Chapter Five
“I have,” Laren said defensively, “a cough.”
The spare man sat with his arms folded on the examining table in the office. He turned glares at Shona, his partner, the diagnostic machinery, and Saffie, who was curled up underneath it. At the Carmodys’ specific request Chirwl had been banished to the outer office. Shona wondered what was wrong. Laren’s hair was ruffled into a crest like a fighting bird. Beside him sat Bock, larger, milder, watchful, with his big hands clasped. Shona pulled up her chair until she was sitting beside them, her head lower than theirs, allowing Laren the position of superiority. He needed the confidence. He was having a very hard time speaking. She could tell he didn’t want to be there, but obviously Bock had forced him to come.
“I have noticed your cough,” Shona admitted.
“So has everyone else, it seems,” Laren said, with a sour glance at his partner. Bock gave him a placid look.
“Everyone gets sick once in a while,” Shona said.
“Not me. Not here. It’s not allowed. Oh, spacewrecks, why can’t I just say what I mean?” Laren appealed to her. Smoothly, she took the initiative. She leaned forward and took his wrist, casually counting his pulse.
“You can talk to me in confidence. That’s what I am here for. I’m your doctor. I will not judge you. You have complete privacy here. What other symptoms have you noticed? There are other symptoms?”
Laren made a face. “Damn it, yes, there are. I don’t see how anyone’s missed those, either.”
“I’m new here,” Shona said cheerfully. “I haven’t seen anything myself. What is worrying you?”
After one more resentful glance toward Bock Laren threw up his hands. “I’m tired all the time. I’ve tried fighting the fatigue with herbs, homeopathy, yoga, deep breathing, you name it, but nothing works for long. I can get up from a good night’s sleep and be tired by midmorning. I can’t focus on my work. The buyers in my decorating salons and antique stores are becoming very impatient with me because I’m late on the current season’s line. My attention to detail sometimes goes right out of the atmosphere. I’ve been making bad decisions. And my muscles ache. Not just the muscles. The joints, too. Especially around my elbows and knees. I’m not arthritic,” he added, with a sideways wary glance at her. “I drink enough cider vinegar and honey to pickle an orchard. I’m losing weight. Food doesn’t go right all the time. Simple things I used to love to eat disagree with me. The other day I ate an avocado and I nearly stopped breathing. There was a pain here.” He indicated the right side of the bottom of his rib cage. He shifted uncomfortably and Bock shifted closer to put an arm around his shoulders. Laren looked plaintive. “I feel as if I’m getting old.”
“And you’re only fifty-three,” Shona said, after checking his record on the computer. “You don’t look even that age, apart from being somewhat too thin. Leucocephalus?” she read off the screen. “That’s ‘whitehead’ in old Latin. Was Setve treating you for acne?”
“No, and I wish he was here now,” Laren said, then paused, ashamed. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Shona replied. “I’m sure you would be more comfortable with your own doctor.”
Saffie heard Laren’s plaintive voice and came over to put her head on his knee with a gentle whine of concern. Laren gave her a smile but didn’t pet her.
“Thank you, but I don’t need what you have to offer right now.”
Shona had no idea what that meant. Probably part of the local custom that she still struggled with. She pinched up a fold of skin on the back of his hand and was alarmed at how long it took to settle out.
“I know.” Laren smiled ruefully before she could speak. “I’m very dehydrated. Water races through me. I hardly dare drink in company. Never alcohol anymore, and I do like a good glass of wine. That brings on a pain in my belly, too.”
“What medications are you taking?” Shona asked.
“If you mean commercial medicines,” Laren said stiffly, “nothing.”
“I mean your personal regimen,” Shona corrected herself hastily. “What vitamins and herbs do you take? Teas?”
“I don’t see what bearing that has,” Laren said, looking more mulish than ever.
“If you’re taking anything that might mask more troubling symptoms, it would help if I knew about it,” Shona said reasonably. “For example, if you’re boosting your immune system with echinacea …”
“Yes,” Laren admitted at last. “I take echinacea.”
“And what else?”
