Descending Road - TITER, TITER, DON’T LET IT BITE HER by Dana W. Paxson

TITER, TITER, DON’T LET IT BITE HER

1560 4D

“I’m going to leave you here for just a bit,” I told Thringe. “I’ll be right back.” We were at the front door to my family home.

She didn’t answer. Her breathing was shallow, and the red-purple stain on the blanket had grown larger.

Scared, I turned and keyed the entry codes, and hauled the door open. Ricochets of hard, spasmodic coughing greeted me: my father. I lugged Thringe over the threshold and slammed the door.

My father sat doubled over in his big soft formchair, shoulders pumping. He was a burly man, broad and strong, with a tight-curled shock of dark hair. His long battle with the mine heaves had shrunk his muscles to half their full size, but on those rare days when he could breathe freely, he could still loft a lesser man over his head. His face had gained a layer of curves and wrinkles, but the images of him in his youth showed strong, clear angles to his nose, brow and jaw. He often said I’d inherited his good looks, but more of my mother’s.

He uncurled himself and looked up at me. “Snakes, girl, is that you? Where in the devil’s shorts were you hiding?” His coughs exploded again, and he lowered his head on his knees.

“Father, I need help. She’s badly hurt, and she’s bleeding to death.” I untied the blanket from my belt and got down by Thringe.

“What? Who?” The coughing subsided, and he leaned forward to look. “What’s going on? Why are you made up like her? Who is she?”

I jumped up, raced into the kitchen to a cupboard full of clean cloths, and grabbed a handful. “I’ll tell you more later. Right now I’ve got to stop the bleeding.” I hurried back to Thringe, yanked the blankets aside, and began laying cloth around and over the flechette wounds. Not much blood was coming out. This was useless.

My father got up and bent over Thringe. “Oh, that’s bad. But, child, she’s an andro.” He suppressed another cough.

My mind whirled. “She’s no andro! Her name is Thringe. I watched her on stage at this place called Joovlies. She’s got a band. I went there to get some money because I had to take the long way home and fight a couple of guys and I lost the arma virida I bought for you.”

My father said, “No, Lejina. She’s andro. Look at the blood. See the dry parts? Human blood dries to brown. Andro blood dries slower, brown in the middle and bluish at the edges. Like this.” He fingered a dried contour on one of the blankets.

I stared, my hands still moving quickly across the bandages. An andro! That’s why Thringe could sing what sounded like anjive, the ultrasonic andro speech; I had thought it was just a stage effect.

“You’d better tell me exactly what you were doing with her, and why she got shot full of hyperflechettes.” My father got that tone he’d used when I had been much younger.

I kept working, and quietly explained. My serenity surprised me. So much chaos had hit me that all my doubt and fear washed away, and I spoke freely to my father for the first time in years.

When I was done, he cleared his throat twice. “You’ve had to do far too much growing far too early,” he said, his tone slightly choked back. “The heaves have nailed me down, and I haven’t been worth much.”

“Oh, father,” I said. Thringe‘s face looked relaxed and a little better.

“You say there’s a meeting and you’ve got to do it. Let me take care of her. It sounds like there’s not much time. I’ll bring her some water and broth, and I’ll get those darts out. You just go.”

“But I don’t know where it is.”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“She went to black.”

He bit his lip. “We’ve got to get her awake long enough to tell you, then. Get one of my stims and bring me my knifeset and the metathellin.”

“Father! A stim could kill her!”

He glared up at me. “Just get it. I know how to do this. I’ve brought more miners back from the dark than you’ve got fingers and toes. Hurry!” His shoulders jerked: another cough.

I ran to the lavroom, dug through the box of meds, and raced back out to the main room. My father got down on both knees, and picked up the stim, a small cylindrical plastic cartridge. He set the charge by twisting a sleeve to a tiny dose, stuck the white end of it against Thringe‘s neck, and shot a charge of stimulant mix into her bloodstream. He drew back the stim, watched a red smear spread across its base. “Titer, titer, don’t let it bite her,” he said under his breath.

He took the knifeset from me, and started probing into the wound at Thringe‘s shoulder. She moaned.

“Almost enough.” He shot her another dose of stim, checked the reaction. “She needs blood, so we need an andro.”

“Lejina?” Thringe‘s eyes opened. She reached up to me, and I bent down over her. Her arm came around my neck, rested there, and she looked at me with widened pupils, black in ruby. “Can you do it? Please?”

“Yes, Win, I’ll go. But I don’t know where. You haven’t told me.”

Her eyes closed, her arm sagged a little. “It’s Grize Walk, closet J-7022 just past Widgen‘s, tunnel 17 to the cross-chamber. Say it back to me.”

I did, then asked her, “How are you feeling?” I cradled her head in my hands.

“Try ratcrap in a slicer.” Her arm tightened around my neck and pulled me down to her, and she gave me a full mouth kiss.

I stiffened, then gave in. The contact warmed me all through. As I responded to her, she ended the kiss and took my chin in her hand.

“That’s to be sure you come back home,” she said softly. Her body shuddered, and she gasped in pain. “Now you’re Thringe. Do Thringe‘s job. If you don’t, a lot of people will die.”

All jangled, I fumbled for words. I stood up. “Please hang on,” I said to her.

“Lejina, let me get started on the flechettes.” My father.

I backed up a step, and he bent low over her, probing, asking where it hurt. I asked him, “You’ll be all right? I’ll get the arma as soon as I can. I’ll leave the other stuff in your chair.”

“I’ll be all right,” he said looking back over his shoulder at me. “You just go, and bring yourself home again. You’re more important to me than the medicine.”

I bent down and hugged him, and his chest contracted as he held back another cough. “Get going!”

