Seed to Harvest: Wild Seed, Mind of My Mind, Clay's Ark, and Patternmaster (Patternist) (73 page)

“How do you know someone sabotaged the ship? Maybe it was an accident.”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember. I blacked out.”

“How did you get off the ship?”

“I don’t know. I have off-and-on memories of running, hiding. I know I took shelter in mountains of volcanic rock, lived in a half-collapsed lava tunnel for three days and two nights. I nearly starved to death.”

“People can’t starve in just three days.”

“We can. You and me, now.”

She only stared at him.

“It was raining,” he continued. “I remember we deliberately chose to land in a storm in the middle of nowhere so we could get away before anyone found out what we were. Even with speeded up reflexes, increased strength, and enhanced senses, we nearly disintegrated, then nearly crashed. We kept them from shooting us down by talking. God, we talked. The brave heroes giving all the information they could before they crashed. Before they died. We could no more imagine ourselves dying than we could imagine not coming straight in to Earth. It was a magnet for us in more ways than one. All those people … all those … billions of uninfected people.”

“You came to infect … everybody?” she whispered.

“We
had
to come. We couldn’t not come; it was impossible. But we thought we could control it once we were here. We thought we could take only a few people at a time. A few isolated people. That’s why we chose such an empty place.”

“Why would you think you could have any … any luck controlling yourselves here in the middle of all the billions if you couldn’t control yourselves on Proxima Centauri Two?”

“We weren’t sure,” he said. “Maybe it was just something we told ourselves to keep from going completely crazy. On the other hand …” He looked at her, glad she was alive and well enough to be her questioning, demanding self. “On the other hand, maybe we were right. I don’t want to leave this place to reach anyone else. Not now. Not yet.”

“You’ve done enough damage here.”

“Do you want to leave?”

“Eli, I live here!”

“Doesn’t matter. Do you want to go to a hospital? See if somebody can figure out a cure?”

She looked uncomfortable, a little frightened. “I was wondering why you didn’t do that.”

“I can’t. Can you?”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“Go if you can. I’ll … try not to stop you. I’ll try.”

“This is my home! I don’t have to go anywhere!”

“Meda—”

“Why don’t
you
leave! You’re the cause of all this! You’re the problem!”

“Shall I go, Meda?”

Silence. He had frightened and confused her, touched a brand new tender spot that she might not have discovered on her own for a while. She wanted to stay with her own kind. Being alone was terrifying, mind-numbing, he knew.

“You went away,” she said, reading him unconsciously. “You left the rest of the crew.”

“Not deliberately.”

“Do you ever do anything deliberately?” She came a little closer to him. “You got out. Only you.”

He realized where she was headed and did not want to hear her, but she continued.

“The one sure way you could have known when to run is if you were the saboteur.”

His hands gripped each other. If they had gripped anything else at that moment, they would have crushed it. “Do you think I haven’t thought about that?” he said. “I’ve tried to remember.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t want to remember.”

“But I’ve tried. Not that it makes any difference in the end. The others died and I should have died. If I did it, I killed my friends then made their deaths meaningless. If someone else did it, my survival made the sacrifice meaningless anyway.”

“The dogs died,” she said. “Remember? One of them was hurt, but not bad. The other wasn’t hurt at all, but they died. We couldn’t understand it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“They
died!
Maybe we’ll die!”

“You won’t die. I’ll take care of you.”

She touched his face, finally, traced the few premature lines there. “You aren’t sure,” she said. “My touch hurts you, doesn’t it?”

He said nothing. His body had gone rigid. Its center, its focus was where her fingers caressed.

“It must hurt you to hold back,” she said. “Your holding back hurts me.” There were agonizing seconds of silence. “You probably were the saboteur,” she said. “You’re strong enough to hurt yourself, so you thought you were strong enough to kill yourself. I want you. But I wish you had succeeded. I wish you had died.”

He had no more strength of will at all. He seized her, dragged her behind the well, pushed her to the ground. She was not surprised, did not struggle. In fact, with her own drives compelling her, she helped him.

But it was not only passion or physical pain that caused her to scratch and tear at his body with her nails.

