MISSION DAY 49
In a tunnel full of refugees not unlike the one Philip had taken the Doctor to after his arrival, a robed figure moved among the refugees. There were several fires burning along the street in a vain attempt to ward off the cold of the approaching winter. The man went from person to person, dispensing food and medicine from a large sack. Suddenly a boy was pulling at his arm, begging him for help. "Please, Brother, please! My mommy's dying!"
"We're all dying, boy," an old man cackled.
The robed man ignored this remark and turned to the child. "Where's your mother?" he asked gently, following the boy to a large cardboard box. He could hear a woman moaning, but when he looked inside, he knew it was not because she was dying. The woman on the mattress inside the box was in labor.
The Brother dropped his sack and was inside on his knees in an instant. He put a hand on the woman's rounded abdomen and turned back to a small crowd that was gathering outside. "I need more light! Somebody get some torches over here. Quickly!" he commanded. He looked back, seeing the woman's terrified face. "Don't worry. I've delivered dozens of babies. You're going to be fine." He pushed the hood back to get it out of his way, revealing his face.
Between her moans, the woman said, "Thank you, Brother..."
"Krystovan," Jason replied before calling for light yet again.
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Jason walked through the streets of the city, his hood pulled back from his face. He stopped and talked to as many as he could about the insanity raging around them. Snow was falling gently from the sky and he stopped to look up at it, his thoughts going to the beautiful, healthy infant he had just delivered.
He entered a building that looked as though it might at one time have been a school. He had been told it was as a field hospital. There were dozens of injured people within and precious little medial staff to aid them. The only advantage here was that the building still had heat.
"If you've come to pray for our sins, Brother," a gruff voice said from behind him, "don't bother. Nobody's prayers get answered here."
Jason turned to see a short, balding man looking challengingly up at him. He was wearing a tattered blue lab coat and had a stethoscope slung over his neck. He was dressed so stereotypically as a physician that the Alterran almost laughed. He gave the man his most disarming smile. "That depends on what you've been praying for," he replied mildly. "I'm a surgeon."
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The Alterran eventually found himself in a morgue, one of dozens all over the city. He was still dressed in his monk's robes, his face again concealed beneath the hood. There was no heat in this place, and the icy cold from outside had crept into every crack. Jason's breath rose like smoke as he moved around the room. He took in the desolation caused by prejudice and blind hatred and was both sickened and enraged by it.
He noticed that the room was strangely quiet. Every so often a new arrival would be brought in and placed among the others, and even this was done with a quiet reverence. At least in death these people could find peace.
The body of a man was brought in and Jason scowled when he noticed there wasn't a mark on him. He crossed silently to the litter bearers as they were putting him on a slab. "Excuse me," he said softly. Despite keeping his voice low, he still made the men jump. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," he said mildly. "I'm still among the living."
"Sorry, Brother. We thought Benji'd come back from the dead again," the first man said, pulling off his hat as he spoke. He quickly ran his fingers through his hair in a vain effort to make himself presentable. He was a stocky man who seemed no stranger to physical labor and looked considerably older than his twenty-something years of age. The war seemed to have aged everyone beyond their years, Jason reflected sadly.
"Again?" he repeated. "Mister…?"
The man gave him a toothy grin. "I'm no mister, Brother. Just call me Pete." He jerked a thumb in his partner's direction. "He's Tim." He leaned close, saying as though it were a secret, "He don't talk no more."
Jason nodded conspiratorially, throwing a quick glance over at the silent Tim. He seemed just a boy, sixteen at the most. Another person aged beyond his years. "What did you mean come back from the dead again, Pete?" he asked, turning back to face him.
"Oh! This here's Benji." Pete held a hand out as if he were making a formal introduction. "Benji got himself dispersed a few weeks back." He put his hat over his heart and held up his other hand as if he were swearing an oath. "That's the God's honest truth, Brother!"
"I believe you, Pete," Jason replied mildly. "Did you see him get…dispersed?"
"Yeah, we was all there, wasn't we, Tim? Me, Tim, Benji and some of the guys from the neighborhood. We was hidin' out in this house. The bad guys—I don't know whose side they was on, 'cause I ain't on no side, see?—Well, anyway, we seen the bad guys comin' up the street so we all hid. But Benji got scared and ran."
The image of the confrontation was so vivid Jason could see it happening as the man spoke. Benji was captured, pushed around by the bullies with guns, and then had a dispersal disk slapped on him. This incident apparently occurred just after the dispersal disks went into production, so the technology was totally new and totally terrifying. Benji had vanished into thin air and, as far a Pete was concerned, was dead. Jason, however, knew better. Benji should have gone straight to the Sanctuary. More importantly, he should've still been there, not lying dead on a slab back where he started.
Jason came back to reality when he realized Pete had stopped talking and was looking at him in bewilderment. "I'm sorry, Pete," the Alterran said mildly. "As you can imagine, I find this very distressing. You and Tim carry on with your job. I'll look after of Benji for you."
"Bless you, Brother," Pete said gratefully. Then to Jason's embarrassment, the man dropped to one knee and kissed his ring. It was the signet ring of the Royal House of Krystovan, not that Pete would have known any different. Then he quickly replaced his hat and scuttled off, taking the silent Tim with him.
"I have got to find a better disguise," Jason muttered in exasperation. He looked at the ornate sapphire ring on his right hand and shook his head before turning his attention back to the late Benji. He pulled back his hood and sat down to get a better look at the body. With a single touch, he scanned the body and discovered three things. First, Benji had died of a heart attack. Second, it seemed to have been caused by a faulty pacemaker. Third, the power source shouldn't exist on Eldeberon.
Jason examined the man's chest, finding no surgical scars that would suggest the device's implantation. Nor had he detected any defect that would have required it in the first place. His curiosity fully piqued, he retrieved some instruments from the coroner's supply and opened the man's chest and removed the offending device.
A sudden thought struck him and he looked around the room. "Were you the only one to leave the Sanctuary, Benji?" Jason asked, reaching out to touch another body. No, this man died from a shrapnel wound. The next was similar injury, and the next, and the next. He was about to give up when he found another heart attack. Another alien pacemaker.
By the time he had gone through the entire room, Jason had discovered some thirty-four alien pacemakers. He had also been able to verify that they came from individuals who were supposed to have been dispersed. At first, he was angry at the thought that someone in the Sanctuary would be doing this. Then he wondered if the Glyateven had penetrated his safe haven and were sabotaging it from the inside. His ship had already picked up transmission traffic. Was it from a spy? It was only then that Jason had the most horrifying thought of all. He'd sent the Doctor to the Sanctuary to be safe but instead he may have inadvertently sent him to his death.
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