As I closed the door and entered the street, repeating the pass phrases, my father didn’t cough again, but Thringe moaned.

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	TITER, TITER, DON’T LET IT BITE HER 1560 4D “I’m going to leave you here for just a bit,” I told Thringe. “I’ll be right back.” We were at the front door to my family home. She didn’t answer. Her breathing was shallow, and the red-purple stain on the blanket had grown larger. Scared, I turned and keyed the entry codes, and hauled the door open. Ricochets of hard, spasmodic coughing greeted me: my father. I lugged Thringe over the threshold and slammed the door. My father sat doubled over in his big soft formchair, shoulders pumping. He was a burly man, broad and strong, with a tight-curled shock of dark hair. His long battle with the mine heaves had shrunk his muscles to half their full size, but on those rare days when he could breathe freely, he could still loft a lesser man over his head. His face had gained a layer of curves and wrinkles, but the images of him in his youth showed strong, clear angles to his nose, brow and jaw. He often said I’d inherited his good looks, but more of my mother’s. He uncurled himself and looked up at me. “Snakes, girl, is that you? Where in the devil’s shorts were you hiding?” His coughs exploded again, and he lowered his head on his knees. “Father, I need help. She’s badly hurt, and she’s bleeding to death.” I untied the blanket from my belt and got down by Thringe. “What? Who?” The coughing subsided, and he leaned forward to look. “What’s going on? Why are you made up like her? Who is she?” I jumped up, raced into the kitchen to a cupboard full of clean cloths, and grabbed a handful. “I’ll tell you more later. Right now I’ve got to stop the bleeding.” I hurried back to Thringe, yanked the blankets aside, and began laying cloth around and over the flechette wounds. Not much blood was coming out. This was useless. My father got up and bent over Thringe. “Oh, that’s bad. But, child, she’s an andro.” He suppressed another cough. My mind whirled. “She’s no andro! Her name is Thringe. I watched her on stage at this place called Joovlies. She’s got a band. I went there to get some money because I had to take the long way home and fight a couple of guys and I lost the arma virida I bought for you.” My father said, “No, Lejina. She’s andro. Look at the blood. See the dry parts? Human blood dries to brown. Andro blood dries slower, brown in the middle and bluish at the edges. Like this.” He fingered a dried contour on one of the blankets. I stared, my hands still moving quickly across the bandages. An andro! That’s why Thringe could sing what sounded like anjive, the ultrasonic andro speech; I had thought it was just a stage effect. “You’d better tell me exactly what you were doing with her, and why she got shot full of hyperflechettes.” My father got that tone he’d used when I had been much younger. I kept working, and quietly explained. My serenity surprised me. So much chaos had hit me that all my doubt and fear washed away, and I spoke freely to my father for the first time in years. When I was done, he cleared his throat twice. “You’ve had to do far too much growing far too early,” he said, his tone slightly choked back. “The heaves have nailed me down, and I haven’t been worth much.” “Oh, father,” I said. Thringe‘s face looked relaxed and a little better. “You say there’s a meeting and you’ve got to do it. Let me take care of her. It sounds like there’s not much time. I’ll bring her some water and broth, and I’ll get those darts out. You just go.” “But I don’t know where it is.” “She didn’t tell you?” “She went to black.” He bit his lip. “We’ve got to get her awake long enough to tell you, then. Get one of my stims and bring me my knifeset and the metathellin.” “Father! A stim could kill her!” He glared up at me. “Just get it. I know how to do this. I’ve brought more miners back from the dark than you’ve got fingers and toes. Hurry!” His shoulders jerked: another cough. I ran to the lavroom, dug through the box of meds, and raced back out to the main room. My father got down on both knees, and picked up the stim, a small cylindrical plastic cartridge. He set the charge by twisting a sleeve to a tiny dose, stuck the white end of it against Thringe‘s neck, and shot a charge of stimulant mix into her bloodstream. He drew back the stim, watched a red smear spread across its base. “Titer, titer, don’t let it bite her,” he said under his breath. He took the knifeset from me, and started probing into the wound at Thringe‘s shoulder. She moaned. “Almost enough.” He shot her another dose of stim, checked the reaction. “She needs blood, so we need an andro.” “Lejina?” Thringe‘s eyes opened. She reached up to me, and I bent down over her. Her arm came around my neck, rested there, and she looked at me with widened pupils, black in ruby. “Can you do it? Please?” “Yes, Win, I’ll go. But I don’t know where. You haven’t told me.” Her eyes closed, her arm sagged a little. “It’s Grize Walk, closet J-7022 just past Widgen‘s, tunnel 17 to the cross-chamber. Say it back to me.” I did, then asked her, “How are you feeling?” I cradled her head in my hands. “Try ratcrap in a slicer.” Her arm tightened around my neck and pulled me down to her, and she gave me a full mouth kiss. I stiffened, then gave in. The contact warmed me all through. As I responded to her, she ended the kiss and took my chin in her hand. “That’s to be sure you come back home,” she said softly. Her body shuddered, and she gasped in pain. “Now you’re Thringe. Do Thringe‘s job. If you don’t, a lot of people will die.” All jangled, I fumbled for words. I stood up. “Please hang on,” I said to her. “Lejina, let me get started on the flechettes.” My father. I backed up a step, and he bent low over her, probing, asking where it hurt. I asked him, “You’ll be all right? I’ll get the arma as soon as I can. I’ll leave the other stuff in your chair.” “I’ll be all right,” he said looking back over his shoulder at me. “You just go, and bring yourself home again. You’re more important to me than the medicine.” I bent down and hugged him, and his chest contracted as he held back another cough. “Get going!” As I closed the door and entered the street, repeating the pass phrases, my father didn’t cough again, but Thringe moaned.