“I’ll message you a full list, if it has anything to do with how I’m feeling!”
Shona regretted again Setve’s apparent willingness to let his patients overmedicate themselves. “Laren, you’ve been very open in talking about your health in public. All I’m asking for are specific supplements and, if you can tell me, what quantities.”
“That’s true,” Laren admitted, with rueful humor. “I’ll make up a list and send it. I’m sorry to be so offensive.”
She rose briskly and put her stethoscope buds in her ears. “Well, we’ll give you a full checkup and see if there’s anything to be concerned about.”
The scope’s small screen confirmed what her ears told her. His pulse was threadier than she liked. She ran a blood sample through Setve’s impressive computer. It spat out its reading, but continued chuckling along. Shona gave it a troubled glance.
She scanned the small plasheet, then reread it carefully. Bad news was always difficult. She paused for a moment, finding phrasing that wouldn’t send the reluctant patient fleeing, but would give him the information he needed to cope.
“I see an elevated white count,” she said. “And a high level of antibodies. That suggests an infection, but I’ll have to get a blood culture to identify whether it’s bacterial or viral. I already see EPV. Epstein-Barr syndrome could account for some of the symptoms you describe, especially the exhaustion, but it wouldn’t cause the high level of leukocytes. It suggests that there might be a different causative organism. What worries me more is that your liver is showing signs of distress.”
“I told you, I’ve stopped drinking,” Laren protested.
“The liver doesn’t just filter fats and alcohol, though I found it telling that you’re having trouble with fatty foods like avocados. It deals with toxins of other kinds: dietary, environmental, anything that gets into the body by any means. It’s your second line of defense. Could you have eaten some contaminated fruit? Pesticides can break down your immune system. It’s meant to work that way on insects.”
The men shook their heads. “Not a chance,” Bock said. “All imported food has been irradiated and passed by the Interstellar Foods Commission. All of the food grown here is organically raised. No pesticides, no herbicides. We are very careful.”
“Bacteria from the soil or hydroponics, then?”
“We wash everything in an organic bactericidal solution.”
Shona frowned. “Then that suggests something in your home environment. Are you being exposed to anything unusual in your daily life?”
Both men exchanged alarmed looks. “No,” Bock said at last.
“Maybe it’s something you’re not aware of in your home’s system,” Shona said. “Environmental medicine is my specialty. I would be happy to come in and do an analysis of your home’s filtration systems.” The men looked horrified. “At least I could rule out anything in the house itself as the vector for your condition.”
“No,” Laren said. “Absolutely not.”
Shona knew how the Jardindorians prized their privacy, but she pushed a little harder. “Laren, if it’s something your living system has in common with others it’s possible that more people than you are being affected but are asymptomatic as yet.”
“You’d have to go everywhere in the house, see everything?” Laren asked.
“Yes,” Shona said. “Otherwise I might miss what’s affecting you, and that would do you no service.”
“I’m sorry,” Laren said, white around the lips. “We cannot just allow you to go marching all over our home. Not a chance! Black holes, if it was even thought that we were spreading a disease around the colony …!”
“That’s not what I meant,” Shona began. “We need to talk about the correct therapy for you, and I need more information—” But Laren wasn’t listening. He sprang up from the examining table and went straight out the rear door. Bock shot her a look of apology and set out after his mate. Shona hurried to catch him.
“Are you feeling ill, too?” she asked in a low voice.
“We’re not here to talk about me,” he said. “Just Laren. I’ve got to go.” And he did. Shona let the door close between them and sat down to think.
Saffie came over to lay her head on Shona’s knee and turned big, sympathetic brown eyes up to her. Shona scratched the dog between the ears.
“I can’t administer medical care to him if he doesn’t want it,” she mused aloud. “But his condition is bad. It could turn very serious very quickly. I know how important privacy is here, but is it worth their lives?” She couldn’t solve the mystery without more information, and they weren’t willing to give it to her. Not yet.
