"Tepper, Sheri S - A Plague Of Angels - plangel3" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tepper Sherri)

"We have records of this stuff, but this is the first evidence we've had of
it in circulation. By itself, it does not kill.""I felt half-dead," Abasio objected.
"I know. You were debilitated by the dose given you, but you were not in danger."
"I don't understand," complained Oily.
The woman explained: "There are a lot of sexually transmitted viruses floating around in manland. One particular group of these we call possum viruses, because they play dead. They don't manifest for years, or even decades, if then. This allows the virus to permeate virtually an entire population. Then, given certain stimuli--Starlight is one--the viruses are jolted into life, into virulence. The stimulated virus can be transmitted sexually, also, and it is inevitably fatal. Though many victims die quickly, someone who is lightly infected and received a minimum dose of the drug might last
some weeks, or even months during which they could be infecting others." "So Abasio wasn't infected?"
"No, surprising for a ganget, he was not. He neither had the bug nor gave it to anyone. Even more surprising, considering how addictive the drug is."
Abasio said, "There are lots of addictives, and lots of people using them. Eventually, they all die."
The woman grinned without humor. "It's that eventually that makes the difference to us, cityman. We're not overly concerned about drugs that kill one off after five years, or ten. If one of our people gets taken with it, we have time to correct the matter, and we do. We always neuter addicts, and their children, if any, to make sure both the genetic inclination and the addiction itself is limited. If there's any reason to think that may not work, we go further!" She nodded grimly. "However, we do worry about drugs like this Starlight. There's no time to save a life when eventually can mean tomorrow!"
Abasio grimaced, rubbing his forehead. Seemingly, he had had a lucky escape. Sybbis hadn't been infected when Little Purp bought her. Little Purp had no sexually transmitted diseases, so Sybbis had acquired none. He, Abasio, wasn't going to die. Eventually, he'd get over the effects of the drug. Eventually.
The woman went on: "You're young. You're strong. Our people believe the effects will wear off. Since we don't know how rapidly your body is getting rid of the stuff, it's hard to say how long recovery will take."
She twiddled her fingers, considering. "While we're rigorous in protecting the health of Artemisians, we've a certain reluctance to destroy lives in the process, and putting you under stress or dosing you with more drugs certainly won't do you any good. Are you planning on going straight through our land?"


' 228 Sheri S. Tepper

The question was asked of Abasio, but it was Oily who answered. need to stop at the library in Artemisia. And we have a delivery for the Wide Mountain Clan."
The woman went on staring at Abasio, waiting until he met her gaze. "I'll let you travel on a special pass specifying that in your present condition, you're no threat to us."
Abasio tried not to be offended by this, without much success. He was offended. And embarrassed.
The woman turned to Oily. "As for you, young woman, since you're healthy and not sexually active, and since you're going to the Wide Mountain Clan, I'll give you a pass that far, and they can decide what to do with you from there."
"What did the person in the house say'?" asked Coyote when they were in the wagon once more headed south.
"She said they have a population that's in balance with their environment; they intend to maintain it that way. She said they have no sexual diseases and don't intend to let any in."
"How very sensible of them," said Coyote, turning to dig his teeth into his flank and burrow there furiously.
"You're lucky she didn't know about your fleas," snarled Abasio. "She said we were healthy, more or less, but we didn't think to have her check you as well. You may be harboring plague in those fleas of yours."
The Coyote, growling deep in his throat, did not reply as he continued his pursuit of whatever was biting him.

The city of Artemisia, when they arrived there after several hours' travel, did not meet Abasio's expectation of a city. On the ridges above the river a dozen or so large, complicated buildings faced one another with facades of shimmering tiles laid in swirling patterns as of flame or boiling cloud or the movement of blown leaves. The shallow stream in the valley was a mere wandering trickle~ a silver glitter among braided flat banks of pinkish gravel, an endearing infant creek, dappled by sun and dwarfed both by living trees, golden in the autumn sun, and the huge sun-bleached carcasses of dead ones that lay on either side. These white hulks, so Coyote told them, came shuddering down the arroyo when spring floods sent a muddy fury rioting between the banks. Well above this line of debris, the low adobe buildings of the town sprawled like sand castles.
Artemisia shone like gold and polished gemstone, all softly glittering. Nothing in it obtruded upon the sight. All was a whole, organic as a forest.
"Who lives up there?" Olly wondered, pointing at the larger buildings on the ridges.


A PLAGUE OF ANGELS 229

Abasio did not reply. He was making a careful examination of their surroundings, both for any sign of the walkers and for a building that looked like a library. He had no very clear idea what a library should look like, but he expected something imposing, certainly something larger than anything he could see.
Noticing Abasio's confusion, a woman left a nearby group of chatting women and came toward them. "Can I help you find something'?"
"We would thank you for directions to the Clan of Wide Mountain," said Oily.
"Wide Mountain House is at the bottom of the hill, on the left of the plaza," the woman directed. "Look for the sign of the thistle." She returned to her group and the half-dozen women in it and whispered to the others as they stared after the wagon, heads together in intimate exchange.
At the bottom of the hill the roadway opened into a gravelly clearing centered upon an open-sided, peak-roofed platform where a trio of musicians were plucking and strumming on guitars, a practice session that was frequently interrupted by one or the other of the participants. The clearing was bordered all around with courtyard walls and tall gates, some open, some closed. The sign of the thistle hung above a timbered archway that gave onto a stone-paved enclosure bright with potted flowers. Inside, Olly found an official with whom she was allowed to leave her packages.
"Very nice work," said the woman when she had unpacked the neckerchiefs onto the counter between them. She knotted one loosely about her throat, patting the knot and adjusting the folds. "Our old kerchiefs were faded to nothing, and any respect shown their wearers was purely from habit. What's this other packet?"
"Silk yardage, printed," Oily replied. "Ordered through you."
The woman referred to a notebook, nodding. "Ordered by Fashimir Ander, yes. Good enough. There's a trade group heading west this afternoon, and they can deliver it. Shall I pay you the balance, or shall I send it to the dyer'?"
Oily passed over the note Wilfer had given her. "Half the remainder to me," she said. "Because it was my work. The other half sent to Wilfer Ponde, for his profit."
The woman unlocked a strongbox and rapidly stacked silver rats, passing the coins across the counter. "I'11 send a draft on our bankers in the Edge at Fantis. They will send the coin to Whitherby."
"You have a banker in the Edge'?" asked Abasio curiously.
"Indeed," she replied, giving him a sharp look. "Surely you wouldn't expect us to send coin through that gang-ridden and lawless realm?"
Abasio remained impassive. He wouldn't expect it, but then, he'd never considered how payment might take place across borders. Edges were evidently more complicated places than he had thought they were.


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