resigned to death; it was the calm confidence of a scientist who knows his field.

“Yellow Hare, let him work,” I said.

Phan went to work examining Aeson. Over the course of an hour he cautiously prodded my co-commander with gold needles and traced mysterious lines across his chest with thin blocks of balsa wood.

“It should take no more than five minutes longer to waken him,” Phan said at last. My heart leaped with relief. Yellow Hare narrowed her eyes and put her hand on her sword.

Phan placed a survival pill under Aeson’s tongue, then stuck long gold needles into my friend’s wrists and ankles. Then he leaned up against the side of the slab, cradled Aeson’s head in his hands, and felt his pulse in his throat for five minutes.

“Now,” he said, and gently poked a silver needle into the back of Aeson’s neck.

Aeson’s eyes flashed open. He looked into Phan’s placid gaze and smiled; a second later the smile grew into a tiger’s hungry grin. Aeson grabbed Phan by the front of his robe and threw the old Middler scientist to the floor. My co-commander let out a wild beast’s scream no Spartan warrior in his right mind would let leave his lips as he jumped from the slab onto Phan. The old man struggled to escape, but Aeson grabbed him by the throat and started to choke the breath of life from him.

ν

Phan tried to push Aeson off of him, but the feeble old Middler had no hope against a Spartan warrior, even one who had lain inactive for weeks. Aeson tightened his grip around the old man’s throat, clutching the fragile neck with hands hard as tiger’s jaws, ready to rip flesh. My co-commander threw back his head, shaking his mane of unkempt hair. A feline roar came from Aeson’s mouth, and a cry of crimson bloodlust echoed through the silver caverns, calling forth the thirsty spirits of the dead.

Yellow Hare leaped from my side and kicked Aeson’s left arm, forcing him to release the old man’s neck. Aeson howled in animal pain and ducked behind the operating slab. Phan curled into a ball and gasped raggedly into his shaking hands.

Aeson sprang up onto the balls of his feet, arms wide, ready to wrestle. The gold needles popped out of his limbs and neck and clattered to the floor. His eyes glowed bloodred, his pupils dilated, and his head jerked from side to side as if he could not see what was right in front of him.

Yellow Hare circled around the slab, cautiously approaching her opponent. Her hands were held up in front of her armored chest, a boxer’s posture. Aeson roared again and leaped through the air over the marble block. He landed a few inches in front of her and swung his massive arms to crush her like a bear. Yellow Hare ducked the blow, stuck out a foot, and swept his legs from under him. As Aeson fell he reached out and grabbed her injured leg, pulling her off balance. As he struck the moon rock deck, Aeson rolled portward and threw my bodyguard toward the wall. Yellow Hare twisted in midair and hit the port side of the cavern feetfirst. Yellow Hare gritted her teeth to stifle the pain of impact as she rolled off the wall to stand on the ground.

I started to run across the room to help her, but a single piercing glare from her golden eyes held me back. Two Spartans were fighting; I had no power to take part. Instead I pulled Phan away from the fray, over to the safety of the starboard wall, while the warriors continued their battle.

Aeson charged toward Yellow Hare. She leaped into the air on one foot, lacked off from the wall, and spun in flight to meet his charge. Aeson reached out to pluck her from midair. He grasped her right arm and yanked her closer, but she gathered in this gift of impetus to add force to her kick. Her steel-shod feet slammed into Aeson’s bearlike chest. Ribs cracked, blood and breath blew out of his mouth. Aeson gasped once; then like a mighty tower he tumbled to the floor and lay still, gasping for air.

Yellow Hare fell upon him, rolled him over onto his chest and twisted his arms behind his back.

“Straps,” she said tossing me a knife. “Quickly.”

I cut the leather restraints off of the operating slab. She used them to tie Aeson up and then bandaged his ribs. While she attended to that I walked over to the starboard wall, where Phan sat massaging his throat.

“What is wrong with Aeson?” I said, reaching down to grab him by his robes. “What did you do to him?”

The Middler coughed, then cleared his throat. “I do not know. No one has ever reacted this way before. What were your doctors doing to keep him alive?”

“Injections of Sanguine.”

“You mean blood?”

“Purified blood without any of the other Humours,” I said. “Surely you must know about it.”

“Only from your medical texts,” he said, standing up slowly. He kept his eyes fixed on mine. “I know nothing about its properties.”

“You mean you don’t know what will happen to him.” I pulled him closer to me and the old man shrank back in momentary fear.

“The survival pill should flush out whatever drugs you’ve given him,” he said in a hurried voice. “He should recover within two hours.”

“If he does not,” Yellow Hare said, standing up from the trussed form of my co-commander, “you will escort him into the world below.”

“I understand,” Phan said. I released him and he bowed from the waist to Yellow Hare and then to me. “May I sit down while we wait?” he said.

I nodded and stepped aside; Phan walked over to the operating slab, seated himself in a cross-legged posture on top of it, and fixed his gaze on Aeson.

Yellow Hare methodically set the fracture in her foot and then stood guard over Aeson. For one and a half hours we waited while my friend slavered and writhed in his bonds like a trussed lion. I watched and prayed to Apollo for Aeson’s recovery. The god gave me no reassurance and I had begun to despair when without any warning Aeson doubled over and started to groan.