She stared out the big window at the mountains peeking over the pine forest. Jardindorians, for all their luxurious lifestyle, lived close to a potent source of toxic chemicals. Laren and Bock’s home was closer than most to the force field. It was possible that an undetected, temporary or permanent leak was allowing polyphenols and other dangerous materials out into the terraformed environment. She would have to start examining her other patients for the same immune-response symptoms, and see if anyone else was willing to let her look for pathogens and poisons in their homes.
Not for the first time she wondered how Jardindor had been released for settlement. It should have been fully terraformed or fitted with protective domes before habitation was permitted. A second mystery. But in the meantime she had offended one of her patients, the first one she’d seen who really needed her help. She was going to have to figure out how to break down the barriers, for his own sake.
A “ping” sounded as the blood analysis finished. Shona pulled the plasheet out of the tray and read down the traces of pathogens, minerals, bacteria, and viruses. As she had feared, Laren had been exposed to biphenyls and polyphenols, but suspected that those only exacerbated his condition, which was a bacterial infection that had been going on for a long time. As to which one, she would just have to wait for the details when the culturing was completed. Until then, the best thing to do was to get him on a broad-spectrum antibiotic, and start looking for a root cause. His life could depend on it.
* * *
“And of the man who will not answer his console?” Chirwl asked Shona as they sat in the cart on the way to Dwan’s mansion.
“He’ll have to get in touch with me at some point. In any case, we will see him at the Friday party. I think Angeta is hosting this week. She’s a wonderful cook. Mm! I dread the time when it’s our turn. My food is mud pies compared with the cooking on this world.”
“Then the impression should be of not of this world,” Chirwl said reasonably.
“What should I do?” Shona asked, with a laugh. “Serve them nutri?”
As Shona pulled into the circular, gravel-covered driveway in front of Dwan’s mansion, she heard a cheerful shout. She turned to see Alex and the other children waving at her from the side garden.
“Stop here, James,” she said aloud. Obediently the green cart came to a halt. She and Saffie jumped out to meet the children, who were racing toward her, trampling Dwan’s lavender in the process. Highly excited and fragrantly scented, Alex and Jill leaped into their mother’s arms.
“Mama, Mama! I learned about acids and alkalis today!” Alex shouted. Dwan, smiling and waving, threshed slowly toward the road, gathering handfuls of flowers from the fallen stalks. Shona, her arms full of children, could only grin back. “Dougie and I went to see Jamir. His urine is very acid. Is that because it smells bad?”
“No, honey, it smells bad because it’s very acid,” Shona explained, giving them one more big hug before setting them down. “I guess the pretending goes on,” she said to Dwan as her friend reached the carriage. “Alex has really formed an attachment to Tumi’s toy. It must be a very realistic one.”
Alex gave her the look he reserved for when his parents were being very stupid. “He’s not pretend, Mama. He is real. So is Dougie’s monkey. Well, he’s Dougie’s mama’s monkey.”
“Alex, you shouldn’t say things that aren’t true, especially in front of the lady,” Shona said. Dwan broke eye contact, picking up her son and burying her face in his hair. “I’m sorry. It’s not like him to make up stories about people.”
“No!” Alex insisted. “Chirwl knows. He’s seen him.”
“What?” Shona asked bemusedly, looking at her friend for an explanation. “Chirwl?”
“Secrets are not mine,” the ottle said, twitching his whiskers. He regarded Shona with sympathy. “Much is not told that is still smelled.”
“I do have a monkey,” Dwan said in a very small voice, still not meeting Shona’s eyes. “A real monkey. His name is Kajiro. He’s very smart and gentle. I’ve taught him to pick berries and flowers. I think he enjoys it.” She stopped, sensing she had said too much.
“Flowers!” Shona said, enlightenment dawning suddenly. “That’s how those bouquets have been getting into my house. The security program is looking for someone walking in. No wonder Saffie’s going crazy smelling his scent on the vases. She’s never met a monkey before. How does he do it, cling to the roboserver arms in the ceiling?”
“Yes,” Dwan said. “He learned that when he first came here, before we taught him how to live in a house. He hasn’t destroyed anything, has he?”