W
HEN OREL INGRAHAM GRASPED
Rane’s arm and led her from Meda’s house, she held her terror at bay by planning her escape. She would go either with her father and Keira or without them. If she had to leave them behind, she would send help back to them. She had no idea which law enforcement group policed this wilderness area, but she would find out. All that mattered now was escaping. Living long enough to escape, and escaping.

She was terrified of Ingraham, certain that he was crazy, that he would kill her if she were not careful. If she committed herself to a poorly planned escape attempt and he caught her, he would certainly kill her.

She noticed no trembling in the hand that held her arm. There were no facial tics now, no trembling anywhere. She did not know whether that was a good sign or not, but it comforted her. It made him seem more normal, less dangerous.

As they walked, she looked around, memorizing the placement of the animal pens, the houses, the large chicken house, and something that was probably a barn. The buildings and large rocks could be excellent hiding places.

The people were spooky; she saw only a few, all adults. They were busy feeding the animals, gardening, repairing tools. One woman sat in front of a house, cleaning a chicken. Rane watched with interest. She planned to be a doctor eventually, and was pleased that the sight did not repel her. What did repel her was the way people looked at her. Each person she passed paused for a moment to stare at her. They were all scrawny and their eyes seemed larger than normal in their gaunt faces. They looked at her with hunger or lust. They looked so intently she felt as though they had reached for her with their thin fingers. She could imagine them all grabbing her.

At one point, an animal whizzed past—something lean and brown and catlike, running at a startling speed. It was much bigger than a housecat. Rane stared after it, wondering what it had been.

“Show-off,” Ingraham muttered. But he was smiling. The smile made him look years younger, less intense, saner. Rane dared to question him.

“What was that?” she asked.

“Jacob,” Ingraham answered. “Stark naked as usual.”

“Naked?” Rane said, frowning. “What was it?”

He led her onto the porch of an unpainted, but otherwise complete, wooden house. There he stopped her. “Not ‘it,’” he said, “him. That was one of Meda’s kids. Now, shut up and listen!”

Rane closed her mouth, swallowing her protests. But the running thing had definitely not been a child.

“Our kids look like that,” he said. “You may as well get used to it because yours are going to look like that too. It’s a disease that we have, and now you have it—or you’ll soon get it. There isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.”

With no further explanation, he took her into the house and turned her over to a tall, pregnant woman whose hair was almost long enough for her to trip over.

Lupe, the woman’s name was. She was sharp-featured with thin arms and legs. In spite of her pregnancy, she clearly belonged among these people. She wore a caftan much like Keira’s. Her pregnant body looked like a balloon beneath it. She reached for Rane with thin, grasping hands.

Rane drew back, but Ingraham still held her. She could not escape. The woman caught Rane’s other arm and held it in a grip just short of painful. The thinness was deceptive. These people were all abnormally strong.

“Don’t be afraid,” the woman said with a slight accent. “We have to touch you, but we won’t hurt you.” Her voice was the friendliest thing Rane had heard since her capture. Rane tried to relax, tried to trust the friendly voice.

“Why do you have to touch me?” she asked.

“Because you’re not one of us yet,” Lupe said. “You will be. Be still.” She reached up so quickly that Rane had no chance to struggle, and made scratches across Rane’s left cheek.

Rane squealed in surprise and pain, and, too late, jerked her head back. “What did you do that for?” she demanded.

They ignored her. “You’re in a hurry,” Ingraham said to Lupe.

“Eli says the sooner the better with this one and her father,” Lupe told him.

“While he takes his time with his. Treats her like she’ll break if he touches her.”

“She might. We never had anybody who was already sick.”

“Yeah. I got us a healthy one, though.”

They talked about her as though she were not there, Rane thought. Or as though she were no more than an animal who could not understand.

She tried to pull free when Lupe took her away from Ingraham and sat her down on a long wooden bench. There, finally, she released Rane and stood before her studying Rane’s angry, hostile posture. Lupe shook her head.

“I lied,” she told Rane. “We are going to hurt you. You’re going to fight us every chance you get, aren’t you? You’re going to make us hurt you.” The corners of her mouth turned downward. “Too bad. I can tell you from experience, it won’t help. It might kill you.”