He lay howling for a minute, then began to thrash crazily, tightening the leather restraints around him. Blood vomited from his throat, drying instantly into a black stain on the floor. Yellow Hare’s sword point was suddenly an inch from Phan’s throat.

“No!” said the Middler. “He is not dying. He is recovering.”

The sharp point of steel stayed where it was while we watched.

The spasms ended as abruptly as they had begun and Aeson lay still, gasping for air. A moment later his eyes flashed open—clear dark eyes, untouched by madness. He blinked twice, then focused on me.

“Aias,” he croaked. “I need water.”

Yellow Hare ran out to the dispensary and was back in minutes with a bowl filled with the last clear water remaining on the ship. J held the bowl to Aeson’s mouth and he drank it eagerly. Yellow Hare cut away the bonds while Phan felt Aeson’s pulse in his wrists, then his neck, then his ankles.

“As I thought,” Phan said. “He will recover completely if you do not give him any more of your medicines.”

Aeson finished the lost drop of water and sat up slowly. His eyes fixed on the Middler. “You are not Doctor Zi.” Aeson turned to me. “Aias, who is this Middler, and what is he doing on our ship?”

“It is a long story,” I said. I sat down on the floor next to my friend and stared directly into his eyes, letting the full spirit of the disaster flow out to him through the light from my eyes. “And a sad story.”

Aeson listened to my detailed account of all that had passed while he slept. Fury grew in his heart, painting his face with red rage as I told him of the actions Anaxamander took in the name of his position. When I related our arrest, Aeson actually cursed his Security Chief’s name and prayed earnestly that the judges of the dead would condemn him to torment. When I described the wreck of the ship, my co-commander grasped my arm in sympathy; but even as I cataloged the difficulties of our situation I could see the spirit of Spartan defiance rising in him, and I knew that if a way could be found for us to return home, Aeson and I, reunited in command, would find it.

“So,” Aeson said when I had finished the tale. “Our ship’s complement consists of you, me, Yellow Hare, Ramonojon who is not a traitor, Mihradarius who is, three guards you have tied up, Clovix, and two Middler spies.”

I nodded.

“The ghosts of our crew lie unmourned,” he said. “But we will have to wait before we do them honor. For now we must concern ourselves with the living.”

“Agreed,” I said.

“Well,” Aeson said, standing up slowly on legs unused to walking, “the first thing to do is free those three soldiers.”

Aeson’s iron practicality was taking over, filling the gaps in my own leadership. A little peace came into my soul; it seemed to me that for the first time in weeks, I would be able to concern myself only with that half of command which was my duty.

Aeson took a few tentative steps, slowly regaining his familiarity with his legs. When he was ready we walked out of the hospital and up onto the surface of the ship.

Ares floated above us, raining down the red light of battle on our crippled vessel. As we walked out of the cave, Aeson stopped to stare at the planet, and his eyes gleamed with his old accustomed joy in the heavens. He permitted himself a single minute of divine communion before he looked away, recalling himself to duty. Eyes fixed straight ahead of him, Aeson marched to Mihradarius’s lab, where we had left the bound soldiers.

The angry guards sat up against the aft wall, below the part of Mihradarius’s frieze that showed Alexander besieging the high turreted walls of Susa, Persia’s ancient capital. Steam-powered evac cannons shot primitive spherical balls of iron at the guard towers while the soldiers on the walls looked on in horror at the new terror weapons Aristotle had created for his pupil.

The living guards tied up below that scene looked at Yellow Hare and me with the same fear the ancient Persians had shown, but when they saw Aeson their expressions changed into the blissful acceptance that comes over men blessed by the presence of the gods. The madness left their eyes as they stared in wonder at their leader returned to them.

Aeson nodded to Yellow Hare, and she cut their bonds.

The soldiers stood to attention, eyes fixed on their commander. Aeson stepped in front of them and they saluted him with their hands over their hearts.

“Xenophanes, ’Eraklites, Solon,” Aeson said, addressing each man by his name. “You have done your best to fulfill your duties under trying circumstances. Anaxamander, however, did not do so; his violation of duty will be judged in ’Ades. His orders to you are rescinded. In particular, you are to know that Commander Aias and Captain Yellow Hare are not traitors. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Commander,” they said.

“Excellent. Now, here are your new assignments.” He pointed to the first one. “Xenophanes, you will stand guard over the traitor Mihradarius. Make sure I am informed of everything he does. Solon, you will stand guard over the Middler scientist.” He turned to the third man. “’Eraklites, your assignment is more difficult. You are to watch the Nipponian, but not to approach him. If he tries to do anything that you feel might endanger any of our lives let me or Captain Yellow Hare know about it. Do not attempt to fight him yourself.”

They saluted again and marched in newly restored order out of the laboratory to take up their proper duties.

“Now, Aias,” Aeson said after the guards were gone, “we need a planning meeting.”

“Agreed,” I said. “Yellow Hare and I will find Ramonojon and Clovix, and we will join you on top of the hill in twenty minutes.”