“No, indeed, he must be very careful. I’ve wanted to tell whoever it was how much I’ve enjoyed the flowers. It’s so nice of you.” Shona grinned, thinking of a monkey swinging from room to room with her friend’s secret offering of flowers clutched in one of his prehensile feet.
“It’s nothing,” Dwan said, shyly. “I just wanted to welcome you. Then you’ve been so nice I … I just kept it up.”
“Well, it’s been one of the things I look forward to in the morning. I’m glad to know how it was done. It’s been puzzling me a lot. Can I meet Kajiro? Does he live in the pool house?”
“No,” Dwan said, leaning low after looking around nervously. “He lives in the house. He’s got his own room. You’ve never seen that part of the house. You …” She glanced around again. “Come on, but hurry.”
* * *
Dwan led the group through the great room, but instead of turning left in the blue-carpeted corridor behind it toward the children’s bedrooms and play area, she turned right. They hadn’t gone more than a few meters before Saffie raised her nose from the floor and let out a bay. Shona looked at her in alarm, but the dog’s tail was wagging. She was about to solve a mystery that had been troubling her for the last several weeks.
The Taylors were devoted to nature programs beamed from Earth, though those tended to concentrate with depressing regularity on animals that no longer existed either in the wild or in captivity. Shona knew there were several kinds of monkey. She tried to guess before Dwan opened the door at the end of the hall what Kajiro would look like.
To her delight and surprise, the inhabitant of the huge, airy room was a small, intense creature about two-thirds of Chirwl’s size with a lion’s mane of white around his wrinkled pink face. The room contained several small platforms on high poles with thick, ropelike vines festooned between them. The little monkey flung himself off his perch and handed himself rapidly down, dropping the last meter to land on his mistress’s shoulder. Chittering, he clung to Dwan’s hair and studied Shona.
“Oh, he’s adorable,” Shona said. Chirwl, in his pouch on Shona’s back, stuck his head up to see. Kajiro, startled by the ottle’s sudden appearance, screamed. Saffie barked, and the monkey stopped screaming to scold her. Chirwl berated both of them for bad manners.
“What is he?” Shona asked, laughing, over the din. “Hush, Saffie!”
“He’s a Japanese snow monkey,” Dwan explained, detaching its paws from her hair. “He’s normally better behaved than this.”
“Well, I am very pleased to meet you, Kajiro,” Shona said, addressing the round brown eyes directly. The monkey chattered shrilly and offered her a tiny black hand. Shona laughed with delight and took it. Its texture was interesting, similar to Chirwl’s hand-paws in that it was hard and knobby, but his fingernails were very like a human’s. “Thank you for your kind delivery service. You’ve made my mornings very happy.”
“You are another person, but my friend Saffie worries him,” Chirwl said. Dwan looked at the ottle with a hungry expression, and Shona realized how lonely she was. Kajiro would be a kind of company, but he couldn’t converse intelligently the way the ottle could. Chirwl wasn’t a pet.
“What a nice surprise,” Shona said. “He must be fun to have around.”
“Fun?” Dwan asked. “I suppose. He’s a responsibility. It’s all worthwhile, though.” Dwan fell silent again.
“See, Mama,” Alex said. “I told you he was real.”
“You’re right, sweetheart. I apologize. But if Kajiro is real,” Shona asked Dwan, hope dawning as the point from which she had been distracted earlier came back to her, “then what about Jamir?”
“Yeah!” Alex said. “Let’s go and see Jamir!”
“Is he real?” Shona pressed Dwan.
The taller woman backed away, looking as frightened as her monkey. “I … I don’t like to discuss it any more. I can’t really say.”
“Then who can say?” Shona asked, in her gentlest voice. “Should we go and see Finoa? I will ask her myself. I’ll tell her I found out about Kajiro by accident.”
“No!” Dwan exclaimed. “I mean, no. You’d have to get Governor Hethyr’s permission. She’s in charge,” Dwan added weakly.
“Then let’s go see her,” Shona said, holding out a hand to her. Very slowly and with the greatest reluctance, the Jardindorian woman lifted Kajiro off her shoulder and set him on the nearest post.
“All right,” she said.