Rane glanced at the woman’s claws and said nothing. Lupe was as crazy as Ingraham and even more unpredictable with her soft words and sharp nails. Rane was terrified of her—and furious at her for inspiring fear. Why should one thin-limbed, pregnant woman be so frightening? One thin-limbed, startlingly strong, pregnant woman who sat down beside Rane and caressed Rane’s arm absently.

Rane looked at Ingraham—actually found herself looking for help from the man who had held a gun to her head. To her utter humiliation, he laughed. Rane’s vision blurred and for an instant, she saw herself smashing his head with a rock.

Suddenly Lupe grasped her chin, turned her head until she could see only Lupe, hear only Lupe.

“
Chica,
nothing has ever truly hurt you before,” Lupe said. “Nothing has even threatened you enough to make you believe you could die. Not even your sister’s illness. So now you must learn a hard lesson very quickly. No, don’t say anything yet. Just listen. You think I’m threatening you, but I’m not. At least, not in the way you believe. We have given you a disease that can kill you. That’s what you need to understand. Some of our differences are signs of that disease. You must decide whether it’s better to live with such signs or die. Listen.”

Rane listened. She heard about Eli and the
Clay’s Ark
and Proxima Centauri Two. She listened, but she believed almost nothing.

“You know,” Lupe said when she had been talking for perhaps a half hour, “sometimes I look around and everything seems to be the wrong color. The sun is too bright and … not red. I feel surprised that it isn’t red. I couldn’t figure out what was going on when it first happened. It scared me. But when I told Eli, he said Proxi was red. A cool red star with its three planets hugging in close around it. He bought some red light bulbs in Needles and put them in his den. They’re not right either, really, but every now and then I go over there. Every now and then, everyone goes over there and stays for a while. It relaxes us. When things start to smell funny to you and you feel like you want to eat a live rabbit or rape a man, we’ll take you over there. It helps. Keeps you from jumping out of your skin.”

“I’ve got a better solution for that last feeling,” Ingraham said, grinning. He had gone away and come back. Now he sat watching Rane in a way that made her nervous. In spite of the huge meal Rane had seen him eat, he was munching nuts from a dish on the coffee table.

Lupe looked at him and smiled—all teeth. “You touch her like that and I’ll cut your thing off.”

Ingraham laughed, got up and kissed her, then stood before her, smiling. “You want me to get one of the kids for her to see?”

“Get Jacob if you can catch up with him.”

“Okay.” He went out.

Looking after him, Rane sorted out two impressions. First, that Lupe meant her threat absolutely. She would kill him if she caught him with Rane or any other woman. Second, he knew it. He enjoyed her possessiveness. Thus Rane was probably safe from him in one way at least. Thank God.

“You’re bright,” Lupe said to her softly. “Very bright, but stubborn. You think you can choose your realities. You can’t.”

Rane made herself meet the woman’s eyes. “Reality,” she said with contempt. “My father is a doctor. He really could have gone out on the
Ark.
He has valuable training, he was within the age range when it left, and he was in good physical shape. Would you believe me if I told you he was a fugitive astronaut?”

“Not if you’re his kid, honey. Nobody with young kids went. No white guy married to a black woman went either. Things never got that loose.”

“And no ignorant con artist who can barely speak English went,” Rane snapped. “If Eli’s convinced you he did, you’re no smarter than he is!”

Surprisingly, Lupe smiled. “You’re a lot less tolerant than I would have expected. A lot less observant too. But it doesn’t matter. Here’s Jacob.”

Ingraham came into the room carrying a small, large-eyed, brown boy. The boy was slender—without childish pudginess—but not bone-thin like the adults. He wore a pair of blue shorts, but no shirt. He was startlingly beautiful, Rane realized when he turned in Ingraham’s arms and faced her. But there was something odd about him. He seemed nothing like the thing that had run past her outside, but he did appear to be built for speed. An odd, slender little boy.

“Come on,
miho,
” Lupe said. “Let’s show you off a little bit. Come sit with us.”